Summer 2015: Young Voices
Charcoal
Poetry by Meghana Mysore
Veins like maps
but where are they leading?
Some things, my friend, don’t lead anywhere,
a god disguised as a talking tree told me. Some
things just go. Like dreams. They just go. And
the night. It just evaporates as the sky turns to
light. And the shape of your hand, and mine,
and the taste of this tea, this scone, this jam.
And the elasticity of this marshmallow, this
ghostly white. Everything descends into equality
when burned. Disappearing into crossroads and
tunnels and the illusion of forever, forever, forever
things don’t lead things just go veins like maps
like stories things don’t lead the dreams and the
night and your hand and mine and the taste of this
tea and this scone and this jam and the elasticity
of this marshmallow—nothing wants to leave this place
we are holding onto a naïve belief in eternity
but things just go and we must go
and eternity
only in the charcoal
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As hot as the summer sun, 13 poets breathe light into the darkness. |
Tending to the worn, imperfect edges of life, five writers grapple with perimeters. |
Like a swarm of bees or a flock of birds: four artists layer meaning through detail. |
Four teens observe their world and put words to page like only young voices can. |
From emerging to established writers – meet the women behind our seventh issue’s voices and visions. |
