The Crossings



Sweet Girl

by Emily Sefcheck

Tell me, sweet girl,                                                                                                                          Who told you that you would never amount to anything?                                                  What is it that makes you believe that you don’t deserve love?                                          Why is it that you believe that fractures of your heart are too deep and too wide to be stitched together?

What is it, sweet girl,                                                                                                                     That convinced you that the brokenness you carry is “too much”?                                   That the scars that you have been hiding make you weak?                                                 That you will simply end up like the women that came before you?

Oh, sweet girl,                                                                                                                                     Do you hate what you have become?                                                                                           Do you wish you could turn back time and merely blot out your existence?                       Or do you wish that things were simply different?

When I look at you, sweet girl,                                                                                                           I see a fighter.                                                                                                                                         I see a world changer.                                                                                                                         I see a girl who is so deserving of love.

You, sweet girl, are not defined by the things that have happened to you.                          But you are a beautiful mosaic.                                                                                                Pieced together with strength and hope and love.

And one day, sweet girl, when you are ready,                                                                              You will prove all those people wrong,                                                                                       And shine for the whole world to see.



by Ashley Baughman

When I was a child, I cowered in fear when the night time slipped silently by.         I would fear that the darkness would tear me apart, that the shadows would come alive.                                                                                                                                I would close my eyes and hope that in time the sun would replace the moon.        I would hope that the monsters would stay away and the morning would be there soon.

When I got older, I realized that the darkness did not live in the night.                   It lived in our hearts and sat silently by until it could get a bite.                               A bite of innocence, a bite of love, a bite of anything beautiful.                                It yearned to overwhelm us all and wouldn’t stop till it was full.

But at the same time, I realized that the light was not only the sun.                        It was laughter and love and harmony, it was children having fun.                          It was more than enough to quench the dark, even in the darkest of hours.               It restored the love that darkness stole, it returned to us what was ours.

So now when I lay down to sleep, I do not fear the night.                                              For I know that when I rise, I’ll be greeted by the light.                                      That’s how it is for each of us, if only we open our eyes                                              To the glorious wonders shown to us every time the sun does rise.

A Poem About A Girl – Spoken Word

“A Poem About A Girl” performed by Spencer French at the Wham Bam Poetry Slam at Notre Dame.

A Poem Called Dawn

by Nicholas J. Weimer

As twilight begins retreating to the west,
I stand solemnly in the pasture;
like a towering oak.
The air, frigid from the late autumn frost
Penetrates my fingers;
like sunlight through an open window.
The starry heavens become paler and paler.
The east becomes deeper in scarlet;
The blood of a rose.
There I stand.
The moon,
The sun of the night,
so luminous.
So persistent is she, refusing to flee.
Her obstinate act is in vain.
For she begins to quickly fade,
And finally,
She becomes nothing;
Exiled into the fading night.
Then the sun, in his raiment of gold, arises.
His radiant rays strike my face.
The maple grove refracts his glory,
Lighting the russet, the gold, the scarlet afire.
The frost quietly sinks into the shadows.

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”

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