(Compiled by Julia Walkowicz)

Unnamed (It literally doesn’t have a name) By Madison McCarthy

The site of an abandoned altar

Sits in a wilting sanctuary

The smell of lavender lingering

From drawn-out rituals and ceremonies.

In their wake,

Leaving a thick layer of dust

Settled atop the marble.

The sanctuary was

Bandaged in thick green foliage,

Vines embracing every crack in every column,

Accompanying each lonely crevice

The sun shone through


Of roses and orchids

To gaze on one figure.

Coated in white robes

Gold speckling his attire.

Hem tinged in red tears.

Hands intertwined.

A small scar situated under the left eye.

To represent those who have been beaten and bruised under society’s hands

While dozens of sigils marked his arms

Peeking out from neatly folded sleeves

For the names of each who were lost fighting to see the light

Casting shadows that extended throughout the hall

Drowning everything in

A Thick,


Of black mist

His body slightly twitched

Fingers crunching

Back and forth.

The body creaking

At each hoarse inhale;


As prayer


Prayer was spouted.

Properly ordered and annunciated.


The sanctuary stood silently,

Waiting for him to finish.

Each iris holding its breath

While the daisies’ tears

Sat in puddles on the floor

Petals reaching towards the man in light

Far out of reach.

The man listened to the hum of every prayer.

To every inflexion

To every pause

To each inhale

That would soon spew more words

Filling the lonely sanctuary

With music

Long lost to time

Ode to a Tree by Emily Woods

Most recently did my adoration fall for a tree

Affluent in leaves

Was this lanky tree

A xenagogue, he transported me

Snudge was I as I walked by

Know not the tree

That I was intrigued

Reliving the moment every night

I cannot conceive a belief on anything

Save for the tree

Belittle my mind

With its leafy greens

Infesting my brain

In emotional waves

Sit in silence as I ponder the tree

Knowing not if it loves me

I sit still and wish for it

But will the universe listen to me?

Ackwards I lay

As I think of my love

Now stuck in a rut

and unable to get up

Agelast am I

Uncertain and sad

Cataphasis I try to make the tree love me back

Kill all doubt that he is not for me

Elk do wander

Under his juniper leaves

Maroon is the sky above us

I watch the elk from afar

Letting him see me

But not who I am

You and I, the tree and me

Would that even be a possibility?

Ode to a tree

This letter from me

Ought to know who you are

Do you even know who this is for?

Silently I say your name

Praying you can hear

Untitled By Angel Fisher

In the mirrors gaze I find my reflection twisted and fragmented

A dance of shadows, a kaleidoscope of flaws

Body dysmorphia whispers, its grip relentless.

My eyes they deceive me, for what others see,

I am blind to perceive, each feature magnified, A distorted lens

A dangerous game scrolling through images, fueling the flame,

The idealized bodies, a constant reminder of my own imperfection.

The mirror becomes a battleground, a war within, a war I cannot win,

For the reflection I see is an illusion, a prison of self hate.