Page curated by Canah Dawson, Bailey Pope, Brian Stratford
Walk by Bailey Pope
Bombarded by sunlight, My heavy boots on the wood. The sidewalk, Grass that swished beneath me. Warmth on the right, Frozen on the left. When the warmth fully disappeared, All I saw was old cars with scratches.
Looking Through Ivy by Bailey Pope
The Forbidden Love by Oliver Robert
I sat on my bed in my cold, heartless house. Why must I have been born a demon? Humans hunted us, fairies flew away from us, and worst of all, angels abhorred us. All of this was because of an ancient, convoluted history. We were taught to embrace discomfort and pain, but I personally like pleasure. I don’t like evil, twisted pleasure, but honest, sincere joy. I slowly walk through the wilderness surrounding my house. I descend further down into the woods from a cold, ashy, volcanic mountain house to the forest beneath. Flowers bloom, animals abound, and life flourishes. I relish in the small breeze and lay down to look at the beautiful sky and clouds above me. It happened when the sun was beginning to set. I saw an angel twirling through the air heedless of those who might be watching. Beauty and grace couldn’t have been more perfectly defined. I saw that it was going to happen before she did. She was flying too close to the ground, and these weren't exactly the safest of woods. Of course, a bird killer tree snagged her out of the air; these trees actively hunt and eat prey from the sky. Her wing was skewered, so I sprinted over. With my supernatural speed, I traveled across the valley in moments. I used my magic to rebuke the tree and make it curl back into the ground and let go of its prey. I saw the fear in her eyes—innocent, pure, terrified. She passed out, her right wing stained red and the rest of her completely beaten apart. These trees were weeds designed to snag powerful flying creatures, and the only creatures they obeyed were demons, their creators. I picked her up as gently as I could, folding her wings up gingerly so that I wouldn’t cause any more damage to them. I walked back much more slowly towards my house. Her condition got worse as we approached my abode; it was, after all, a demon den. I decided to settle her down on a warm mossy alcove as close to my home as possible. Despite being a demon, I knew extensively about healing magic, and I was actually one of the most valued demons in the ranks of our ferocious army because of it. I laid her down, spread out her wings, and had my breath taken away yet again. She was so ridiculously beautiful. Not hot, or good looking as some of the demon women, but genuinely beautiful inside and out, and it showed. I pushed aside these feelings. I had just met her, and it would be irrational and wrong to immediately fall in love. I began to tend to her. The wounds were bad. I gently patched up her marble white wings, sterilized her cuts which were very obvious against her fine skin. Lastly, I made and put her in a comfy bed. When she woke up, I saw the renewed terror in her eyes. Tears started to form, and she pleaded with me, “Please, I’ll never bother you again, please let me live, oh please.” With that, she buried her head in the pillow I had provided and cried. I felt so ashamed. This was our reputation: awful, vicious, cruel, murderous. I simply replied as tenderly as I could, “Rest, you need to heal, and then you can go. Be careful about flying in demon territory.” She looked completely stunned. Her whole face dropped in an expression of pure shock, then suspicion twisted up her face, then plain confusion. The next four months were the best of my life. Her name was Ellie, and I introduced myself as Burks. We grew closer to each other. The healing process took unnaturally long because of our opposing natures. After four months, she was completely healed, though, and I had to hold up my end of the deal or be just like my twisted brethren. I reluctantly walked into the separate hut I had built for her. “Ellie,” I said shakily, “ You... you’re… you’re healed. You can go.” Ellie spread out her large magnificent wings and viewed the injuries now almost impossible to see due to the extensive care given to them. She looked at me with wide eyes, tears brimming on them. “I have to go to my home, or they might send a war band after me, and I couldn’t let anything happen to you.” She choked up at this last part. She ran up to me and gave me a big hug. We sat together, crying our hearts out. “I promise to visit,” she whispered. “This can't be goodbye forever.” With those small precious words, she left me. Now, I wait every day, searching the skies for my love, my angel that flew too close to the ground.
Does the Mirror World Go On Forever? by Emily Carne
Hills by Canah Dawson
Appalachia by Canah Dawson
I will say it: Mount Sterling is decrepit. Kentucky is a rusted state, dirty and ashy as its neighbor, West Virginia. When I first moved, I tried to live in two places at once. For every friend I made in Loganville, there was a panicked journal entry that I was betraying my own trust by being happy here. It would destroy me to hear from my hometown about new businesses opening or construction on the roads or the people who were my friends advancing in school. I texted them obsessively, questioned them endlessly about any goings-on I hadn’t heard, all but begged to be kept in the loop. I didn’t want my town to change without me. It was utter bereavement to think that one day, I would go home, and it would be somewhere I didn’t recognize, transformed in the gaps between my visits. Honestly, I don’t know how people from cities imagine home. Though I’ve been here nearly half my life, I don’t even know how people from Georgia identify it (their pine trees? Red dirt underfoot? Or the sparkling glass of Atlanta?); John Denver and I know rolling hills of bluegrass, the brown creeks in their valleys, and the few oak trees in their midst. If you never had to go into town, Mount Sterling would be a sweet note of green and nothing else. But the tree-lined roads give way to gray, cracked asphalt, and you are surrounded by the same stained, beige buildings my mom looked up to her whole life, sparing the past seven years. Now I understand what I should’ve known when the new restaurants built in my absence destroyed me: Mount Sterling was doing what it has always done. It brings in new businesses to spend their next thirty years there dying. I have lost nearly all ties to it, and still, sometimes I will want to be there. I left while I still loved it, so I will always wonder what could’ve been instead of reveling in my escape. I will never be eleven again, so I’ll never quite love it again, but I think I will always need it.
