Refractions

-2020-
The Collective
​Stories and Propagation of
 Showcased Writers, Artists & Photographers
James B. Nicola
Genre: Poetry
May 18th, 2020

One Thing We Might Do About It

Let's all take Trayvon as a middle name.
Then there would not be one Trayvon less in 
the world, but many more. Let's do the same
Jerome Berglund
Genre: Photography
May 15th, 2020

Photos from Driving in the Rain
Erin Jamieson
​Genre:
May 11th, 2020

A Love Story

Mama and Papa married late: he was nearly thirty five, she thirty six. It was late for that generation, at least, and all of Mama’s relatives warned her she shouldn’t try to have kids. Too tough on her body. Developmental disabilities.
David Anthony Sam
Genre: Poetry
May 8th, 2020

Unknown Alternate

Unknown earth, unknown alternate,
place of another's eyesight,
unknown planet of another's path
where the same things don't happen
and the same faces try on new masks.
Haolun Xu
Genre: Poetry
May 4th, 2020

Ashland

​This is Ashland. The poor seldom do
We speak upon the shadows, 
When the sun rises, the morning laughs
And we crawl across the dew. 
Karyna Aslanova
Genre: Photography
May 1st, 2020

C-H-A-N-G-E-S

In this project, I investigated the versatility of changes in both literal and figurative senses. These changes were explored with both the subject matter and the technical aspects of the photographs, from it is a person’s physical aging to manipulations with light and shadow. ​
Charles Spring
Genre: Prose Poetry
April 24th, 2020

Making Out in the Theatre After School

 Pull my hair and call me bitch.
Tammy Smith
Genre: Micro Nonfiction
April 20th, 2020

Stages of Change

​Howling like a deranged wolf, she refuses to speak. Won't fill out any of the forms we try
to give her. Is she addicted to suffering?
Tunisia Nelson
Genre: Poetry
April 17th, 2020

Working on Me

I thought I was ready to face my biggest opponent yet 
Me. 
I walked into that room full of fervor knowing that there is nothing that anyone can tell me about 
me. 
I have done it all, lived this life, hurt, abused, molested, pain But I have made it right I went to 
school I got a degree...
Guilherme Bergamini
Genre: Photography
April 13th, 2020

Walking & Flying
Gregory Stephens
Genre: Nonfiction
April 11th, 2020

Still Life in Motion

Hurricane Maria cast us into darkness. The day after, we picked our way through broken trees, mangled electric lines, and mud. We had no electricity, water, or outside communication. Everyone was trying to dig out. Everyday life became a struggle. When it rained, we caught enough runoff to take “cowboys.” But food and fuel were problems. Waits of up to 11 hours for gasoline recalled scenes from Mad Max. Thieves drilled holes in gas tanks and stole generators from the water company and cell towers. There were long lines at bank ATMs, grocery stores, and Western Union.
David Capps
Genre: Poetry
March 16th, 2020

Home

You will remember the earth 
folding under so many leaves 
like faces of indistinguishable consciences 
merging with the dead, mulch 
in a pit of bare iron 
that had been there for as long as we knew--
Becca Rae Rose
Genre: Poetry
March 16th, 2020

Silviculture

In April all the pinecones fall. If you hear a rattle, 
run. Prepare for fire season. 
Like a snake’s instrument inside its husk, 
a stay clear shake as it bounces from branch 
to branch, then crunch—velocity’s ability 
to weight the lightest body.
Becca Rae Rose
Genre: Poetry
​March 9th, 2020

Serotinous

Drive safe watch for deer texts my mother
every time I key ignition or stomp to pedal.
This is about a place: this is what a mother says
when the running joke is if you haven’t hit a deer yet.
Angela Mackintosh
Genre: Nonfiction
March 9th, 2020

Fullerton Girls

Fullerton was the birthplace of the electric guitar and Fender, but when we were sick of the house parties or playing pool at Susan’s after hours, we drove forty miles to Los Angeles when no other kids from Sunny Hills dared. In the 80s, the Sunset Strip was packed with rockers we called hessians in tight leather pants and big hair passing out flyers to gigs. ​
Kristina Crane
​Genre: Prose
March 2nd, 2020

My Family History

My family history rots in a broken down orange VW bus in the Nevada desert, filled from floorboards to roof with rats nesting in family secrets. Maps lined the windows until all the roads sun-bleached away. ​
Bibiana Ossai
Genre: Poetry
March 2nd, 2020

White Rice

​i remember the thick steam that rose from the white rice
when mama opened the big stainless pot to dish out food
on the early morning of my sister’s birthday celebration
Kathryn Sadakierski
Genre: Poetry
February 24th, 2020

Athenaeum

​Athenaeum
Books, lined on shelves
Like pastries in a bakery case,
Baubles in a treasure chest.
Charles Spring
Genre: Poetry
February 24th, 2020

you wake down

without body. you stumble through the abandoned house your
parents do not fight in anymore since they decided you were what’s 
souring their marriage. nudity ensues. no work, no school, no plans;
​you get to breathe today. but you are
Cal Freeman
Genre: Nonfiction
February 17th, 2020

Orbital Theory

​She told me the boy was coming home, from Pittsburgh of all places, and it wasn’t that I’d forgotten that the boy had moved there, but that boys are always coming home according to classical and biblical precedent (Telemachus, The Prodigal Son), a boy is always staying or coming home or temporarily leaving home in the fashion of the lengthy return.
Bob Chikos
Genre: Nonfiction
February 17th, 2020

The Neighbors

After Aileen and I married, we bought a tiny condo on the third floor of an aging building – the only thing we could afford on our non-profit and childcare salaries. During the 13 years we – and eventually our baby – were there, the apartment across the hall hosted a carousel of neighbors: the immigrants from Poland who left when the wife became homesick, the young couple who moved away as soon as they could afford a house, the man who kept to himself, then disappeared one night, leaving a steady stream of creditors knocking on our door asking if we knew what happened to him.
     And then there was Josh.
Cheryl Ferguson Bernini
Genre: Fiction
February 10th, 2020

The House on Hickory Hill

As the children grew to adulthood, they withdrew from my walls and the security I afforded them from when they were first introduced to me. The couple eventually aged to when they became no more. I live on, but I have become lifeless. There is no one that inhabits me now.
FreetheDust
Genre: Photography
February 10th, 2020
Alissa Hull
Genre: Poetry
​February 1st, 2020

Home Town


​I take sleeping pills,
             drown you out,
and lie about where I’m from.
Jerome Berglund
Genre: Photography
​February 1st, 2020

Home I - III
Danielle O'Hanlon
Genre: Art
Februrary 1st, 2020 

Warm Winter