West Liberty University

by Juliana Haug

I didn’t intend to fall in love.
I was not seeking for someone.
I truly didn’t need anything.
But then you walked through those doors.
And I started wanting, hoping, and praying
for every little thing.

I wanted to hear your laugh,
and call you at the end of the day.
I wanted to catch your tears,
and hold your hand,
then beg you to stay
for five more minutes
we knew would be an hour.
I wanted to be your space of safety
and you to beas mine
through the sweet and sour.

I wanted to worship God.
Bend the knee at church
and thank the Divine
for putting us together,
and guiding our soulmate search.

I wanted to share all things,
prayers, stickers, and dances.
And pick thousands of daisies,
off the side of the road,
despite the passing glances.

I wanted to go out with you.
Whatever suited our fancy.
Or stay in.
To finish homework, cook, clean,
or chase storms that are chancy.

I wanted to cheer,
being the loudest at your races.
And sit in our converted van,
traveling the world,
making silly faces.

I wanted to dress all in white.
And see you down the aisle.
Then say “I do”
for better or worse
in times of ease and trial.

I wanted to mess up,
to argue and to cry.
Then you’d pull me into your arms.
I’d whisper “it’s okay honey,”
as a soft reply.

I wanted to fold the mounds of laundry,
and be your wife.
To bear and hold our babies,
with their curly hobbit hair,
guiding them through life.

I wanted to grow old together.
Hold midnight dances in the kitchen,
laugh uncontrollably,
say “I love you more,”
and make it a competition.

In the beginning,
you said it was “for science”
I laughed, we kissed, then fell.
All I wanted was you.
But now I put it all behind us.

[ display-posts category=”poetry”]

by Jelly rogers

Have you ever sat and thought about how lonely the stars must be?
They must feel like how most of us do
surrounded but forgotten.
When we think of stars we tend to gravitate toward the most important star of all, the sun.
This is also the way society works.
Picking the most “important” ones out of the mix
to make a constellation.
While the rest of us are pushed to the side
only to be forgotten about while you sleep.

[ display-posts category=”poetry”]

by Chloe Eltrignham

Four walls known since birth; quiet creaks from these walls settling. You have known no
change, grown and raised to know how to survive in small-town America.

Hiding hair dye to not get scolded for the outrageous color, yet you’ve done the same?

Listen to the small-town gossip, holding on fearing your own name being brought up.

Keep quick with your conversations with outsiders in this community, as conflicting
ideals threaten those in power.

Quiet late-night talks with friends outside, waiting for that breath of fresh air.

For now, you sneak your late-night cigarettes, while your piercings heal and roots grow
in. Try as you might, the understanding is you are already in the gossip and how you
were raised comes into question, you know you are not meant for small-town America.

So now as you hide your buds in the hedges and begin your night waiting for the day
when high school does end, you can just exist in peace.

[ display-posts category=”poetry”]

by Ashton Wronikowski

Sometime between late and early
the floors groan under familiar footsteps
falling through the house.
Gunshots and war cries clamor through
the crack of my closed door as
I listen for the sigh of old age
escaping your favorite chair when you
occupy your station.

So starts the game that takes place every night.
John Wayne’s drawl is the call
for me to shrug off sleep’s soft whispers,
stroking my hair and promising good dreams.
This is my only opening —
at 3 A.M. with cracked cups of coffee
warming your hands and cigarette embers
winking in the dark.

Silently, I slip from underneath the sheets,
in case the warden sleeps lightly tonight.
You’ve passed down lessons from deer in the backyard, and I approach slowly.
We both know to bolt
if one careless step cracks in the air.
Folding myself into the chair next to you,
we sit in the quiet
and prepare for me to break it.

“Papa, what was it like seeing Grandma for the first time?”

[ display-posts category=”poetry”]

by Angelina Tarlovskaia

grayness covered the city’s cold hands.

the empty eyes of the houses looked out into the dampness of the day.

I was sitting in the bathtub, watching things being washed.

but the time

was

washing

me

away

[ display-posts category=”poetry”]

by Creed Kidney

Yellow
is how I think of home.

The lane
dressed for the coming summer,
all in the pageantry
of seasons.

I smell them,
sweetly
upon the breeze;
their spindly branches,
reaching ever higher
towards the sun.

Their collection is grand,
resting
along the roadside;
each flower,
a different memory,
each limb,
a different name.

Homesickness is kept
betwixt the branches
of forsythia.

[ display-posts category=”poetry”]

by Michelle Yadrick

O yolkless egg
O honeycomb womb
This is what it takes
to die in Picassoan

My eyes purple-black
this sunny afternoon
O little unlife
O raw nondeath

Since no one will talk to me
I talk to God
His quietude is better
than your disgust

[ display-posts category=”poetry”]

by Ashton Wronikowski

If my grandmother dies, she’ll think I hate her.
All the sunburns I got while watching her freckles
reach out to each other, giving her a “tan”,
the countless hours watching Harry Potter with
her gentle snores as the backdrop while I memorized each line,
the hundreds of hummingbirds landing to be closer
to her sweetness are all wasted
when I think of her now,
sitting in her house and waiting for my call.

I almost wish her bright coral lipstick stains had been permanent,
that her fiercely tight hugs had branded me,
marking me forever with the visible signs of her
as if somehow that would measure up
to all the plain vanilla ice cream cones dripping down our hands,
every night that lead to “just for tonight”’s sharing of beds,
to the Band-Aid surgeries and porch swing therapies.

On a Sunday night ages ago,
I tried to blend in with the wallpaper
so the magic wouldn’t end. Mom and Dad found me, like they always did
and on the way out my grandmother wrapped me in her arms
smelling of Clinique and warmth, and made me promise not to forget her
when I grew up and left home.

I’m so sorry.
I have no excuse, other than admitting
that looking at you hurts, because
you’re a hummingbird flying in slow motion — beautiful, but broken,
functioning at half capacity.
Listening is worse, somehow, because what once was
my favorite record, ringing strong and clear,
now rasps and skips – and skips –
a tinny parody of what once was.

Am I supposed to just watch this?
A woman who danced on tables when she won at cards,
who raced me through sprinklers to prove she was faster,
just disappear? Fading slowly so I see
every lost feather drift to the ground and hear
every tired heartbeat grow fainter?

Go ahead and hate me.

[ display-posts category=”poetry”]

by Haley Blakemore

Stars
And the human race
Another universe
Out in space

Crashing, bashing

Void of noise
Space will erase
StarsAnd time
Absolute restriction
Nothing aligns
Plummeting, Summiting
Racing towards you
Violent yet silent
Stars
And creation
All black holes reversing
Blooming carnations
Taking, making
Bleeding energy
Coalescence that’s incessant

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