February 2018: Ten Poems

Preparing blackened boy, I heat a house

with matches struck by boredom. Hungry flames

escape and gnaw the door. The boy can’t douse

the fire that licks the walls and ends his games.

 

I marinate a girl in salty brine.

As coral traps her foot, some kelp and weeds

entangle legs. A shark’s sharp teeth confine

her thrashing limbs. She trails from jaws and bleeds.

 

Methinks it’s best to serve outdoorsmen chilled.

As snowflakes season skin, the hiker slips.

The crack of bone on stone announces spilled

ingredients, and frostbite tints his lips.

 

One day, dear reader, you shall make a fine,

delicious dish, and I alone shall dine.

 

 

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.

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.

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.

I think of freedom as an empty vessel

singing about god’s mercy and how she

thrashed the skies, how the rivers flocked

to her bedside as god sang the mountains

into existence. I think of death blistering along

the underside of our arms or of stabbing

fresh meat until it ripens. I dream of the

release when milk spills from our mouths,

baby teeth gleaming on the rooftop.

I dream of an origami moth’s tongue

folding and bursting into flames.

I think of gulping the smoke billowing

from our cars and wonder how fish

can plunge down the toilet but wash up

on shore, glowing clean, dripping wet

onto the sand. You see, I want to learn

how to flush my sins like purging the

aftertaste from wine. Prayers slip down

the steps of a temple and I ask god how to

wring the sadness from my body. I dream

of scraping the salt from my silhouette.

 

Rachana Hegde is an eighteen- year-old Indian writer from Hong Kong. Her poetry has appeared in DIALOGIST, Diode Poetry Journal, and The Blueshift Journal. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and nominated for Best of the Net. Find her at www.rachanahegde.weebly.com.

I fell into the pond,

body pearled and flickering.

 

A painless death would be a

miracle, something to bear.

 

The night pretended vulnerability

and even this was too much.

 

I collected my glossy truths;

I pretended this would not last.

 

I was still learning to live but then,

this happened and I want to know why.

 

My tongue lay trapped, lazy like a

frog boiling in its sweat.

 

I hungered for melted chocolate

as my fear stained the water.

 

The upturned faces of our mothers

shone in the light. It was hard to

 

apologize for this intentional mistake.

I had to tear apart the truth, maybe

 

dress it up like a ghost story.

I buttered my lips so it would slide

 

out easily. Late that night, I walked

back into the pond. Leaves swirled

 

around my ankles as I floated,

dress dragging me down.

 

Rachana Hegde is an 18 year old Indian writer from Hong Kong. Her poetry has appeared in DIALOGIST, Diode Poetry Journal, and The Blueshift Journal. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and nominated for Best of the Net. Find her at www.rachanahegde.weebly.com.