Issue Twelve

The air reeks of fish and blood,
and I have never seen your eyes look so wide
as you tell of the months and years you worked
for the cash to buy this little blue boat.

I watch you toss money into the ocean
in the form of brown-pink worms
and translucent gray shrimp you bought from Big Dave,
who gave you the morning special this afternoon
because he liked your truck.

I ask, with a scowl, why you cast away the cash
you need for school and gas and books,
All for fish food?

You smile, tap white painted wood
with a hand calloused from lines,
from reels and ropes and hooks and scales and sails
I feel your ragged palm with one finger,
ask why don’t you exfoliate,
moisturize for once?

The black-blue glare off your sunglasses
makes the backs of my eyes ache
as I watch you watching the waves
I ask, why do you waste your time,
your days,
waiting for something you don’t even know
is there?

You don’t have an answer.

I slouch in the bottom of the boat and
let the loud rush of water hush me
and fill my ears.
I lean against curved wood,
hard on the skin of my sun-blistered back,

Squint to see you sitting more still
and patient than I ever thought you could be-
there’s a reason they called you “the oaf”, after all-
but you handle this boat like a favorite old horse.

Here, on your face, I see
peace
as you wait,
a peace that I’ve wanted for you.

The air reeks of fish
and blood

…or maybe it’s just salt?

A refreshing sea breeze?

So many questions I have for you-
your money?
your hands?
your time?

but
your friends pour their cash into beer
and pour beer into mouths and toilet bowls

and
your hands are right the way they are
for grasping the things you want to hold

and
as much as I hate that camo watch,
I suspect this is not wasted time.

I don’t even know what you’re looking for
out here
where gooey horizon melts into sea,

And it’s true,
sometimes you catch nothing.

but you always seem to return
with whatever you were fishing for.

 

Jessie is a Creative Writing student at Reinhardt University. Her work has appeared in Copia, Sanctuary, and the Georgia Historical Quarterly, as well as onstage in Waleska’s third annual 24-hr Play Festival. She is currently on the editing staff of the James Dickey Review and runs StreetSigns, a faith-based blog.

 

On the dock where the sea rings deep and blue,
I watch the ships float to the moon as I  too,
become one with the night. I count them
off my fingers, hum prayers my tongue
cannot understand, row my feet to the
tune of a new national anthem
as each falls into the black horizon.

My mother watches my head nod
in counts of two, watches my
eyes follow the steady blue
that ripples at each ship’s drop.
She tells me that I am like them
in every way: iron-clad, ruled
by an anchor molded by
gaunt hands, seafaring in spirit.

She says I tend to stretch myself
in the face of moonlight, and it is then
when I see my reflection pulled taut in the sea,
like the Lady at the world’s edge whose fire
lightens the star-spangled sky behind her.

 

 

 

Changu Chiimbwe is a senior at North Rockland High School in Theills, New York. Her work has been regionally recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, nominated for an American Voices medal, and has appeared in The Rising Phoenix Review. Born in Kitwe, Zambia, and coming to the United States at the age of five, she writes poetry to honor the immigrant experience.

Why do the right words emerge
In the midst of the midnight?
Why do the stories take hold
When you are trying to dream?
Why do the poems spring forth
In the middle of the test?

Do the words
Just want to blend in
In a crowd of thoughts?
Do they realize
The injustice they deliver?
Do they even care?

I’m glad they come
And I want them to stay
But sometimes I wish
Their arrival
Was a little
Just a little
More…

Oops.
I have to go.
I’m not supposed to be up this late.

 

 

Anya Chabria is a fifteen-year-old student at The Wheatley School.  Since fourth grade, she has been coming up with poetry, which is her favorite writing style. Recently, Anya has begun submitting her work to different competitions, magazines, and websites. You can find some of her writing in TeenInk, Tumblr, and Vintage (her school’s literary magazine).  Besides writing, Anya can be found reading (both in and out of Book Club), spending time with friends in French Club or the Robotics Team, and running with the Wheatley Track team.

you are —
a sore in my mouth, born
savage amid the delicate vowels i
spin for mother; the last rotations
of summer, all cracked lips and
missteps into sidewalk puddles.
my head tilted & searching for a
requiem to the sky; the yellowing
calluses carved in my fingertips,
tender flesh hardened by sawing
strings. i trace your name like i’m
learning to write for the first time;
like driving on the freeway
with nowhere to go, broken brakes
and needing to get away; this poem,
a handful of loose threads with
ends i cannot stitch together
—my dying youth.

 

Emmy Song is a junior at Montgomery Blair High School in Maryland. Her poetry has been recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, and has been published in Rising Phoenix Review, Sierra Nevada Review, and more. When she is not indulging in creative writing, Emmy can be found editing travel vlogs or curating Spotify playlists.