Issue Two of three
Floating
Liminality
Volume Nº36
The Cow Jumped Over the Moon
By Ariella Marmon
goodnight moon, goodnight stars—
goodnight venus, goodnight mars.
twinkle twinkle in outer space,
remind the earthlings of their place.
hurtling through heaven without a care;
we see your light and say a prayer.
infinite are your multitudes—
shining together in solitude.
up above the world so high,
like the rockets in July,
out of our reach but within sight.
your gaseous auras shine at night—
light from the era of dinosaurs.
archaic muses of legend and lore—
inspiring generations of humankind,
wonders designed with you in mind.
yet there remains one complication—
just the small matter of annihilation.
for in our future death does loom;
your glory will bring us certain doom.
Elana Algarin
Zombie
By Eliana Birman
in moments of tragedy,
i feel nothing.
there is no noise
(besides static)
there is no light
there is no movement.
in moments of tragedy,
i do nothing.
i get through the day
(the passage of time is heavy)
i keep going
life just happens.
in moments of tragedy,
i am programmed.
there is a system
(i wish to break out of it)
there is action to take
i don’t know how i got to this point.
i am filled with the buzz of absolute loss
stuck with the weight of necessary
breathing in the cold of routine
running
on energy i do not know.
Antipathy
By michael duell
The Grass tomorrow will try to rise
against the breezes of my mind -
to fight the imprint - filled with ice
while flurries land on her prior home
The bees tomorrow will come out to laugh
against the blizzards of my heart -
to share the “sweet and civil” poison
of their sterling-skinned queen
Ariella Marmon
The flowers tomorrow will attempt to bloom
against the attitudes of the gales -
to extend majestic petals - with its peers
while seeking solace in their Butterflied clouds
The hills tomorrow will strive to melt
to fill our sorrows with the warmth of spring
and water our gardens with its melted snow -
while hugging our grief with floral shawls
Yet the only triumph they’ll all “receive”
is the conflicting feeling - of near success
The Full Moon
By Jacob Lopchinsky
In late autumn
The sun’s mirror shone its brightest
Against the rural land
Plants illuminated, while roots sheltered
While I float 30 boring stories off the ground
Breathing the conditioned air
The bright mirror nowhere to be seen
The season has no effect here
Dust Not Wholly Settled
By Chaya Guttman
Sometimes the only place I feel I belong is a desolate one.
For a split second, when within it, there is a creeping sensation that the surrounding area is not real. As if things will start melting, rippling, distorting, and caving in at the slightest touch – and maybe a mess of a psychedelic trip is something deserving of me as well –, due to its stillness. However, it is likely the feeling is from the city kid in me, unsettled and disturbed by total, placid peace. Though the majority of the time, after having been snapped back to the present, it is quite lovely. A sense of ownership over the land blossoms underneath being that there is an observable population of only one.
I went to Myrtle Beach during the off season, and it was as windy as it was empty. Even the stores were practically all abandoned, but the beach, oh, the beach. It was serene and quiet. I would have been okay with having my body welded to it if that was how it would be year-round, sign the contract for it and seal the deal without looking at the finer details.
As I traversed its ground, euphoria beat and throbbed in my tired ribs, filling me with slight contentment. The quiet had stilled and calmed something restless thrashing about to simple low, long rumbles, appeasing it for the time being.
Eliana Birman
I had never seen such clear, clean, pale sand. My fascination for it drew me further and further down the shore, coming upon the most unique seashells unlike any I have laid my eyes on. Immediately, I began closer inspection. One of the chilling waves accidentally caught me while I was collecting. It soaked my shoes and then my socks to the bone. Quickly I ran away as my body was left shivering and shocked. I thought I knew what it meant to be freezing with how chilly the blowing air was, so cold my face was partially numb. Even so, my time was divine. Who was there to say, “Let us move on! Let us see the boring continuous stretch of sand that does not change for miles!”
It was only I, saying, “There is so much on the ground, so much to look at right here in this bank of rocks. Let us be here!”
