Feeling by Wayne Breckenridge

Feeling by Wayne Breckenridge 

You give me this feeling

This feeling of pure bliss every time we kiss

This feeling of security when you wipe the tears away

This feeling of being alive with you is what life truly is

Hold Me by Wayne Breckenridge

Hold me by Wayne Breckenridge

Hold me when I feel sad

Embrace me

Make me feel whole

Take the pain away

Till I feel your love

So I can feel safe

Hold me

Just Don't Call Me Yours by Wayne Breckenridge

Just don’t call me yours by Wayne Breckenridge

Just a hookup through a app

Downloaded it through a total mishap

Met you and my life was changed

Made out in a bar on our first date and the one after that

Until it became every night

It felt so right

You want to take it further?

Yeah

Came back to the room

Looked to the right and felt the steam from the shower

I blink and you appeared in front of me

You say you can me call me anyone you want

Just don’t call me yours

I Hate the Cold by Wayne Breckenridge

I hate the Cold by Wayne Breckenridge

I hate the cold

It will freeze your lips til you're old

I hate the cold

Blizzards are completely blank canvases

Devoid of thought and feeling

When you shovel the snow it always comes back like the in-laws that won't leave

It always covers everything like skilled thieves

Blizzards freezes your tears like stalactites on the side of the house

Bitter like the Ex you left behind

Burr!

I hate the cold

Midterms by Wayne Breckenridge

Midterms by Wayne Breckenridge

It's that time again

That time we all dread

That time we always study til we are almost dead

I Hate This by Wayne Breckenridge

I hate this by Wayne Breckenridge

This feeling of bottomless dread

Of not knowing when

Of not knowing how

Of not knowing what will happen next

I hate this

The Rain and You by Wayne Breckenridge

The Rain and You by Wayne Breckenridge

 

Falling, sweeping, drizzling

Like the way you make me feel

You fell in my heart like the serene rain fall

You swept my negative emotions away like a flash flood

You made me feel complete like a rain shower drizzling in the spring

Your love lights me ablaze like lightning hitting a oak tree

Every ember that drifts in the wind reminds me of how much I love you

Your pure essence is ingrained in my cells

As our lips connect I can't help but to think of

The Rain and You

Gather Your Coven, Girls by Jillian Law

Gather Your Coven, Girls by Jillian Law

Gather your coven, girls

Assemble them as you please

All you need to be a witch is this:

Hands that are quick with a stake and soft with your sisters

Fingers that can be interwoven to form a circle,

To stand together and defend

Black nail polish is encouraged but always optional

Lips that are not afraid to curse when it’s needed

After all, we must defend our coven from the witch hunters

(And the Republicans, but aren’t they one in the same?)

Lips that can comfort, too, because this sisterhood is about more than hexes

Lips that can soothe broken hearts and disappointments

Painted whatever color you like

Hearts that are hard like steel and malleable like clay

To love your sisters, you must be strong

To love your sisters, you must be generous

Give and take and wish and curse

Everything is a cycle

If you don’t have all of these things, don’t worry

A coven is not made of whole parts but pieces

You are made whole by each other

So gather your coven, girls

Assemble them as you please

And get ready to go into battle

We need your magic now

Resurrection of the Beloved by Jillian Law

Resurrection of the Beloved by Jillian Law

I read the recipe again, making sure I didn’t get any detail wrong. One misread direction, one wrongly added clove of garlic, and he would come back wrong.

Most of the pages in my grandmother’s spellbook showed their age. Usually, the handwriting was worn, the page stained with the scent of sage or garlic. But not this page.

Resurrection of the Beloved, it said at the top.

The page was spotless, crisp like it had never been turned. This spell had never been touched. Not by my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother… Not even my reckless little sister would dare to attempt such a spell.

 But I had to. I had to have him back. I missed Charlie. I missed his crooked grin, the way his dimple deepened when he was especially happy. I missed how he held my hand throughout every superhero movie, knowing how anxious I got during fight scenes. I missed doing crosswords in bed with him, my answers in pencil and his in pen.

“If you’re going to do a crossword, you might as well be confident about it,” he would reply when I teased him.

God, I missed him. I missed the solid weight of him, of his love anchoring me to this earth. I tried living without him for exactly 100 days, and I was tired of it.

My mom said that my heart would heal. It didn’t. My sister tried to set me up on dates. I skipped all of them, preferring instead to stay home and listen to the CD Charlie gave me on our first date. My grandmother put little sacks of lavender and passionflower under my pillow. I still couldn’t sleep.

So now, here I was, sitting on the cold, damp grass in front of Charlie’s grave, a spellbook open on my lap, ingredients surrounding me. Necromancy was largely frowned upon by witches and expressly forbidden by my mom and grandmother. They said it was unnatural. They said it wasn’t our job to mess with Nature’s will.

Fuck Nature’s will. Was it in Nature’s will that Charlie die because some idiotic high schooler was drunk behind the wheel and didn’t yield when he crossed the street? Was it Nature’s will that I had to go and identify my boyfriend’s mangled body, that I had to plan a funeral and bury him and pretend like I didn’t want to be dead too?

I was done with Nature’s will. The only will I cared about anymore was mine.

I glanced at my phone. It was finally midnight. I had to start the spell for it to have full potency.

