twilight musings

--by Aliza Billet

Begging the night to stay, I cling
to the dripping sky, gripping the edges
of the black blanket tight
but it seeps through my fingers, leaving sparkles
on my skin. A consolation prize
from the stars tearing free — tearing me —
as they slide. The sun dares to rise,
despite my cries, and I cringe
in the soft burning light, a pink twinge of day
invading the deep peace of night.
A sprinkle of mist kisses my bruised flesh
and the breeze brushes its hand through my hair,
like a gentle caress.
Where is the strength? Pick up the pace.
Blow me away,
like dust in the wind. It's not that I want to die, 
but oh, to drift free, like a piece of the sky

Do I Look Like Him?

--by Linda Dayan

I remember new shoes dirtied by field’s mud
Tarnished by the past day's rain,
and my own insistence to play soccer in its consequences.
I remember your face,
when I came home with freshly brown sneakers.
I remember passion plagued arguments,
Twirling in the tension between us.
I remember going to bed bothered not by new bruises
but by the fact you didn’t come to tuck me in that night.

I remember a silver pair of fish earrings,
each with one sapphire eye.
one drowned in the alphabet carpet of recess gaga games.
I remember searching for hours,
I remember not needing the dictionary to understand “loss”.
I remember tears trailing traitorously onto the letter F.
I thought maybe the fish earring would fall on F,
or maybe E.
I remember going home and suffocating,
on the definitions of irresponsibly and regret.
And I remember the nickname pirate,
Though I forget on whose insistence
That I went to school with my lonely fish.


I remember the last project done for me,
The last posterboard.
it was going to frame my first-ever poem.
we poured over it for hours,
it was a heart completed by puzzle pieces,
as if the surface anticipated heartbreak.
inside each piece, we wrote out "peace"
with steady hands,
we wrote "peace" in every language Google offered.
I remember criticism for crude calligraphy.
I remember wasting a bottle of whiteout,
a testament to my bountiful mistakes.
but most of all I remember patience.
I remember realizing,
you are just a mother doing her best,
so I as your daughter can be mine.

Basket of Strawberries

--by Hadassah Reich

I want to read all the books on my shelf. Instead I bought another one, Abandoned and collecting dust. When was the last time I had a thought? Instead I bought another one, Stacked with shiny new words. When was the last time I had a thought About my hopes and wishes and dreams? A dictionary stacked with words. Sort through my alphabetized mind Of hopes and anxieties and dreams And all the chapter titles that define me. Sort through my alphabetized mind. I forget friends, dates and memories And all the chapter titles that define me. I am broken china on a table of contents. I want to hold on to friends and memories Like Ima’s hand when crossing the street. To flip back to the table of contents, And frolic in a field full of strawberries. One hand with Ima’s when crossing the street. The other dragging from the weight Of a wicker basket full of strawberries. We’ll have to wait to enjoy them. My mind is dragging from the weight Of all the books on my shelf. I’ll have to wait to enjoy them, Abandoned and collecting dust.

A Soul's Thoughts

--by Nechama Grinspan

I've always wondered why I think about the stars as much as I do.
And sometimes, when I look in the mirror for too long, I wonder if I look too much like my sister.
Then, oftentimes, I would look again and see myself outlined with a marker,

crossed out like the science test I failed back in 4th grade.

Sometimes, I wonder why I resist talking to my sister
and why I have more empathy for dying flowers than for my own brother.
But then I remember how he kicked out my front tooth in fifth grade,

But I also think maybe because I wasn't as kind as I could've been.

I constantly watch my love and hate dance like the sun and moon for my oldest brother.
I tire easily of staying stagnant, so I feel the need to hunt, gather, and reassemble every part of my 

    self, soul, and mind,

in order to become as true, and as new as I could possibly be.
And so oftentimes, I'm left wondering if I'll ever know what it's like to be perfectly content.

Then there are the nights I worry that I look too deeply, that I think too much and too closely into 

    God’s Mind.
And I worry my words aren't eloquent or poetic enough to consider my poetry as real as the sun.
And so oftentimes, I'm left wondering if I'll ever know what it's like to be perfectly content.
But then one day, Ariel told me that I was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

And one time, my best friend told me she loves my eyes because they turn gold in the sun,
And that's the color she always thought was God's favorite.
And then, one day, I helped an old man pick up his cane and afterwards, I cried for not picking it up    

    sooner for him.
and on the last day of 6th grade, my teacher cried while saying goodbye to me.

I think a lot about whether or not God has favorites.
I picture Him with a list, circling names with a marker,
And I picture Him whispering to the luminaries while pointing at me.
And yet, I still wonder why I think about the stars as much as I do.

Gift from God

-by Naomi Sabzjadid

God,
My Dear God.
My Loving Lord.
My Giving Governor.

My God,

You have given me the right to experience the pain of love.
Now you give me the pain of experiencing what’s right.

Now the right suffers in her white dress.
And the black gown of pain was worn by her once.
Not just once, not taken off and on,
But torn and stitched back together—
With the threads of living.

Made with dead dark animal fur, black and reflective under the light of the 

    winter sun.
Each hair convoluted and dense in its layers.
The sheen of fur appears glossed and smooth on the surface.

Wrapped tightly so that she may escape the cold.
Oh but the sun never gave its heat in the winter.

And the white linen of rightness, expensive and earned,
is too light to be worn against the harshness of its counterpart.
Oh but how the fabric folds.
How it drapes and flows with the pleasant weather.
With the revealing nature of the sun.

And the hot sand reasoned under her feet— crusted over with its millions 

    in number.
Yet she dances with delicate drapery— her white fabric
Flapping and waving.

As if to say:
“I’m here! I’m here, I’m right here.”

From Beyond

--by Aliza Billet

Words itch beneath your skin, trying to break free
Stop drowning your mind if you want the poetry to breathe
Stop shoving music through your ears like conch shells do the sea
Just cut the words loose. But you're too afraid to bleed
Walking in the world, you remember what it's like to breathe
Humanity dances, painting the canvas of earth
In each other's arms, vulnerable lovers are unafraid to bleed
Their smiles and softness prove that they value their worth
Alone in your room, though, you can't paint the canvas of earth
You've no pretty colors; your palette is messy and gray
Try as you might, you struggle to value your worth
And sit there in silence, unmoving, with nothing to say
Today the dripping sky is messy and gray
It's not like the moon, shining silvery way up above
You wish for once that you had something to say
To smother the silence, to fill the world with words made of love
I hope you know that I'm with you, though I'm way up above
If you knew that, maybe you wouldn't yearn to break free
I hope that they find you, my words made of love
And when they do, they hold you, like conch shells do the sea

The Carpet

--by Avigail Levine

I did not know the rules of private.
Seated crisscross applesauce, 
kids line the perimeter of the square carpet.
it nearly covers all of the cold classroom tiles.
the material prickles my legs as I sit still.
Morah Heidy wears a green button down shirt.
She is enthroned huge and heavy on her plastic chair.
She is distant from the carpet.
As she reprimands the insubordinate little boys
who cannot sit still like me,
she releases a guilty giggle.
An obedient girl, I am perfect and beloved.
Assured of my safety,
I finger my nose innocently,
relieving a deep-seated itch.
All at once I hear my name.
Banished, she orders me
to wash my hands with soap.
An unstained girl proclaimed dirty
Ears ringing, a swarm of little eyes follows me
to the bathroom, where I shoulder the lesson.