Anne Louise Phillips is an independent author, photographer, and freelancer. She is currently pursuing an undergraduate degree in English. When she’s not writing, studying, or taking photos, she loves traveling and meeting new people.
Captivity
Thirteenth Floor Window
Asma Al-Masyabi is a poet, writer, artist, and student in Colorado. She is a Scholastic Silver Medal Poetry winner with publications in Taking Root: The Girls Write Now 2022 Anthology, Subnivean, The Ilanot Review, Up North Lit, and more. She’s currently pursuing an associate degree in English, after which she plans to major in creative writing. She looks forward to a career filled with words and art, her two biggest passions.
Fighter, Self-Portrait
Erick Buendia is an artist from Washington DC who specializes in painting and filmmaking. He posts his artwork on Instagram @Buendia_draws. He is currently pursuing a career in Film at Wesleyan University.
Perspective from a Puddle, Reach Out, I Matter
Maya Krishnan is a tenth grader at Skyline High School, in Sammamish, WA.
She has been learning art from Neha Parikh since the age of six, and has always found it to be a wonderful medium to express her emotions, and her perception of the world around her.
Scylla
We thought we would die if the water
swallowed us. We preferred to fight
many-headed monsters at daybreak
than spiral to the coral-veined heart
of our fears.
We thought we would die. Then we grew
gills. Our ship broke down and we let it
let water waltz with our shadows,
let schools of fish ripple our schools
of thought.
I met Scylla and I kissed her; my scars
fluttered open, and I could see
out of them.
Elsa H. Lyons is a young writer, dancer, and student of the earth. Her work has been recognized by the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers. She lives in the city and the country, in the world and in herself, and in the spaces in between.
With You
I try to explain what you’re like and I do it the way Proust
describes rain: musical, innumerable, universal. Everything is reminiscent of you.
A face in each moving car. A strand of hair in every dish. A rustling of leaves
Or wings or pages turning. A footstep on the winding road, which is either coming or going.
I have forgotten which already. Lately, I’m always in between—you and the next thought
of you. In the morning, before my feet touch the floor my mind reaches for you.
In the night, you are the charm of arms, warm as the kiss of an open mouth.
Whatever is absent in me, is present in you. Whatever is intolerable about me,
is made tolerable through you. Yet, it’s strange we suffer in spite of this!
The truth is, we are only hints of dust or one hint of dust.
Who’s to say we’ll still be alive when anyone is reading or will
ever read this poem. Time grows life inside the body.
And life kills by growing time inside the body. What else is there to say?
Death like love can never be prepared for, is instant and permanent.
Everything will end and when it ends. I know where I want to be,
in love, in love, in love…
Christ Keivom (he/him), is currently pursuing his master’s in English Literature from Delhi University. His work has previously appeared in Novus Literary Arts Journal, Mulberry Literary, Monograph Mag, Write now lit, The Chakkar, Farside Review, Spotlong Review, Agapanthus Collective, and Native Skin to name a few.