Sightless Affection by Isabelle Schulte
Nancy by Clarissa Aliberti
Sail Boat by Rachalle Hoppie
Ode to the Drying Piece of Clay by Clarissa Aliberti
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Sightless Affection
By Isabelle Schulte
Whoever started the rumor that love is blind was wrong.
It is not love that closes its eyes and shuts its blinds
But rather we who fall so comfortably
That we forget to look up at what remains to surround us
It’s just that love is a sentiment of such elation
That searching for anything less would be futile
That searching for a source of complication would be almost cruel
And that searching for a reason to lose it
Would be searching for a reason to suffer.
So whoever started the rumor that love is blind was wrong.
A love that is blind stands on stilts
Waiting to be knocked over by infidelity
Or even just by the definition of love itself
Because what is love if you are blind to it?
Is it a ceaseless sense of protection and caring?
Or split seconds of passion and energy?
Infinitely electrifying its targets-
A machine gun firing over and over again.
So whoever started the rumor that love is blind was wrong.
Because it just so happens that a blind love is also a false one
A love that doesn’t see imperfection isn’t one that can accept it
A love that closes its eyes to reality can’t be a real one
And a love not open to flaws is a love closed off and left to decay
Engulfed in an endless corner of tender desires
Admiring what might not actually be.
So whoever started the rumor that love is blind
To you I say, “Open your eyes”.
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Nancy
By Clarissa Aliberti
This house no longer exists.
Green and blue walls matching the palate of the ocean,
White trimmings of sea foam.
Cream lace doilies on all the edges of the furniture
The faint scent of peppermint,
Wafts from a bowl of red and white candy on the dining table.
A Monarch butterfly is trapped under crystal glass.
She says its still alive.
That she found it only this morning.
Its wings look frail and thin,
Just like the lady’s arms,
It has the texture of paper,
Emulating a stack of “Smithsonian Magazine” in the corner.
I lift the glass off the butterfly.
She seems afraid it will flee,
As she thinks of her own soul soon will.
It stays in place,
Frozen in time,
A memory to exist forever.
This house no longer exists.
In it’s place is now a building three times its size.
This one has a swimming pool.
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Our Souls Collide
By Norela Haviari
It was raining when I died,
The blue leaked tears of joy,
And a river cried in sadness.
It was raining when I died.
A flood of red,
A cherry’s peak,
A sight unseen,
Weeps behind us.
My body lets go, our limbs release,
And a peace comes onto me,
You seep into my bloodstream,
And crawl under my skin.
Our souls collide and I feel you from within.
You scream and our secrets repent, you fall,
It was raining when I died.
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Sail Boat
By Rachalle Hoppie
Tell me how the sail boat sailed
When the wind was so tough.
Tell me how it learned to sail
When there was no sailor to encourage,
And when the sea said it would drown
The sail boat took on the open sea and called its bluff
And learned to sail the open sea
Even though the water was rough.
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Ode to the Drying Piece of Clay
By Clarissa Aliberti
Moist but not yet enough
As the heated air dries you out
Saving us from the cold bite of winter
But shortening your lifespan as it does
Less time for the chance to shape you
Mold you into a preferred form
Minutes pass and you become less willing
To obey the hands that command you
Losing your baby bottom softness
Cracking and flaking along with my grandfather’s old toes
Grasping to stay on the warmth of my fingertips
Drying to the consistency of chalk
Leaving dried beige smudges on the desk
Too soon
You are
Too hard
To fix
Every touch too sensitive for your fragile skin
Begging to be left alone,
Abandoned
On the top corner of a shelf,
Forgotten.
Left to collect dust
Until the day I find you again
Bringing dimples to my face
Along with the rush of memories
Of a much simpler time,
When the world would mold to my every whim.
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