STUDENT WORK
Creative Writing IV: High School & College
The Keys
By Naomi Faber
By Naomi Faber
I find her old piano in the basement.
When she played she called herself a locksmith, matching keys with notes until a melody would open up to her.
Sometimes, she would sit me on her lap and teach me. Warm fingers poised under hers like spiders seeking shelter. Her face scrunched up in concentration, wrinkles pronounced.
She called every song a door, and this the instrument with which you force them open.
Now, I mimic her once more. Fingers tensed over dusty keys. A pale little spider.
I press down gently, digging into cold, bone, ivory.
The piano makes no sound.
She must have closed the door behind her.
Lottery Night
December 1, 1969
By Sarah Zimmelman
February 14… February 14 is 004.
“Do you think Johnny's watching?”
“Betcha ten to one he’s sleeping like a baby,” Michael said, narrowing his eyes at the television. “The Viet Cong’ll be wiping their feet on his doormat before the draft board rings him up.”
“Just your luck you won the genetic lottery from your mother.” Anna folded her arms across her chest.
“This hip wasn’t always out of commission you know,” Michael’s father settled his weight back into the easy chair. “Damn Kraut.” He reached for a saltwater taffy from the bowl on the coffee table and fumbled with the wax paper, his jaw growing stiffer by the moment.
September 6… September 6 is 006.
“What a pill. He looks like a pill, doesn’t he?” Michael pointed at Congressman Pernie, stiff stage right. “Stocky as one of his own damn capsules.”
“Ssht. He’s only doing his job.” Michael’s father said, purple juice flying from his teeth. “And your brother’s watching alright. No doubt.”
The Congressman cracked another capsule and read aloud from the paper inside:
November 22… November 22 is 009.
“I feel sick,” Anna whispered. She reached for Michael’s hand, but it was sandwiched between his thigh and the seat cushion. She sank back into the couch and clasped her hands in her lap, knuckles white.
“We don’t have anything to worry about,” Michael murmured, his mantra of the month. “Johnny might not be watching, but Jerry and Linda are.”
“What’s this got to do with Jerry and Linda?” Michael’s father steepled his fingers and watched the congressman pluck another capsule from the bowl. “Damn deserters.”
December 6…
Anna cried out and grabbed Michael’s elbow.
“Ssht!” Michael’s father hissed, absently picking through the candy bowl.
December 6 is 010.
Anna closed her eyes and slowly settled her head on her husband’s shoulder. “December 7. You’re December 7.”
“So. Jerry?” Michael’s father glanced at his son, then returned his attention to the television.
“Jerry.” Michael rolled the knots out of his shoulders and took Anna’s hand. “Um, Dad. Anna and I have decided that if I get a low number, we’re going to stay with Jerry and Linda for a while.”
Michael’s father reached for another taffy. “Now why them of all people? They’re not even in the States.”
Michael looked at Anna. She smiled tightly and mouthed, “Here it comes.”
August 31… August 31 is 011.
Michael’s father slammed his hand on the armrest, knocking the candy bowl off the coffee table, and twisted at the hip to meet his kid’s eyes. “Look at me, Michael, look at me. You’re an American. You do right by your family.”
Stacy, Our New School
By Naomi Faber
“Wait, this is the third school you’ve transferred to?”
“Yeah, first it was Douglas, then Freeman and now here.”
The girl who had previously introduced herself as Stacy wrinkled her nose at that.
“Douglas? Don't students there bring, like, knives to school?”
“I mean, not really. I guess there was this one time where—” I meant to say more, but the look Stacy gave me with her large sad eyes and tight-lipped smile made the words catch in my throat.
“Lucky for you Miller is in one of the safest neighborhoods in the state, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about.” Stacy tilted her head slightly as she spoke, letting her beach waves fall over her shoulder in gentle, cascading patterns.
“Come sit with me for lunch and I’ll show you around, if you want.” She curled her manicured fingers around a strand of my hair. “You can pay me back by showing me how to get mine like yours.”
I pulled away from her, and she took a second too long to release my hair from her grip.
“Sorry!”
“No worries. It’s always getting in the way.” I tried to put on what I hoped was a reassuring smile and not some awkward grimace.
“I know a place that gives great haircuts,” she said, as if letting me in on a closely guarded secret. When I nodded, she gave me a bright smile, wiped her hand on her trousers and strode off.
