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a divine dinner tune

 

when we gathered around the kitchen table,

holding hands as my mother said grace,

the clatter of plates rang like beating drums

while the dumplings cracked like fireworks

on the frying pan. our voices were keys of a

piano. every conversation played in my

ears as a melodic tune. blinded by rising

steam and golden, glimmering sunlight

peeking through the windows, all i sensed

was laughter. chuckles were strings on a

violin as we sang the same song. i realized

i no longer feared forever, rather, the end.

i yearned for time to slow as the voices of

my siblings rang like church bells through

my ears. i muttered a “thank you” to

whoever watched over us, as this joy could

be the work of no less than divine powers.


the relentless pursuit

 

The leaf was auburn as it drifted

down, down, down,

descending through

breezy, foggy air.

Like the petals upon the surrounding

branches, its tip had browned,

turned red and orange with fall,

as it fell like unfurling ribbons.

Its descent slowed as it grazed the

sniffing nose of a hound, whose

brown fur seemed to unfurl atop

the graveyard of browned leaves

upon which it stood.

 

A flinch from the hound spurred the leaf forward.

Its long ears perking, the hound began its

hurried chase after the windswept, fallen leaf.

 

A cold, autumn breeze swept its ears

behind like drooping curtains as the hound

shot forward, chasing the rusted leaf

like a moth to a fiery flame. All else

blurred as its focus centered upon

the relentless pursuit. Unknowing of

having reached the pier, its speed endured.

 

Then, cold enveloped the hound’s body.

 

The bubbling, bright blue water was a thick,

crisp blanket upon adrenaline-fueled

skin. The hound, eyes unfocusing at last,

spun upon the lake until its pupils calmly

gazed up at the azure blue sky above.




making glutinous rice with mother

 

in my mind, i am twelve years old,

besides my beautiful, giggling mother,

molding glutinous rice into neat balls

with my flour-covered hands.

 

the kitchen is painted with a haze of thick, gray steam,

curling like silken ribbons around our dusty faces.

the earthy scent of sugar mingling with rice clings

to our hair, heavy as morning dew. my floury hands

press into the glutinous rice, its surface soft and sticky

as wet clay. powdery imprints bloom across the countertop

like fragile petals. mother twirls like a child herself, her

laughter a melody ringing soundly in my ears, as she sprinkles

my fingernails with sugar, or fairy dust, as she calls it. when she

tosses the rice into the air, it arcs like shooting stars across the

kitchen. her smile is like the bright, shimmering moonlight.

 

in reality, i am sixteen years old,

watching the horizon for a letter she

promised would arrive at the break of

dawn. foolish hope carves into my chest.

 

sunlight creeps in, sluggish and pale, its mustard yellow rays

pooling at my feet. my hands tremble as they clutch the

metal lid of the mailbox, its cold biting my fingertips.

when mother left, she swore one thing. like the scorpion

in the fairytales she once read to soothe me, her promises now

stung sharply with the venom of deceit. i send my wishes

to shooting stars as though i am sending paper boats

into harsh waters. i fold them with trembling hands,

yet each sinks into dark navy seas, unanswered as

they are swallowed whole by the hopelessly deep abyss.


 

Arises

 

melted snow still stained the ground below me—

splotchy brown paint. the rigid tree branches were

barren; their leaves had turned auburn then umber

brown before crumbling to the floor in late november.

march was ascending, yet the bleak cold of winter

remained. but one leaf had burst forth from a fragile

twig: spear-shaped and lime green, it stood alone

above the fallen—the final soldier beside a desolate

battlefield. amid a mound of death, life emerges.

amid disorder and turmoil, hope arises.


Traversing the Swamp

 

As I traverse,

     the trees lean in,

          blanketed in rusty bark

               and tanned by the sun.

Their limbs twist,

     poking me with each move,

          like frail fingers

               stopping my tracks.

I step through the

     moss-thick floor,

          damp and humid.

     Ferns slowly unfurl around me,

          brushing the soil with its

     sticky touch.

          Roots writhe beneath me

          like twisting snakes,

     as the bark peels back,

     revealing redness

     like sunburnt skin,

The forest seems to watch

     my every cautious move

          as I traverse through.



bio: Grace Lee, a high school student in Seoul, South Korea, is passionate about words. Whether crafting stories or poems, she blends her unique perspective with the vibrant culture of Seoul. She has explored her passion for creative writing at the Kenyon Review Young Writers Workshop and Juniper Young Writers Online.

 
 
 

The Power of Being Single


To put it bluntly, my love life has been a mess recently. 


