Despite What I Said, I Always Knew
At the end of the railroad, I know I won’t see you.
I know you’ll fly away,
like a startled bird,
into the sun,
into the cacophony.
Because it’s too much for you
to stay and watch the stars with me.
Because it’s too cruel of me to beg you to stop.
Blood Drive
I have never been afraid of blood.
It’s second nature to bleed.
So I said yes and thought
nothing of it.
The office was colder than I had thought it would be.
Maybe the sterile counter would become softer,
like the blanket of a lonely child,
once I bled.
The nurses gripped my wrists tightly,
like their hands were ropes,
and tore and poked and
prodded at my veins.
It took too many tries, too many times.
The blood flowed into the bag.
It was bursting at the seams,
gorging on me.
When I left, they asked if I was feeling dizzy.
I did not respond.
I simply wondered dimly,
why I bothered to care at all.
Someday, I’ll Go Home
Where I live is not my home.
Where I sleep, cook, bathe, eat
is not where I breathe easy or scream to the air.
Where I work is not my home.
Where I think, write, calculate, persuade
is not where I laugh aloud or worry for tomorrow
Where I play is not my home.
Where I chat, tease, dance, flirt
is not where I speak openly or melt into tears.
My home is my treasure trove:
A feather from the park,
A doll from my dad,
A necklace from an old friend,
A pebble from a fish tank,
All tucked away in a box in my room.
All things I’ve loved and lost and known.
A Shadow’s Home is Nonsense
The village was made up of dull colors, rotten wood, and pathetic people. The houses, lined up in a row, bore no resemblance to an actual house. They were plastic, concrete, and devoid of decoration. Inside was worse, with guns hung up on the walls and dead animal eyes watching anyone who entered. There were no plants in the village, except for the decaying brown grass in the yards. Business stood tall; their empty, cracked stone walls a reminder for those who work there of what awaits inside. Roads were smooth and blank. Smoke plumed above the village, blotting out the sun, even though there were no factories for miles.
One day, the building’s shadows grew too long for the sun, so a creature was born to carry them. The people of the village were disgusted by it. They did not understand its existence. They would say:
“Why are you like this?”
“Can’t you just get better?”
“No one wants you, freak.”
“Won’t you just die already?”
The shadow was a monster to them, but what else was there to do? It hadn’t asked to be created. It couldn’t change itself. It didn’t want to die, so it had no choice but to live.
It roamed the village for the first few years of its life, wandering from one hope to another. It tried school but found the material much too dull and the teachers much too patronizing. It tried to work but found it endless and terribly unsatisfying. And, of course, it tried to find a home, but after too many slammed doors and tight smiles and nights alone, the shadow found the streetlights were more welcoming. They, at least, had color.
*
Years later, the shadow saw the villagers bringing a body into town. At least, the creature thought it was a body, as it was covered with a sheet. They had brought it from the forest and set it in the center of the village. It was massive, stretching across the entire plaza. As always, the shadow watched from the alleyways. The villagers spoke of “The biggest bounty yet!” and “Food for weeks to come!” As the sheet was pulled off, they lifted their goblets and cheered.
It was the body of an animal. The shadow stared in awe, mesmerized by this strange creature. It was cat-like, with black and red spots dotting its bright yellow fur. At its muzzle, the yellow fur turned white, with a pattern of zig-zags at the mouth. Its now dead eyes were vibrant blue like a sapphire, with dizzying purple spirals circling into nothing. Instead of paws, the animals had hands like the villagers', five-fingered and long. To the people, it was a monster. To the shadow, it was hope. It decided to leave the village and go to the forest. It left without looking back.
*
At first, the forest was exactly how it was expected to be: green, rough, and guarded. But the deeper the shadow went, the more the forest changed. The path faded away, making way for soft, lime green grass. The branches slowly intertwined, spinning and spiraling around each other until the creature was unsure which branch went with which tree. The bark of the trees lost its callus, turning the wood smooth and sweet. Subtly, the leaves changed from their stoic green to a wide array of blues, yellows, and pinks.
The trees began to differentiate, each gaining its own pattern, color, and texture. One bore pineapples and raspberries, with bright orange bark and dark blue spots. Another stood a hundred feet tall with dark maple sap running down the sides and an electric blue color. A third was shorter than the shadow, coated in blindingly white wax and with wick-like branches.