I liked the way Stacy walked. Head high, back straight, every step punctuated by the click of a heel and a swing of the hips. When the sole of her foot kissed the ground, it felt as if the earth itself thanked her.
~
It didn’t take me long to like more than just her walk. She was charming and kind, and to say she was beautiful was both understatement and redundancy. Pale, almost iridescent skin, deep blue poetic eyes worthy of a million extended metaphors about bottomless oceans, unending skies. Stacy felt intangible, unreal at times, as if she had been plucked straight from some magical fairytale, or slowly fading daydream.
When she introduced me at lunch, she called me her friend, like we had known each other for years. “Here for a fresh start,” she said, resting both hands on my shoulders.
That's just how she was. She liked to touch and hug people, always eager to make everyone happy. I liked how she included me in things, took me to the mall and picked out dresses for me I could never afford but loved to try on anyways.
“A natural caretaker,” she called herself, as she tried out different concealers on my skin.
Stacy taught me many things. How to properly push back my cuticles, the easiest way to put in contacts. She showed me her favorite places in town and pointed out the ones she thought best to avoid. I liked her chatty hairdresser, who talked to me about her ex-husband Todd all through Stacy’s appointment, even though they didn’t do hair like mine there.
I liked Stacy’s big fancy house. I liked the meals her mother cooked, the jokes her father told. I liked the way she sneered at her brothers.
Stacy was generous, too. When we went out to eat, she would always offer to pay for me. Her friends would nod their heads approvingly, all tight-lipped smiles and kind, sad eyes.
The first time she offered, I accepted. When I came home that day, belly and wallet full, my mother rolled her eyes. She told me in no uncertain terms that I was to pay for my own meals. That’s how she said it. “In no uncertain terms.” Like the English teacher at Freeman. She only talked like that when she was mad at me, as if using bigger words would prove some point. I wonder if she gets jealous too sometimes.
I hope we don't have to move again. I like Miller.
* * *
Spring 2020
By Izzy Ray
The Florist
February lovers flock like doves
To me for roses for their sweethearts:
Peonies unfurling foxgloves,
Joy tumbling from shopping carts.
In March, sickness wilts the dismal days.
With ravenous rot and closing near,
Frowning petals wither and decay.
No one buys flowers in quiet fear.
Alas, a fresh breath of hope appears.
My business blooms like a flower bed
As the April mourners stream like tears
To me for pale lilies for their dead.
MAY
The Cashier
Hi, my name is Drew… and I have a nicotine addiction. Hahahaha I’m kidding, I’m probably fine. I do smoke a lot though. Anyway. Sorry, I just got excited with the recording and all. What are we talking about again?
Drew, we’re here to talk to you about the college couple that went missing three days ago. You told us you know them personally.
Oh man I did! Great kids. Never really talked to them though.
Okay. Um… I’m just going to... you know what? Thank you for your time, sir. Why don’t you get back to work.
No no man sit down! Lemme tell you this story okay? Sit down, sit down. Thank you. So. First week of school, they come in. Look like they’re just friends, they buy chips and candy and whatever. Next week they come in, buy like five condoms. Blushing and shit. Week after that, they come in and buy a giant pack of pregnancy tests, like 36 tests, value pack. I’m like ohhh shiiiiit!! Next week, the dude comes in alone. It’s raining and he’s absolutely soaked. Looking dismal as hell, water dripping off his braids and all over his face. I’m thinking… okay, this can’t be good. Maybe one of those tests told him something he didn’t wanna know, right? I’m like where’s the girl right, like, did he leave? Then he buys an umbrella. I make some joke about how he probably wishes he bought this earlier, and he laughs and goes, “My girl wants to go for a walk in the rain, so I had to run here and buy this before it stopped.”
I’m not understanding how this helps us--
So he’s checking out right, and then his little frantic Asian girlfriend runs in holding a trash bag. She’s soaking wet too! She goes over to him like, “How are you so fast? I brought you a towel, idiot.” And she pulls a towel out of the trash bag and they’re both laughing SO hard.
Sir, how is this related to the search?
Look. All I’m saying is, these kids would go to the ends of the earth for each other. So if you’re looking for them, you might want to start there.
MARCH
The Girl
Flying home was heartbreak,
a dry airport headache.
Waiting at the gate, they stare
at me, scare me.