I’ve gone from heartbreak to heartbreak, and rejection to rejection. I’ve had hope, and time and time again, those hopes have been crushed-and all within the last four months. My love life is not thriving so far, in 2025. But being single can be truly empowering-let me tell you why. First, though, I think it’s important to get a background on my love life. 


So, how did I get here?


I first started dating through meeting people on Instagram. I’d had unrequited crushes from around the age of 8  and at 16, I’d decided that enough was enough and perused some Instagram dating accounts. I started a new relationship online a week before the pandemic hit, and it was announced that everybody had to stay home. In hindsight, I find it eerie-I had no idea that everything was about to become more digital and that the world was about to change. 


The relationship didn’t last long, although it did end amicably. I had lots of online flirtations during the pandemic, and I’m not necessarily proud of it. I had a crush in college (where you study from 16 to 18 in the UK) that went nowhere, although I did later suspect that she might have liked me back after all, and had been too shy to let me know. I got in a relationship a bit after that, online once again. After a short while, my feelings for her had gradually faded. I got with someone else, and we broke up too, but I’m still friends with both of them online now.


By the time I’d been in and out of these relationships, it was around March 2021. I was 17 by this point. I had two crushes and neither crush went anywhere. Following on from this, I met someone I believed to be cute, and confessed to them in late June. We were in the talking stage for almost two months (their choice, not mine) before properly getting together in mid-August. We were together for a month, and then they broke things off. It turned out they were a cheating, manipulative liar, and had been emotionally abusive to me and others.


One of the people they’d screwed over ended up being my next partner. They broke up in October 2021. We got to know each other for a month, then started dating in November 2021. We were together until February 2025, when we broke off due to being fundamentally incompatible as partners. Being in the same friendship group and living together, plus being at the same university has been really difficult and has definitely had some impact on my mental health, although this is not his fault. 


Post break-up, I realised I liked a girl who had a crush on me, too. She lives abroad, though she was planning on moving approximately one hundred miles away from me for study purposes. We weren’t officially together, but classified ourselves as ‘flirty friends’, and enjoyed getting to know each other. Two months later, on April 20th, 2025, she said we couldn’t date. She can’t guarantee a future with me, she pointed out, and she wanted me to be able to explore other options. Whilst we’d had our flirtation, she’d said that it was okay for me to go on dates with other people, but I’d opted not to, focusing on what we had going on instead. When she said we couldn’t date, I decided I would. 


I downloaded some dating apps. There were definitely a few weirdos on some of them, and some genuinely nice people that I’m just not interested in.  I did click with one girl, and we got to chatting regularly. We even went on two dates. We’d had a third date planned-we were going to go to some docks nearby and I’d been intending to kiss her on the wheel they have there. By this point, we’d been talking romantically for a month. After not messaging all day, which seemed out of character for her, she messaged me to let me know that she did not wish for this to continue, due to needing to work some things out which she could not work out whilst trying to pursue a relationship.


That’s where I am at now. I’ve been single now for almost four months, which is the longest that I’ve been single for since I entered the dating scene five years ago. This has given me an opportunity to reflect on the blessings that may come with being single. I am only 21, so I am still young, after all. I have some ideas of how to meet people to date, but in the meantime, this has taught me that I need to focus on more important things. Prioritising romance, in my opinion, is not a sensible idea. It sounds nice, in theory. But obviously it doesn’t always work out. If you’re someone aiming for stability, then romance isn’t always the best way to attain it. 


Here’s what I’d suggest instead:


  1. Spend time with family if possible.

  2. Friendship is so important! Make sure to not neglect your friendships.

  3. Focus on your education or career. 

  4. Engage with your hobbies and interests. This way, you can have fun and meet new people.

  5. Volunteer. Helping other people is hugely rewarding.

  6. Go to therapy! It can help you deal with any issues in your life. 


There’s a unique power in being single. So long as you have some form of community, you’ll be okay. Having an identity outside of romantic relationships is so crucial for your sense of self and sanity. There’s power in being able to take a step back to work on yourself and figure out your future, and in asserting those wants and needs in a healthy way which allows for compromise when you do eventually get into a relationship. 


If I’ve learnt anything so far this year, it’s that.

 
 
 

Outsiders


It took me awhile, and no small degree of energy, to win

the spelling been when I was in the fifth grade, which was

the last grade of elementary school—then you were off to

middle school, where you became sexualized, and, to no

fault of your own—save being queer—you were bullied.

Perhaps, too, you were bullied for winning the spelling bee,

for winning everything that fifth grade had to offer,

actually, but your bully, in all likelihood, was held back a

grade and he had no real knowledge of your achievements.

