West Liberty University

by Kiarra Palmer

The sky paints the picture of a salty goodbye kiss,
the red projected from the sun shows the world
how bloodshot eyes can be a beautiful tragedy.
Different shades of pink floating behind the trees
look like his lips when he closed his eyes,
and told me to drive safe.

The blue fades into colors that sound like love and pain.
The song playing through the car radio reminds me,
reminds me of the first time he said, ‘I love you.’
The next reminds me of the top level of a parking garage,
where he held my hand in his and smiled at the lowering sun,
nodding his head to the music, drinking from my cup of lemonade.

When the sky begins to lie down,
the world squints atand the burning light in adoration,
and I caught myself looking at you how others
look at the resting sun. With adoration,
but also with anger, because I can never fully
open my eyes and let you overtake my being.

The clouds move to form new friendships, new love,
new beginnings, new stories, and new pain.
The pigments of the Heavens pave the road of change.
Limbs on trees glide in the air like fountain pens,
all simultaneously writing the next chapter
of the Earth’s autobiography.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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?”

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