by Casey Weaver OLIVIA: 18, she/they, Chinese-American, founder of GSA at their middle school, total flirt, has flouncy hair barely contained by little clips at the crown of her head INEZ: 18, she/her, second generation Venezuelan-American, goofy, nerdy, often overthinking, oldest sibling in busy house with cousins and grandparents Setting: a cool Saturday night in July at an intimate concert venue. At rise, Olivia and … Continue reading Nightlight

A field of stars

by Josh Stone On a precipice of faith stands ISmall staring at the starsThose fiery souls who light my sky andCast shadows onto brightest doubtsThey are my friends and IWill be among them soonWithout fear to hinderOr dread to send my path askew Through those stars will I roamPurple plumes of gas giantsIn those carbon fields will I grazeSpending each breath among the grains of … Continue reading A field of stars

Harbert, MI

by Ella Brady this summer,the tide ate the sandit swallowed up the bedsof the magic rocksthat survived lake water wavesand cast the spells of childhoodthat made cuts both deeperand heal faster we used to float on wayward Styrofoamthat was lost somewhere in betweenChicago and Michiganwhen the sun came downthe industrial packaging material—boat palace—was dragged onto shoreonly to be launched againat sunrise this summer,pollutants scrape against … Continue reading Harbert, MI

baby yaga’s castle

by Max Migdail my home is coming running on chicken legsconfessed brother lobsterscuttling and clucking and mucking and runningall the way to your porchassured brother lobstersoon we shall be neighborsmy door to yoursin under five secondssaid brother lobsterfor we are a very long-lived peopleus lobstersnever seen one die have yougoaded brother lobsteri’ll still be here when the renovations are doneand i can crawl and pulse … Continue reading baby yaga’s castle


By: Ella Brady a park bench deserves sun spots, it has earned them. it weathered candy-struck tongues licking lips that form tunnels for whispers that oscillate between swollen party-balloon cheeks. if you stuffed my wrinkle lined mind inside that pastel frame, where I lived with you, would I love still lake water like it was new, every time, would all the muscles in my face … Continue reading Tinted