"selenic" by Anna Martin
"Reflections on Moth and Gaslight" by Jennifer Boyd
I am watching a moth fly from its perch to the gaslight on Summer
Street. Suddenly the moth remembers what it means to have a home
and what it means to live and to die and to be born again in the form
of loneliness. Trapped. Clinging to the golden orb of perhaps. When I tell
you there is no good way to lose a friend, you say, soft rain, choir hymns,
the little ways we unbloom. The truth is, these days loneliness cuts me like
a knife, like a billion moths cast from their home, dispersed throughout a
goldless sky. You felt it too, but it was fleshless like a far off sea. It seeped
into the spine of your thoughts while you waited for the train, never carving
bone deep. The feeling was kinder, not as raw. Sometimes I think I can taste
freedom but then I remember seeing your name on the screen at 1 AM and
the peculiar weight of breathlessness. I think the same kind of freedom is
what draws moths to a street lamp, bodies to war, bodies to each other. This
is how summer tastes—wayward girls, broken promises, no new messages
from Gabriella. Moths—sleepless and dreaming and distant and still waiting.
Street. Suddenly the moth remembers what it means to have a home
and what it means to live and to die and to be born again in the form
of loneliness. Trapped. Clinging to the golden orb of perhaps. When I tell
you there is no good way to lose a friend, you say, soft rain, choir hymns,
the little ways we unbloom. The truth is, these days loneliness cuts me like
a knife, like a billion moths cast from their home, dispersed throughout a
goldless sky. You felt it too, but it was fleshless like a far off sea. It seeped
into the spine of your thoughts while you waited for the train, never carving
bone deep. The feeling was kinder, not as raw. Sometimes I think I can taste
freedom but then I remember seeing your name on the screen at 1 AM and
the peculiar weight of breathlessness. I think the same kind of freedom is
what draws moths to a street lamp, bodies to war, bodies to each other. This
is how summer tastes—wayward girls, broken promises, no new messages
from Gabriella. Moths—sleepless and dreaming and distant and still waiting.
Jennifer Boyd is a high school student from Hull, Massachusetts. Her poetry and essays have appeared in several publications, including Poetry Quarterly, Alexandria Quarterly, Tower Journal, and The Critical Pass Review. Additionally, her work has been recognized by Smith College, Hollins University, Princeton University, and the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. Most recently, Jennifer published her first chapbook, Stretto (2017). Jennifer is the founder and editor-in-chief of The Onism Journal, a digital publication which features the creative projects of young artists around the world. She enjoys blogging for Voices of Youth and HuffPost in her free time.
Anna Martin is a digital/traditional artist, writer and photographer based out of Saint Augustine, Florida. She is an avid explorer and much of her artwork is inspired by her travels and life experiences, and she strives to capture emotions and inspire others with her work. Her work has been previously exhibited in various galleries and museums, such as the Rosenberg Gallery and the Baltimore Museum of Art, and has also been published in various art magazines such as Grub Street and Plenilune Magazine. Anna is a freelance artist, and is always looking for new work and collaborative projects. Anna also frequently works under the pseudonym Vacantia, and more of her art can be found at her online gallery: http://www.vacantia.org.
