Runner up in the English Language and Literature Division Creative Writing Competition - Creative Nonfiction “But I’ll make it out.” That’s what Blaire told me, her fine cheek bones alight in
There’s nothing like turning to find only ocean. Everywhere. To know that it would take a day or more just to find land. It was a darker night than I’d ever
Look at that tremble: your fingers Clutching your coffee cup like a mast, Like a slice of Still amid the Turning— The knife scratch, the child’s cackle Of those playing the “them”
There’s nothing like these fog banks—how they stop time except for the few inches in front of your face, Willow thought as she walked toward the docks.