Staff Writer ‘23
Who Goes There in the Night?
Who goes there in the night?
Who lurks beyond the shadow’s sullen embrace?
Those yellow orbs that glower my own.
Who dared to wear my bones as armor?
And who stole my voice to wear as his own.
Who goes there in the night?
His breath scolds my nape as I lay,
Boneless and still,
Beside his still breathing corpse.
Whose grasp wrangled my stuttering lungs?
Whose thundering steps be stills the roaring skies?
He who trembles the trunks of mighty oaks.
His neck stained in caked gore,
My claws pried at his chest.
His blood pour from his heart.
Whose growls rings heavy in the night?
Whose blood hung putrid above his breathe?
Who pilfered the stroke of my pounding pulse?
He who silences the dark,
Now still and lifeless, besides my rotted shell.
We are the ones who goes in the night.
‒Laura Hou ’23
Mother’s Roses
The lottery that measures roses for riches
Win over my mother for her love of them
Walking gardens of red pink rainbow shades
Pale deep or perfectly hued
Perfectly petaled as a pink stemming a garden green blanket
Walking strolling and picking till a light warning in a year
And a dark blood red gift some february in some fifteen years
And the same gardens she rewalked and restrolled a generation late
10/30, Volume XXIX, Issue 3