I was in a predicament; if I fought back, then I’d get in

real trouble, and, if I fought back, I’d lose the fight. There

was really nothing that I could do but wait for the

Americans to people to police the situation. I don’t know

why I didn’t tell somebody that this guy—dressed in

black—was bullying me; I guess I figured nobody could do

anything, and, if I did say something, and my bully found

out about it, then things would get worse.

But back to my point—which is I won the spelling bee,

and that probably happened because I used to read science

magazines at the time. I was worried about adult stuff, like

saving the earth, and so on, like what matter and density is,

or spin, for example, which I later learned were difficult

topics for anybody, much less a fifth grader.

But I was eighteen not long after that, and I’d studied

most of what I could get my hands on, but, frankly, I found

Newton’s Principia almost impossible to read. I was forced

to give up on it, what was a real downer, because it felt like

I was giving up on me—and my desire to learn. So what did

I do? I read literature, these days, too, and, at eighteen,

which is when I started on beer and cigarettes, I hit the

road, traveling from Atlanta up through Tennessee and

Colorado and through Nevada and then down to LA and

then through the Joshua Tree and Texas, then Alabama, and,

finally, back to my home—which, having dropped out of

college, was back at me parents’ house, a place I never

should have left, given my general antipathy for people that

I’m not related, too—save those, of course, that I was

related too, and treated my like dirt because of my

sexuality.

The North Carolina mountains, on paper, looked like a

good home for me, but once I got a little older, and I

realized people weren’t taking me seriously even though I’d

gotten older, I realized it wasn’t. The people there may

consist of a load of English and Scottish DNA, like me, but

they all seemed to think that they were better than me—it

was as if they knew I was different (half-crazy and queer)

before I knew anything about it. I may be drawn to live

with my family, then, but, in actuality, I cared very little for

others, who, by this day and age, should’ve been different.

Anyhow—I spent a little time there, mostly painting and

drinking a beer every so often, and then, many years later, I

went there to get a head start on cleaning up a house that

nobody was doing anything about—and that left me afraid

that, if I ever got a job, I’d never be able to get the house

taken care of because I wouldn’t have time. Furthermore, I

didn’t want to be subjected to all the emotional weight

when I should’ve been giving my better parts to a family of

my own. It all seems kind of silly, now, because the house

did get taken care of (admittedly, with my help, even

though it may or may not have been appreciated) and I

never got a job. Even so, I felt that as long as the house

wasn’t being taken care of, I was burdened by it.

It’s nice to have land—we have good land, there, but we

also had two houses, and, while I wasn’t worried too much

about one of the houses—it was shared by several people,



nobody paid much attention to the other house (and the

mess that my grandmother made). The land, however

much it may be worth it, could never, however, be my home

because I didn’t like anybody there, and they didn’t like me.

I get away, sometimes, or, that is, I used to, but I ended up

downing a lot of vodka when I was working on the house

and absorbing all the information it had to offer—a lifetime

of a lifetime ago, in fact, and I wasn’t able to do it without

the help.

So what is the moral of this story? Don’t look up to

people because, if you do, you’re bound to be disappointed.

I don’t guess, however, that you can help that much when

you look up to somebody—it just kind of happens on its

own. So, I’ll just say that everybody should use caution,

since, no matter your relationship—and no matter how

much someone looked up to you—things like a disability

and queerness can turn everything back the other way. It’s

as if people pretend you don’t exist—they don’t even see

you, and, if they do, they’ll ignore you to the best of their

ability, unless, of course, there are those that don’t

recognize your true nature, and project themselves on to

your person, thinking that you must be as awesome as

them.

That’s pretty much the definition of a good old boy—he’s

someone that takes your happiness for granted. Everybody

is responsible for happiness, or the lack thereof, and so you

hate, honestly, to let people down—but, then again, there

are those that are wise, sometimes you learn from the

worst, and you must leave the mountains—your refuge in

the advent of nuclear war. Maybe things aren’t as cozy

somewhere else; it’s too expensive, elsewhere, to pay for a

fire every night, but the main thing is that, when you feel

like sharing something with somebody that lives in a

homophobic community, you better ask yourself if that

information is going to get you tarred and feathered, and

carried around on a rail, if not hung from a tree, and

suffocated to death—which would be worse than a broken

neck sustained by the gallows, a home, sadly, to outsiders.


bio:  John Swofford’s schizophrenia makes him, according to him, neurodivergent, and he identifies as queer—where queer would mean that his sexuality doesn’t fit any category. This identity influences his writing. He can be found on X/Twitter @johnmswofford, on Facebook and Instagram @johnmerrillswofford, and on his website: johnmerrillswofford.com

 
 
 
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