Deleterious to Health by Matthew Ciaramitaro

Deleterious to Health

I've got a cot with shingles wrought.

I clean each drop off of the cot

But still, I find so many blots.

I work, I ache, I sleep, I wake,

And yet, I find, my cot, still breaks.

They talk of how my hands turn black

With soot, from keeping it intact,

yet me my cot has sought attack,

I fight, I lose, I yield, I lose,

It seems, I've lost, the will to move.

My work, in vain, caused great disdain

to me, my name, and all in this game.

Each day, I claim, it bursts aflame.

I fix, I change, but it's ephemeral.

I never will escape the peril.

I want simply a chance to lead

A day where once I can be free

A day where once I can attack ,

I choose, I pick, I aim, I miss

There is never a day where I get success.

Yet friends, they come, they lift the load.

To me their worth is more than gold.

They are what I would not forebode.

Family, and friends, and love, they send.

They keep my life from bitter end.

Set in Stone by Spencer Taft

Set in Stone

It is easy to feel like a mind of concrete,

A single block, set among thousands,

as layers of discarded chewing gum sit on your surface

keeping the secrets in.

Just trying to survive, with the assault of rain and snow and sun and footsteps of others

Trying to pierce the surface, as you refuse to falter,

until a crack appears, splitting the surface in two for an hour or so

As children avoid it

Lest their mothers pay the price.

And you do the same.

You sit, open and weak to the elements,

until a new layer of stone is piled on top

and you are right back where you started,

Minus some indents where the cracks were,

Stuck right where you are

Just staying alive.

Your surface, smooth as marble at a glance,

looks just like the other blocks around you

As the people above waltz over you,

Laser focused on their routines.

Their sneakers, boots, $200 loafers

all taking their toll,

one chip at a time.

They never look back.

Seasons change, people come and go,

But still you stay, stoic and stable

Expecting nothing from anyone, but willing to endure

Whatever they throw your way,

Cracks be damned.

Eventually you realize

Those cracks, hidden under all those layers,

go deeper than you know.

Suddenly, you’re not so strong.

Your stone façade stays, strong as ever.

As your core crumbles by the hour.

The people bear down on you

day after day,

never a second thought,

While you can do nothing but watch,

and wait,

and pray it ends up alright

and add more layers to the surface,

because the surface is all that’s left.

A Walk in the Park by Spencer Taft

A Walk in the Park

Love is not giggling on a park bench

Love is not holding hands in the midday sun, applying pecks to the cheek.

Love is not a texted smiley face or a wish to have a good day.

Love is not seeing someone every day and reveling in their presence.

Love is not knowing that someone is rooting for you.

Love is not knowing that every day, you can count on someone saying “hello”.

Love is not an emotional thread that connects the lives of two people.

Love is not unconditional agreement to the ideals of another.
Love is not control.

Love is not thinking more of one person than you do of the whole rest of the world

Love is not support in times of trouble and celebration in triumph

Love is not knowing that someone cares.

Love is not easy

Love is not cheap

Love is not fair.

Love, real love,

Is devoid of romanticized disney princess fantasy

Far above pretense and stereotype.

Love only reveals itself

when you say the wrong thing, and hurt someone

and realize you can’t live with yourself

Until you know they’re safe.

Dancing to Frank Sinatra

By Kate Parisi

Across the room his eyes are shining

blue as an endless see of

wishing and dreaming and hoping

that maybe one day he'll grow up

and be what he thinks he should be,

to be what his parents want,

to love how he’s supposed to love

as told by everyone else.

He wants to be an engineer--

he told me once--

but the way he said it

wasn't hopeful and dreaming

it was a hopeless dream;

a bucket list wish.

But I thought bucket lists

were supposed to be made for people

who needed something to look forward to.

Here I am thinking he has that,

here I am thinking that every person

has something to look forward to.

Here I am, wrong again.

I catch his eye from his corner seat

slouched back in a weighted way

as if the world he carries on his shoulders

is more like Jupiter than Earth.

But when our eyes meet

he looks at me like he’s just remembered

the nights we had where

talking about our futures

didn't seem like a chore, but rather

a place we could go together

where gravity wasn't gravity

and hopes were reality.

We were astronauts and cowboys,

we were firefighters and doctors and singers

and lovers and livers and we lived

in our time, our infinity, as if it was our now.

As if we could wake up tomorrow and live

how we said we could live.

It was always more fun that way.

He looks at me now like he did the first time,

the gleam in his eyes a mix of surprise

and curiosity. Of hope.

