October Interlude

Kendall Moser

 

and then the trees came to life
and oh!
how they danced
how the wind sang in our ears
and we were so little and alone and
it didn’t matter
your hair was sunlight spilling over your shoulders
your eyes were melodies so sweet only the birds could ever read the sheet music right
and you laughed with the waltzing trees
and made my heart flutter like the wings of the bees
and for once I was not afraid of being stung

Letters from a Lost Girl

Kendall Moser

 

This city reminds me of you.
the bustling cars are your determined eyes, eager to go somewhere entirely else
the lights twinkling at night sing your laughter around every corner
the skyscrapers are that day we went to the old playground
you beelined for that creaky swingset
and screamed into the empty air,
hair flying behind you
feet touching the clouds,
                  “We’re gonna rule the world!”

                                                 and the gum sticking to my shoes is that night
                                                 when you sobbed and held my hands in yours
                                                              and begged me not to leave you.
This city reminds me of you.

Father’s Day

Dylan Wyatt

 

Bombarded by bittersweet reminders of the still painful loss, I wake up
to all the white-toothed smiles and neck-tugging hugs of young women
wearing colorful summer dresses and middle-aged men in striped Polos.

Their jubilation on a once joyous day for me, as they surround flaming grills
cooking burgers and watching the afternoon baseball game like we once did,
only makes me feel more disappointed we will never celebrate together again.

We will never sit around telling stories late at night while Momma cooks
in the kitchen. Never watch another Western starring leather-skinned,
muscular gunslingers and outlaws. Never sing along with the car radio.
We will never share a drink as good friends or fight like only a family can.

Time took you away before I could show you the man I would become:
A lover of only the most beautiful women, a fighter of the worst men,
A drinker of the strongest whiskey, and a teller of the craziest stories.
I shudder every time something reminds me, proves to me, that it’s true.

Dad, I grew up to be just like you.

Blackbird

Dylan Wyatt

 

Every family has one. A Blackbird.
One who doesn’t quite fit in,
flies a little differently.

Instead of joining the other birds,
he soars against the wind,
flapping to survive.

He doesn’t try to hide his feathers,
yet no one ever sees him
in his own unique glory.

Meanwhile, on the inside, he secretly
wishes to be a plain gull,
white feathers and all.

On the days with a blue sky overhead,
he ventures out far and wide
in search of something.

What he finds is always a welcome surprise.
Like an untouched cherry tree
in a field of white roses.

There, he meets a lovely dove all alone,
perched on a fragile branch.
Sadness shows in her eyes.

At first, he is too afraid to approach her,
worried she will only fly away,
leaving him alone again.

But then she flutters over next to him,
and her eyes don’t look as sad.
For once, neither do his.

She drapes her soft, white wings over him.
Together they sing into the night
until it’s the next morning.

He realizes, accepts, with her beside him,
being a blackbird doesn’t mean
he can’t be happy too.

What You Can’t Put on Your Christmas List

Rachel Tallon

 

All I’ve ever wanted is to be kissed
while I’m dusted with crystalline  flakes of snow,
but you can’t put that on a Christmas list.

You’d think I would have a man at my wrist,
but with guys I’ve always been slow.
Who knew it was so hard to be kissed.

My brother’s belief in fairytale romance persists.
I think it’s time he’s told the truth, you know?
But you can’t put that on a Christmas list.

When my first boyfriend missed my lips, I hissed,
“I thought you said you were a pro!”
All I’ve ever wanted is to be kissed.

Do decent guys even exist?
College boys – they have trouble with “no.”
It’s a shame you can’t put that on a Christmas list.

This year, I might all but insist
for a man, not a boy, to be my beau,
because all I want is to be kissed,
but there’s no way I could write that on my Christmas list.