non-fiction
The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
Oscar Wilde
Spring 2025
BANANAFISHBONES by lili tanghe
I’m in this exquisite kind of dilemma where I only really feel alive from midnight to three in the morning. I know the art of evoking happy moments, Baudelaire says, and yet the only time I can make myself feel truly alive is that three hour window.
Spring 2024
Nov 16 (th) To-Do List By Valerie Tauro
8:00 PM: Arrive home → dinner by 9, bed by 10
8:15 8:20 PM: Shower
8:30 8:40 PM: Call parents
In my mama’s jeans with my daddy’s attitude by ava min
when I was fourteen, we entered a panera and I told you I’d found lifelong happiness.
a love letter to dance by sara kumar
sometimes i find myself reading my body right to left in an inverse with all the conventions i was given because you have unraveled the lace from between my rib cages and the grotesqueness of my innards has been revealed as replaced by stardust as i am rewritten and rewired and structured into an angel and it’s all an illusion
Becoming Interstellar by Jane Warren
Orion has always been my favorite constellation. That might be because its concise, triplet belt is easy to find. Whether my attraction to Orion came out of the congruent simplicity of its distinct three-starred belt, I am not sure. I like to think there’s a more meaningful reason it compels me; why else would it always appear first when I look up at the stars?
Fall 2023
The cycle by Ava min
I’m so scared to have kids, ma. but– “no one will know the violence it took to become this gentle.” something maternal and raging inside me, the forget-me chemicals, tells me that this might be true: that the cycle will end with me because I know it is there.
a conversation with kali by salona bhandari
As I stand before you, I first see your garland of skulls and your blood smeared tongue, yet I can’t help but focus on your eyes instead. Like mine, they are almond-shaped and slanted.
clementines by ava min
we have a friend who shows up on diana's doorstep every few months.
she stays for a few weeks, plays the guitar and sings, and then drifts back off to india, or thailand, or the next place where the flowers change color.
picture me. I am… by hayley ng
seven.
immaterial, in a dream.
Spring 2023
Beneath Sky and Sea by Luisa Ferreira
ACT I
SCENE 1
The lights come up on Gate B26 in JFK Airport. A huge winter storm has delayed all activities in the airport, causing chaos amongst passengers. On one of the gate chairs is JEREMY HUDSON, a cool and fashionable twenty-two year old. He has a pair of expensive headphones on and is reading a book. Next to him are two empty seats.
2023, the farewell tour by emma burden
She looks at me like there is still hope in the world and that she’s holding onto it all. And laughs and laughs as she ties her Converse. She’s the Union Jack and old CDs and warm quilts paired with the cold side of the pillow. She’s diligence swamped by a mass of red hair. She’s inside jokes and paper money and the smell of pine and woods. Tea, not coffee. Gratitude and empathy and hilarious notions.
Fall 2022
Travel notes by anonymous
I am a firm believer in the fact that anyone visiting a country for a period longer than a few days should have at least a cursory understanding of the native language.
Spring 2022
Savior by emma burden
My heels kept slipping in the mud. Each time I’d fall, she’d pull me up again, physically pressing all the air out of my lungs.
Harrison Ford by emma burden
It broke my heart when I realized I could never love Harrison Ford. I was 14 when reality set in. Not that he was a celebrity, or was 61 when I was born, but that I am a lesbian, and this man I thought was perfect was something that I can never have.
Fall 2021
airport melodies by arezu tavakoli
Airports, in their purest form, represent freedom. They act as a means of escape, a bridge to the other side, and a VIP pass to experience that infamous green grass.
something from my notes app by alexa smith
I hope these words wander into your brain and make themselves at home. Maybe they'll make themselves a cup of coffee and peruse through your short term memory.
I want to tell the story that I should have told Hikmat by Sofia Anjum
I want to tell the story that I should have told Hikmat. The story to make her fully understand me so that she would never have looked at me with those eyes.
Fall 2020
Rebellious Hues for Rebellious kids by madeline katz
Directions:
Put on gloves in order to avoid staining your hands.
the flat is in the west village - on an unassuming street devoid of too much pomp by victoria castillo
There’s virtually no light and all the plants die. But, the light that does manage to creep in is a ferocious golden hue. The grown-ups around me shine all different kinds of light.
to my grandfather, whom i barely knew by isabella malfi
With the garden string, you’d restake the peppers, eggplant, and beans to their slender stakes. And at the very end, your hands and knees would crawl across the garden snatching the unyielding dandelion sprouts and the few blades of unwelcome grass.
i am by gabrielle dinizo
Hi, my name is _____ and I am _____.
The Tastes I Miss, or, The Tastes I Haven't Had by camille hermida-fuentes
I have a good friend of mine who stayed in New York, who stayed when I left. He’s always been a good cook, to the point where if he said he was opening up a restaurant I wouldn’t doubt it.
smells that save by sophia ortega
1. My favorite scent is both a color and a smell: Lavender.
Spring 2020 and earlier
MISSING POSITANO BY CAMERON PRICE
When I close my eyes, I am in my kitchen.
lessons from the psych ward by michael byrne
I learned how to speak about my condition candidly.
sometimes I look at a stranger by warren green
She went to a private school so she was probably wearing the uniform. Her hair was dyed pink and there were Sharpie blossoms drawn onto her forearm.
Before bumble by rebecca slaman
“Im gay lol”
It started with a drunk blog post I happened to scroll past one late Friday evening in August. Laying in bed, my eyes squinted at my friend’s name as the author of this post while my stomach became a hive of bees.
Golden Milk by Elizabeth Triscari
Golden milk is the D&D, fantasy paperback word
for a turmeric latte.
untitled memories by zane austill
There is only one night I can’t forget, mostly.
a morning that came before last night’s caffeine had wore off by evan volbrecht
I closed my eyes, and it seemed as if an eternity passed, stories and worlds passing like a fever dream in my semi-subconscious, but when I again opened them all those years later only a few minutes had transpired.
a change of scenery by panhardith in
Year after year, many college students flock to New York City in search of a life of labels or a life of love, and being a young adult in New York yields itself to glamorous shops, amazing internships, great parties and potential relationships.
i am not an artist by emily hoffert
“You are not an artist,” he says to me, extending his arm out directly in front of him, envelope in hand.
freshman faux-pas by panharidth in
Freshman year in high school or college is the epitome of stress, distress and an abundant amount of mistakes. But I had to wonder: what mistakes do you NEVER EVER want to repeat for the next “freshman year?”
a cautionary tale by isabel daniel
My mother has always told me I am very self motivated.