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Blue Marble Review

Literary Journal for Young Writers

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Poetry

On Mastering Loss: A Guide

By Emily Liu

1. Let it happen.

Hold the weight like water.

Watch it slip between your fingers,

because it will.

(It’s supposed to slip.)

2.Name it.

Call the ache by its true name.

Say: this is grief.

Say: this is love without its home.

Say it into the mirror until it feels real like the air you breathe.

3.Build rituals.

Light a candle in the morning.

Burn the edges of a photograph,

not to forget, but to honor.

Make offerings of time:

a walk, a prayer,

a song on repeat.

4.Talk to the empty spaces.

Let your voice fill the silence in rooms that never asked for it.

Say: I miss you.

Say: I don’t know how to keep living,

but I am trying.

The walls will listen.

The walls have always listened.

5.Learn patience.

Wait for the day when breathing feels normal again.

(It will come.) Wait for the day when a memory

doesn’t crack you open.

Let the hours pass without counting.

6.Accept imperfection.

Healing won’t arrive dressed in white.

It will crawl on its hands and knees.

It will look like forgetting, sometimes.

(You won’t be ready, but it will come anyway.)

7.(but can you?)

(is it even possible to hold loss without it breaking?)

(what does “master” even mean––)

(what does it mean to master loss,

when the loss has mastered you?)

(why does it feel like I’m still sinking—)

8.(wait, no, go back. start over. I mean—

light a candle. name it. tell the walls but they just

echo, and what if that’s all there is? what if I

never learn how to stop? what if—)

9.Carry it—

(no. forget carrying. it carries you.)

(is this step seven? or eight? what step am I on when the steps don’t—)

10.Hold on until—

 

 

 

Emily Liu is a poet and writer based in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her work explores the liminal spaces of identity, memory, and transformation. When she’s not writing, she enjoys curating Spotify playlists and roaming the city with friends in search of the perfect boba spot.

Two Ways

By Caelan DiCosmo

Morning draping gentle
and golden, two soft arms around me.
Kentucky heat, like a lazy dog,
and little fingers, kneading mud pies
dotted with bluebells.
Tire swings, my brothers’ scabbed knees,
hair curling up towards the sun.
Lemonade and sweet, dusty bodies washed clean,
skin still wet, sitting on the cabin porch.
Watching the sky change,
tangerine horses dancing, dragging
coal black tails behind them.
Lines traced in the soil, once smooth,
like the gaps between my teeth pulled closed.
Time, a potter’s wheel, the way it stretches and bends.
“Two ways,” Hemingway says, “Gradually, then suddenly.”

 

Caelan DiCosmo is a junior at Maggie L. Walker Governors School. Her work has been recognized in Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and published in The Weight Journal and The Milking Cat.

Tea Party of Ghosts

By Sophia Bueskens-Wong

I see her by the window pane,
A little girl without a name.
Her eyes are dark like river Styx;
As dark as burned out candle wicks.
Her face as pale as fresh laid snow,
She casts an eerie, moonlit glow.
And in her hand, she holds a cup;
In the cold air, steaming up.
A cup of pomegranate tea,
A tribute to Persephone.

I see him by the old oak tree,
His haunting eyes stare into me.
His mouth a perfect Cupid’s bow,
Lamenting his forgotten home.
The stars cast light upon his face,
Distorted in this eerie place.
And in his hand, he holds a cup;
In the cold air, steaming up.
A cup of salty smelling tea,
A tribute to great Neptune’s sea.

I see her in the daisy patch,
The barn door rattles at its latch.
Her eyes shine with Loki’s mischief,
Wind unfolds for her; its mistress.
Her wounded chest, as they tell her,
Sealed her place in great Valhalla.
And in her hand, she holds a cup;
In the cold air, steaming up.
A cup of mead, not simple tea
A tribute to the Valkyries.

 

Sophia is a sixteen-year-old high school student from Australia who has been writing as long as she can remember. She has been published in a variety of youth-founded digital literary magazines and currently works as a blog writer for Vellichor Literary Magazine and a graphic designer for Paper Cranes Literary. When not writing poetry, she is usually either working on her novel ‘The Starlit Carnival’ or performing in musicals.

