The Issue of Child Brides Maggie Garcia In almost every country in the world, millions of young girls are forced to marry men who are much older than them. In many cases, these girls are not allowed to make the decision to marry, or not to marry on their own. Even if these girls were […]
Mosaic 2022 Digital Exclusive Freshman Essay by Maggie Garcia Read More »
by Dr. David Middleton I put “Poets” in my title in quotation marks because I am using that word in the broader sense of the English Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), who, in his famous essay “A Defence of Poetry” (1821), defined the “poet” as anyone who uses the imagination to create works of
Twirl by Alexandria Prosperie First Place Albert Davis Fiction Award Growing up, Charlotte never knew she’d have such an affinity for lights. Not for how they worked, or for aiding her vision. She appreciated lights for their ability to blind her. When lights change color and flash and follow you around stage, you can’t see
by Michael E. Mathieu Look! A swimming shadow, she rises from Sheol. A spectre, a phantom— wiggling and twitching, darting to and fro. A sickle tail, angled fin, cutting ‘cross cobalt blue. She thrashes her bent dagger in vain; they’re plastic lures. Ah! She feels the steel— the fury of Furies, a blue sea Mastodon!
by Julie Franks Black water meets grainy shore—my shoes are ruined. I take a step farther and my pants get heavier. My favorite song blares from a bright red Gremlin speeding past with the windows down, a sign for me to take another step. It’s harder to stand, so I let the current have its
by Cyrus Picou Jr. For the eighteen years I’ve traversed the open road, I’ve always noticed how the blacktop roads seems to have a smoother quality than their concrete brethren. The transition from the rough concrete to the smooth blacktop is joyous. As I lie here on the asphalt, listening to the whimpers of a
by Sarah Boquet The trees had this artistry to them, a beauty that reflected on the water they guarded. I couldn’t pinpoint where I sat, despite the thousands of times I’d trekked the area. The scenery always seemed different when I roamed alone; the trees that generally danced in the wind stood still, and the
by Sydney Bergeron Papers filled with failures were strewn across the bed. The girl let her eyes follow the dancing strips of sun at the window. She’d been sitting here searching for something— something clever to hide beneath the words, a thought worth thinking. Hands drawn up to her face, she took notice of the
by Allison Curth The rosary beads pooled in my palm. I weaved them through my hands, between each finger. The nun beside me counted another bead and muttered a Hail Mary, but I pulled my rosary into a game of Cat’s Cradle. “You should know better, Sister Joan,” Mother Superior would say if she saw
by Hannah Kidder First Place: *The Albert Davis Fiction Award* The woman stooped low. She cradled the dead raccoon in her arms before laying it into a sack that hung from her shoulder. She finished her round of the neighborhood, finding a flattened squirrel whose tail had fallen off. There was also what she guessed
