How soft and silent slush n’ sleet blanket,
How life breathes warmth to thaw all frozen hearts;
How fierce she scorches — redens her ambit,
How yielding are rustlings, how the wind smarts.
She pleaseth our dreams with wondrous white,
Her viridescent ladies heaven bound;
She blesses crashing waves and bright daylight,
Her fragile feuilles as fire scattered around.
Lately, m’lady has been betrayed by man.
Her salty tears flooding her cheeky shores,
As her hair’s a-flare, her dry skin crackan’,
And her children distract themselves with wars.
Act not, stand not, see nought, ignore, and soon,
Thou shall not dare deny destined doom.
Olivia Sutton is a second-year student at USD. She is double-majoring in English and French. She is passionate about both poetry and prose, and she is an aspiring poet, author, and English professor. She is currently the Prose Editor of the Alcalá Review.
A masked nurse prods a six-
inch swab up,
up my nasal cavity. I try to focus
on her elbow, it’s still—
then moves in measured,
tiny circles, tickling
loosening, I’m sure,
some brain matter.
Then my mind goes
to the summer rental—
I lie back, watching
the endless scroll of clouds and seabirds,
my six-year-old brother
packs sand into my ankles.
Are you turning me into a mermaid?
He lets out a long sigh, No.
It’s a sarcophagus.
As the sun sets, my throat cracks
like clay. My chest sinks
into the shore. My nurse wears
the mask of Anubis
now, she draws out her hook—
the last thing I tasted
Olivia Hunt is an English and French major at the University of San Diego. This piece was submitted for the Alcalá Review’s Fall 2020 Semester Staff-Produced Original Content. She is the Poetry Editor of the Alcalá Review.
The cop cars go by in twos and threes – There’s a rave in Danny Dyer’s flat tonight And there’s the half-emoji texts of delinquency, the coarse, yank language, the drunken fights. Half-past ten and there is not a parking spot Upon a mile of suburb, no party thrown That would turn out a sorority girl, not A frat boy toking, blazing or stoned.
I have what every Irishman loves in spite Of all the bitter talk of objectification. Oh, god knows I have the right To be the stereotype of a nation. A road, a mile of suburb. I am King Of shots and cheer and every blessed thing.
J. Sean Rafferty is a redhead, a godfather and an eejit. He is an MA English Lit student at Ulster University and was a finalist in the 2018 Ulster Poetry Slam. His work has previously been published in Gravitas and The Paperclip. When not losing games of pool he, sometimes, writes stuff.
The sky slips from itself and cradles clean a memory of swell and flood—bathes the pavement, now grey enough to empathize with overcast,
—the gutters echoing the hush and hurry: song of my past that surges beyond the current.
Now sunshined, blue-skied days are babied into old age, baptized by nocturnal rains (always before I wake);
and every morning I trample the dampened ground to remind myself what cannot be washed out.
Mitchell Evenson is a Theatre Major and English Minor at the University of San Diego. His writing focuses on memory, relationships, and identity. He will be graduating this Spring and hopes to pursue a career in the arts.