My hair flew around in every direction from the untamable, constant wind: forward, backward, to the left, to the right. My dress flew up multiple times as I bent down to look and pick up shells. Even so, I did not mind. I did not quickly walk to a new area, praying everyone who had been near or far in those moments with me were somewhere else having not noticed —therefore not remembered — anything odd.
I was there to enjoy it all by myself, not a peep from the fearful voice laying somewhere in the layers of brain matter. No frantic scramblings of, “What if someone took a picture? What if it is being laughed at with friends?” and wails in the background, proclaiming “How stupid must I surely seem as I pick up these worthless objects! I am embarrassing myself, passersby must surely think I am trying to appear different, trying to seem special!”
The seagulls gliding on the breeze, squawking, simply enjoying the ability of flight. The way the pier looked against the sky and clouds, grand and scenic. I had not felt a pair of eyes on me, watching or judging. I was there and did not think to be anything more than one of the pebbles on this ocean of sand.
“It was nice to breathe a little again.” said my lungs to that rib cage containing it, hoping the ears had overhead, and though it heard everything – despite circumstances – it feigned ignorance. What good does acknowledgment do, if nothing will ever be done past it. Instead, I will walk the beach with my head in the sand, focusing on pretty seashells and swaying waves. The birds will be resting on the shores in colonies, running away from the water as well, and the ocean will be colder than the ears touched by its wind. I will think this to be enough, but it never is. The restlessness will grow stronger, as what always is the case with restless people, and when the night replaces day the fearful voice will grow bigger, and louder, soon becoming my own.
Eliana Birman
The Truman Show
By Uriel Heller
If I were Truman, would I have any idea? My mundane life, a tv show. My secrets not secrets, my privacy broadcast for the whole world to see. I pity Truman, not the fool. Pitying the fool is horribly misguided. The fool isn’t the simple man. The fool is the man who takes great pleasure in torment. The fool is the man who trapped Truman in his sadistic game. Truman was just a man living his life, but the fool turned him into entertainment. Truman didn’t know. Truman’s love wasn’t reciprocal. His wife was an actor, not a lover.
Truman went insane. I think I would too. Most humans barely maintain their sanity living a normal life, let alone a life manipulated by the lies of a stranger. The saddest part is that Truman didn’t even know his life was being manipulated by a stranger. He thought he was in control. Maybe we’re all Truman. We all have the illusion of control over our lives, but it’s really just that. An illusion. Truman isn’t the fool. But we all are.
Truman thought he was control, but really The Fool was in control. Truman didn’t know The Fool existed. That’s where his illusion of hope emerged from. We are all simultaneously Truman and The Fool. We give ourselves a false illusion of being in control, when really we’re not. No one is. There is no Fool.
Which is why we are the Fools. Giving ourselves pipedream delusions that we have any ounce of control. None of us are any better than a marionette. We may be worse than Truman. Walk forward. Touch the proverbial window. Wake up. Live. Fall. Bleed. Die. None of it matters. Maybe this is all a simulation. Welcome to awareness. Pay close attention to your senses or you might get lost.
Yellow Balloon
By Millie M. Schwartz
Oh, yellow balloon,
what do you see?
The happy facade,
or the pain inside me?
When you’re floating
and
flying
above and beyond,
Do you see yet the
truth
of my tourniquet bond?
As you leap
to the sky
and
reach for the clouds,
Can you spot my
resistance
amidst all the crowds?
Oh, yellow balloon,
what do you see?
Do you see what they’ve built,
or the real side of me?
