Baby I’m smokin’ a cigarette

Baby I’m smokin’ a cigarette Short Story By ANONYMOUS   “Baby I’m smokin’ a cigarette.” The text glows on the screen of your phone, lighting up the dark bedroom. It’s midnight—well past your bedtime before morning practice. She told you after the third Last Cigarette that this was it. She told you that she was finally ready on her own, finally ready to start good habits and be an adult. The thing about Lennon is that she makes a lot of promises. Most promises are well-meaning and hopeful, but empty. Other promises come with a catch: after next week I’ll do …

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For Your Sake

For Your Sake A Poem By JOSE ESPINEL   For your sake, Child of present Troubles, Those – from kind intent refracted, An aberration or malpractice of That impulse to live, I wish you would know this:   That in the parent’s absence peace persists Pressed as blissful comfort into lifeless things; The afternoon’s warmth, The melody’s trill, The lambent voice’s call Communing heartfelt dreams.   That where shields have sounded Hate’s telltale call Marking souls withered by A brutish scornful root – Some orchards since sown Nest warblers who sing Without fear of the blue-jay.   That Time, the …

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Standish Library

Standish Library A Poem By AIDAN FITZSIMONS   There is a tall clock on the front wall Facing all of Standish Library Does not tick or seem to move at all It does when you don’t look But the time is often off   A giant sun shape Brass, gold, dull, heavy, painted, fake The clock is as long as me But it never expands or shines or changes or burns Which is how you know it is not me And not the sun, see   Even though I know it’s fake It feels imperial, definitive Its rays radiate evenly …

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As Spun in the Eliot House Record Room

As Spun in the Eliot House Record Room Tucked away in the shelves of the Record Room resides a cultural artifact By AIDAN FITZSIMMONS and MARISSA GARCIA Nestled within Eliot House is a Record Room, vaguely scented of old album covers. Upon its hardwood floors– blanketed with an ornate red carpet– sit two threadbare sofas, angled to face the centerpiece of the room: a record player. Behind it, two bookshelves span the entirety of the wall. In an endearing contrast to the grandeur of the darkened-wood aesthetic, the bookshelves are lined with jagged cut-outs of white paper labels, imperfected throughout …

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In the Rain

In the rain By ABIGAIL JADE KOERNER   It’s raining always when I’m with you And not because I’m feeling blue It’s raining raining And I can’t see I squint my eyes – there’s you and me Singing and dancing Kissing in the rain I said my favorite place was solitude But that was insane! Insane like puddles splashing Water drip drops down my face You are my favorite place But my heart will still race Love the chase   Abigail Koerner ‘21 ([email protected]) writes poetry for the Indy.  

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61st Grammy Awards Attempt to “Step Up”

61st Grammy Awards Attempt to “Step Up” This year’s Grammys bring feminine power to the stage By ELIZABETH GUMMER   The 61st Annual Grammy Awards took place on Sunday February 10th at the Staples Center in Los Angeles. This rendition of the hallowed show was hosted by Alicia Keys, the fabulous singer of top hits “No One” and “Fallin.” The evening featured both up and coming artists and seasoned favorites like Janelle Monáe, Miley Cyrus, and Camila Cabello. Top awards went to Kacey Musgraves (Album of the Year), Dua Lipa (Best New Artist), H.E.R. (Best R&B Album), and Cardi B …

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A Letter From Donostia

A Letter From Donostia A Poem By JOSE ESPINEL   Someone weeps alone in the dark. That’s how morning broke at camp: Vince or one of the other boys Announcing fully in tears The advent of the worst pox Adam willed us at age Ten – To be motherless and far from home.   When we first met The mountains in Summer, The sight of the lone thunderhead Through a dew-stained window Lingering to scatter the thinning mist or – The crescendo of bird-song As the forest warms up to the day Bound us to our cots; Bid us to …

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The Price

The Price By Remedy Ryan   The tourists trampled the sunflower field for the perfect Instagram shot The field reduced to useless, golden ruins   Remember when we were born? Our mothers cried for us then Little fools To think that beauty could exist Without pain   One winter night we rubbed each other’s hands until they turned raw I didn’t know it then But you were already gone   How much time will l spend in front of the mirror? Becoming something worth ruining— again

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By: Jose Espinel Poem 1: Untitled   So many nights I’d branded myself Mycenaean And wondered in silence Whether Helen might visit my dreams If I walked down Allenby Street And continued into the sea. I swore I’d stay there, Devoting my days on Elba To studying the taxonomy of stones And other enlightened arts Of great men who never bathed Until with labored certainty I’d say: This is grey. And so much toil would make me a rational man. And rational men do not weep at her memory. And rational men find beauty in numbers and stones. But if …

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