Washington College's Student Literary and Arts Magazine

Issue: November 2012

2012-2013 Collegian Staff

2012-2013 Collegian Staff

A special thank you to our contributing authors and photographers.

In the West Riding of Yorkshire

In the West Riding of Yorkshire

…Wind hisses through the mist;
precious pulsing necklace shatters…

Ripple

Ripple

by Valerie Dunn ’15, Staff Writer

I let my insides throb with hunger
to better taste the clean and dirty of my lake,

(My palm hovers above the water,
barely a breath between human and nature, aching
as the golden line of pregnant dark
clouds strive against the sunset.

I cannot clutch below the surface,
for the willingness of my fingers
cannot match the tenacity of the lake’s escape.

Humidity is the only tangible thing,
caught in the breathless crevice
between my hot thrumming palm
and the cool unnerving water.)

wild like a woman who has long waited
for something more than the lapping at the shore.

Photograph by Cara Murray ’14.

A Song Against Autumn (or Autumn, You Bastard)

A Song Against Autumn (or Autumn, You Bastard)

I’ll lay it bare—it’ll be the first thing to be so—
Damn you, Autumn! You foul, wintry couple months!

The Shortest Season

The Shortest Season

…Like midnight walks and car-hood kisses,
Caught up in the eddies of summertime…

Comic: Mother Nature Hates Maryland

Comic: Mother Nature Hates Maryland

by Jenna Schmaljohn ’13, Comic Artist

Photobucket

Cognomen

Cognomen

…I remember being told how the earth here has our family in it, centuries deep, and how we pay it back by burying its smoke in our own lungs. But maybe you’ve forgotten…

Ode to 2.14.2012

Ode to 2.14.2012

…The gray clouds surround only the sun,
Who does not seem to mind.
My shepherd lies down
As a squirrel scampers by…

Breakthrough

Breakthrough

By: Lisa Anderson ’15

Bodies of water
—I wish I had one.
Fluid, deep, mysterious.

Enthralled by the vastness of an ocean,
the swirling colors of a lake,
the flowing, passionate movement
of a river,

I want to sink beneath the surface.

I want to dive deep
to feel the sandy bottom
—the muck beneath the murk,
the womb of Sandy’s birth.

Sometimes:
utterly smooth and still,
like a stare.

More often: trembling,
a violent vibrato,
an aria of waves crashing.

I want to crash back.

Release!
The wheel turns before me
—or do I turn before it?

In free fall, we all
spiral
downward
and Breakthrough
when we hit.

Body, of water.

The Sky

The Sky

…When all around me
is splintered
and hazy brown,
I cannot feel the purity…