The Crossings



An Endless Bus Ride – Tyler Callahan

Yellow rubber-coating ‘round
The support pole
Rattles as we leave the town.
En masse we stroll
East to where the planes touch down.
Not a soul
Would break the silence then.

In whispers two old women spoke
Of things they missed,
Sharing in an inside-joke
About who kissed
Martha out where they would smoke.
The brakes hissed:
Marking another stop.

I first noticed the graffiti marks
On the walls
Of the tunnel passing by the parks.
The driver calls,
With muffled voice, the main landmarks
And protocols
For our endless journey.

Eastward to London we kept,
Winding through
The Thornhill lot, vacant except
For one sky-blue
Nissan Sentra there which slept
Without a clue
Where it’s owner went.

The heaviness of morning fell
On the hills
Which rolled past where the people dwell.
Solemn chills
Began to fill the bus’ shell.
The people still
Cared not to waste their breath.

Photo by Jessica Schrock


The Sweetness of Revenge – Megan Spencer

His death would be a sweet release.
Just like teenagers deserve to be sent to college.
The satisfaction of seeing the pain cross my siblings face as they step on a Lego.
Watching someone flail as they fall on slick ice.
My ears screaming for mercy as Bethel students clap off beat during chapel.
Feeling your feet burn off as you walk across the hot sand at the beach.
Continue reading “The Sweetness of Revenge – Megan Spencer”

The Cycle – Alex Busse

Suffocating fumes fester for profit;
Vats of molten steel shimmer gold;
Pressed steel sparks with resplendent array.

Toiling, first shift workers operate the machinery.
Captivated by nothing, yet captive to their work,
Pacing silently, managers yearn for perfection.
Drenched in sweat while wearing a heat proof suit,
Welders mend cracked mill components.
Eleven hours down, one to go! Continue reading “The Cycle – Alex Busse”

Solitude in Silence – Micah Hershberger

Isolation drips down summers and winters that intermingle in a sense
of mundanity. It can not be looked past or even seen as avoidable.
Persistently, I become better acquainted with silence
than with the reality of an unseen timetable.
Uncontrollable, undeniable, and even a peculiar realm;
it trifles the bounds of absurdity to the point of break
like that of the parlous plundering ship of youth with a helm
that but no one would be so willing to fortake.
Exclusion, lost to the outside world and its inability to commit
to the expenditure of incremental increases in its size,
but yet it’s willing to commission the bearings of a life, as though a hermit
sent wandering in the atrocity of wallowing until the day he dies.
So here alas, I shall sincerely stand in residual wait
for the dwelling of a most profound and most fulfilling state.

“The Thing” and “To Make Sense”–a short poetry collection

From an anonymous alumnus.

Continue reading ““The Thing” and “To Make Sense”–a short poetry collection”

The Caged Bird Devours – Ashley Simon

—the bird, notice it there, on the front left pocket of her pink plaid pajamas:
soiled from the stream that leaks from her right eye:
fluttering fatigue.
Stiffen. Eat a bite of chicken
roll it around on your tongue while her breast constricts
while her lips jerk pull thin
while her chest maintains a sharp inhale, inhale
inhale Continue reading “The Caged Bird Devours – Ashley Simon”

Unio Mystica–Megan Gieske (Asbury University)

Unio Mystica

During Catholic mass in St. Xavier’s Church,
the priest places a wafer, a flake of skin,
on my tongue as coolly as smoke rings ejected
from a murderer’s mouth. Their sacrament,

Reshma tells me singing, drags them by the hair,
or binds each limb to the bedposts, laid bare
like the silvery bottom of a mango leaf drowned
underwater, or with malarial kisses, marries them. Continue reading “Unio Mystica–Megan Gieske (Asbury University)”

Crucifixion–Spencer French

Prayers in gethsemane
Drowsy eleven
Pleading for strength against the enemy
Are these men really my succession?

Continue Reading…

Turning – Chelsea Anglin

Come out.

See what sets fire
to your tree lines.
Walk in the woods.
Find life corrupted,
bursting forth in
resplendent display
of inevitable erosion.

Explosive beauty
in gross decay. Continue Reading…

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