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The Imperfect Present

ABSENT GRACE by Arindam Kalita (India, 25)

6/22/2024

 
Jason ambled up the trail with his brother Marc. While Marc led the way, Jason lagged behind.
With each step, his boots squeaked on the damp spring grass. Windflowers and sprouting ferns
encircled him with trees that had begun to bud, casting dappled morning sunlight through the
forest canopy.

The air was cool and crisp. A slight breeze ruffled his hair, carrying the freshness of
blooming flowers. It whispered tranquility to his soul. Jason closed his eyes and took a deep
breath, savoring the freshness that filled his lungs.

I can’t believe it’s been so long, Jason thought as his childhood memory of walking on
this trail with his siblings struck him.

“Come on! We don’t have all day!” Marc hollered, looking back at him.

“Would you cut me some slack? I’m doing my best,” Jason said.

Marc chuckled as he watched Jason struggling to keep up. “Looks like you gotta stay a
few more days to let the country air detox your body.”

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” Jason huffed. “There’s a couple dozen clients waiting
for me back in the city, and I’m the only one who can—”

“Please, don’t start with your banker stuff again. Can’t you take just one week off… for
old time’s sake?”

Read More

My Sister’s Yellow Scarf by Isabel Grey (Colorado, 27)

6/9/2024

 
​You chiffon wrap, you frayed swatch of
Marigold and mustard fabric, how you
Billowed like a ghost trail behind me as I dashed across
The backyard, pretending you were
Flaxen waves sprouting from my crown. My four-year-old mouth refused to eat
Anything other than the wispy tale of
Rapunzel. A fairy, I carried on my imaginary daydreams
Of boar hair bristles smoothing my long locks, each stroke counting down the days
Until my trips to the barber would come less. But my sister
Wasn’t a witch nor was I a pregnant
Woman in this story. All I craved was the long hair
I was denied. My mom always told me:
Fake it till you make it but
I was naked in my little boy haircut.
All I could rely on was the Eidolon
I created for myself. So from my sister’s closet
Shelf, I took you, yellow scarf, golden tulle, and wrapped what little
Semblance of belief in my gender I could suspend during play hour.

Read More

The Reality by Zaila Brinson (New York, 18)

6/9/2024

 
“Congratulations.”

That’s what they said.

We celebrated the fact that,
every month, I now have to stare
at scarlet drops
running down the bowl.

They look at me differently
when I walk into class,
or down the street...

everywhere really, tragically.

I won’t lie and say I enjoy their plaudits
even though that’s what they think is true.
​

The way they examine me,
makes me uncomfortable.
I feel the need to hide
for fear I will be snatched up,
so they can fulfill their desire
to get an even closer look
and uncover everything I want
to keep to myself and protect.

Read More

will you celebrate me? by Sailor McCoy (Kentucky, 17)

6/9/2024

 
Trigger warning: homophobia


late-evening february I am blooming
passionately and feared as the shunned on their lonesome patios
I am modeling out-of-season christmas socks
I am chugging a glass of whole milk
and dropping dry cereal in the snow
I am dreaming --
                        —glaring towards to setting sun with unshaded blue eyes
of the women forming into wives
under the arms of their ballroom men
under the banners: last high-school dance
under the mistletoe: he collects her lips
under the living room ceiling fan: fifty-second anniversary
where I sit: watching it on the big screen
I am ripping my romance movie ticket into scraps


I am dreaming --
                        —I want to become my father’s daughter
he’d carry my arm down the aisle
meet my         husband            when we reach the end
clapping for our lives prisoned together
(unashamed in this dream: we father and daughter dance) 
I am dreaming--
                       —your red-chipped nail polish still holding my shaking hand
of waiting at the aisle end
turning women in gowns

Read More

What a Rhinestone Means to Me by Isabel Grey (Colorado, 27)

6/9/2024

 
What a Rhinestone Means to Me— Duplex

After Jericho Brown

My glamor is my counterculture
Holding an x and y, I defy the suit and tie.

             To my birth, I am not tied
             ​But I cinch my waist with a sash of choice.

Rhinestones over suede is a choice
To persuade a toast in a champagne glass.

             “To your womanhood,” cheers my mirror’s glass
             For she knows how hard I fought for my pearls.

From one synapse, She grew like a pearl
After a grain of estrogen slipped through my lips.

             When I line my eyes and paint my lips
             ​I dot the “i” and cross the “t” in “authentic.”

Watch the queen dressed in authenticity because
Her glamor is her counterculture.

Read More

My Aunt Got Married in 2014 by Sailor McCoy (Kentucky, 17)

5/4/2024

 
trigger warning: homophobia
​

​
and then, it was my second time hearing     “the l slur”
​
my father was born from a barber shop to the left
   of my grandmother’s laundromat. he grew up 
        and grew back and married the hair comb his father and his father’s father wielded,
​     everyday, my 

           nana to be drove him up their holler in an old brown buick 
                —always late, always to pick up my mother.
                   scolding  him for his tardy slip, my nana to be wore
                      a cross around her neck: held it, prayed to jesus every morning,
                         lunch, and night. she told me once that she wasn’t irish, she wasn’t catholic. 
                              23 and Me reports she was wrong. 25% ireland, 75% bible belt, I wonder: are 
                                  You what you grow from? my first
                                      daycare was a sunday school. then i was grape juice and crackers. my 
                                      father dreamt of walking in that church, in my wedding.

Read More

Womanhood by Jillian Westin

5/4/2024

 
​no one prepared us
for what was to come.
our brain, body, and spirit
now changed.
where curiosity once lived,
burdens now lie.

was it for the better?

Read More

creating is an inherent trait of women by Izzy Medley (Basque Country, 18)

5/4/2024

 
​a bird in its cage
cannot fathom the ache felt
by a girl desiring to create

i try and i try
ponder and feel
peel a tangerine
but i still don’t feel real

is there something inside of me?
a messy note tainted with blood
“you could do something
bigger than this”

repressed from exploding
unbeknownst to knowing
i am not glowing
should i keep flowing?

Read More

mors babylonica by Hillary (Utah, 20)

5/4/2024

 
when I die
            bury me as a tree
            grind my bones into the finest ash
            mixed with fertilizer into that of the weeping willow tree
when i die
            bury me as a tree
            ​so i can be reborn
            to provide shade for the tired passerby
            shelter for the homeless
            home to nest wandering robins and swallows
            and the rope swing that decorates my branch - dad’s gift to his little girl
when i die
            bury me as a tree
            build a bench underneath my willow curtains
            to let the elderly couple sit
            they reminisce their love on their 56th wedding anniversary
when i die
            bury me as a tree
            my trunk hopes to be carved
            ​with hearts and initials of young lovebirds
            unsure of their own fate
            after sharing their first kiss
            under the weeping willow tree

Read More

The Purge by Carrie McKinney (Indiana, 21)

4/19/2024

 
          She opens the trunk of her car. Trash bags tumble down, coming untied. I glimpse girls’
clothes, probably juniors’ sizes, a flower-print backpack, sandals, and headphones. She crams the
bags full again, her eyes narrowed, her face drawn. Her hair’s disheveled. Graying. She reeks of
sweat. Seeing me staring at her, she flips the bird, rattling off a string of swearwords.
​          Jerk.
​          She climbs back into her car and peels out of the parking lot, her tires screeching on the
hot pavement. I haul her crap inside, all twenty-eight bags of donations, muttering to myself. The
job done, I grab today’s newspaper. Reckless driver kills seventeen-year-old girl, the headline
shouts.
​          There’s a picture of the victim.
​          She looks just like that woman.

Read More
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