The Pensieve

By Taisha Ostler It begins as always, with the bowing of the head, the hands poised, the body capturing itself in archaic frame…Bodies bend their legs, twist their torsos, and lower their gazes…This is how to say grace.                                                                          – Kara Roseborough                 I ease myself into the tub and lay my head against the porcelain rim. The faucet (which I have intended to fix for months) drips a steady beat into the water below, creating a lovely little tune. Soon, I find myself imagining what this music would look like embodied by dance. It happens often, this mental movement that will never occupy space outside of my own mind. I am usually dancing alone, but sometimes music washes over me in a way that calls for many bodies—a chorus of graceful and powerful amens expanding into one great whole—and I imagine the stage filled and humming.                     In my youth, I adhered to regular dance discipline, like prayer, as a

By Ashlin Awerkamp A drop of water hits your toe, yanking you out of the world of Nancy Drew and her detective work and back to the foofaraw that is the public swimming pool. You pull your legs up to protect your book from the threat of future assault as you watch four teenagers locked in a chicken fight. One pair smacks into the water, and you lift your book high above your head. The kids stand up for another round. You cluck your tongue, grab your shoes and bag, and walk across the pool deck away from the rogues. The hot pavement sears your feet, so you turn toward the serene, dry shade of the snack shack.      As you walk, you wipe sweat from your brow and check your watch. An hour down and four to go. Knowing your dad and younger brother, there was no chance of going home from this blazing hot work party early. They would ride the slides until their backs broke. Adrenaline junkies. At least three hours would give you plenty of time to see how Nancy Drew solved the mystery of the cr

by Merilee Mackay build my grave with smallness  plain and kept to that day  dug in soft earth and peaceful views a grave contained  keeping life from dying  keeping death from living leave my grave for me those monuments with size and grandeur  thoughts piled high or thoughts kept from thinking are vaults brittle and trembling no peace is found in catacombs filled with guests do not build my grave in your life covered in grief  that life is painful and will crack and shatter  opening a grave too soon for you  leave your grave to be built by others  leave the grave to the dead build my grave simply  let me rest with my companions come then leave  your grave thoughts for tomorrow  keep the flowers for love  keep your life for living

By Kelly McDonald "The First Law of Robotics: A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm."   Isaac Asimov           As his father’s truck pulled away from the curb, Mark felt a tug of remorse, a tear welling up in the corner of his eye. His parents had just helped him move into his own place. All his possessions had found their way into the tiny one-bedroom apartment #110, at the end of the long hallway, on the 12th floor of a brand-new apartment building on 42nd Street. Mark’s mother waved out the window at him as the truck turned the corner at the end of the block. Mark suddenly felt overwhelmed. Now 21, he had spent his life living in his parent’s home. He had attended whatever schooling he was able to tolerate, and he had done ok in school when the curriculum was well-structured. He could follow directions and had a good memory for retaining the answers to test questions. However, drawing new conclusions from the learne