The scramble: April 14 - April 28

The scramble: April 14 - April 28

Welcome to Creative Writing’s first ever biweekly collection. Contributing writers added their poetry, prose and thoughts from April 14 to April 28. Our work reflects what students are thinking about on campus and in life. We hope you leave with something new to muse over.


Flightless birds

We sit in the pine forest.
A diorama: needles and sticky sweetness.
Silence circles us, but the wind
whispers. Tracing its fingers
through our hair.

My voice sharp: a crow’s beak, the knife
scraping smooth wooden edges
rough, as your voice: the cracked tree bark, bleeding
sap from long-forgotten summers.


Eclipse: A celebration of the moment

One thousand years ago, when the air turned dark and the shadows almost seemed ready to detach from their owner, people screamed, ran and crumpled to the ground. They thought surely that the world was ending, for the sun that gave life to all was seemingly dying. Maybe they huddled around family so that at least they would go together. Maybe they climbed hills just to scream out at the frailty of human life. Maybe, they just sat in silence, unable to comprehend the weight of the moment.

Today, when the solar eclipse descended, people celebrated across America and left their routines behind to be outside for a few minutes and do something as trivial as staring at the sky. It was a kind of collective spell that bound everyone together in celebration of a single moment. I think it reveals something about human nature. There doesn’t need to be a reason to celebrate or a reason to clap. We just do it. In a thousand years, the end of the world has become a spontaneous Monday holiday. And there’s something humanely magical about that.


A few one-liners that might inspire a story

“On that day, I heard the sound of my heartbeat for the first time.”

“You are my music.”

“The word goodbye dyes you in a deep red.”

“The snow plummets downward like falling stars. You stand still, with the universe in your eyes.”

“Whether it was from running or because I was excited, I was out of breath. The green leaves rustled from the blowing wind. It was the peak of summer.”


folded unfolded

when we move away, i will press love letters
into your hands, folded unfolded, and hope
you keep them like i have. if i could, i would
tattoo one word after another on my arm to
let you know that you are here.

when we move away, i will call you on the
phone every other hour, just to hear your
voice again. if i could, i would invent a new
way to implant your voice into my head,
where it echoes.