XOXO
Art by Kim Salac
May 09, 2021
Every time I set out to write, I ask myself, “what is the story that wants to be told, why tell it now, and why are you its teller?” This month, I intended to write about April’s Hierarchy of Needs, about Ramadan and spirituality, about finding myself during a time of energy depletion and (hopeful) heart-surplus.
I have been putting off writing this. Namely because talking about spirituality is hard, and the stories of my religious history are rich, complicated, and at times
Art by Sydney Pulliam
April 23, 2021
Eyes draw me in and allow me to more fully understand others. At UVA, eyes have allowed me to make new friends, distance myself from bad influences, and comfort broken hearts. My gray-scale drawing, done with graphite pencils, allows everyone, regardless of race or gender, to relate. The flowers surrounding the eye add a three-dimensional component that comes with getting to know a person. I have often been judged based on my looks. However, once I speak, my genuine and authentic personality
Art by Kim Salac
April 22, 2021
Nacho table, extension cords, a locket
lost in the couch. This house crept up
on me like a new year: it was judiciously
January when one day I woke up
to December frosting hello on my window.
When I moved in, after a summer spent inert,
the floor was covered in dead crickets and dirt.
Now there’s unpaid parking tickets, fostered pups,
half-melted candles on the window sill. In this house,
I never want to be on my own, or still.
Art by Kim Salac
April 07, 2021
I considered the five-pound bag of frozen peas to be an investment, as I stood, double-masked, in a Costco aisle. And I still do. Buying frozen foods and nonperishables in bulk has saved me both time and money, but there are more reasons that I find myself braving the big-box warehouse during a pandemic.
I grew up on Costco. My family sent me away to college with a 12-pack of Annie’s Macaroni and Cheese. My father’s love language is buying me three 36-count variety packs of Nature’s
Art by Kim Salac
March 17, 2021
A soft recovery is vulnerable. Fragile bones in gaunt skin, delicate like egg shells, stress the word wan. Weak.
Another day waking up anxious. Eyes fluttering open are accompanied by a tight chest and a churning stomach. There are no butterflies. September to December brought a four month long writer’s block with one poem and a headache to show for it. Outside grows steadily darker, but the blinds on the bedroom have been broken. It’s been dark since 3:00 pm.
The snow on the
Art by Kim Salac
February 24, 2021
Nestled books
and nested damp hair.
Warm bread and blood-
bloodied
Bloodied bird striking bars; ceramic skull cracked open.
You could’ve held it between two fingers, that small stony thing.
Those steely feathers now matted
your voice buried in static;
pounded piece of clay, caged squarely in chest,
a terracotta truth-
that bird, your voice, this earthly woman,
suddenly in unison:
Art by Kim Salac
February 24, 2021
The average color of the universe is cosmic latte—a light beige. Not a dark, swirling black or a brilliant flash of yellow. A warm, boring, in the middle beige. Perfectly suited for Goldilocks. I’d like to imagine that if all of my experiences were poured into a glass jar and mixed like a can of paint, a pristine shade of cosmic latte would emerge.
I keep thinking about the format of Jeopardy: it starts with answers and ends with questions. How different this is from life.
Art by Kim Salac
November 18, 2020
“There is no springtime on Venus, nor
any other season—no seasons in hell!”
- Allan Treiman
Who named Venus the planet
of love? Yes, it’s bright, blinding
as lust’s hot passion. Year round
the forecast reads a balmy 870
degrees, blistering enough to melt
metal—lead, bismuth—not us,
though (human bodies yearn, burn
in an untold heat). But Pluto’s spring
Art by Kim Salac
October 28, 2020
(I have no idea if the purple flowers I saw were actually heal-alls but I am always itching for good omens)
I sometimes look out at birds and wish I was them. And mountains
Oh, the mountains,
Sending tears down their slopes
rippling and shaking
You’re halfway there
The overlook is worth it
Mud-lined and alive
Breathing
Smooth rock beneath slick shoes, slipping
Beds of
Art by Kim Salac
October 13, 2020
I Try Not to Consider the Lilies
I try not to consider the lilies
or think of how they are arrayed
because I know that they are greater
than any earthly king.
Because when I do consider the lilies
I toil and spin in ways I’m not supposed to
Because I can’t want them and
I’m not allowed to have the others
so I burn in the fields as I’m asked
so that I don’t ask any more