Keira Cohen
Under the Same Sky
By Rachel Blum
He marries her. Their rainy wedding gives them wonderful memories. This is where they learn that some of the best things in life are unplanned. Their hearts grow full as they watch the sun set. They become one unit. A beautiful family is born. She steals his last name and he steals her heart. Their lives would never be the same. They get into a daily routine with a golden retriever as their newest addition. He washes the dishes, she dries them. She makes the bed, he sets up the pillows. There’s a positive test on the counter. He holds her hair back as she vomits. They purchase a onesie with tiny yellow stars. At the gender reveal, they’re surrounded by all the people closest to them. They rush to the hospital as the sun beats down on them. They name him. They memorize all his tiny features, like the moon-shaped freckle just below his left eye. They work hard to set him up for success. They are there through it all. The time he drops his entire solar system diorama project on the way to the bus stop. When he fails his first math test. When he finally gets his driver’s license after many tries. When the sky erupts with thunder during his outdoor high school graduation. So many memories, but it’s already time to say goodbye. He drives off into the starry night with a car full of luggage. They fall asleep, far apart yet under the same sky, dreaming of the stars.
"So heavenly love
shall outdo hellish
hate."
–John Milton,
Paradise Lost
Requiem
By Ariella Marmon
A statue of beauty,
The picture of grace—
Blonde hair, pale skin,
And a smile on her face.
A slight, cunning smile,
Laced with deceit—
The men she ensnares
Love her bittersweet.
Puppet and master,
The lines are unclear—
Emerging from shadows,
Living in fear.
An object of envy—
The product of hate.
Graceless she lies,
In her forsaken estate.
Shattered circle of silver,
An artifice of love.
All the powers of hell—
As below, so above.
False, faithless union—
Twice unrequited.
Amidst chaos and bloodshed
Blossoms love, uninvited.
Holy order of shadows,
Blood running dark—
Children of angels,
A demon’s mark.
Visions of darkness,
The echoes of screams—
Demons and ruins,
Haunting his dreams.
A force to be reckoned—
A legend, a myth.
Dark hair, deep skin,
And a sword of the Smith.
Mother of demons—
Unholy crusade.
An unwilling paladin
Lays down her blade.
Servants of heaven—
As above, so below.
Third time is the charm
For the final death blow.
Shackled by glamour,
Disloyal thrall—
Unbeknownst to the villains,
Love conquers all.
Eliana Birman
In-Between
by millie m. schwartz
In misty-drifty in-between
I float with feelings yet unseen
Attempt to make my heartbeat heard
I try to force a single word.
Through haziness I search to see
The other side, where thoughts are free
Swim through lead and leap through fire
Strain to escape the endless mire.
When pain will stop, I don’t yet know
Where rapids will end and rivers will flow
If it takes forever, I won’t give in
Til I reach that place of peace within.
Eliana Birman
When Joy Arrives
By Rachel Blum
When joy arrives
She's dressed in all yellow
Smiling with perfect white teeth
And a spark in her bright blue eyes
When joy arrives
She’s excited to see me
Jumping up and down
Like its been years and not months
Since I’ve seen her
When joy arrives
And I see her
I get a warm feeling
That with her is where I’m meant to be
The state of mind she brings
And the happiness I receive
I never want her to leave
When joy arrives
I hear her boisterous laugh radiating
Her smile even bigger than before
Her presence is known
Sometimes I’m grateful for it
Sometimes I’m not
When joy arrives
She’s full of energy
Driving, running, biking
Always on the move
When joy leaves
The dullness in her eyes
The smile I can no longer see
The time has come
For her departure
I will miss her
When will you be back?
I ask
But she’s
Already gone
Too fast and too soon
A Letter to You
By Elana Boyarsky
Dear Lucy,
It’s been three years since your passing. Three years since you were stolen away from me, away from this world. One second you were singing along to Billy Joel, and now I’ll never be able to hear you sing again. It’s funny how that happens. How a car, something so physical, can destroy someone as lively as you. It destroyed me too. My smile, my happiness, my innocence, were all taken away that night. And I know what you’d say. You’d say what everyone says, that moving on is a long, hard process. Do they not think I haven't tried? Everyday I wake up and plaster a fake smile on my face. It lasts about ten minutes. Everything I see - everything I do - reminds me of you.
