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By Molly Scavo
Photo by Ariana Arambaru
Leaf litter buttons—
Her inky feathers gather
For her corvid love.
Why does the crow collect such inconsequential bits and pieces? Does she act out of pride or passion or practicality? What meaning do these trinkets hold for her?
Perhaps she is a businesswoman, her crafty beak cawing a transaction— the scattered beads meant to repay windowsill walnuts or some stale cheerios. Or maybe she is a curator, who collects bent nails and rusty screws. Her curiosity overtakes her upon sighting some errant scrap— she must know its story. Her comfy tree hollow serves as a museum of mismatched bones and coins of the 1900s. Or perhaps she is more of a photographer, putting up leaves like polaroid photos between the twigs of her nest. Contained within are her favorite memories. Or perhaps she’s more careful, selecting the dull blue button because it reminds her of her partner. It is to be a gift, or just a happy reminder of someone she loves.
Why does the crow collect? Why do her amber eyes and inky black wings eagerly scour the fallen autumn leaves? She’s remarkably clever, perhaps she sees something in these items that we do not. Perhaps she, simply by collecting and loving these small odds and ends of the world, breathes meaning and purpose into them? For this, perhaps the crow is wiser than the rest of us perceive.
Perhaps the crow collects for all these reasons. She appreciates the broken zipper of a favorite winter coat and the old needle with thread still attached differently, but with all the same fervor. Perhaps she is aware of all the different loves and purposes they’ve held and will hold. Perhaps she is able to see through the eyes of many— she knows that all contains something to love, something to cherish. Significance is held within everything and anything. Why should the button in the leafmeal, or even the leafmeal itself be any less loved? Any less recognized for the quiet beauty they contain? Perhaps this is why the crow gathers.
A lace of intimacy.
Hands—made to fit yours.
Humans— have forever sought each other out. When we are scared, we reach for a hand to squeeze. When we are cold, we press our bodies together for warmth. When we express deep affection, we press our lips against each other. Hand holding is a sign of intimacy, but who decided this? Why do our fingers interlace so perfectly together? Could we perhaps be made for this? Be made for eachother? It almost feels like palms were created with the intention of pressing against another, fingers delicately molded to fit together like a puzzle piece. Is it romantic, because they seem to naturally connect? Was it always the intention for humans to be drawn to one another for comfort? I know. I know humans were made to love each other.
Haiku & Thoughts
Increase my tempo.
Endless flow of thrill and fear
At last satisfied.
Imagine feeling empty every second of the day, and no matter how good of a citizen you try to be you never feel excited or have your heart race. That is until your first mess up, when you finally realize this is the feeling you've been missing. It was never good and you knew that. But why must you follow the rules all the time, especially when you only wish to feel something once in a while. This is why you committed a crime. Well, at least that's what others call it. But in reality it's an action of relief, a moment of freedom. You're sorry and you didn’t want to, but at the same time you will do it again. Only to feel something, anything, once more.
Keep Reading, Please.
I’m sitting at a lab table when I get the notification: “Congratulations!” But I’m not so sure. I read the acceptance letter multiple times— my teacher rambles about the regeneration of cells in the background. With the entire final months of high school filled with uncertainty, I know I expected too much when I thought this letter would fulfill me. How much longer will I exist as this version of myself? My anatomy teacher says that cells are completely replaced every 7 years. In 7 years I will be a different person. In 7 years, I will be entirely new.
False promises, false advertising that this wouldn’t be a bad course to take. I don’t need this to graduate, I didn’t need him in order to be happy. Learning what destroys differentiability, wondering what destroyed what we had. Why doesn’t this equation make sense? Why did things end between us? My teacher talks about how 1-sided derivatives are different, was it all in my head? This fake scenario that it could ever work out. We’re told to remember a function is continuous for all x’s but not differentiable for all x’s. Was, he just using me? Was it even real?
He broke up with me yesterday. He said that I’m the problem. What am I supposed to do now? I’m in class now, hearing the teacher talk about earthquakes: tectonic plates, seismic waves, faults. “We are unable to stop them,” she says, “but it’s natural for Earth to change and earthquakes will come and go as they please.” I stop listening, continuing my thoughts on the breakup. The aftershock is hitting me. It feels like my world is crumbling down and I’m shaken up. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want to change. Is it really my fault?
Photo by Lucas Hill
Cash is free money.
A refund is free money.
Spend more— free shipping.
If you buy a purse that is $300 and use it 20 times, that is $15 a wear. If you wear and use the purse 200 times, that is .66$ a wear, which is basically worth it. If I pre-load my Starbucks account with $25 and I go to Starbucks the following week, my order was free. Concert tickets, a trip, or any event that is bought months in advance will become free. Anything bought with a gift card— free. If you buy something and return it, you’re making money. If you offer to pay for something and everyone pays you their cut back, you’re making money. You didn't spend money yesterday on breakfast, now your budget doubled today. If you don't look at your bank account you can’t see the money leaving and seeing is believing so you aren't actually losing money. Girl math.
She hadn’t felt his touch since they fell apart. Always an awkward encounter, sitting next to him at a lab desk. Inches from each other, yet so far apart. Close enough to feel the radiation of his burning eyes on her right cheekbone. Her teacher asked a classmate, “What is conduction?” A flip must have been switched in his brain; a reminder. He shuffled his leg closer to hers; they both knew what conduction was. She could feel the heat of his thigh grazing her kneecap— she was consumed by his haunting warmth.
Her boyfriend said nothing could change him. Newton’s first law of motion states a body in motion stays in motion, said their physics teacher. He had the belief that nothing could change him. He pushed her away. I'm okay. Their physics teacher taught them Newton's Third Law of Motion, when two objects interact, they apply equal force in opposite directions. The more he pushed, the more she loved. I love you, she said, tightly hugging him on her warm body. He forgot one part of Newton’s first: unless external force acts upon it. Love brought back to equilibrium.