Prose
The Mundane is Magic
I was rinsing off my paintbrush when I had the sinking realization that perhaps all the tiny moments where I whispered to myself, "My, what good luck!" were actually little bits of magic because maybe real magic is mundane, it doesn't come bounding in announcing itself by its full, government name, instead magic finds a way to weave itself so seamlessly into our everyday lives that it goes unnoticed in that normalized way that way where if you were asked, sure, you're conscious of the odds and how you beat them in the most surprising ways, but don't people do that all the time? What if magic is happening every millisecond? Each time a cell splits in mitosis, every new hair growing on your head, every single spider baby pouring from one egg, maybe that's all magic. Who's to say it's not?
By Lolly Vieira3 months ago in Poets
Edge Shelf Incident
Content fell on floor; it might’ve had some lure. It sat on the edge of the shelf, and I was called by the Siren friend. Content fell on floor. I opened the fridge with Herculean force. I stood in the magnet blip as the spaghetti whipped its hair back and forth. Content fell on the floor. I hope you don’t pour rage on top of the cure. But for the love of shelves, don’t balance food on the Lotus edge. Because content fell on floor. I had just lifted weights, but that is not why your system failed. The fridge doesn’t know its strength. When I overhear you asking for the spaghetti trail, I hide behind my door. Content fell on the floor.
By Caitlin Charlton3 months ago in Poets
“Light Over the Earth”
“Light Over the Earth” Today a world of peace Is being turned into a world of grief, Grief for the division of light As shadows rise and try to steal the night. But even when the darkness grows, A brighter truth still softly glows. I send light, I send love, I send peace from up above. Let it rise, Let it release, Let it calm this trembling earth And bring our weary hearts relief. Darkness tries to build its throne, A fortress made of fear and stone. Despair is a sadness that doesn’t care It pulls the spirit into heavy air. But light can spark, ignite, and climb, Breaking walls one truth at a time. I send light, I send love, I send peace from up above. Let it rise, Let it release, Let it calm this trembling earth And bring our weary hearts relief. Despite the cultures built on spite, Despite the wounds that steal our sight, Despite the hate that tries to reign, Love still walks through every pain. Light remembers what we forgot We heal the world by what we’ve got. I send light, I send love, I send peace from up above. Let it rise, Let it release, Let it wash across the earth And bring our weary hearts relief I send light… I send love… I send peace.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 4 months ago in Poets
Cathedral of Unseen Grace
Deep within this vaulted sanctum of my spirit, a devotion burns, steady as the ancient stars. Your affection found me amidst the velvet shadows, where longing once reigned in solitude. Now, our communion is a sacred vow, bound by cords of unseen grace. I am become a vessel for this celestial heat, a sanctuary where your presence dwells eternal.
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
July 4, 2026
July 4, 2026 On this quiet July 4th, I sit in my apartment with the soft hum of Earth breathing outside my window. I honor the holiday in my own way not with fireworks, but with remembrance. I carry the Choctaw spirit of equality and kindness, the Irish and Baltic endurance, the Mediterranean warmth, the African and Coptic Egyptian depth, the Native and Asian roots that whisper through my dreams, and the immigrant courage of those who crossed Ellis Island seeking a new horizon. I celebrate the truth that humanity is one species with many colors, languages, and stories. I do not celebrate the friction of bigotry or hate; those shadows do not exist in my world of truth, light, and freedom. I look at the plants outside the breathing nature of Earth, and I remember that the Earth does not belong to us. We belong to the Earth. And today, I begin again with that truth as my compass. I stand in the breath of Earth, where roots remember what people forget. My DNA is a map of many rivers, all flowing toward the same horizon. Today I honor the quiet truth we belong to the Earth, And the Earth keeps us whole. I celebrate the freedom of kindness, the courage of every ancestor who walked, crossed, sailed, or dreamed of me here. No flag can hold the whole of me I am many lands braided into one breath. Today I rise in truth and let the Earth be my anthem. July opens like a leaf in my hand, Quiet, green, and honest. I listen to the plants, to the sky, to the soft pulse of my ancestors. Freedom is not fireworks, It is the breath of Earth is asking us to care.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 4 months ago in Poets