The smell of coffee reminds me of how we used to try out new cafes together, rating every cup on a scale from one to ten. I stopped drinking coffee now. The full-length mirror in the corner of my room reminds me of the long hours we would spend standing in front of it, trying on clothing and getting ready for events. I donated that mirror to Goodwill so that I’ll never have to look at it again. Everything that makes me think of you is gone, my apartment practically empty. Every time I visit my parents, the memories of our childhood crush me all over again.
How is there no word, no mourning period, for losing your oldest, closest friend?
Kaleidoscope
By Josh Stiefel
The Light at the end is brighter today
swirling, its facets glimmer in the sun
the streams of light in every which way
dancing in technicolor dreamscape
The whirling tide of seafoam cannot reach
the heights of my driftwood castle
its salted odor of briny deep
falter in the path to my door
In errant pride the sunlight streams
Spiraling into moonlit crescent
foolish am I, as the daybreak gleams
to think it were any different
Through roaring torrents in fields of green
astride the coursing rapids
rides a child of airy scenes
swimming against the current
Whitened peaks and troughs in speed
fall toward my sheltered harbor
rolling manes line their indigo steed
who gallops through the valleys
Reddened flowers of open fire
grasp the stretching sky
their arteries bared, flowing spires
trace the rolling country
Slowing in motion now they roam
spinning in hazel focus
their slowing breaths swiftly slow
fixing color to a glass skylight
Eliana Birman
She Lived in a Town of Ghosts
By Ellie Weisberg
She lived in a town of ghosts.
Haunted- by their ebony glow
Shivering in- the thick cold air
left in their wake
A town of shadows
Her ears bled- from their cries
Longing to to reach out-
To feel the warmth of pumping blood
They were lonely-
Dragging her down-
Wanting her to stay with them
But she wished to live
And so-
Rain- poured every day
Salt- the taste left behind
Washing over her in waves
Littering her tongue like dew
Eliana Birman
Now-
Tired of- soggy boots
Raisins- that replaced toes
Soul crawling to her heart- shivering
She longed for-
Rain to turn to drizzle-
Drizzle to dew-
All she wanted to see-
A Rainbow painted sky-
An end to a flood
Umbrella- Shining like the sun
Held high to the heavens-
She was leaving-
Sailing- mastering the art of rain
Sailing- searching for doves
Docking- she sees green
Landing- she watches rainbows
Today
As people pass- her silent smiles
- they whisper-
Surrounded by the dead
A girl never seemed more alive
“Because I could not stop for death”
A woman is born with all the eggs she will ever have
By Rosie Fellig
Above a glass reflection, taped messily lives an artifact
Of immortal innocence.
Forever i have craved to have met You,
when your cheeks were rosy and plump with promise
Before your womb had delivered
Vessels of the future. Some say i have elements
Of your voice, or your freckles, but i am afraid
That won’t be enough to satiate my need
To be within you. A part of you.
i had once been, attached at the hip,
Dwelling within your pelvis, a tenant you couldn't evict,
We had been girls together.
You are 18 in a fur jacket in a mercedes and there
Down and to the right, i laugh with you. I am composed of
A thousand declarations of love and regret
And in unison, those testimonies lived within you -
They lived within you before you had found me.
Before my conception, invention, my beginning
Had ever been in gods cards.
We had been girls together.
You had been born with me beneath your liver
The soft tissue that cushions your bones,
Put me to bed with you. The moon had kissed us the same,
Girls we were, the same.
I can’t seem to recall the way you had walked or danced
But i find solace in the plain fact that i was there.
Because we were girls together,
You and I.
Ellie Weisberg
Candy Cane
By Ariella Marmon
Candy cane
and Chicken feed
Weather vane
on a Big red barn
Rolling hills
with Apple trees
Cow’s milk spills
the Valley floods
Born again
and Standing tall
Fields of grain
and Flowers grow
Floral scent
of Youthful joy
Time well spent
in the Great outdoors
Red Stripes and Blue Stars
By Millie M. Schwartz
I live
Between the red
And the blue.