First, I added one bundle of sage. “To heal his wounds,” I whispered. The sage would mend the fracture in his skull, the brokenness of his bones, and the bruises on his neck.

Then came two springs of rosemary. “To cleanse his mind and soul.” To come back from the other side would have consequences. I didn’t want him to carry the Underworld back with him.

Next, I added three sticks of sandalwood. “To protect him from evil.” This would prevent other spirits from clinging to his soul as he came back from the dead.

The fourth ingredient? I threw in that mixed CD from our first date. “An item to anchor him to this world.”

I hesitated at the last ingredient. So far, I hadn’t done anything I couldn’t be forgiven for by my family. All these items together couldn’t complete the spell. I could call it off, go home, and maybe my heart would heal with time. Maybe I’d go on one of those dates my sister set up. Maybe I’d go back to school…

I almost gave up right then and there, but then I glanced at his tombstone.

Charlie Gallagher, October 4, 1997- July 22, 2019

Beloved by All

Every time I saw those dates, my heart broke all over again. He didn’t get enough time, not nearly enough. He didn’t get to finish Infinite Jest or take me on that vacation to the coast. He didn’t get enough time. We didn’t get enough time.

Resolved, I took out my pocket knife and sliced my palm, allowing three drops of blood to drip into the cauldron. “Blood of the lover, willing given.” If my love was going to raise him from the dead, it needed to be physically included in the spell.

I threw in a teaspoon of mint to seal the spell, and then I waited. I counted the minutes in my head.

One… two… three… four… five… six…

The ground beneath me started to shake. I smiled. It was working.

Seven… eight… nine… ten…

I grabbed my shovel and started to dig. It would do no good for Charlie to claw his way out of the grave.

Eleven… twelve… thirteen… fourteen… fifteen…

Finally, I hit his coffin. I jumped into the deep hole. I needed to get him out of there. Now!

Sixteen…

My hands shook as I undid the locks and clasps of the coffin. God, please come back to me. Please come back to me right.

Seventeen…

The moment I opened it, he sat up. He was wearing his favorite t-shirt, the one with the Batman logo, his oldest jeans, and Doc Martens. I had insisted that he be buried like he was. I didn’t want to look in my Charlie’s coffin and see a stranger.

“Maria,” he croaked. His throat sounded like it was stuffed with sandpaper.

I couldn’t help it. I started to cry. He was back. He came back to me. It worked. I threw myself at him with all my weight.

He held me like he always held me, and I knew. I had brought him back. It was really him, not a demon wearing his face. Not the ugly spirit the books warned about. Just my Charlie.

“Maria, what happened?” he asked, keeping one arm wrapped around my waist. “The last thing I remember was…”

“Being hit by a car,” I finished. “You were. You died, and I brought you back.”

“Babe…” he warned, giving me that Look, that look that said I was being stupid and reckless. He knew how my family would feel about me using such magic. He wouldn’t have ever wanted me to do this if it meant losing them.

“No,” I said firmly. “I don’t care, Charlie. I had to live without you, okay? For a hundred days, I lived without you and your stupid smile and your laugh and your terrible method of doing crosswords. I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to live without you.”

I started crying again, overcome with all my emotions, and he kissed my head. “It’s okay… we’re okay,” he murmured. “I’m here. You brought me back.” He hesitated. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” I said. “I love you.”

He smiled, that dimple at play yet again. “I love you too.” He looked around. “Babe, don’t you think we’re in a… grave situation right now?”

I groaned, but he just laughed and kissed me. I reveled in it, in this, in having him back with me.

And yes, we would have to leave his grave, and yes, I would have to explain his resurrection to my mother and grandmother, but that was all in the future. Who’s worried about details when you’ve just resurrected your boyfriend? Certainly not me.

Someday by Sarah Jacobsen

Someday by Sarah Jacobsen

It’s 2am. The room is dark except for the light, muted as it is, filtering from across the street through the raindrops, through my windows, and onto the wall opposite my bed.

The rain pelts the panes of my window, whispering promises for the morning- promises of a new world full of new smells.

In the distance, a light flashes, and I count the seconds- one, two, three miles away, then the wave of sound hits, rattling my windows. I feel it in my bones, like a soothing balm and an unscratchable itch all at once. On nights like this, I’m torn between two instincts, two selves.

One, to snuggle closer under the covers, embracing the rain’s promise of a new world and a new day. Will I be the same in this new world? Will I go forward, settled into my routine, barely noticing that the grass seems a little greener, that the world seems a little clearer? Or will I be made new as well?

Two, to slip out into the night, dancing barefoot and brazen in the puddles with a partner quick as lightning. Would the world stand still for a moment in the middle of the night for a wild-eyed, restless young woman to court the wind and the rain? At this hour, who would see me? Who would know? Would I be able to hide the transformation in the morning, pretending it wasn’t me who giggled breathlessly with the storm itself?

It’s tempting. Someday, I whisper to myself, as the Pink! Pink! Pink! of the water droplets lulls me closer and closer to unconsciousness. There will come a day when I am fully my own. In that day, I will not doubt myself. I will know where I belong. But the truth is that my soul has already decided where it belongs- it just cannot convince me not to fear the deadly brilliance of the lightning.

In my dreams, I dance to the rhythm of the thunder, and I know no fear.