By Clair Prins I went to Detroit a couple summers back with my church youth group on a mission trip. Oneafternoon, I was hanging out with some other girls in our shared sleeping area and doing hennatattoos. We ended up... Continue Reading →
By Clair Prins The ghostly eyesOf the moon peek throughBranches of trees.Murmurs of my forgottenHistories swirl andDance, gentlyCaressing my hair andCoaxing me along. I race,I runFor the thrill of it.I wave at starsAnd screamAt the moon toCome get me!Bring me... Continue Reading →
By Clair Prins Her eyes slowly blinked open. Her gaze moved around the long room, but seemed to takenothing in. Helia was shivering; her bare feet freezing against the cool cement floor. “Hello?” Only her echo responded, just as confused... Continue Reading →
By Bryce Yoder, Student Writer in Residence Call it a cube,maybe five by five by five.Call it a brick,smash a window and revive.Call it a Lego and I’ll build you up a masterpiece.Call it a chopping block, I’ll beg for... Continue Reading →
By Bryce Yoder, Student Writer in Residence There’s a part of me that finds nice weather in late November…a touch unsettling.Don’t get me wrong,I’m a sucker for 55 with a light breeze,sun maybe partially obscured behind some wispy cotton ballsbut... Continue Reading →
the clock ticks onhas it beat sixty times yet?like a bass line to my anxious melody,a rhythm for my thoughts tokeep in time with slouched with somethinghalf-finished in my hand,i do without comprehending,worries crowning as i smileand wave at someone... Continue Reading →
By Bryce Yoder, Student Writer in Residence An Ode to the Lo-Fi Hip Hop GirlI hope her notebook fills eternaland her ink well never dries.I hope her hand, it never crampsand her headphones never die.Though she may toil in academic limboI... Continue Reading →
By Taylor Knight The inescapable reality every writer must realize is the inevitability of an imperfect sentence. A story is made up of hundreds, if not thousands, of these tiny structures. So how do we manufacture a sentence, let alone... Continue Reading →
By Bryce Yoder, Student Writer in Residence The steady,breathless,thump thump.thump thump.thump thump.I hear it every morning,every night -with every retweet and every likea nation holds it breath.And you can feel the tension in the pit of its chest.I woke up... Continue Reading →
The Crossings 