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The Crossings

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.

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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 Church of True Israel: A Scene from the Midwestern Life – Alex Busse

The air outside is hot and humid.  The sun is a blinding white blot, reminiscent of a blot one may see by standing too quickly.  The boy lives in a town in northeast Indiana outside of Fort Wayne.  His house is on a short street with a cul-de-sac.  This street, like all other streets in the housing addition, is lined with identical looking two story houses.  He knows the names of each person that lived on his road, and he thinks its odd that two preachers live along the same street—heavenly-minded folk dwelling near his father.  Each house is on a flat plot of land about an acre large.  All the yards are well kept, and the boy knows them.  Continue reading “The Church of True Israel: A Scene from the Midwestern Life – Alex Busse”

L is for Lost – Amanda Spencer

Take the green line to Clark and Lake, then transfer to the orange line and ride that to Quincy, and then walk the rest of the way from there? Or was it transfer at Adam’s  and Wabash and ride the brown to Quincy?

I stand in front of the gate, tapping my heels in excitement for my first big city job interview. I realize that I should have written down the directions my aunt Mary gave me, or at least asked her more questions about how to get there. Continue reading “L is for Lost – Amanda Spencer”

Dying Embers – Megan Spencer

Sitting on the cold metal chairs with all the other basketball players on the team, I scanned the bleachers looking for my father. All the people standing in the bleachers looked the same, since the game was away. They wore orange t-shirts with black lettering and occasionally I saw people wearing red and black representing fans from my school. I didn’t see my father the first time, to make sure, I scanned the bleachers again, this time just focusing on the males. Continue reading “Dying Embers – Megan Spencer”

Sing, and be Heard – Haleigh Smith

SHANTAY: A Frustrated and angry teenage girl

AHASBAI: Middle-aged, warm counselor

SCENE 1

(The stage is entirely black except for a spotlight over a chair and couch stage right, set up like a psychiatrist’s office. The chair is occupied by DOCTOR AHASBAI. The couch remains empty. Footsteps are heard as SHANTAY enters, and stops to knock at the office door. )

AHASBAI: (Rising) Come in, come in. (Motions to shake SHANTAY’S hand. She refuses and flops on the couch abruptly) Please . . . have a seat.

SHANTAY: (To herself) He thinks he’s funny. Continue reading “Sing, and be Heard – Haleigh Smith”

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.

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