Megan Baffoe

six, and all hard bones: chin jutting like a ship’s prow,
determined to go out dawn-treading – otherwise,
all unruly curls. my mother said it was a crown, a halo;
I was no angel yet, though.
sure, we nearly never made it to seven,
me and my clawed, hungry hands – she was a goblin girl,
a gremlin girl, giggling with the garden snails, chewing up stories
like corner-shop sweeties – never content to just have
sickness between my ears, I packed a thousand books
beneath the roof of my skull. and I never went near
heaven, no –
I stayed digging down in the mud
till six turned seven.

 

 

Megan studied English at Oxford University, and is now moving on to a Masters in Creative Writing. She likes fairytales, fraught family dynamics, and unreliable narration; she does not like Twitter, but can be found @meginageorge. Her published work is all available at https://meganspublished.tumblr.com.

All the girls in your city have a dog,
have something to ghost their
loneliness. You plant a rose by the
sea but it grows into a flood. No one
knows that water is an unforgiving
god. No one sees your hand holding
an apple bob, slipping into the gown
your mother died in. The bulbs are
blinking and the night flies are
gathering for the moon’s funeral but
tonight, you have run out of candy
the way you run out of childhood.
The star from the yard looks like a
bone. A boy said the dead are
coming to read a poem.

 

Born on a Friday in December, Fatihah Quadri Eniola is a young Nigerian poet whose work has been featured in The West Trade Review, The Shore, Agbowo and elsewhere. She is a nyctophobic gathering experience in Law in the Premier University of Ibadan.

 Over tomato and egg soup, Mom said
She still remembered going
To the post office, twenty miles
North from her dorm, to mail
Each letter to Jack. Xi’an,

1997, five pages per envelope.
But I’ve never thought of her
As talkative. Often silent in our house—
Housework, my homework and expenses. Debating
Which grocery store carried cheaper carrots, though
I never even liked them. (Too earthy, their bodies made
My mouth so soapy that I had to drink
Each time I swallowed.) But still, she brought
A bag home every week – for Vitamin A.

 While slurping carrot soup, forcing myself, I tried
To ask her what she wrote. I’d never done that
Before. We moved when I was five, and still
She packed up those withered-yellow letters.
Torn during the move. I was too young then
To care about her past. Now I wanted to, and we had
No place between us to start.

I watched her, in and out of the kitchen, sweat dying
Her lavender shirt to eggplant. Her white hair
Passed by the girl who would complain
About those rainy Xi’an days, from the girl who would write
Five pages brimming with love to my dad.

That night, I found the letters in the last drawer
of the book shelf. I skimmed
Rushing from inner Mongolia to Xi’an, as smoke
From the stoves shrouded her from sight.

 

 

 

 

Minnie Wu is a high school sophomore at The Pennington School. Her poetry and prose have been previously published in “Teen Ink”, “Pennyroyal”, among other literary magazines. In the 2022 and 2023 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, Minnie was recognized as a Gold Key recipient and a Gold Medalist for her poetry and photography. She is an alumna of Iowa Young Writers’ Studio Summer Residential Program. Minnie loves spending time with her cat and dog, and she also enjoys watching K-dramas.

 

To my mom-

Thank you
Thank you for the midnight conversations and late night drives
Thank you for always making sure that I was okay after an argument
Thank you for remembering my favorite candle scents and the way I like my hot chocolate

Thank you for understanding that sometimes the only way to let out emotion is with a good old fashioned swear word
Thank you for hyping up my favorite sunglasses, even though I know you don’t like them very much
Thank you for keeping all of the gifts I made you in elementary school. I swear when I made your favorite clay cat, I really thought it looked like a cat!

Thank you for not only making my lunch for school everyday, but for also writing notes in it to remind me of all the things you love about me
Thank you for teaching me how to paint my nails and braid my hair

Thank you for letting me tell you about my favorite book characters over and over again with no complaint
Thank you for helping my dye my hair each time I decided I needed a new color
Thank you for making lemon cakes on each of my birthdays

Thank you for teaching me about the power a tough looking pair of boots can give you.
Thank you for always being there to remind me that my worth is never based on what someone else may think of me
Thank you for making sure I always have my chargers before I head to class

Thank you for guiding me, but still letting me pave my own path in life
Thank you for teaching me the difference between treating someone with respect and actually respecting them
Thank you for showing me that it is okay to disobey authority when it is needed to ensure that I have done all I can for those around me

Thank you for making sure that I know no matter what I do, you will always be proud of the person I am
Thank you for loving me and teaching me to be a strong independent woman

But most of all,

Thank you for being my Mom

 

Liberty Brooke  is a poet from Ludington, Michigan. She uses poetry as a form of self expression, of connection, and community. Many common themes in her poetry include love, gratitude, anxiety, longing, and heartbreak. You can find her on both Instagram and Tiktok @apoetinflames.

 

 

I wish I could get rid of the soft, sluggish entity that
inhabits my body
Infecting my blood streams with its
Slime
My legs feel numb
My shell is hard but the mucus
taking over my body has complete control
I was once confident but now I know
I can’t do this. I never could
I am a useless piece of goop
Hoping no one sees through it
Because everyone is better than me
And I am alone in this the
Ooze is omnipotent.
My name means invincible but this substance is
unconquerable.

 

 

Nikita Chanda is a senior at Singapore American School. She enjoys science, reading, and creative writing, and has found herself in poetry after using writing as an outlet for her creative expression. Looking ahead, Nikita aims to merge her passion for science and creative writing, aspiring to bridge the gap between the two worlds through her unique voice and perspective.

A poster
With tickets
For a suicide hotline
One lonely remainder
About to be plucked

Teachers steering
Baby sixth graders
Away from the railing
Because they know
Most kids
Are tall enough to get over
If they really wanted

Doors closed
Doors locked
Not for silence
But for safety
From the evil
That threatens these young lives

Bathrooms
Locked at lunch
Those porcelain havens
Also a death trap
For middle schoolers
In petty fights

Someone standing
Guarding
A club for everyone
Because more haters
Want in
Than lovers

This world
Is messed up
Even I know that

 

Deep in the heart of Fremont, California, there is a fourteen year old named Emily Hembruch. She has been writing since she could hold a pencil, and has been published by Young Authors, California Coastal, TeenInk, and The WEIGHT Journal. When not scribbling away in a journal, you can find her playing basketball, knitting, or watching her favorite shows. One day, she plans to be a full-time writer of all different kinds of fiction.