With the change of trees came the animals. Jackalopes and wolpertingers dashed between the tall grasses. Beyond the trees, the shadow occasionally glimpsed a griffin or a unicorn drinking from a river. In the branches, scaled rats slept beside nesting swans. Bird-sized butterflies and dragonflies danced around the shadow, delighting in the new presence.
The shadow was awed by every new fascination it came across. It stopped to marvel at the colors in a rainbow tree. It stooped down to inspect the plaid design of a marigold. When it came across a wolf with the head of a Venus flytrap, it simply tilted its head and patted the animal softly. When it saw a dragon resting in a giant beehive, it simply smiled and waved. Even when the shadow scratched itself on thorns or felt a bite on its ankles, it would merely pause and stare in confusion at whatever had hurt it. The organism would then pull away, feeling terribly sorry for attacking instinctively. Of course, the shadow understood and left the organism be.
Suddenly, the shadow reached a clearing. It believed it had reached the center, for the nature of the forest was indecipherable here. The flowers, the trees, the fruits, the animals, and even the sky had become so intertwined that it was impossible to tell the difference. From there, it looked as if the trees were blooming flowers and the grass was growing fruit. Of course, it very well could’ve been. How could anyone know for sure?
Here the shadow stopped and collapsed in the grass. It laughed. It had not known it could laugh. It lay there for a long time, staring up at the sky or the trees or the birds. Then, it occurred to the shadow that there was something hidden amongst the chaos and the nonsense that it hadn’t ever seen before: a home.
*
The first person the shadow brought into the forest was a girl who had been abandoned long ago. When it found her, she was sitting at the edge of a forest, braiding a rope. The shadow had never met a villager so quiet. She was silent while she worked and when she moved. It wasn’t sure she could speak, and it didn’t think she wanted to. It was this that convinced the shadow.
The girl ran when she first saw it, but she came back the next day. She approached the forest and spread her arms out in acceptance. She was surprised when the shadow didn’t hurt her and merely gestured for her to follow.
The second person the shadow invited into the forest was a young man. He had been amongst the hunters when it found him. Despite his strong stature, he tended gently through the forest, being careful not to crush the flowers. The other men called him weak when he hesitated to shoot. He always looked at the ground when he walked. The shadow couldn’t resist.
He didn’t run when he saw it, just stared with empty eyes. But he did not follow at first. He didn’t come until the shadow took his hand and gently pulled. He was surprised it wanted him at all.
After that, the shadow couldn’t stop. Next was a small girl who danced alone in the rain. Then, a skinny boy who, the villagers said, “loved wrong.” A woman who lived in a house with no mirrors. A man with bruise marks on his arms. Even an old woman who could no longer remember her name.
Every person who followed the shadow into the forest never left. They didn’t want to. At first, they would be wary of the jagged trees and rabid animals. That is, until they made it to the nonsense. Until the flowers grew to the size of buildings and the fruit bore their own branches. Their anxiety would melt away. The chaos of the forest was so overwhelming; how could they feel anything except pure amazement?
And then the shadow would laugh. It couldn’t help itself. The person would stare, confused. They had not known such a creature could laugh. It was raw and vibrant, completely unrestrained. The person would laugh then, too.
Finally, they would reach the center of the forest and find all the others the shadow had brought. The people found they were safe here and decided to stay. In turn, the forest embraced them. The fruit-bearing branches dipped just low enough to reach. Pegisi and phoenixes allowed themselves to be pet. Carnivorous plants closed their mouths when people got too close. From afar, the basilisk watched over the sleeping, protecting them from danger.
Together, the people and the shadow would tell stories, sing songs, cry themselves to sleep, and gaze up at the stars. Secrets that would never have been told and words that would never have been spoken have echoed across the expanse of the forest. When one remembers the past, they always have someone to hold them or hear them. When one gets trapped, they always have someone to free them. And if someone fell behind because it was all too loud, the shadow would find them and stay with them. Then, when they were ready, it would kindly hold their hand and lead them back.
At night, the shadow would roam from person to person and wish them goodnight. It did not sleep, and so it found comfort in this. If they were still awake, it would sit beside them and gently soothe them to sleep. However, for the insomniacs, the shadow would do something special. It would sing.