If Seeking Constancy by Canah Dawson
Seeing trees is enough for me. The settled, sleepy warmth of blue air around me at spring dusk, The sky not so far away, And nothing is lost to inattention. A nod to each rose, nasty and charismatic in magenta; Clover, yellow at the edges and growing through gravel. Slowly, I step in a circle, eyes up: Opaque sliver of Moon lacking all judgment though it sees and knows, A white tooth of Gatsby’s confidential smile; The clouds are wisps tonight, Gossamer in the east, catching sun and burning in the west; On that edge, the Sun greets with a proud ease, An arrogant cock to its hips, and a smirk so unlike the Moon. Bones of bark and veins of pine needles split a docile blue into broken glass; The back-lit bones are interrupted by the silhouettes of a buzzard clan; Leaves swish with a squirrel’s movement along the brown ground flaked in gold. Earth is beautiful tonight as always; If seeking constancy, see it.
The Cabin by Chloe Spector
My feet were bare. My toes sank into the soft, cool white sand of the path beneath them. I heard a distant birdsong echo off the sky and looked up. I was in an old forest with trees that have stood in the same place for thousands of years. The sharp smell of pine and the musky scent of wood rot filled the cool air. The chatter of a squirrel echoed off the trees, making me smile. A rocky stream ran alongside the path, burbling happily over the smooth grey rocks. I stopped to touch a long, smooth leaf. It had a waxy texture and left cold, green stains on my fingers that wafted a fresh green smell up to my nose. I left the plant and continued down the path. I watched my feet pad over the sand for a while longer until they hit rounded cobblestones. I lifted my eyes and saw a large vaulted door in front of me embedded in the side of the cliff in front of me. The door was made out of old, dark wood, and ornately wrought iron hinges stretched across most of its surface. The black handle was in the shape of an elegant snake. I hesitantly reached out a hand to touch the door, still unsure of its existence. The wood was warm and rough under my fingertips, and the cold hinges sent tingles up the length of my arm. I opened the door and stepped into the bright space over the threshold. I wasn’t certain of where I was, but I knew that the room I was standing in was not in the side of a cliff. Pale sunlight poured in through a rounded glass wall in the hexagon-shaped room. It looked like the window of a greenhouse with brilliantly green air plants in silvery lanterns hanging in front of the window. A plush, deep green window seat filled the space under the domed window. On another wall, an old fashioned bed was piled in multicolored pillows. I could smell cloves and pine. The rest of the walls were built out of grey stone, and large tree roots grew through the stones weaving around panes of glass to create wonky-shaped windows. Floor to ceiling bookshelves surrounded a large fireplace that contained the faintly glowing embers of a dying fire. They were filled to bursting with leather bound books in various colors. Across from the fireplace, a rounded leather couch and a coffee table sat invitingly. A bowl full of chocolates sat in the middle of the coffee table. Dark chocolate surrounding a creamy center of caramel sparkled with tiny salt crystals. My feet were sinking into the large, round, deep green rug in the center of the room. The ceiling of the room was tall and peaked. An iron chandelier wrapped in vines hung down from the peak, candles flickering happily. I heard a few strains of various bird songs from the mysterious forest outside the windows. My eyes lighted on a heavy desk that was wedged next to one of the bookcases. A human skull with a lily growing out of one of the eye sockets sat in a tall glass dome on top of the desk next to a plate of freshly baked shortbread. I grabbed a piece of the warm shortbread and took a bite. The incredible buttery taste spread over my tongue, and I felt a bubble of happiness grow in my chest. I could recognize my mother’s recipe anywhere. The rest of the cottage was full of tidy clutter on tables and shelves. Tables of paint and paintings, jars of semi-precious stones, oddly shaped apothecary bottles, bolts of fabric, spools of wire and thread; even a glass tank containing a shimmering sunbeam snake. The cottage was silent. I was alone with myself. I walked over to the snake’s tank and gently lifted the lid. I slid a finger down the snake’s silky scales, and let it wrap itself around my hand. I slowly lifted it out of the tank and when the light hit it, it glistened like an oil slick. I felt a strange feeling of companionship with its weight in my hands. Another bird cry split the silence. I walked around the cottage, taking in everything I hadn’t seen yet. I found a record player and shelves of vinyl records by my favorite artists. I examined the butterfly board hanging next to pictures of my family and friends. I found a stack of worn postcards from around the world, the yellowing card stock velvety against my hands. A sword was displayed on shelves alongside things I recognized from my dreams and stories. The prevailing scents of pine, cloves, and antiques gave the space a peaceful feel. Combined with the pale natural light and the candles in the chandelier, it felt like a dream. I felt at peace like I belonged. The whole space was full of love, knowledge, and belonging. I didn’t want to leave, but I knew I had to. I gazed at the snake that was wrapping itself around my forearm and shoulder. I didn’t feel threatened, so I let it stay. I would take it with me as a reminder of this place—my little cottage in an endless wood. I reluctantly stepped up to the beautiful door and rested my hand on the cool handle. I took one more look around the cottage filled with everything I love and little curiosities waiting to be discovered and opened the door. Bright sunlight poured over my face, warming my skin and the snake around my shoulders. I took a deep breath and watched my bare feet step over the doors’ threshold and the cobblestone stoop onto the sandy path. The door in the cliff face closed behind me. The pale path in the ancient forest waited patiently ahead of me. A soft breeze ran its fingers through my hair as it went to run with the babbling stream. I felt the comforting weight of the iridescent snake on my shoulders, and I wasn’t afraid as I walked back down the path. I knew I could always return to this place if I ever felt lost in life, lonely, or sad. That place so full of love and understanding is always ready to welcome me into its peaceful embrace. My safe place—my cabin in an endless wood at the end of a silvery sand path.
Photograph in the above work: The Tree of Life by Bailey Pope