Plane took off, tearing me
from you.
My eyes too slanted to be safe.
Stares blare like sirens like
I shouldn’t be here,
too near to them,
like I carry filth
behind the barrier of a mask.
Maybe they’d feel safer
if they could see my smile?
I turn inward, worried.
If I could, I would
bend the ends
of the earth to hold you.
The Boy
Campus closed, and we were suddenly thrust 2700 miles away from each other, with her in Oregon and me in New York. I feel like a wet sock whose pair got lost in the washing machine.
The Florist
Three hundred short on rent
Three hundred more to stay
I hold my son, scared,
Push April first away.
The Cashier
Essential worker my ass… Tell me when people started thinking I was essential. When they decided to pay me nine bucks an hour? Come on now, I played it fair, went to college and right into debt just like everyone else. When did they decide I was too essential to go home and not get sick with this freaky flu. I mean I could’ve quit but I hardly have anything saved up, what was I supposed to do? So now I’m here, bagging and beeping and talking to idiots without masks on. Thing about that is, they’re thinking, you know, “Oohhh I’m not gonna catch it, I’m only in contact with one cashier.” Well guess what, lady, you’re the sixty-seventh customer who’s spit in my face today cuz you’re not wearing a mask. Think about that.
The Boy
Hello, you’ve reached Nina’s Flowers. How may I help you?
Hi! I’d like to send a bouquet to my girlfriend? Our anniversary’s at the end of May. She doesn’t--
Well you came to the right place! We have a stunning romantic selection right now, we have roses
Oh she doesn’t like--
in red, yellow, orange, pink, white, purple,
Oh sorry, um, she doesn’t like roses, but--
That’s alright, we’ve got peonies, daffodils, petunias, foxgloves, chrysanthemums,
I’m sorry, ma’am, I really don’t know what any of those are... But pink and orange are her favorite colors.
Sure! I’ll put something together for you. Where will we be sending these?
Salem, Oregon, please?
Sir, we’re located in New York City. We don’t ship to Oregon.
Please. My mom told me you did her wedding bouquet. This would mean so much to me.
I’m sorry, sir.
I’ll pay extra! Any amount you want.
…
Hello?
Three hundred.
APRIL
The Girl
What happens when you separate
the inseparable,
Stick a dam in a stream
running to the sea?
When the weather’s warm
and school is through,
I’m picking up and running
to you.
The Florist
Call in a favor from a friend
With a garden in Oregon I think.
“Throw something together for me,
Just make it orange and pink.”
MAY
The Girl
Quiet when I snuck out the window
Mom doesn’t know where I am
Fourth day in a row
I slip out of a motel
Stumble onto a bus
Tumbleweed floats like a ghost
Outside the window
I call up the pharmacy to find
The funny cashier died,
The one who always made
Rainy days bright.
The Boy
The bouquet should get there by May 30th, but I need to reach her sooner than that. I’m mapping a series of buses to catch to get to Salem on time. My parents would be pissed if they knew I was doing this. So this’ll be a surprise for everyone, I guess.
The Girl
My phone died
on the bus ride I don’t know
what state I’m in anymore
not Oregon that’s for sure
bus doors open to an angry parade
bats shattered glass I run to ask
a cop: what is this?
shrieking smoke cracks
back of my head wet
warm and dark
breathing burns
I can't breathe
black blots in the blue
sky my love, are you near?
The Boy
I’m sitting at a bus stop in Cleveland. I see men in blue looking at me sideways, circling like sharks, talking into their radios. Thin white lips mouthing, “African-American male, tall, green hoodie.” My parents probably filed a missing persons report. Of course they’re looking for me. I leap on the bus, pay the fare, sit in the back. Please don’t stop the bus, please don’t stop the bus… We come to a screeching halt. What happens next is a blur. Suddenly there’s four cops dumping my backpack contents on the floor. They’re so loud. I can’t hear them. Next thing I know, I’m in a cruiser. I’m in the station. Apparently I match the description of some shoplifter. No one knows where I am, I’m panicked. I get one call. I call her. God dammit. The one time I need you to pick up, my love.
The Florist
Confusion with the bouquet
Grey grieving mother answers the door
She hated roses
What is this for
- - -
Spring 2020
By Finn Anders
“God I’m so sad. It just feels like the world is working against me.”
“Hey, don’t be sad.”
“Huh?”
