"Come Spring" and Other Student Poems

A Lifetime of Opportunity

Teresa Yandl Stu

Red sand beneath the sun glows dull in dunes

and settles on unmoving upturned face

that looked upon so many empty ruins—

one thousand calls unanswered with no trace.

We cry “I’ll find you in the morning sun,”

declare your signal dead, your mission done.

Too much is owed to leave you in the black;

that you who found us rivers, drown in dust,

should bring us to our knees, should bring you back—

our desert hearts should crack and bleed your rust.

My bones are hollow, stripped of every spark;

your battery got low; it’s been so dark.

Someday when sky is near enough to hold,

when we can venture forth and walk the stars,

I know we’ll dig you from that foreign cold—

we’ll bring you life, show you our home on Mars.

You stretched your days to years, you carried on

past endless hopes, when days were dim and wan.

What light you shed we hold now in our hearts,

your efforts brought us hope; our exploration starts.

Come Spring

Maggie Helde

Come spring, plant the sage in rows
when the moon is high in the sky at night.
Don’t forget to feed the crows.

Collect the petals that fall from the rose
with the stars as your only light.
Come spring, plant the sage in rows.

Water the garden with the hose
starting from left to right.
Don’t forget to feed the crows.

From the tree of life, everything flows
the fruit of knowledge at its highest height.
Come spring, plant the sage in rows.

Always make sure to know thy foes,
never let them see your plight.
Don’t forget to feed the crows.

Just two drops of poppy to help you doze.
Calmly chant to take flight.
Come spring, plant the sage in rows
And don’t forget to feed the crows.

The End

Kyra Balikov

The sun illuminates a gleam
of white unleashed in blades of grass
reflecting laughter caught between
the smile of teeth, of bone, of ash
A daisy grows up through their mask
of calcifying memories
a ladybug descends to take a rest
upon the headstone of mortality.

All images by Zack Berlat ('11)

Pastoral

Grace Nakahara

Here, in the quiet of
Walmart parking lots, truck stops, boondocks
my phone finally stopped working and yours is too old to do anything but call.

I hate bugs. You hate the dark. But here,
in the miles on our meter,
on the upgraded mattress you bought at Camping World,
where the dog sleeps in the front seat and behind windows we see cities,
parks shaped like strange birthmarks,
trees that swallow us whole.

Between roads that stretch into mountains,
grass greener than our backyards ever were
paint the picturesque landscape we’ve stuck to like burrs on our sleeves.
Coastlines collect the sand on our ankles —
pulling us back home.

8oz cup on a café table

logan mcdonald

brown written
thin walls
blushing, sweating,
then bleeding
a full bodied
hint of allspice

perhaps worse than
the wet face of toast
smeared by linoleum,
the guatemalan
with room, now
an estuary with
napkin riplets
drifting, absorbing
neither puddles nor
brittle apologies
as the aproned
wipes the surface

Periwinkle Eyes

Konner Sauve

You opened your perfect periwinkle eyes,
bursting then blooming in twilight,
lying in the crook of my arm – butterflies.

Your cries would break before sunrise
I’d swoop you up and hold you tight
you opened your perfect periwinkle eyes.

You took your first steps to my surprise
at times knocked down, but you’d be alright
lying in the crook of my arm – butterflies.

You stayed out late – I would agonize
once back asleep, I’d come kiss you goodnight
you opened your perfect periwinkle eyes.

We dropped you off under sunny skies
lump caught in my throat, in hindsight –
lying in the crook of my arm – butterflies.

I choke back tears, and close my eyes,
but smile, remembering you’ll be alright
you opened your perfect periwinkle eyes,
lying in the crook of my arm – butterflies.