by Kelsey Hamlin
When it was all over and I said,
“I realized college doesn’t usually happen for people like me,”
Your face tensed
and you asked what I meant.
Tag Archives: South End Stew
South End Stew: Twilight
by K.D. Senior
Dreams don’t come true,
that’s what they are for…
But why not take a gamble,
even if we aren’t sure?
Hopeless hopes, and chances with traps,
Joining lips as sky turns to twilight,
down by the shore.
South End Stew: Recall
by Marcus Harrison Green
I remember…
The might of hellos in dirty laboratories
Majestic words unlocked by reluctant caffeine highs
Assembling puzzle pieces of a dream
A disbelief in rising stars
Feathers sheared to mimic Michelangelo
An unkissed face lit by the sun’s mercy
Songs belted with a whole heart
Trails sought by two and found by one
A mother’s anguish for a child’s touch
The silence of untold truths unmistakable from lies
Honesty turned in too late to be given full credit
Cowardice of the heart, and tardy defenselessness
Too many untrusted tomorrows
The cleansing flame of goodbye
South End Stew: Beauty Among Us
This is the third in a series of three pieces. The first can be read here. The second can be read here.
by Kelsey Hamlin
But, god damn it, as if we don’t uproot those mother fuckers right back.
I don’t know if the seeds will ever stop whispering. I don’t know if there will ever be a time when the whispers constantly fall on deaf ears to the point where there’s no whispers at all. I don’t know if they’ll ever stop growing.
South End Stew: A Woman’s Experiences
This is the second in a series of three pieces. The first can be read here.
by Kelsey Hamlin
It shows in the way she comes out from the bedroom, shirtless, gripping the sides of her hips, pulling her skin from her sides with fists full of flesh, asking of her daughter, “how do I get rid of this?”
South End Stew: Conversation with Myself
by June BlueSpruce
I am full of despair.
I am feeling wild hope.
Everything I have worked for all my life is in jeopardy.
I have worked all my life to be ready for this moment.
Our country has lost its heart and soul.
Our country, founded on genocide and slavery,
lost its heart and soul long ago.
Our national wounds are exposed for all to see.
Now we have a chance to heal them.
Authoritarianism is more powerful than our movements for change.
Nothing is more powerful than love.
Our adversaries are weak. They have no roots. They will fall.
I feel depressed.
I know how to manage depression and have resources:
loving wife, community, bountiful garden, medications,
ancestors who have my back.
I know what to do. Time to get up off the couch and do it.
I feel powerless.
Those who would destroy our democracy want me to feel powerless.
Then their work is done.
As a white middle-class US citizen, I have more power
than most people in this country and the world.
I need to use it for the good of all.
We call on deep spiritual power that is visible only in its effects.
We are at a critical moment. National leaders who should stand up are sitting on their hands, or worse.
I have no control over anyone’s actions but mine. In this emergency,
how will I stand up to those who wield power like a weapon?
How will I join with others?
Our Constitution, our democracy is at risk. This has global implications.
The founders of our country, all white men of European descent, knew
our democracy was a radical experiment that might fail.
With their strengths and flaws, they did the best they could.
We still don’t know the outcome.
We have the opportunity to determine it.
These are the questions that matter:
What are we called to do?
How will we meet this moment?
South End Stew: Somehow, Somewhere, Someone
This is the first in a series of three pieces. The second can be read here.
by Kelsey Hamlin
Stretched over time
as the mountains
reached
for the sky
somehow, somewhere,
someone
Continue reading South End Stew: Somehow, Somewhere, Someone
I Won’t Miss My Train
by Gui Jean Paul Chevalier
On silent Roads
I and sets of refined collectives
Run for the chance of lost distances
South End Stew: Safety Planning
by Kayla Blau
When they ask “why didn’t she just leave?”
I want to tell them of failed escape routes
On average, seven attempts to leave
Damp paper planes and keyless locks
Choose-your-own adventure stories that offer no choice.
No exit.
South End Stew: Black Death
by K.D. Senior
A back breaks in a field,
does it make a sound?
Crackling like lightning,
striking fear into onlookers and passerby’s alike.
No one wants to get whipped.