What I Learned When I Turned Nine

By Cruz Villarreal
The bathroom mirror affirmed the innocence
of my ignorance.

The only color a child should see,
is reflected in the maple tree of fall
or the coral and pastel hues of roses in spring.

But on my names day, my friend said,
“Let’s go to the movies, we’ll have ice-cream on the way.”
A soft concoction of chocolate and vanilla swirl
the sweetness blended and inseparable
like we once were.
Our goodness to be soon consumed.

My first movie.

He said that he would pay
because he had a little but I had less.
You see—my friend was sparrow-rich
and I was church mouse poor.

101 Dalmatians was in town.
It was exciting to be in line.

And then a boy my size,
Lassie’s Timmy came to mind.
Who like a lion, snarled and roared.
He bore his teeth and spat at me
because I was brown and he was not.
He spat at me and cursed my friend
because he was white and I was not.

With his father’s voice—
he changed my name to Spic.

He caused the candles of my cake to die,
the maple leaves to fall and roses fade.

Then I saw the world in painful clarity
like magnets in reverse polarity.
My color repels and casts away.

Back then, I thought I was the same,
that one boy brown and one boy white were all alike.
That one and one was one
a blended concoction of chocolate and vanilla swirl
the sweetness mingled and inseparable.

But what I learned when I turned nine—
is they were white,
and I was not,
that one boy brown and one boy white were not alike.
That blended and inseparable goodness
was consumed like tissue on a fire—
the day my innocence, lay on the funeral pyre.

Cruz Villarreal is a local Lansing, Michigan, area poet. A first generation American from Mexican parents, he was born in Carrizo Springs, Texas, and still caries many of the Mexican traditions given him by his parents. He enjoys creative writing, and several of his works have been published locally. More of his work can be read at cruzpoet.openlcc.net. Readers are encouraged to leave comments or suggestions on how to improve his work.

Every Drop of Light

By Hamish Todd

Before the thought is lost

And the blue ink smudges

Beyond recognition

On the temporal page

Every drop of light

Finds its way

To the surface

Like water runs downward

Light is all around us

Aiming up into the sky

As well as down

Directly into our heart

Hamish Todd

"The girl in this picture, with the image of one of her forefathers in her mind, expresses the notion that we are better off the more we know, and that there is power and strength in knowing, and being able to draw upon, the wisdom of our ancestors. The portrait speaks not only for herself, but for those who came before her. In this case, like in so many cases, for so many races, her ancestor appears to me as a farm worker, who is new to this country, worked a hard back breaking low paying job and felt plenty desperate at times, but there she is now, the fruits of his daughter's daughter's seed."  

Flames

By Ali Ashhar

The horizon of fraternity

is overshadowed 

by the clouds of injustice

I conceive a disease that has swept

the nooks and crannies of the earth

a disease whose fatality knows no count, 

a disease whose vaccine is yet to be found

I open my eyes and witness 

so much pain

deep inside

sufferings on the border, 

sufferings in the town, 

sufferings in the tribe, 

sufferings beneath the layers of skin, 

sufferings on the languages of tongue—

a flame ravaging over the ages 

pain that comes to humanity

under the disguise

of colour, caste, religion or language

pain that is indifferent to mankind

of gender and generation

yet different to human beings

of prejudice and pride—

a homogenous theme that

haunts heterogeneous stories.

Ali Ashhar is a poet, short story writer and columnist from Jaunpur, India. He is the award-winning author of the poetry collection, Mirror of Emotions. His works appear in Indian Review, The Raven Review, Bosphorus Review of Books, among others.

Without a Moral Compass

By Russell Willis

It is without a sense of expectation that we come

No hope that guides or drives

No goal to reach, no job to do

Simply continue on our way as if the puzzle’s 

Solved the moment we arrive at where we’ve come

To finally raise our eyes to see

That which is now

Need not have been

If looking up had been required

Before we set upon this path 

Russell Willis won the Sapphire Prize in Poetry in the 2022 Jewels in the Queen’s Crown Contest (Sweetycat Press) and has published poetry in thirty online and print journals and twenty print anthologies. Russell grew up in and around Texas and was vocationally scattered as an engineer, ethicist, college/university teacher and administrator, and Internet education entrepreneur throughout the Southwest and Great Plains, finally settling in Vermont with his wife, Dawn. He emerged as a poet in 2019 with the publication of three poems in The Write Launch. Russell’s website is https://REWillisWrites.com

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