Alice in Wonderland by Clarissa Aliberti
Music by Dalton Rodriguez
Love by Norela Haviari
Time by Wenzheng Yu
Map by Timothy McNally
Wing Tips by Aaliyah Mokalled
Alice in Wonderland
by Clarissa Aliberti
They call her Alice.
Alice is a strange girl.
She says many strange things,
that no one ever believes.
They call her Alice
Alice often says things when no one’s there.
Alice claims she’s not crazy,
she just sees things others don’t see.
Alice speaks of worlds beyond ours.
With the confidence of a scientist, of infinite possibility;
but Alice says this with none of their credibility.
Instead, she’s locked away.
Later they ask themselves what went wrong.
Was it the result of bad parenting? When they locked her in that dark room,
did it cause the delusions? Did it cause her mind to reject human contact
and retract into a deep dark hole, only an echo of her former self
They call her Alice.
They say she’s getting better, that she looks people in the eye when they speak;
but she spends hours on end staring longingly out the window at the flying birds,
wishing that she too, could sing without constraint.
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Music
by Dalton Rodriguez
Poetry is a symphony
The words are instruments
Inspiring me
And when the words play together
They sing to my ears,
My brain, my heart
They coerce me to write
The words I hear
In such beautiful and intricate ways
That I don’t believe it’s me writing
I can’t believe it’s me writing
But some unknown specter
Taking over my body
And engraving my thoughts on this paper
My mind spinning like an insane clock
My head cannot keep up
With the thoughts I’m thinking
My mouth can’t keep up
With the words I want to articulate
The split meanings, the metaphors, the similes
My hands are the hands of that
Insane clock that is my brain, I’ve lost control
As my pen composes it’s own symphony
So I write the letters I’ve so wanted to write
The words I’ve so desired to speak
The thoughts I’ve been thinking for so long
All down on this paper representation of what’s inside my head
And the insane clock stops
And the symphony finishes
And I’m left with the echo of my own song
Repeating
And that’s what poetry is to me
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Love
by Norela Haviari
I would shred paper all day for you
Sitting in that broken down, pathetic ripped velvet chair,
I would sit at the tip of the chair,
knees touching
And shred paper for you
I would have a large pile of documents,
tax returns, bank statements, old letters, algebra tests that your daughter got a C on,
I would shred papers for you,
Gliding these sheets down the machine for you,
Tearing them one by one, I would think of you
Watching it disappear
I would shred papers all day for you
Every four hours, I would empty the cartridge,
watch the thousands of strips of paper cascade down below,
And I would sit on that velvet chair and shred papers for you,
I would shred pictures of dogs, pictures of apartments for lease,
pictures of your brother-in-laws’ sister’s birthday,
I would shred papers all day for you
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Time
by Wenzheng Yu
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
That’s how days, months, and years fly by.
It is like a car that does not have brakes
or a ball that keeps rolling and rolling
As the global economy strengthens and weakens,
as the climate warms and cools,
as life on earth evolves,
a potent force persists regardless of the state of humanity –
and that is time.
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Map
by Timothy McNally
I make myself look at a map of the sea,
Each corner and ridge showing something new to me.
My fingers move over every border of every country,
It dawns on me that there is so much I haven’t seen.
Why is it so easy for my fingers and my eyes,
To collaborate so easily with every country and size?
Who cares about pigmentation the artist prescribed?
I don’t understand warring countries demise.
Every country on the map, unified as one,
We’re all people here so why not get along?
My hands can make anywhere belong,
Regardless of languages or rulers or songs.
We’re all here right now, seen on this globe.
The light can shine from my lamp to any zone.
There is nowhere to neglect; everywhere is shown.
We’re here on this globe, just us, we’re alone.
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Wing Tips
by Aaliyah Mokalled
Wing Tips, is what my real name would be,
If my parents took into consideration my future personality.
Wing Tips, a dedication to a favorite pair of shoes,
Wearing them down until absorbed into my sole.
Wing Tips, on account of all the feathers in my curly dark hair,
Like the edges of bird wings peeking out from their twisted nest.
Wing Tips, because my favorite animal is the owl,
Dark speckled and quiet and watching and waiting.
Wing Tips, because I dream of flying, in class counting crows,
Reading of angels and their wing tips,
Wishing and wanting for my own.
And so, no matter how many people keep naming me as Aaliyah,
No matter what my birth certificate says,
I know from the tips of my shoes
To the ends of the feathers in my hair,
My real name is Wing Tips.
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