by Wendy White Cleveland '70

We retired to the Deep South
with its switch grass and loblollies,
drawled talk in dogtrot houses,
winters without snow.
Nearing solstice, I survey fields
of spotty cotton balls
on battered stems,
not enough white to conjure
slopes of home.
As the Chattahoochee pulses
southward...

by Kathryn Lorenzini '97

I sit on the sofa with Lucile, holding
my poem, the award, trying to be
the writer. I am
eighteen, on the brink of it all. I am
supposed to step out of this moment, once
in a lifetime, leap toward
success. I thrill to the possibility
of her voice, words rocking like boats
blessed on ever flowing...

  by Samantha Tibbetts '10

    The map I drew of

    Argentina in the 4th grade did

 not mention it was conquered by the Inca

 Empire in 1480. It was orange in

by Wendy White Cleveland '70

Wrapped in a light orange veil
she sits on a stone bench
in a crowded courtroom in Katsina,
its ceiling fans moving hot air
like gossip passing over parched tongues.

Sentenced to stoning,
she has slept with dread,
every night the same image –
up to her waist in the sand-filled pit,...

by Tahirah Uqdah Falah '96

I found myself in Walgreens on Friday looking at canes. I was kind of in a trance, staring at them thinking, “Will I need a cane? If so, when? Do I need one now?”

I held each of the different styles of canes in my hand. There was the fold-out cane, the aluminum cane, the contoured-handled cane. I found the maple-handled...