He rises from his seat and moves,

the weight of the world on his shoulders

replaced by a smattering of stardust.

His hands on mine,

holding and breathing and caring.

We danced until the sun rose again.

Gently Overcast by Jaclyn Lowe

GENTLY OVERCAST

T w o  p e o p l e  w a l k i n g  t o  t h e  s t o r e  t a l k i n g  a b o u t

T h e  b i l l s  a n d  w h a t  t h e  w e a t h e r  i s  l i k e .

C l o u d s  i n  t h e  s k y.  F e e t  h i t t i  n g  p a v e m e n t. W a l  k i n g

S t i l l  t o  t h e  s a m e  p l a c e .  P a s t  t h e  o l d  m o t e l

T h a t  w a s  b u r n t  d o w n  a  f e w  m o n t h s  b a c k .  H e a d i n g  t o  t h e

S a m e  s t o r e  e v e r y d a y  w h e r e  t h e y  s e l l  t h e  s a m e

T h i n g s .  S h e  r e m e m b e r s  t h e  b e g i n n i n g  w h e n  t h e y  f  i r s t  m e t  

T h e n   l o o k s  a t  h i m  a n d  f r o w n s  b e c a u s e  t h i s  i s

A l l  s h e  w i l l  e v e r  h a v e .  H e  l o o k s  a t  h e r  a n d  d o e s  n o t h i n g

B e c a u s e  h e  d o e s  n o t  w a n t  h e r  t o  k n o w

T h a t  e v e r y d a y  h e  w a n t s  l i g h t  a  m a t ch  a n d  l e t  t h e  

F l a m e s  c a r e s s  h i m  .  H e  c a n  r e m e m b e r  t h e  f i r s t  t i m e

T h a t  i t  h a p p e n d. S h e  w a s  a n g r y  a n d  h e  w a s  

S c a r e d,  b u t  s h e  d i d  i t  a n y w a y s.  T h e  b r u i s e

L o o k e d  l i k e  a  s t or m  c l o u d  e n c i r c l i n g  h i s  l e f t

E y e.  H e  t o l d  e v e r y o n e  i t  w a s  n o t h i n g  b u t  i t

W a s  e v e r y t h i n g.  H e  l o v e d  h e r  o n c e,  a  l o n g  t i m e  a g o  s o

H e  w e n t  f a r  a w a y  a n d  t o o k  h i s  m a t c h b o x  w i t h  h i m.

---

Difference and Distance

By Chloe Kenyon

deserts and the east coast

what's the difference?

about 3,000 miles, no

it's more like 4,000

coast to coast?

almost but not quite.

the desert is not on the coast

there's one difference

about two hours

change in time

it's 7:00 on the coast

it's 5:00 in the desert

there's two differences for you

how's the weather treating you?

oh it's in the mid 70's,

must be nice to be warm

it's cold on the coast

freezing on the coast

try the low 30's here

there's three differences for you

how about the trees?

deserts don't have trees,

deserts have cactus

deserts have shrubs

and then theres the coast

the coast has trees

pine trees,

oak trees,

growing along the waters edge

there's four differences for you

deserts and the coast have colors

the desert is brown

dry and brown

the coast is green

green with trees and the ocean

there's five differences for you

another thing, the ground

deseret ground

it's dry and cracked

coastal soil

it's wet and rocky

there's six differences for you

the surrounding space

in the desert it's miles of open

plateau to plateau

by the coast theres rocks and trees

until the coast meets the ocean

there's seven differences for you

the people

there's people in the desert

there's people on the coast

so similar

but so different at the same time.

now theres eight differences

eight differences

eight months

almost 4,000 miles

four time zones

about 18 states

and a world of missing you

that's what stands,

between the desert and the coast

between you and I

Deity by Kate Parisi

Is he here with me now, do you suppose?

I catch glimpses of him in the most crowded of dreams.

Have you let him come home to visit?

It’s probably just my silly imagination.

Or was that his laugh I heard to my right?

No.

It was just the whisper of breeze

dancing through the drapes.

Surely.

I suppose it wasn’t his smile I saw in the crowd the other day;

the brilliant white sun dancing off his toothy grin

creating a beautiful prism of our life together.

But how could it not have been?

Is it possible that he never even left?

I had hoped that he wouldn’t,

It’s just that the world seems remarkably colder since.

Please.

Just tell me if he’s still here.

I almost know the answer,

but I need to know for sure.

Is this all for real, God,

or just my mind’s deranged cure?