Poems
"Untitled"
By Windsor Smith ‘20
My elbows on the back of a car
My unstable thoughts
Glamorizing a different life I never lived.
My empty hands clutching onto something
My tired eyes can’t make out.
On a closer look
It appears to be
The things I once believed.
My heaving lungs bring forth what I would give
For the chance to run with wolves.
My aching feet hold up the mountain of a man
Not strong enough to support
All the feelings caught up inside
My burning throat.
Empty of the locks that held back monsters.
Hidden beneath my bed
On the clearest of nights.
My skin
Hiding all that I have laid out for you.
My cascading hair that touches
The pillows that know more from my whispers
Than the ghosts that sit upon my shoulders.
My lashes holding back the visions
Of the silhouetted souls
Peering out the windows.
My lips that form the words that hold me
That keep my feet on the ground.
“One day.”
My heartbeats of morse code
Seeking the answers of when.
My fingers that miss the warmth of yours.
To all that I am and all that I keep within,
This is your escape.
Universal
By Windsor Smith ‘20
Your hands
There is a galaxy between her legs.
The stars are too dull.
The moon is too bright.
The comets shoot on for too long,
And people lose interest.
Her legs are trees that hold up the whole world.
Leaves grow on them and the bark is rough.
People try not to stare.
Crows Feet
By Windsor Smith ‘20
Too sweet to touch
And yet warm within my grasp
I look at them with the sorrow
That they cannot last.
Fingers entwined in mine
An everlasting love
Your heartbeat in my wrist
Our knuckles a perfect fit.
I love the way
Your skin is calloused;
Imperfect,
Pure.
The way my hands cradle yours.
I wonder if you know
I am even here.
I love the way
Your wrinkles
Bend around your wrists
No lover you are of mine,
But I’ve come here every Sunday
And I've loved you every time.
untitled
By Anonymous
If only he knew,
Everything.
For he believes he loves me.
In his heart, I am the one.
But how could someone’s heart know me
When I don’t even know myself.
How could someone wish to hold me in their arms
To stare into my eyes for hours,
When my breath stops coming at the sound of my own name.
Who am I?
No, stop.
Who are you to say?
I’ve always wanted someone to look at me this way.
But when I see your look, it cuts me in two.
No…
In two million.
The number of people I have been.
Poem for the Dirt
By Bonnie McKelvie
I have seen you in the milk I sip, my sweet
And I wonder how you came to me from the carton in the fridge.
You must have melted into grass and waited
To be the cud for the cow out in Montana or somewhere like that.
I have seen you in the milk in my cup and in the tulips leaves
And the pollen swells my nose and turns it an agitated red.
You must have sat beneath the earth without me knowing.
But I have seen you, you must know I have seen you
THE ESCAPE
By Bonnie McKelvie
I walked outside
To see grey branches made of twine
Suspended in a vacuum of floating cloud cream
How limp they lay
On the folds of a neat white sky
As if to say they had been taught for too long
I gave the tree
A glance with my head cocked to the side
Wondering if this was the place where spiders are born