“Happy Art” by Leah Popovic
Maybe the world needs happy art.
It’s easy to lecture through sonnets and melodies
About the hatred of a soul
Or a winter wind so cold that it could freeze time itself.
I’m not saying to erase your blackboard drawings
And the notes beneath your desk,
But sometimes, it’s mundane to complain.
Maybe the world needs happy art.
We pull at strings and find so much wrong with us
When we can do the same with what is right.
There are specks under our fingernails which make life so wonderful
Yet we still bite them away.
Maybe the world needs happy art.
Happy art is not just a poem or a sculpture or a song.
It is the walk to work planned far too early
And the silence in the morning Newport air.
It is the hardcover of a book that you’ll never read
Or the hand-me-downs left as curtains for your closet.
It is getting one pickle at a lunch for two
And sharing it with your sister across the table.
Maybe you are the happy art we need in this world.
“Comparing” by Leah Popovic
When I walk up the front porch steps
Of my family home
My dog’s bark rings through the storm door.
We lost her in July
But there are some stains that never wash away
And hers is heart shaped.
Even the thump of her tail on the floor
Is mimicked by my own wobbly footsteps
Coming home from the bar.
I think of you when I think of her
Since you both remind me that the best of life still exists.
Innocence, affinity, the smell of dewy grass.
That makes your stain heart shaped, as well as eternal,
As well as my favorite souvenir.
“little” by Katelyn Welsh
i wish my dads shirts still fit on me the way they did when i was
little
encasing me. hanging off. feeling safe.
a fathers daughter in a t-shirt dress
i’d wear my tiara and i was a princess
we were all just princesses
i wish my hand was small enough still
to lay against my mothers and have her fingers curl all the way
over mine
the knives weren’t scary
when i was small enough to run under the cutting board
what i couldn’t see, couldn’t reach,
it couldn’t hurt me
i see everything now. everything.
and it’s all big, and it’s all scary
and everything hurts
all of the time
and my mind….
it’s just full of all the things i can see
and it’s full of the things that i can’t
i’m still pretending, that hasn’t changed
but instead of for my own enjoyment
it’s for other peoples benefit
i miss the time when make believe was fun
“Ballerina Mina” by David Broccoli
You are elegance and grace
It’s written all over your face
Like a swan you fly and dance
Across the stage you glide and prance
Perfection is what you are
You are a flawless dazzling star
Your hair long and black
Smooth, silky, straight and tied back
Your black dress draped over your body
Flowing and soaring and never shoddy
Your toes stay at a point
Making sure you don’t disappoint
Spin and twirl and spin and twirl
You are the perfect girl
Your voice soft and sweet
Shining through and making my heart beat
Born in Texas and hail from Japan
A dream it would be to meet you once if I can
You are the idol, the voice, the dancer and poised ballerina
Beautiful, charming and kind Myoui Mina
“Passenger” by Aidan Cahill
The drive home feels eternal.
You count the miles and wonder
How something unchanged
Can feel so different.
Externally it remains the same;
Same route, same length, same speed, but yet,
There could not be more change
From the drive to drop her off.
The drive there, while bittersweet,
Still holds a spark of life.
Outside still stings of summer heat,
And too the world lacks strife.
What differs between the trips
Is not just the passenger side.
Nor weather, or lighting, or even the time
No, there’s something more.
The drive home takes forever.
You count the hours and wonder
How something unchanged
Can feel so different.
“Elaine” by Kyle Jordan
fascinating how delay lays on lips,
the same ones holding the shape of your forehead,
learned how to speak without talking,
the same ones bent into new shapes.
tardiness pulls your tongue to the clock’s tick.
fascinating how delay lays on ears,
put forth by me, never uttered I’s,
how silly one is,
in the cold light of why.
good, wasted, breath, hangs like smoke,
molding around a shrine.
and you never got the best of me.
fascinating, you can see better from there,
opposed to when we’d meet eyes.
fascinating, delays laid, weighed you.
down now, you can rest.
in our house wanting to go home.
the lights stay out by your doorway,
you couldn’t see me when they were on anyway.