“Just forget about what’s making you sad. I don’t want you to become depressed or something.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“It’s not that hard for me. Force a smile. Think about something else.”
“Sure. I’m feeling happy already.”
“That’s it! Don’t worry about it.”
“You’ve been acting really down lately. Are you feeling sad?”
“Yeah, I picked up a book about the Rwandan civil wars. It’s horrible.”
“Oh. Well don’t be too sad about it.”
“Yeah it’s just a tough read. So many people dying…”
“The president did say when we’re sad we won’t receive a good efficiency rating from our jobs.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you feeling better now?”
“It’s just a book, right?”
“Son?”
“Yeah, Father?”
“Your brother said you were acting quite… sad earlier.”
“What? No, I'm happy.”
“Awesome. I’ll see you at dinner. Stay happy. What did mother and I tell you growing up?”
“Yeah, bye.”
“Son, what did we tell you?”
“If you feel sad, stay glad, stay glad, stay glad.”
“Exactly.”
“Well--”
“How are you today?”
“Good. My child did get the virus.”
“I see.”
“I’m a bit concerned but--”
“Not sad, are you?
“Well, no of course not but I can’t help but worry--”
“Dear, just stay happy. There’s nothing else you can do.”
“Of course.”
“Join me for coffee.”
“Have you heard the news?”
“No.”
“A man hanged himself.”
“How peculiar. The sky is beautiful today.”
“Does his death not bring unsettling feelings?”
“Look at the birds.”
“They are indeed flying.”
“Hello there, man.”
“Hello, woman.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Perfect. And yourself? What are you feeling?”
“Nothing but bliss.”
They watch a man crossing the road get hit by a car.
“I am quite happy to have met you today, farewell.”
“Likewise, goodbye.”
“There is no one here.”
. . .
“Hello?”
Car horns and fall of rubble.
“Smile… smile smile...”
* * *
Three Poems
By Naomi Faber
A Worker’s Song
Oh say can they see us?
Rising at dawn
Heads down, hands moving,
working for hours
Oh say can they hear us?
Stifling a yawn
Is the view too obscured
from their ivory towers?
Oh the camera’s red glare
As we breathe in our air
How it docks us more pay
for each second we spare
Or would they just tell us how
“It's only fair?”
Oh say if they saw us,
would they be swain?
Would they tell us of freedom
and tighten our chains?
A Worker's Prayer
Come brethren, break bread with us
Let's sit and talk a bit
You have a generous five minutes
Off, before your shift
Be thankful for they've given us
Extra time for prayer
Close your eyes, bow your heads
Just a little further
Dear god who humbles and humors us
Dear god of infinite power
Dear god who watches above us
From homes of ivory towers
We give our thanks to your think tanks
Every bright idea foretold
Every manufactured thought
Another thing bought and sold
Thank you lords for all the honest
Discounts on our morals
We know what counts, our work
Its own reward
Let's not forget to bow before
Our corporate sponsored dreams
We’re sure within them are the means
With which we may succeed
But overall remember, brothers,
Freedom has its toll
Come see me after hours for
A deal on your soul.
They, Too, Were America
I hear America mourning, the varied cries I hear.
Those of mothers
As they sing their nameless songs
Of sorrows for the lost and gone
Tomorrow they'll march on
Knowing there'll be more to bury
For the fight is longer than their lives
Far from done
Those of widowed wives, belittled
Knowing they have no one by their side
But other widows and their mournful brothers
As they wish the fallen had been less
Courageous, silent even in the face
Of opposition if it meant their position
Would have been right beside them
Instead of meeting their demise
In some dark slum,
A boot upon their neck, a gun,
A bullet in their head.
Yesterday,
They sang together
Children playing with their toys on lawns
Boys driving dates to prom
Women sleeping deeply
Next to those that take them in their arms
And cradle them with soft, sweet kisses,
Promises of safety they can hardly guarantee.
Each singing what belonged to all of them
Everyone.
I'll ask you, do you know their names?
They, too, sang America.
At last,
You saw how beautiful we were.
And burned us down.
You mistook the emptiness
Within your hearts, for blackness
Declared the color of our past your enemy,
Washed it white and bloody
Until only you remained.
You heard our words of sorrow and of strength
You felt ashamed
And silenced them
You saw how high we held our heads
You lowered them
With steel and lead
You were afraid of what we'd do if we survived
He was afraid to die.
