World in Her Hands
Upside Down World
A Minivan Grew Wings
By Evelyn Olivares
A bumpy ride to elementary school and later a trip to a university,
trunk overflowing with new-born dreams and strawberry pink garbage bags.
Weaving our voices with the radio after unintentionally memorizing lyrics to songs
that play a few dozen times.
Eating yakisoba and teriyaki and tearing styrofoam to make 5 plates, loyal customers
until the restaurant’s final days.
Laying on the backseat and conversing with the stars. They never talked back, but the
minivan hummed after my rants.
I’ve meshed my cheek onto the icy window and marveled at the clouds and the
It stormed through hail, was our blade in the wind, and welcomed the rain.
It has driven up a mountain’s spiraling roads, by trees enveloped in snow, and
through the California heat.
Reuniting after two decades, my parents finally got to share their favorite locations
with my grandfather and grandmothers. It was one of the only times the minivan flew:
all of our dreams had become a reality.
Our hopes for the future guide the minivan. They race with us as we drive to a new
place they want us to see. When the minivan tires and slows down, they place their
hands on the back of the vehicle and push us forward.
The minivan will age, the ceiling’s fabric will droop and pool: it will become
irreparable. But for now, we laugh with it, thanking the minivan for giving us safe
passage with song.
After Rene Magritte, The Therapist, 1937
By: Nahomi Alemu
Shame is a cloak,
unequivocally masking the unpleasant.
When I peek from under
it is my reflection I see
only, what stands before me is distant.
Like a cold salty shore
and an infinite horizon of vapor
we stand on opposite ends.
separated by a confinement
of my making.
I yearn so deeply
to embrace my reflection,
to ignite like a match stick
to become one again.
We could take flight
to the tune
of the whistling wind,
leaving behind the stiff bars
of self judgement
that I had placed
part of myself in.
The Guardian Angel Rests
after Galina Zhiganova, A Woman Cuts the Hem of a Kimono so as Not to Wake a Cat, 2007
By Sofie Zarceno
Before I leave to face the world
I give her a kiss goodbye
She gives me a stare
A glare that says
I love you
Her eyes open wide as I come back home
I’m sure I had her worried
She licks her fur as I get ready for bed
Guarding me as she sees fit
Always by my side
She likes to stay
Keeping me warm
She curls up in her spot to my left
And finally closes her eyes
Knowing I am safe
The least I can do
Is let her sleep
By Josie Bacon
Inside me is an ocean
Cerulean and flickering
Never ending and nonexistent
The tide swells with my pride
And silver fish twirl beneath the surface with my joy
My laughter is a pod of dolphins leaping
And the sky turns a rosy sunset hue when I’m in love
The weather changes along with my mood
It can happen suddenly, in an instant
Whirlpools form with my anxiety
Swirling downward into deep darkness
Rain pours in with my sadness
Waves crash with my rage
But in time my serenity always returns
And with it, the frothy water stills
And the champagne fish resume their glittering pirouettes
Arcturus 2022 Launch Party on June 9th
The launch of Arcturus 2022 will be held at 11am on June 9th in the Mt. Constance room of Building 8. There will be free copies of the journal as well as food and refreshments. Stay to enjoy some poetry and prose readings by Arcturus contributors!
by Anisa Dahir
Late-night drives, window rolled all the way down
As the wind blows and the moon is full
Speeding down the road
Everything is clear, the path ahead of us, our minds
With new problems to worry about tomorrow
With no solutions
Deep into the darkness
Midnight nearing, and hope for a better day We drive,
the town behind us getting smaller and smaller
by Emily Hamilton