The Editor of the 2020-2021 print anthology mistakenly allowed an early draft of this prose poem to be included instead of this Final Version. Apologies to Ms. Magnusen, and to all of our readers. Here is the official Finalized version of The Werewolf by Janey Magnusen!

Sometimes I spend hours in the shower
Not bathing, not shaving, just standing there...
Sometimes.
Sometimes I tilt my head to the sky, squint my eyes, and ask God, “why?”,

For a while it was just me.
A boy and the sea.
And the sand between my toes, calling.
By siren wails, by coastal plea

Hawaiian shirts

and rolled-up jeans.

Tennis shoes with a rainbow sole.

Peace signs up

and filters on.

Medusa, Medusa; your blood is all red;

It flows like a geyser- without your head.

It has soaked through the sheets, now their smell is of iron;

The pools ‘neath the mattress, ’ll coagulate by morn.

Wide eyes, my heart beats like a drum as it consumes my chest, pulsating in and out. My palms are sweaty, my right foot tapping on the ground in a constant 1,2,1,2 motion that somewhat eases my nerves. But not really. I stand to the side of the wooden gate, in a line of people that extends to the walkway. I am by myself, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I remind myself, there's nothing wrong with that.

It got stuck again
Somewhere between now and then I didn't realize until now
And then came the quickest gasp Felt as if my throat was clasped

The weather is starting to cool down

There's not going to be anywhere green

The leaves are turning red, orange, and brown

It's time for camping and Halloween

I am so so tired of living here

Wishing my existence would be enough

Wanting a reason for now to be clear

Now everyone wants me to be tough

Loud noise, sweat dripping down my face, the pressure builds as the team huddles together in a tight circle off the court. Yelling and shouting, screaming surrounds my ears as I try to collect my thoughts, strategy circling my head as I hear the whistling bringing myself back to the court, my home. I throw the ball up, emitting my strongest force to serve the ball over the net to my rivals, hoping that they will not return it.

I could only watch in disappointment as you grimaced into the mirror. It was pristine, freshly cleaned, and even had a trim of gold flowers around it. That’s how I always knew that look of contempt wasn’t meant for the mirror itself. I remained mute for the time being, a quiet spectator, a presence in the background. You seemed to need the time to feel, to grapple with the storm of emotions, and I held my breath as you struggled to hold back tears, white flags of resignation.

I think I believe in destiny.

Somehow, I think things are meant to be.

Aligning of stars, fate, kind of meant to be.

That such horrors could be thrust upon us.

And yet, here we are.

The ground rumbles with the weight of the train, plowing over the tracks. Its horn sounds in the distance, but Brother isn't really paying attention to any of it. His leg fidgets as he glances down at his phone once again. He's lost track of how many times he's looked down at the device to check for new calls, messages, or the passing of time.

I am not alone

My arms are

Wrapped around my chorus

I am lying

Where the dandelions lie

Today is not the day my struggle ends.

Today is not the day my body breaks and my bones buckle by the

Labors of Atlas bearing down on me.

Today is not the day my mind melts like myopic magma from

malicious problems too mountainous to comprehend.

April is a very important month, a very very important month. It’s the birth month of my husband as well as our anniversary month. We’ve been married for twenty-two years, I’m proud to say. Now, I would love to say that all that time together didn’t take work, but that simply just would not be the truth. And like my mama always told me, “I named you Ruth so you would always grow up honest. Ruth, rhymes with truth, Baby Doll.” So I tell the truth and the truth is, marriage is hard.

Today was much better.

I walked to the library at 9:30 at night and I distinctly felt peace, calm, and joy.

The air was just cool enough for my body to feel comfortable but for my face to chill and blush.

I walked through King Quad and I saw no one, I just absorbed the gentle hush.

oh young Athena,

born with the light of the heavens upon you,

living a life full of honey and gold

with blessings from those above.

you were not made for silence

you have the cries of protest in your bones the sound of marching footsteps in your voice and eyes that seem to notice all injustice

you were not made to stand by and watch

What must it be like

To have no cares in the world

Besides survival and offspring.

And the search for immortality

As an oak tree?