He, too, was America
When she played she called herself a locksmith, matching keys with notes until a melody would open up to her.
Sometimes, she would sit me on her lap and teach me. Warm fingers poised under hers like spiders seeking shelter. Her face scrunched up in concentration, wrinkles pronounced.
She called every song a door, and this the instrument with which you force them open.
Now, I mimic her once more. Fingers tensed over dusty keys. A pale little spider.
I press down gently, digging into cold, bone, ivory.
The piano makes no sound.
She must have closed the door behind her.
Lottery Night
December 1, 1969
By Sarah Zimmelman
February 14… February 14 is 004.
“Do you think Johnny's watching?”
“Betcha ten to one he’s sleeping like a baby,” Michael said, narrowing his eyes at the television. “The Viet Cong’ll be wiping their feet on his doormat before the draft board rings him up.”
“Just your luck you won the genetic lottery from your mother.” Anna folded her arms across her chest.
“This hip wasn’t always out of commission you know,” Michael’s father settled his weight back into the easy chair. “Damn Kraut.” He reached for a saltwater taffy from the bowl on the coffee table and fumbled with the wax paper, his jaw growing stiffer by the moment.
September 6… September 6 is 006.
“What a pill. He looks like a pill, doesn’t he?” Michael pointed at Congressman Pernie, stiff stage right. “Stocky as one of his own damn capsules.”
“Ssht. He’s only doing his job.” Michael’s father said, purple juice flying from his teeth. “And your brother’s watching alright. No doubt.”
The Congressman cracked another capsule and read aloud from the paper inside:
November 22… November 22 is 009.
“I feel sick,” Anna whispered. She reached for Michael’s hand, but it was sandwiched between his thigh and the seat cushion. She sank back into the couch and clasped her hands in her lap, knuckles white.
“We don’t have anything to worry about,” Michael murmured, his mantra of the month. “Johnny might not be watching, but Jerry and Linda are.”
“What’s this got to do with Jerry and Linda?” Michael’s father steepled his fingers and watched the congressman pluck another capsule from the bowl. “Damn deserters.”
December 6…
Anna cried out and grabbed Michael’s elbow.
“Ssht!” Michael’s father hissed, absently picking through the candy bowl.
December 6 is 010.
Anna closed her eyes and slowly settled her head on her husband’s shoulder. “December 7. You’re December 7.”
“So. Jerry?” Michael’s father glanced at his son, then returned his attention to the television.
“Jerry.” Michael rolled the knots out of his shoulders and took Anna’s hand. “Um, Dad. Anna and I have decided that if I get a low number, we’re going to stay with Jerry and Linda for a while.”
Michael’s father reached for another taffy. “Now why them of all people? They’re not even in the States.”
Michael looked at Anna. She smiled tightly and mouthed, “Here it comes.”
August 31… August 31 is 011.
Michael’s father slammed his hand on the armrest, knocking the candy bowl off the coffee table, and twisted at the hip to meet his kid’s eyes. “Look at me, Michael, look at me. You’re an American. You do right by your family.”
Stacy, Our New School
By Naomi Faber
“Wait, this is the third school you’ve transferred to?”
“Yeah, first it was Douglas, then Freeman and now here.”
The girl who had previously introduced herself as Stacy wrinkled her nose at that.
“Douglas? Don't students there bring, like, knives to school?”
“I mean, not really. I guess there was this one time where—” I meant to say more, but the look Stacy gave me with her large sad eyes and tight-lipped smile made the words catch in my throat.
“Lucky for you Miller is in one of the safest neighborhoods in the state, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about.” Stacy tilted her head slightly as she spoke, letting her beach waves fall over her shoulder in gentle, cascading patterns.
“Come sit with me for lunch and I’ll show you around, if you want.” She curled her manicured fingers around a strand of my hair. “You can pay me back by showing me how to get mine like yours.”
I pulled away from her, and she took a second too long to release my hair from her grip.
“Sorry!”
“No worries. It’s always getting in the way.” I tried to put on what I hoped was a reassuring smile and not some awkward grimace.
“I know a place that gives great haircuts,” she said, as if letting me in on a closely guarded secret. When I nodded, she gave me a bright smile, wiped her hand on her trousers and strode off.