In an ocean
Of uncertainty
And competing
Identities.
I am the space
Between the candy-cane stripes
And the cerulean lines.
The space
Where nothing exists.
How can I pick
Between my
Blood-moon country
And my
Bruised blue home?
I exist between both.
And I am always
Twelve hours away
From either.
Until We Meet Again
by Millie M. Schwartz
Ding, dong. Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding….
Six chimes, but I’m not sure if it is morning or evening anymore. I’m not sure what is morning or evening, anymore.
The yellow-stained light always filters through the windows, always silhouettes the black iron hours in their endless circle. But the meaning of an hour has been lost to me. And what is time but the meaning of an hour?
I know not time any longer….
4. Goodbye
You parted. I saw you last three days ago, but I did not then know that was the last I’d see you. I couldn’t know. No one knew.
That’s when everything stopped.
That’s when time lost its meaning.
You froze me.
Your frozenness.
It left me cold, hard, and empty.
It made me stop.
I could not move through a time where you no longer existed.
So I stopped.
And now I don’t know how to start again.
1. Hello
“Hello!”
Just a word.
But it changed my life.
You did.
2. Friends
I didn’t know what light was until I saw it inside of you.
You became light.
You became my light.
You lit up my dark til it became my day.
You ran with me through every storm.
You walked with me through every meadow.
You were my guide.
My compass.
And I was your map.
My ink, your metal,
We guided each other.
I think that’s when I realized.
3. I Love You
I realized I couldn’t live without you.
No.
Not that.
I didn’t want to live without you.
You, who made my life beautiful.
You, who made me realize I could feel.
I wanted you to always be with me.
“I love you,” I said.
And you said it back.
And then you coughed, and I was too caught up in my emotions to notice.
4.5. In-Between
You taught me happiness.
But I don’t want to be happy anymore.
I want to take the light you gave me and throw it to a shadow.
I want to take back every word I ever said to you.
I don’t want to feel this pain.
The truth is, I loved you––love you.
Always will.
And it’s hard.
To let go.
I’m scared.
To forget.
I know what you would say:
“I’ll always be with you.”
But it’s hard.
It’s hard to make myself believe it.
But, for your sake….
I’ll try.
5. Until We Meet Again
The light has always filtered through those windows, always silhouetted those metal numerals.
But now I know what they mean again.
I’ve regiven meaning to them.
A meaning of my own.
Ten years since I knew you.
Since you lit my flame.
Ten months since I lost you.
Since my light flickered.
And the rest of my life to remember you.
To grow my own fire.
You introduced me to myself.
I will never forget you.
Until we meet again.
Attached
By Elizabeth
I got stabbed in the heart
but it was nowhere to be found
so i lay in the numbness
with dim ringing in my ears
if not for you i wouldn’t be in this position
but i'd be bleeding out all the same
as when you took it in the first place
your fingerprints stained red
i imagine a different life
where it did its job
it races and sometimes skips a beat
and eventually stops
but at least it was full
if not for you i would know how to act right now
when someone tries to hurt me
just to see if i can feel anything at all
they’d rather me be wounded than unattached
but i’m not attached, i’m untethered
Shattered
By Eliana Birman
i don’t think i will ever be the same
as i was before
i
fell
apart
i will pick myself up
i will piece myself together
i will stitch myself tight
i will cover my edges
in sticky, sticky glue
but i will never get rid of the seams
once you’ve been ripped to pieces,
do you remember what it’s like to be
whole?
Chaya Guttman
Eliana Birman
The Devil’s Bird: Apus Apus
By Chaya Guttman
Cold indigo nights;
City lights hide the stars;
Lines of smoke fade;
A buzz fills the tired quiet;
Two men, co-workers of the same floor, sit on the curb outside their colossal sized office building, smoking.
It’s been a long day.
They stare vacantly at the languidly swaying trees opposite them with hollow eyes.
