February 2018: Ten Poems

How We Talk About Juliet

By Amanda Lee

Botanically: as the blushing rose named

for her, vivisected into light-shy

petals. On the flower

-laced continuum of taxonomy

we scatter her somewhere between

inanimate object and heroine.

ii.

Linguistically: we assign her the word

“devoted” and move on to Romeo.

But shouldn’t we stop and debate if she, too,

can be strong? Debate if women can be

workers

breadwinners?

Only 2 women debate in parliament.

iii.

Mathematically: equate her relationships. Love

is the product of physical beauty. Is this

why my friends starve themselves?

Strawberry juice

is the colour of botched

skin after plastic surgery, blood

seeping through Botoxed smiles.

iv.

Artistically: paint her pale skinned, baby-

curled, trailing damask. We hand her

a button

for modesty. Then criticize her

for her short skirts, hot pink

binders and crop tops.

Astronomically: hold our hands against the same

constellations Juliet

looked up to when Romeo left her lost

and alone. We watch the moon wax and

wane, looking for a line of best fit

through this

star-crossed path.

Amanda Lee Siu Ching is from Singapore. Amanda is a student at Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) and a Creative Arts Programme mentee. Her work has been recognised by the Torrance Legacy Creative Writing Awards and appeared in TeenInk.

Father

By Stephen Duncanson

May I move your shovel from beside the door? Back when I was little, the street you’d clear stamping, damp layers shed, boots upon the floor; you haven’t touched it once this year.

Scrape scrape, oh how quickly you would move. My brothers too would press our noses against window glass to see what you’ve
cut through the snow, red hat and standing tall.

And now your hair gets more and more like snow; it’s melting off with every coming spring.
And grey, asphalt pebbles, where once was glow —do I need worry? Have you lost something?

Father, I moved your shovel from beside the door, now I brave the storm outside
and I need you, all the more.

Stephen Duncanson is a freshman at Southern Connecticut State University. He has been published once before in the Blue Marble Review as well as in Polyphony HS. In his free time he enjoys reading and weightlifting.

Solipsist

By Dana Dykiel

        Small towns grow big stories
in the cracks between the sidewalk, in the silence
between words, the ones we fill
with what we do not know.
        We have heard sirens call
from static, read novels
from paragraphs, built lives
out of fantasies.
        We have bloomed too bold
for tepid sunlight and gentle
breaths of earth-
        We are prodigies of steel
and sugar, the ghosts
of cities not yet seen and of
devotions not yet lived. Now,
        We find no stories left untold
and lie on our backs, sinking
into the ceiling, hoping to transform
through our own alchemy.
        An army of children, straining to grow up,
waiting for the world to move.

Dana is a high school senior who lives in Massachusetts. As a lover of language, she works as a staff member on Polyphony HS and Window Seat. Her writing has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, as well as published on Kingdoms in the Wild.

Planet Blue

By Vivian Tsai

beneath the clear sky we are wide-eyed

and wee,

all dancing-and-dizzy

wherever we roam;

how lovely to spin

ourselves topsy-and-tizzy

on the brink of this marble

we like to call

home.

Vivian Tsai currently studies computer science and applied math at Johns Hopkins University. She spends her free time doodling, writing letters, and playing tennis with friends.

The Silver Screen’s Lion

By Emily Dorffer

The king of Hollywood— the main event, the star—

Demands the roaring crowd’s attention. Royal pain

Awaits the swooning girls who beg to stroke his mane.

He bares his teeth, a predatory smile, and paws

His prey behind the scenes. He feasts on wild applause

And box office revenues, claims the lion’s share

Of praise, and blames his bombs on brands his costars wear.

He reigns a concrete kingdom, prowling past the mates

He ruled by stalking, spiking drinks, and skipping dates.

The paparazzi poach a picture, hunting news

To mount on magazines and garner website views.

He snarls and roars at newsroom queens, his pride destroyed,

As channels pounce on stories. Fade to black. A void

Consumes his fans and fame. The scavenger remains

Encaged. He dreams of breeding, meat, and private planes.

The girls remember beastly nights, each one a scar.

Emily Dorffer is a current undergraduate at Johns Hopkins University. When she isn’t busy reading or writing, she loves spoiling her cat and baking with her mom. Her works have previously appeared in Cicada, Breath & Shadow, and The Lyric.

2nd Period Maths

By J.L. von Ende

I don’t consider myself a poet

I like to think I’m a mathematician;

There’s something burning inside her

That I can’t quite calculate.

Each time she speaks

I listen closely for hidden x’s and y’s

Maybe a z or two

But my mind is distracted by the movement of her lips

A cosine curve in dark red.

She ties her hair up into deep chestnut twists

My abstract geometry professor wasn’t lying

Fibonacci spirals do exist everywhere.

I love mathematics

Puzzles, missing pieces, transformations through numeral planes

God, this is the most challenging puzzle of them all

I scribble out equations over and over

And smear graphite on my fingertips

But my final conclusion is always the same:

I love this girl more than I ever could the numbers.

J.L. Von Ende is eighteen-year-old writer from Washington, D.C. His hobbies include: feeding pigeons, studying mathematics, writing, and riding the subway for fun.