I liked the way Stacy walked. Head high, back straight, every step punctuated by the click of a heel and a swing of the hips. When the sole of her foot kissed the ground, it felt as if the earth itself thanked her.
~
It didn’t take me long to like more than just her walk. She was charming and kind, and to say she was beautiful was both understatement and redundancy. Pale, almost iridescent skin, deep blue poetic eyes worthy of a million extended metaphors about bottomless oceans, unending skies. Stacy felt intangible, unreal at times, as if she had been plucked straight from some magical fairytale, or slowly fading daydream.
When she introduced me at lunch, she called me her friend, like we had known each other for years. “Here for a fresh start,” she said, resting both hands on my shoulders.
That's just how she was. She liked to touch and hug people, always eager to make everyone happy. I liked how she included me in things, took me to the mall and picked out dresses for me I could never afford but loved to try on anyways.
“A natural caretaker,” she called herself, as she tried out different concealers on my skin.
Stacy taught me many things. How to properly push back my cuticles, the easiest way to put in contacts. She showed me her favorite places in town and pointed out the ones she thought best to avoid. I liked her chatty hairdresser, who talked to me about her ex-husband Todd all through Stacy’s appointment, even though they didn’t do hair like mine there.
I liked Stacy’s big fancy house. I liked the meals her mother cooked, the jokes her father told. I liked the way she sneered at her brothers.
Stacy was generous, too. When we went out to eat, she would always offer to pay for me. Her friends would nod their heads approvingly, all tight-lipped smiles and kind, sad eyes.
The first time she offered, I accepted. When I came home that day, belly and wallet full, my mother rolled her eyes. She told me in no uncertain terms that I was to pay for my own meals. That’s how she said it. “In no uncertain terms.” Like the English teacher at Freeman. She only talked like that when she was mad at me, as if using bigger words would prove some point. I wonder if she gets jealous too sometimes.
I hope we don't have to move again. I like Miller.
* * *
Spring 2020
By Izzy Ray
The Florist
February lovers flock like doves
To me for roses for their sweethearts:
Peonies unfurling foxgloves,
Joy tumbling from shopping carts.
In March, sickness wilts the dismal days.
With ravenous rot and closing near,
Frowning petals wither and decay.
No one buys flowers in quiet fear.
Alas, a fresh breath of hope appears.
My business blooms like a flower bed
As the April mourners stream like tears
To me for pale lilies for their dead.
MAY
The Cashier
Hi, my name is Drew… and I have a nicotine addiction. Hahahaha I’m kidding, I’m probably fine. I do smoke a lot though. Anyway. Sorry, I just got excited with the recording and all. What are we talking about again?
Drew, we’re here to talk to you about the college couple that went missing three days ago. You told us you know them personally.
Oh man I did! Great kids. Never really talked to them though.
Okay. Um… I’m just going to... you know what? Thank you for your time, sir. Why don’t you get back to work.
No no man sit down! Lemme tell you this story okay? Sit down, sit down. Thank you. So. First week of school, they come in. Look like they’re just friends, they buy chips and candy and whatever. Next week they come in, buy like five condoms. Blushing and shit. Week after that, they come in and buy a giant pack of pregnancy tests, like 36 tests, value pack. I’m like ohhh shiiiiit!! Next week, the dude comes in alone. It’s raining and he’s absolutely soaked. Looking dismal as hell, water dripping off his braids and all over his face. I’m thinking… okay, this can’t be good. Maybe one of those tests told him something he didn’t wanna know, right? I’m like where’s the girl right, like, did he leave? Then he buys an umbrella. I make some joke about how he probably wishes he bought this earlier, and he laughs and goes, “My girl wants to go for a walk in the rain, so I had to run here and buy this before it stopped.”
I’m not understanding how this helps us--
So he’s checking out right, and then his little frantic Asian girlfriend runs in holding a trash bag. She’s soaking wet too! She goes over to him like, “How are you so fast? I brought you a towel, idiot.” And she pulls a towel out of the trash bag and they’re both laughing SO hard.
Sir, how is this related to the search?
Look. All I’m saying is, these kids would go to the ends of the earth for each other. So if you’re looking for them, you might want to start there.
MARCH
The Girl
Flying home was heartbreak,
a dry airport headache.
Waiting at the gate, they stare
at me, scare me.
Plane took off, tearing me
from you.
My eyes too slanted to be safe.