The people of the forest say it was like a lullaby: quiet, peaceful, surreal. The shadow’s voice was like the strings of a harp, plucking at the sorrow in their hearts. The song was born from somewhere deep inside the shadow, like a desire and a need all at once. Dancing along the leaves, the music would echo across the forest. The animals and the trees fell asleep to it. The branches would sag with the exhaustion of life, and the flowers closed their petals and wept.
The song would float, carried by the breeze, to the sleeping ears of every person, even those in the village. Children got up in the middle of the night to stare out their windows and wonder where the somber tune came from. They say it’s the melody of the trees. The villagers say it’s the melody of the sun. To the people of the forest, though, it’s the melody of home.
Tell Me Again
On my last birthday, I asked my mom if we could make a red velvet cake together. However, it wasn’t really the stirring and the mixing I asked for (though I do enjoy that too). My actual wish came when my mom pulled out the recipe book.
She said it was a communal recipe book from her childhood church. She says that every time we bake. She flipped it open and pointed to name after name, citing a story and relation for every one of them:
“Red Velvet Cake” (difficult but worth it) from Great Aunt Ruby. My mom said her aunt got the recipe from another family member. She told me that all red velvet is just chocolate cake with red food coloring. I laughed and told my friends that the next day. I make this cake every year for my birthday, as does my grandma for my grandpa.
“Bread Rolls” (amazing) from my aunt. I think my mom said my aunt learned the recipe from the back of the biscuit dough tube. She makes them at every family event. We always take the leftovers home because I’d eat five at every meal if I could.
“Cherry Pie” (very good) from my grandma. I don’t remember what my mom said. We often make this for my dad’s birthday.
“Lemon Bars” (should try sometime) from… somebody I don’t know. Or remember.
My mom never stopped talking, even once we’d started and finished baking. Throughout, I heard tales from my mom’s childhood, teaching career, and young adult life. I heard parables of my uncles and aunts’ poor relationship choices and of my mom’s second cousin who got his eye shot out by a firework. She told me stories from every day of her life, my grandma’s life, her aunt’s life, her second cousin’s life, every person she’s ever met’s life.
I couldn’t fathom it. I listened with rapt attention, on the edge of my chair. I watched her face and tried to discern every detail of the story. I commented and added my views to the tales, but I never interrupted. Every time she got out that book, I froze and let my whole being listen.
But, on that day, listening to her tell another tale, a realization dawned on me. No matter what I do, I always forget where I put my phone in the morning. I always forget what I ate the night before. I always forget what my teacher tells me to do. I pray my mom gives me that recipe book someday. Otherwise, those stories will always be just out of reach, like a constant, nagging whisper in the back of my mind. Not their fault. They’re just asking to be heard.
“Orcas, Resurrection Bay, Alaska” by Jeane Wagner. Lake Effect. Vol. 28. 2024.
In this stunning poem, Jeane Wagner not only manages to steal your breath away, but she also makes you question the nature and progression of death. This poem has a remarking ability to create both an ominious and hopeful atmosphere in its use of language, line breaks, shape, and metaphor.
The poem’s theme of death and rebirth is shown masterfully. Throughout, Wagner uses language and similes to connect humanity to the orcas, as seen in the line: “while we learn the bones of their pectoral fins are/five-fingered like hands,” She also creates this image of rebirth in the use of words such as “midwives” and “old travelers” when referring to the humans in this poem, giving it the feeling of the humans coming to visit their old home.
The line breaks and shape of the poem also contributes to the atmosphere and theme. One stanza consists of one long line followed by a short one. This creates a steady flow throughout the poem, mimicking the flow of water. Line breaks are also used very purposefully by Wagner to place emphasis on certain lines. For example, the lines: “while they sleep, the dreaming eye shut, the navigating/eye open, the spirit” create a spiritual feeling for the reader. The break between “navigating” and “eye open” makes reference to religion and spirits, namely the opening of the thrid eye in Hinduism and Buddism, which naturally reminds the reader of reincarnation.
Needless to say, the poem: “Orcas, Resurrection Bay, Alaska” by Jeane Wagner is a wonderfully written piece, with complicated themes and metaphors. However, if you are willing to take the time to understand it, you will find it to be one of the most beautiful and mysterious poems you’ve ever read.