By Matthew Patrick
Extending my arms, lifting off the glossy wooden floor with my legs,
watching the pebbled brown ball rotate while it moves in an arch
The phrase “he don’t miss” is uttered as my Curry’s reconnect with the ground
The black-striped ball collides with the orange hoop,
Refused safe passage by the rim, it makes its descent,
Coming back down to the earth from which it came
My thoughts go to the thoughts of my coach and teammates.
My muscles tense, and my head shakes,
Trying to run off what feels like a fatal mistake.
By Matthew Sellers
Death is not the end
Another world waits
Subtle like salt
But strong enough to taste
A light path piercing oblivion
The mind can’t grasp
In fighting reality
Logic lacks
To guess it leads to uncertainty
To gain it, people endure
Criticism and persecution
Crucifixion of the pure
Faith, a game of tag
Trips up chasing reality
More than tradition
Correlation is not causality
Enthusiastic sermons
Spiritual gravity
Nothing stops the truth
That reveals the cavity
By Kalysta Crawford
It is early morning, 7:30 A.M,
There I am sitting in a boat with seven other people in front of me.
The reverse pick drill just finished
Now we are going to the actual workout.
Moving up the river, fighting against the current,
Rain dripping down, hitting my skin, getting in my eyes,
A straight back, slow recovery, and quick catch,
A hard press with the legs,
body swing,
Bend in the arms,
Hands gripping a starboard oar,
Fingers moving as I feather and square,
Blisters forming.
A loud thud, as oar hits oarlock with every finish.
Can’t stop, won’t stop.
must keep pushing on,
Water is calm and quiet,
Only a splish and a splash as oars bury into the water.
Not a peep in the boat,
Expect for an occasional yell from the coxswain,
We are focused, we are concentrated.
Everyone in sync, following the person ahead of them,
Keeping even handle heights,
Getting blades off the water.
Few more minutes than I can rest,
Must keep pushing on but it is getting harder.
How to pass the time? How can this piece end sooner? How can I do better?
What’s for dinner? What should I eat for breakfast? Is my gas tank full?
My mind starts to wonder, I have to snap myself out of it.
I double-check that every part of my body is in the right place at the right time.
I take a few strokes reminding myself to breath
“WEIGH ENOUGH IN TWO.”
“THAT’S ONE...AND TWO.”
By Logan Roy
I wake up unwillingly.
I want nothing more than 5 more minutes.
I eat dust in a bowl.
My stomach won’t last past 10.
I wait to leave ready to go.
I wait anxiously on the ones I can’t control.
I ride along silently.
My thoughts are quieter.
I get out of the bus briskly.
I note the time: 9 minutes left.
I walk efficiently.
My legs work like a machine.
I reach my destination.
I step into the churning, boiling pot.
I leave, hours later.
My entire being crying for rest.
I fall asleep late.
I dream nothing.
Only to wake up unwillingly.
By Isabella Schremp
Everyone looks upon Icarus
With sharp eyes
And cold hearts
They ask
Why couldn’t he fight his thoughts?
How hard is it to obey your father?
But we never think of the full story
Of how he could only think of the warm and bright sun
That filled him with joy
For he was free he could do anything he pleased
His wings were filled with wind
Brushing his face
He wanted to be friends with the sun
Like how much he loved the wind
For he didn’t think of the wax that holds his wings together
Of the fragileness of the feathers
Until it was too late
Until the wind who was once his friend
Tried to destroy him
Until the sun showed his hate for young Icarus
And now all that is left of him
Is his story
The tale we tell to our kids
Showing how we should never become like him
But how would he feel about his legacy?
How would he feel about our one-sided story?
Not thinking of how he felt
Before he flew too close to the sun