Stares blare like sirens like
I shouldn’t be here,
too near to them,
like I carry filth
behind the barrier of a mask.
Maybe they’d feel safer
if they could see my smile?
I turn inward, worried.
If I could, I would
bend the ends
of the earth to hold you.
The Boy
Campus closed, and we were suddenly thrust 2700 miles away from each other, with her in Oregon and me in New York. I feel like a wet sock whose pair got lost in the washing machine.
The Florist
Three hundred short on rent
Three hundred more to stay
I hold my son, scared,
Push April first away.
The Cashier
Essential worker my ass… Tell me when people started thinking I was essential. When they decided to pay me nine bucks an hour? Come on now, I played it fair, went to college and right into debt just like everyone else. When did they decide I was too essential to go home and not get sick with this freaky flu. I mean I could’ve quit but I hardly have anything saved up, what was I supposed to do? So now I’m here, bagging and beeping and talking to idiots without masks on. Thing about that is, they’re thinking, you know, “Oohhh I’m not gonna catch it, I’m only in contact with one cashier.” Well guess what, lady, you’re the sixty-seventh customer who’s spit in my face today cuz you’re not wearing a mask. Think about that.
The Boy
Hello, you’ve reached Nina’s Flowers. How may I help you?
Hi! I’d like to send a bouquet to my girlfriend? Our anniversary’s at the end of May. She doesn’t--
Well you came to the right place! We have a stunning romantic selection right now, we have roses
Oh she doesn’t like--
in red, yellow, orange, pink, white, purple,
Oh sorry, um, she doesn’t like roses, but--
That’s alright, we’ve got peonies, daffodils, petunias, foxgloves, chrysanthemums,
I’m sorry, ma’am, I really don’t know what any of those are... But pink and orange are her favorite colors.
Sure! I’ll put something together for you. Where will we be sending these?
Salem, Oregon, please?
Sir, we’re located in New York City. We don’t ship to Oregon.
Please. My mom told me you did her wedding bouquet. This would mean so much to me.
I’m sorry, sir.
I’ll pay extra! Any amount you want.
…
Hello?
Three hundred.
APRIL
The Girl
What happens when you separate
the inseparable,
Stick a dam in a stream
running to the sea?
When the weather’s warm
and school is through,
I’m picking up and running
to you.
The Florist
Call in a favor from a friend
With a garden in Oregon I think.
“Throw something together for me,
Just make it orange and pink.”
MAY
The Girl
Quiet when I snuck out the window
Mom doesn’t know where I am
Fourth day in a row
I slip out of a motel
Stumble onto a bus
Tumbleweed floats like a ghost
Outside the window
I call up the pharmacy to find
The funny cashier died,
The one who always made
Rainy days bright.
The Boy
The bouquet should get there by May 30th, but I need to reach her sooner than that. I’m mapping a series of buses to catch to get to Salem on time. My parents would be pissed if they knew I was doing this. So this’ll be a surprise for everyone, I guess.
The Girl
My phone died
on the bus ride I don’t know
what state I’m in anymore
not Oregon that’s for sure
bus doors open to an angry parade
bats shattered glass I run to ask
a cop: what is this?
shrieking smoke cracks
back of my head wet
warm and dark
breathing burns
I can't breathe
black blots in the blue
sky my love, are you near?
The Boy
I’m sitting at a bus stop in Cleveland. I see men in blue looking at me sideways, circling like sharks, talking into their radios. Thin white lips mouthing, “African-American male, tall, green hoodie.” My parents probably filed a missing persons report. Of course they’re looking for me. I leap on the bus, pay the fare, sit in the back. Please don’t stop the bus, please don’t stop the bus… We come to a screeching halt. What happens next is a blur. Suddenly there’s four cops dumping my backpack contents on the floor. They’re so loud. I can’t hear them. Next thing I know, I’m in a cruiser. I’m in the station. Apparently I match the description of some shoplifter. No one knows where I am, I’m panicked. I get one call. I call her. God dammit. The one time I need you to pick up, my love.
The Florist
Confusion with the bouquet
Grey grieving mother answers the door
She hated roses
What is this for
- - -
Spring 2020
By Finn Anders
“God I’m so sad. It just feels like the world is working against me.”
“Hey, don’t be sad.”
“Huh?”
“Just forget about what’s making you sad. I don’t want you to become depressed or something.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“It’s not that hard for me. Force a smile. Think about something else.”
