Taylor Hatchet, C’21 Numb Fingers cling to the interior of warm pockets. A hood covers nearly frost-bitten ears Eyes watch him closely, examining his every move Scrutinizing him from every angle The width of his nose, his ebony kinks, his brown skin They linger on his skin Until they conceive an idea of who heContinue reading “An Endangered Specimen”
Category Archives: Poetry
Listen My Son
Br. Francisco Whittaker, O.S.B., C’ 19 You can be an accuser or an advocate, It is better to just keep quiet. Silence, the guiding philosophy of life, Flowed naturally, the essence of his success. Providing sustenance of a different kind, But also a dimension of delicate pain. A manner of life most pure, it leavesContinue reading “Listen My Son”
A Poem to My Love
Samantha Hilyer, C’22 We are flames, you and I, him and her (Somos llamas, tu y yo, él y ella) Sometimes we dance in harmony (A veces bailamos juntos en harmonia) Other times we burn out in embers (Otras veces nos quemamos en ascuas) But until the day you stop giving off sparks (Pero hastaContinue reading “A Poem to My Love”
Not Obsolete
Micaela Kreuzwieser, C’20 Nothing makes sense anymore. Hands scribbled, drafted, carefully printed, primed my thoughts into paragraphs, sparked embers that spiraled into spasmed, impassioned debates where words whirled round and round and round my inner contents. My pages now damp, mildewed with age and shame, as I sit where I was squirreled on the sameContinue reading “Not Obsolete”
L’appel du Vide
Danny Whirlow, C’21 I am a thanatologist. On these cliffs I study, contemplate. The wisping air has pulled me off path Again, Itself a strait weathered by Other wayward souls. My plodding stops and I look out over The misty water. The only thing distinguishing it From the gray skies is its turbulence. Below, RocksContinue reading “L’appel du Vide”
Coffee
Max Planchon, C’21 i can’t watch the news it hurts more than it needs to i turn and drop the coffee pot i feel it burn my feet i slip on glass and become part of the floor hot coffee seeping into crevices deeper than i knew were there a grid made of mortar holdsContinue reading “Coffee”
Astronaut 1: You Mean America’s a Fascist Death Cult? Astronaut 2: Always Has Been
Daniel DelMaramo, C’15 Poem in full, as follows Oh god Oh god We are all going to die Poem ends
Generation 