Commonthought Magazine: 2021 Issue

The students in the Fall 2021 Magazine Production course created, edited and published Issue 32 of Commonthought Magazine, part of which is featured on this page. 

Visit the main Commonthought page for more information about the magazine and all past issues.

Witch Hazel

By Sarah Quinn
 

I’ve been meaning to write a story
And call it Witch Hazel

Where nothing spectacular happens
To a heroine
Whose idea of saving the day
Is drying out wishbones
On the south windowsill,
Repurposing hollowed jam jars
With rosemary sprigs and oil,
And preserving laurel leaves
Between book pages.

The only conflict
Will be the contemplation of
Spearmint or honey in herbal tea.

The only magic
Will be found in the way overgrown grass
Catches the afternoon breeze
And burgundy flannel heals when bundled
Against skin,

And in the end
The sun will tuck behind the evergreens
The heroine will press her fingertips
To her eyelids

And find
Rest.

Áfram

By Jessica Alvarez
 

She proceeds through concrete neighborhoods and abandoned parks to conquer the slabs of ice that effortlessly tuck the sidewalk into its seasonal hibernation. She remembers these roads as her playground— the ball games and wiry cats. She remembers these lampposts as life rafts to cling to— when the wind would force her parallel to the ground and her books would slip from her backpack. Her sisters would laugh.

Other girls were made to be stronger— more resilient. They pushed through the current, locking in each other’s arms, so as to echo “Áfram” (onward), the words of their feminist mothers. “Freedom is within reach.” But not for Anna.

In Iceland, there are no trees, and so the wind tunnels through the streets like a hollowed valley— vulnerable and effervescent. And in his absence, she is left without protection— a deserted lushness reconciling her as the barren extension. After a decade of New England in the fall, in her longing for Iceland— who she only left on her husband’s wishes and that of starting their family— she knows what it means to be lush. She knows what it means to constantly yearn for the sensation of change.

She lets her hand graze the lamppost and continues áfram.

Read the rest of Áfram here.

Steps

By Jam Taylor
 

My hair hangs limp like under-watered weeds
My bones ache with weariness
My teeth scream to be free
They fall from my mouth as I try to speak
I spit blood in the sink.
What is wrong with me?

My tongue wiggles like a worm in the mud
My skin hangs off my face in folds of flesh
My mask is all that stops it from dripping off in rivers of clay
What is wrong with me?

My feet are sore
From the endless, well worn steps
I march on like an ant in a line with everyone else
Hoping that someday I’ll bloom and it will all be worth it.
Others leap up the steps like rabbits
I stop to catch my breath
What is wrong with me?

One stops beside me.
They say
Why are you taking so long?
It is so easy.
Then they hop three steps at a time.
What is wrong with me?

I climb up more stairs
On my hands and knees
Others watch me and wonder why I am so slow.
What is wrong with me?

I see one walking with a limp
She stretches out her hand
And helps me up.

I slow down her progress
But she says
She would rather go at my pace
Than take the trip alone.
She points out a cloud shaped like a flower.

I find that I don’t mind
Being slower than everyone else
And failing at what they find so easy
When I have someone willing to go at my pace.

View the rest of Commonthought Magazine, Issue 32.