“Sure. I’m feeling happy already.”
“That’s it! Don’t worry about it.”
“You’ve been acting really down lately. Are you feeling sad?”
“Yeah, I picked up a book about the Rwandan civil wars. It’s horrible.”
“Oh. Well don’t be too sad about it.”
“Yeah it’s just a tough read. So many people dying…”
“The president did say when we’re sad we won’t receive a good efficiency rating from our jobs.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you feeling better now?”
“It’s just a book, right?”
“Son?”
“Yeah, Father?”
“Your brother said you were acting quite… sad earlier.”
“What? No, I'm happy.”
“Awesome. I’ll see you at dinner. Stay happy. What did mother and I tell you growing up?”
“Yeah, bye.”
“Son, what did we tell you?”
“If you feel sad, stay glad, stay glad, stay glad.”
“Exactly.”
“Well--”
“How are you today?”
“Good. My child did get the virus.”
“I see.”
“I’m a bit concerned but--”
“Not sad, are you?
“Well, no of course not but I can’t help but worry--”
“Dear, just stay happy. There’s nothing else you can do.”
“Of course.”
“Join me for coffee.”
“Have you heard the news?”
“No.”
“A man hanged himself.”
“How peculiar. The sky is beautiful today.”
“Does his death not bring unsettling feelings?”
“Look at the birds.”
“They are indeed flying.”
“Hello there, man.”
“Hello, woman.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Perfect. And yourself? What are you feeling?”
“Nothing but bliss.”
They watch a man crossing the road get hit by a car.
“I am quite happy to have met you today, farewell.”
“Likewise, goodbye.”
“There is no one here.”
. . .
“Hello?”
Car horns and fall of rubble.
“Smile… smile smile...”
* * *
Three Poems
By Naomi Faber
A Worker’s Song
Oh say can they see us?
Rising at dawn
Heads down, hands moving,
working for hours
Oh say can they hear us?
Stifling a yawn
Is the view too obscured
from their ivory towers?
Oh the camera’s red glare
As we breathe in our air
How it docks us more pay
for each second we spare
Or would they just tell us how
“It's only fair?”
Oh say if they saw us,
would they be swain?
Would they tell us of freedom
and tighten our chains?
A Worker's Prayer
Come brethren, break bread with us
Let's sit and talk a bit
You have a generous five minutes
Off, before your shift
Be thankful for they've given us
Extra time for prayer
Close your eyes, bow your heads
Just a little further
Dear god who humbles and humors us
Dear god of infinite power
Dear god who watches above us
From homes of ivory towers
We give our thanks to your think tanks
Every bright idea foretold
Every manufactured thought
Another thing bought and sold
Thank you lords for all the honest
Discounts on our morals
We know what counts, our work
Its own reward
Let's not forget to bow before
Our corporate sponsored dreams
We’re sure within them are the means
With which we may succeed
But overall remember, brothers,
Freedom has its toll
Come see me after hours for
A deal on your soul.
They, Too, Were America
I hear America mourning, the varied cries I hear.
Those of mothers
As they sing their nameless songs
Of sorrows for the lost and gone
Tomorrow they'll march on
Knowing there'll be more to bury
For the fight is longer than their lives
Far from done
Those of widowed wives, belittled
Knowing they have no one by their side
But other widows and their mournful brothers
As they wish the fallen had been less
Courageous, silent even in the face
Of opposition if it meant their position
Would have been right beside them
Instead of meeting their demise
In some dark slum,
A boot upon their neck, a gun,
A bullet in their head.
Yesterday,
They sang together
Children playing with their toys on lawns
Boys driving dates to prom
Women sleeping deeply
Next to those that take them in their arms
And cradle them with soft, sweet kisses,
Promises of safety they can hardly guarantee.
Each singing what belonged to all of them
Everyone.
I'll ask you, do you know their names?
They, too, sang America.
At last,
You saw how beautiful we were.
And burned us down.
You mistook the emptiness
Within your hearts, for blackness
Declared the color of our past your enemy,
Washed it white and bloody
Until only you remained.
You heard our words of sorrow and of strength
You felt ashamed
And silenced them
You saw how high we held our heads
You lowered them
With steel and lead
You were afraid of what we'd do if we survived
He was afraid to die.
He, too, was America
By Sarah Zimmelman