Though aged by life, the men are both young in years and appearances, aside from their eye bags created by lack of sleep.
And without moving his head from the view, the taller of the two mutters the first words spoken in the past 5 minutes:
“…You ever wish you could go back in life? Not to change anything, but to just… feel some things again?”
Silence,
And then a voice.
“Sometimes. Only on Sundays when there’s time to think.”
The shorter of them, still staring straight ahead, takes a puff of his cigarette.
Silence,
And then a sound.
A hum in agreement from the other.
“Yeah.”
Window
By Ellie Weisberg
She spent every day looking out a window, peering out to the world through a 12-by-13 looking glass. It was beautiful, the sill painted gold, spiraling in at the edges and hugging the glass. Every day she cleaned the window, twice from top to bottom, until the glass was so clean it made the world beyond it shine.
She watched the world turn through the window. It showed her the sunsets turned into sunrises and the lakes turned into rain. She watched the flowers and leaves bloom and the snow fall. She watched the wind churn and the clouds shiver. She watched people love each other, and she watched people lose them too. She saw children grow up, watching generations take form.
She sat there and watched until the day she was ready. On that day, she stood, cleaned the mirror, twice until the glass was so clean it made the world shine, and she closed the shades.
Keira Cohen
God's Rope
Jessie Horowitz
In my darkest day
When the world was far
I had one rope
Tied to my waist
As I drifted away
The rope turned to weight
That pulled me to the world
As it sang its sirens song
Reeling me in like bait
Reminding me of beautiful faith
That turned into light
When approaching my space
Giving me the tools
To feel God’s grace
When I Lay Next to You
By Ellie Weisberg
When I lay next to you in the silence of the night, I can feel you. I can feel you turning the key of your gates and slowly lifting yourself from your body. I can tell you love it there. The way it's bright, calm, and beautiful welcomes you to rest. Every night I can feel you lingering there for just a moment longer, but I pull you away.
I pull you away because I need you here beside me. I need you tucked under the covers, heating the parts of me that lay there frozen. I need your breath to dance opposite mine, spinning in when mine spins out. I need the murmurs of your heartbeat resting in my ears. I need you here.
Tonight I have to leave you, not because I don't love you, but because my body longs to rest. I’ve spent a thousand lives living with you, being a part of you; I’ve been exhaling with your lungs and looking out through your eyes. I love the view from your eyes. I love you.
But I'm ready. I'm ready for the silence and the peace. I'm ready to rest my body because I'm weary. I love you more than you will ever know. I love you so much that I am letting go. This body can not love you when its heart no longer beats and its lungs no longer breathe. I will leave you, but I promise my soul will lie with you.
An Ode to the Angel of Death
By Ellie Weisberg
Dear Death,
You glorious dagger. You stunning machine gun. You dazzling arrow. You’re just so beautiful in the way that you make people dance and spin and twirl around you like tops spinning on sheets of ice. They love you, they adore you. They celebrate you with fancy parties, black ties, and expensive venues. I want to be like you in the way you cause silence in a room. I want to bask in your never-ending name. Don’t you see that you have everything? The party guests, the best dress, the unforgettable name? They're always thinking about you. You command attention like a king because you are king. I revere you. I worship you. I will be your angel. I will fly forth on my wings of glory and claim for you what is yours. In return, you shall do the same for me. Death, let me be your dance partner, your dinner date. I will make you grander. I will write your name in the sky red. I will be your disciple. I will bless man with the essence of your name. I will make the world smell of you and your fragrance. I shall be your angel of death.
Forever yours,
Mother nature
Eliana Birman
Ariella Marmon
To Be Perfectly Average
by Eliana Birman
i don’t think i’ve ever written a short poem
one of those two-liners that just hit in all the right places
but i’ve never written a really long one either
the ones that build and build and shock you
there’s this sort of limbo that i’ve placed myself in
fly under the radar
stay in the in-between
that’s where i’ve always been
where i’ve told myself i always will be
in everything
forever