Jane Doppke in her own words...
Jane Doppke is indecisive. She’s a reader, a writer, a poet, an actress, a sister, a daughter, a student, a friend, a soon-to-be freshman, but, to quote Oscar Wilde, “to define is to limit,” so she could be even more. Her hobbies include listening to Halsey, procrastinating on her novel by watching Star Wars movies, and starting (but not always finishing) many, many books. Jane is fascinated by all different mythologies and legends, and many of those tales directly inspire her own writing. Her stories flip between figments of her imagination and unadulterated truths. As you read her work, it’s up to you to decide which story is which.
Apollo
I met a god in the alleyway,
his eyes like battered stars.
He was the sun, the hero of the sky, who colored the world a gilded gold.
His wolf’s mouth was a river,
spilling burnished and bronzed and beautiful words.
He looked like someone I could never forget.
He was someone I could never forget.
Heaven wished it was this alleyway.
With his lilting words
my anxieties turned to stars,
and my regrets transformed into a river;
with his Midas touch, my aches sung gold.
My world was a sunlit gold.
His easy effervescence is something you don’t easily forget,
something that engulfs you like religion, like a river.
I’m falling deeper and deeper down this alleyway
and I won’t stop until I reach the stars.
His voice is more a song than a string of spoken words.
His actions don’t quite match his words.
My head hurts, my mind weighed down by too much gold,
but once you reach the sky, you can’t just come down; for who would leave the stars?
Who, having seen their glow, could bear to forget?
I could not forget. So leave me to the blinding lights, to divinity, to this alleyway.
Leave me to drown in this devouring feeling, this whirlwind of a river.
I was left to this feeling, and I drowned and I drowned and I drowned in this river.
I drowned and I drowned and I drowned in his burning words.
I drowned and I drowned and I drowned in this uninhabitable alleyway.
He was the sun, a scar on the sky, tainting the world a sickly, irresistible gold.
I let it go and I forgave and I forgot and I compromised and I laughed it off and still I FORGET.
His eyes are destroying suns; I wish they still looked like pretty little stars.
I remember the way he smiled even now, with all the radiance of unflinching stars.
I really did want to let the current pull me under; this feeling more hurricane than river
but I just could not forget
his lying eyes, his bright mind, his clever words,
all fool’s gold.
I left only my heart, battered and broken, in the alleyway.
I no longer want to hear about the god of gold or shards or words or stars.
I don’t want to hear about the river of destruction left in his path, or our crumbling little alleyway.
All I ask for is mercy, Muse; sing in me a story I’ll forget.