Tulane Review Digital

waiting, not knowing if a flame would burst
forth or a sizzle would fade into the night.
When the first tube released its ruby parcel the
trail was brilliant and the explosion was
felt, hearts settled with the first blast, falling
into sync. As the shades of red unfolded above
our
heads we forgot our caution, letting our hands
fall, leaving our ears left free to absorb every
bit
of the new reality. Fireworks in the countryside
mirrored our own, the mountains were outlined
by flame and promise and a fierce resolve to
not abandon the future to the demons that
threatened to extinguish everything
Memories like Spider Silk
By Annie Burky
I can see the spider on my crooked ceiling fan.
I know I shouldn’t be able to. It’s night and the
moon is out. If I was anywhere else I wouldn’t
be able to see its spindly, needle legs twitching
and moving about. But the lights from the city
never fade. They fill my room, all bright and
white so that if I close my eyes I can feel them
burning against my lids and pretend that it’s the
morning.
The city is close to New York, it grabs at the
morsels that New York decides to drop its way.
It’s not a pretty or extravagant place. People love
to make fun of it, call its inhabitants rude, call
them cruel. We are not rude and we are not cruel.
We are simply not like them, we are not used
to being catered to. We have hard shells over our
hearts and harsh lights in our faces. We know
eyes are on us but we don’t care to act differently.
We are the underbelly and take pride in it.
The lights let me follow the creature’s twitching
legs as it builds a bridge line with two, near-invisible
strands. The creature begins to add in