black becomes grey in a dim cigarette haze
convictions cool
crystalize with age

eyes fond of,
familiar with time
settle in their native
knowing
gaze
“Time Tells” by Meaghan Merrifield
Artwork by Leigh Viner
black becomes grey in a dim cigarette haze
convictions cool
crystalize with age

eyes fond of,
familiar with time
settle in their native
knowing
gaze
“Time Tells” by Meaghan Merrifield
Artwork by Leigh Viner
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Europe and Africa […]
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
– Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
———————————————————————
At 24, I related to Sylvia so much that it frightened me. ( If you’re not familiar, her story doesn’t end well). I felt her words in my bones. The fear of death without growth, the heaviness of responsibility, the inclinations to find life both meaningless and meaningful… I saw myself becoming her: A lonely, deflated, narcissist sipping on an agonizing cocktail of self-loathing and superiority. I think maybe that is what drove me to start making decisions in my own life.
What I understand now is that the right decisions are only right because you’ve made them. Whether you decide to be a missionary in Africa, or a pinterest-obsessed house-wife, you will be OK. The problems arise when your mortality weighs on you so heavily, that you neglect to make any decision at all. Maybe if I don’t choose, life will stop moving and I can just stop dying. But it won’t, because no one get’s out of this world alive, and if you don’t make your own decisions, Time will make them for you.
Don’t get me wrong. I can’t order at a McDonald’s without calling 12 friends for advice first, but I am much more capable of dealing with the big stuff in my life now that I realize I will die, and I have to make my peace with not having enough time to do ALL THE THINGS! Decisions-real decisions– require sacrifice and commitment. So, there is no moving forward without accepting the death of those lives that will never belong to you.
Here’s to breaking out of Limbo
– Angie
Behind those nostrils
-those eyebrows-
-those tongues-
are
swirling clouds of nothing
weighing down the wings that
free
troubled minds
“You’ll never Fly” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork by Johnny Greenwood
Before we became
pink
and mean,
We ran through freshly sprinkled yards
on summer nights–
and teased the misty breeze –
as
our sunburned noses caught the familiar scent
of wet concrete.
But in the holes ahead
were burnished, brassy pupils
warning of degradation
and pain.
Warning of the end
and the beginning
of us.
“Before 13” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork by Daria Hlazatova
It was you who put the sweaty taste
of metal in my mouth
while shouting
about hopeless eternities.
But
you forget
that I have seen the Ivory moon
rising slowly over the
lovers and the liars
who live in dream-stained darkness.
“All Cages Break in the Night” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse
Artwork by Steven Quinn
Through amber winds
I hear
the haunting, grey whisper
of a woman drowning
in a memory —
in a memory-
that cannot float.
Photographs by Heather Landis
paper planes swoop–
glide
over the sweet salt of the sea
loop around rosy lips,
pursed.
they fall into a pucker,
then a kiss
which dives
crashes quick
deep into the belly of everything
“Pale Planes” by Meaghan Merrifield
Artwork by Claire Pestaille