The Park Where I Grew Up

by Krista Wiese

 

I am trapped beside The Moms—

mine and the one she calls her friend

though the grating tones 

of their weekly conversations say otherwise.

Today’s chatting grounds: the park where

I spent my childhood.  Now,

I sit with homework on my lap, pretending

to enjoy the essay I’m reading and

anything but intrigued by the 

probiotic, essential oil, meal-prep 

banter beside me. 

 

Some distance away, 

The Kids (Adam & Andrew) send Frisbees

hurtling through the sky where once, 

I flew kites and watched fireworks

explode in July. Now there is no sky

above my head—only the wasp nest

dangling from the ceiling of the picnic shelter

and the cobwebs crowding my thoughts

and other things that loom always 

above me. The Moms are not afraid

of the wasps like I am;

they battle on.

 

If I close my eyes, 

all banter blurs into one beige monotone, 

interrupted only by boyish shouts 

and the clamor of the birthday gathering

at the picnic table too close:

that happily dissonant song and

plastic forks against soft cake

and paper plates. As The Birthday Girl 

squeals, I open my eyes. 

Cheery cardigans and stale old clogs

await my contribution 

to the monotone as though

I’ve been waiting my turn

all this time.

The Only Family Activity

 by Jenna Bennett 

Hockey night at the Times Union Center
The blue walls and off-grey concrete floor
The cold air blasted to keep the ice frozen
The sun's setting rays coming through the large glass wall
But I preferred to stand in the shaded parts.
The studium of the photo.

The ‘00 jersey is the first of the bunch... but maybe its a cruel joke insinuating he is the root of my problems
The ‘01 jersey that my mother wears… because aren’t mothers supposed to be your #1 ?
The ‘02 jersey for my brother… kind of strange he wears it, as he surely never comes second in their hearts
The ‘03 jersey I wear is the last of the bunch…its quite easy to see I am the trail behind, the shadow, the mostly forgotten

I do not remember
What was going through my mind
What I was staring at
Where I wanted to go

It was probably
“I don’t want to be seen or associated with them”
The cheerleaders I idolized (and who indirectly taught me if you're pretty enough, you’d get attention from my father)
As for where I wanted to go...literally anywhere they weren't.

We don't have many family photos for me to look back on
But in the few we do have,
all of them have that sort of look.
The look of me spaced out, detached, disengaged.
The look of never fitting in
Even if we wear the same clothes.
Even if I have my fathers blue eyes.
Even if I have (some of) my mothers mannerisms.
I'll never be fit for them, but I am glad of this.
The punctum of the photo.

A band of trembling sunlight rippling

by Laura Austin 

A band of trembling sunlight rippling- 

Catching my plants in warmth

like the trickle of a summer creek.

Safe from the cold outside, they cannot evade the patterns written into their biology:

the secret code 

that instructs their leaves to shift into brown and crisp 

and fall - 

little pencil shavings on my bedroom floor.

And the bits of them that are alive? 

They 

s

    t

         r

             e

                 t 

                     c

                          h

toward my window. 

They inhale the sunlight.

Devour it.

Safely store a solar spirit in those scarce, emerald, jewelry box leaves. 

Because despite appearance at first glance- 

crumbling or cascading -

they are

alive.

I Wish I Was the Fun Girl

by Lelia Saffold 

I wish I was the fun girl.

Not the boring, sits alone in the corner girl.

 

I sometimes wish I had the urge to drink and make questionable choices like my friends.

But I’ve always been the designated driver, sipping on a Shirley Temple girl.

 

I’m the loner at the party who slips away from the crowd in search of the host’s dog.

(That is, if I even get invited to the party at all)

The awkward, antisocial, and just wants to go home and go to bed girl.

 

I didn’t know I was so unlike the others until the midst of college.

The “you need to loosen up and let go” girl.

 

A voice in the depth of my soul begs me to be different, be outgoing, be confident.

Girl why aren't you like them?

But an overwhelming force tells me I will never be the fun girl.

1992

 by Kate Perko 

 

within thin plastic pages

sit moments documenting

“the happiest day of their lives”

 

she’s wearing a purple-polka-dotted tank top

purple striped pants

a virgin gaze 

he wears a blue polka-dotted sweater vest

a newlywed smile

 

she’s held up by time

before it slipped away 

the hands of her new husband

before he could not longer hold her up 

as if she was trying to show off that horrible outfit

before it was thrown away 

and her new flashy gold ring 

before it was lost and rusted 

I can see the smiles

before they faded 

and hear the giddy laughter 

before it got silent 

 

smiles

polka-dotted clothes

hope of a happy marriage

happy family

are trapped in an 8x8 photo

Black Coffee

 by Mia Shelton 

I told my mother about you.

The first time I told her, the words coming out of my mouth were sugary sweet and saccharine.

The last time, my eyes were heavy and full, ready to pour like a cloud before a thunderstorm. 

You placed me on the highest cliff only to push me off the edge,

to watch my skull crack open and leak thick, warm blackberry juice on the cold ground.  

My mother's voice was soft; coffee brewing and dry heat whirring in the background. 

"Only a bad partner blames his woman," she quipped.

She poured herself a cup of pure black coffee, took a sip, and sighed with a knowing smile,

"and only bad coffee needs to be dowsed with cream and sugar."

Ms. Pat

by Jazzmine Shire 

The trees probably swayed in delight

I’m sure the birds sang a little louder

And the crickets probably chirped a melody

As your skin drank in the sun

Shoulders swallow down vitamin D 

Like a cold glass of orange juice for breakfast

The toast bacon and eggs would be nothing without you

 

We can’t see your big brown eyes

They’re double shielded behind

Closed lids and large frames

 

Your full lips

Turn slightly towards  

The warmth from the sun 

Juicy like the berries you'd refuse to eat

 

You are hot chocolate personified

Velvety brown skin drapes your toned arms

A string of pearls drape your clavicle 

Like the mini marshmallows you would sneak in my cup

 

It's warm 

and happy 

and full of life

 

The trees probably swayed in delight

I’m sure the birds sang a little louder

The crickets probably chirped a melody

As the sun focused all her energy on you