SandScript 2023 [Digital Exclusive]

A hundred burns of chemicals and heat run up and down my arms, faded tan and white
against fair skin
I work to feed the faceless I have cursed, to expunge the curses I’ve laid on myself.
My movements are like dancing, a ballet alone on a barren stage.
I sing to myself, to remind myself I’m human, and one can translate life into words if they know
the right tune.
A dozen places where bruises have since faded on a beaten down body, vessel of wrath
and cowardice
The remnants remain in aches and memories
My fingers now uncurled, yet ears are clogged, neck aches, back twitches, ribs and legs remain.
I ought to pray more than I do, to align my heart with truth.
As we all know, now is an unstable vestibule for tomorrow,
A strange sort of limbo.
Everything is about to break and I am afraid.”
“Where’s your past ?”I asked her.
A long pause.
“It’s buried in the backyard underneath the sycamore tree.”
She looked away, lips pursed shut.
And we were quiet after that.
Recovered Heritage
Collin Chadwick
Still among the world of the living
lie in solitude
the words of the wise.
Solemn voices tinged with passion,
dire hopes of new perspective,
the flowing verses of elders
enshrined for posterity.
Vestiges of a vivid world
cling to delicate parchment,
darkened splotches resting
proudly in stoic remembrance:
Unique imprints
upon the face of time
heralding what has yet
to become legend.
69
Ancient memories breathe anew,
enduring defiantly
in the hearts of those
who never quite forgot.