Paper Cranes

By K. Mehta

i. regret. repentance. rebirth. A freshened hearth upon which
a new life is cooked. We were taught to taste deeper than
most, so I know: burnt black beans taste like anger, lumpy rice tastes like another round
of layoffs, over-sweetened tea tastes like a daughter,
thinking of her mother, miles away, while holding her
new baby and promising her a future that she will hand over through the
fresh, cloudless blue of a nitrile glove.

ii. cardstock. tissue. newsprint. A page torn out of The Bombay Times. The dogeared
chapters of your Daddy’s new copy of Dickens, his
Hinglish, coughed out in asthmatic pen, staining the margins. You
fly. Wings stained by cashew paste shipped from the distant land you are taught to
call home. Tell your grandmother about origami, and ask if the cranes that
you fold live near her house because she too has a red spot on her forehead. She will
correct you and laugh, but your heart will sink a little. Wonder whether she can’t
understand because she is wingless, still perched in the distant land you call
home.

iii. dawn. noon. dusk. Your mother is the sun, rising.
You pray she is not yet set when she arrives
home in her scrubs each night. You leave your cranes
on the rickety desk, beneath the bills, near the coffee pot. She too is a bird. The early riser who
made it out. One day, when you visit the distant land you know as home, you will learn that
the slums still sing her name. Praise the one who got away. You will smile at her; face
now crinkled around the temples, a new yellowing around her eyes. And hold her hand;
still weightless, palm still hovering just above yours. You will grasp her tightly
because you know: that it takes everything she has for her not to unfold her wings
and lift off.

 

 

 

K. Mehta is a high school poet whose work has been published in The Cloudscent Journal, Apprentice Writer, and The New York Times. Her work has also been honored by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, Smith College, Hollins University, and the National Council of English Teachers.

New Again

By Joy Yin

A new time
Finally
I wash my tainted hands
With the springs of the new year
I yearn to shed my old skin
To become something
Fresh and great
With the countdown
I recount
Everything I’ve done wary
And I rinse them off
With the bubbles of golden champagne
New again.

 

 

Joy Yin is a fourteen-year-old Chinese American writer and poet.  She has works either forthcoming or already published in Skipping Stones Magazine, Scfaikuest, Wonton’s Letter, Fluorescent Magazine, Star*Line, and more. She has always had a love for reading and writing, in her free time, she likes to curl up and read a good book. Joy is currently based in Mexico City. Find her on Instagram at @joyyinm88.

The Presence of Absence

By Anandi Gunda

It’s been forever since the beginning,
The sapling we sowed now bears oranges,
I recall giving you my orange every lunch,
A memory buried so deep hit me in seconds,
“Oranges are my favorite!” You exclaimed with a voice I’ll never forget,
Everything else is hazy….
That’s when Oranges became my favorite too,

It’s been forever since the beginning,
7 magnets of destinations are stuck on the fridge,
I recall giving you my salary every month,
A memory buried so deep, it occurred to me in seconds,
“Paris, London, New York! Let’s leave no corner of the planet untouched!” You cheered
with a smile I wish was on my face at the end of the day,
Everything else is hazy…
That’s when I picked up this hobby too,

It’s been forever since the beginning,
A new pair of camping shoes leans against the wall,
I recall giving up on your arguments on how nature makes one calm,
A memory buried so deep, I recollected the incidents within seconds,
“Let’s just sit peacefully on the top of the hill behind your house. You’ve been to many
concerts!” You kept nagging me with a childish spirit, I wish I could muster up to this
day,
Everything else is hazy….
That’s when I stayed at peace with myself too

It’s been forever since the beginning,
The heart you broke is now strong,
I recall giving you my heart when yours was lost,
A memory buried so deep, that it struck me in seconds,
“I love you.” You conveyed with a gaze I still search for to this day,
Everything else is hazy….
That’s when I started to love myself too,

It’s been forever since I’ve forgotten you,
Nothing of yours is in my house,
But your presence is in every corner,
“1 sachet of sugar in my coffee please!” You used to call out from the sofa,
I’ve only been adding 1 sachet in mine
That’s when I realized not everything is sweet too,

It’s been forever since I’ve forgotten
you, My niece still asks about you, wants you
to sing, It seems you are the most memorable,
The house still reverberates the hum of your guitar
strings, How could one verbalize one’s emotions when one
encounters a siren?
That’s when I realized I am deep underwater,

It’s been forever since I’ve forgotten you,
Our grad pic now frames only my
face, The memories I made with you, locked in a corner of
my brain,
Yet you are an integral part of me
now, “You sound just like him.” Remarked my mom as she silently
laughed,
You’ve not occupied my mind but
somehow… That’s when I realized
you never left,

It’s been forever since the beginning,
And it’s never been the end,
For forever seems like a fleeting moment too,
It’s been forever since I’ve forgotten you,
And not a day has passed without you crossing my mind,
For your dreams are now mine too

 

Anandi Gunda is a sophomore at the University of Hyderabad, majoring in Economics. She discovered her passion for poetry in 11th grade, viewing it as a creative outlet to express her emotions. Anandi’s poetry draws inspiration from her personal experiences and keen observations of the world around her. In her free time, she enjoys reading short story collections, binge-watching series, and playing badminton. Her work has previously been featured in Corporeal Lit Magazine, Teen Ink, The Cleverly Creatives, and The Sunnies Magazine.

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