Human Nature | Leighton Schreyer

Image: Maxime Valcarce

Human Nature

Do not say that you do not see what I see.
Do not say that you do not feel the walls closing in on you, that
you do not hear the click of the key turning, locking you in a box like a coffin, because

nothing is as simple as it seems.

Beyond the borders of those boxes that
sort skin like laundry into darks and lights, coloured or white,
telling tales about the danger posed by a single soot black sweater, hood pulled high,
or a dress, red as blood, thrown in with crisp white sheets because

it only takes one drop;

at the limits of those labels that
reduce people to chemical structures, to nothing but an arrangement of atoms
on one side of a double bond — cis, as in same, ordinary, natural, normal —
or the other — trans, as in different, unlike in nature, form, or quality,

unintelligible and illusory as such;

in between that fractured love that
physicians tried (in vain) to set straight before issuing diagnoses
of sexual deviation — sociopathic personality disturbances to be treated and tamed,
banished to bathhouses first, then bedrooms, now stashed away in closets and being

dared to come out;

within those colossal cracks that
some try to seal with pity, others with prayer, asking God for a miracle, a cure,
something to ease the suffering and numb the pain they attribute to being broken because
they cannot see the sunlight seeping through the cracks, cannot understand that

there is beauty in breaking;

there, in the spaces beyond and inbetween,
at the edges of perception where people are othered and alienated, separated and segregated,
where borders are built with walls made of bricks, not straw or sticks because
there, a harmonious wind howls at the rising moon and life dances with liminality like

humans with nature.

Leighton Schreyer (he/they): is a queer, trans*, disabled writer and poet based out of Toronto who describes themselves as fundamentally unsatisfied with the status quo. Through their writing, Leighton strives to see the unseen and hear the unheard, to make the invisible visible and tell the untold. They use their writing as a tool for activism and empowerment, challenging readers to reflect on the biases and assumptions that shape worldviews. As a current medical student, Leighton is particularly interested in the intersection of health, arts, and the humanities, and is passionate about using stories, storytelling, writing, and poetry as powerful tools for healing and connection.

Thursday // Jackson Culpepper

Image: Jeremy Vessey

Thursday

BY JACKSON CULPEPPER


Hoarse chimes of the clock - - Stars float in slower time
All needs of the day, immediate -- The moon a pensive sliver
My blood is a to-do list, circling -- Crepuscular stir and watch
My bones a calendar, days creaking The cold is a single clear note
Paper, then screens, these walls - - The ridge gleams amid the dark
Anxious shoulder, spine’s regret - - Light and cold regard one another
What is time but lines and curves - And Earth awaits her warmth
What is time but a moving whip - The sun breaks, a silent promise
Work, a twitch at the mouth -- A billion tiny eyes await
Work for whom? Forever whom - -A million tiny bodies, wrapped against cold
Where is my soul in all of this? -- They emerge, they trod, they watch the sky
One meeting, five meetings, -- A dawning world of hawk and rabbit
Will there be a real meeting? -- Deer tails wait to hie, among their quiet steps
I know the world is wrong– -- Foxes keep silence like antique monks
Then what can I do right? -- The creek is dauntless, indefatigable
Let me throw one starfish -- Water cares not for freezing, for warmth nor cold
Grace of graces, let me know it -- A day of walking, watching, eating, killing, giving
Let me live someway here -- Always parents for their children
Where they took away the paths -- Always under a glowing, constant sky.

Jackson Culpepper (he/they) grew up in Georgia and has since lived in Southern Appalachia, the mountain west, and the desert southwest. His debut short story collection, Songs on the Water, is forthcoming in August from Homebound Publications, where he won the Landmark Prize for fiction. He lives and teaches first-year English in the Denver area. You can find him on Instagram @JCCulpepper and online at jacksonculpepper.wordpress.com.

The Dance Floor | Caleb Ferganchick

Image: Portuguese Gravity

The Dance Floor

if I die on the dance floor tonight
know that I did not go willingly

that tomorrow I had dreams
of morning breath kisses
from a boy I pray is left behind

if I die on the dance floor tonight
console yourself that it is how we wish

for I died doing what I loved
surrounded by friends and family
peacefully in muted gunfire

if I die on the dance floor tonight
please don’t stop the music

I cannot bare to hear the silence anymore


Caleb Ferganchick is a rural, queer, slam poet activist and author of Poetry Heels (2018). His work has been featured and published by the South Broadway Ghost Society (2020, 2021), “Slam Ur Ex ((the podcast))” (2020), and the Colorado Mesa University Literary Review. He organizes the annual “Slamming Bricks” poetry slam competition in honor of the 1969 Stonewall Riots and serves as a board member to Western Colorado Writer’s Form. A SUP river guide, Caleb also dreams of establishing a queer commune with a river otter rescue and falconry. He lives in Grand Junction, Colorado.