False Haven

The porch with the little swing and the three tulips was our beginning. It was there, nervously, that you stood as my father answered your knock.

The place where I waved goodbye as you left for college.

After my father died, we hugged my mother on the porch as she cried.

It was there that you got down on one knee and carried me into our new home, taking me in.

That was the spot where you were shouting at me as you walked away to your car.

The porch with the little swing and three tulips is our end.


By: Keana Jones

 

 

His Love

“Should I break your heart?” she asked as she looked him in the eyes. “Should I play with it until you are hurt so bad that you will hate me, be disgusted by me? Should I play with your mind and lead you on to make you believe you count for me? Should I pretend to be in love with you?”

The boy was processing her words. Shocked, humiliated, and crushed he was.

The girl was still staring at him indifferently. He had known her since first grade, infatuated by her since.

Love at first sight, an unrequited one.

“Yes.”


By: Mélanie Cameron

 

 

Her Love

She lied.

She didn’t want him to suffer.

Trust issues, afraid of commitments, afraid of being loved.

She was selfish. She was aware of it.

She stared at him to memorize each feature of his face.

She had known him since first grade, infatuated by him since.

Love at first sight.

“Goodbye.”


By: Mélanie Cameron

 

 

Goodbye

She clutches him to her, a tight desperate embrace.

Then, with one last squeeze of his hand, she walks away.


By: E. Cady Strech

 

 

Short Love

I once met a man who taught other men to sing, as though they’d forgotten their own voices, and listened acutely to my humming.

We gathered shells from along a coast, and walked a garden trying to remember names of plants we’d never met, watching rain drop from petals.

We roamed the remnants of a church lost to time, but not place: stood in the space where ablutions were made, sins washed away, an apothecary grown for the ails of pilgrims.

He told me he was in love with me just for the day. And I can’t remember his name.


By: Kat Currey

 

 

Short Lived

It was a year ago I came home, to wisteria and lilies in my memory and masses of monkey grass in their stead.


By: Kat Currey

 

 

Falling for Green Eyes

She looks at me with green eyes that catch every ray of spring sunlight, and she watches me string a hammock between two strong trees.

I hope she wants to sit with me in the warmth while I name every shade of green on the blooming campus: green grass, green leaves, green eyes.

“You first,” she says when the hammock is strung.

I jump into the canvas too eagerly.

I miss. My fingers scrabble helplessly on the hammock as I slip and fall. My back hits the ground first, then my sunglasses.

I look up, dazed, into laughing green eyes.


By: Erin Bullock

 

 

Feeling Blue

Oh, my love, the light of my life, why is my passion for you the color of winter?

Love is red. That is what they say. Should I not call what I feel love then?

It is not the yellow of friendship, or the bubbly pink of fancy. It is a blue on the verge of white, like fog lights from a car at night.

Love is like fire, but my affection for you is lightning. It does not consume, but rather it spreads.

There is heat, but with a certain coolness.

What else can we call this but love?


By: Rachael Sitton

 

 

The Sun and Moon Are in Love

I didn’t plan on him, but I sure don’t mind it.

In a time full of “I don’t know” and “I can’t” he is my one certainty and my one strength.

A lot of things bring me comfort, but the biggest one is knowing we look up to the same moon.

I am forever content with being loved by him.

I still remember those seven pink tulips and thinking how nobody has ever given me flowers.

Then again, nobody has seen my soul like he has.

I don’t need the sun, for looking at him brings me enough warmth.


By: Isha Patel

 

 

Bloom

Tulips bloomed, and so did I.


By: Isha Patel

 

 

There Are Butterflies When He Calls

I wait for his calls in the night.

Time passes, and the flowers wilt.

I imagine him lying next to me, and feeling like I never want to say goodbye again.

It is hard when you want comfort from someone that cannot reach through the phone screen.

I wonder if his heart hurts when I say I miss him. I know mine does.

What I would give to hear his laughter and feel his touch.

I remember the evergreen trees when I came, and especially when I left.

Yet I remember each day passing is one less day of goodbye.


By: Isha Patel

 

The Five Senses

The importance of touch is never known until it’s gone.

The importance of someone’s laugh, smile, tears—what you would give to experience a little bit longer.

Our bodies crave hugs but the world says, “Hold, please.”

The five senses — touch, sight, hearing, smell, and taste — have all dulled since the world was put on hold.

Will it be scary to sense again?

Will I ever hear live music ringing through my ears like I used to? Will I ever taste local cuisine that couldn’t stay afloat? Will I ever smell fresh air without feeling as though I shouldn’t?


By: Isha Patel

 

 

Light

Bruised arms and dark thoughts. Tears keep coming as my mind races and spirals. Shadows cover everything and I feel so alone.

“You have every right to leave. You deserve better than what I can offer.”

You kiss my arms and hold me close. Tears mingle with my own as you hold me tight. Your presence chases away every shadow.

“I’m not going anywhere, love. We weather this storm together.”

Thank you for staying.

Thank you for your light.


By: Rebecca

 

 

Krishna: The Reality

I looked at the sunset, the last one with her. I know I’m a horrible person, but I’ve been prepared my whole life to take over my family business. They’ve been working hard for it; I couldn’t just let go of it.

Am I selfish? Yes. I’ll take all the blame. I deserve it. I thought for a while she was part of my destiny. But the universe spoke, and she couldn’t be part of my life. The person I’m marrying is lovely, and honestly, I could see myself falling in love with her.

That’s the sad and harsh reality.


By: Mélanie Cameron

 

 

Radha: The Farewell

She left.

This was the last time we saw each other.


By: Mélanie Cameron

 

 

Cupid’s Second Letter to Psyche

Dear Psyche,

My shoulder is healing, and I’ve forgiven you.

I’m sorry for how I reacted.

Please know how much I miss you.

My mother is keeping me locked away in her palace. “To heal,” she says. But I’ve heard whispering you’re here.

Oh Psyche, stay strong for me, until I’m strong again for you. And please, do nothing rash.

We’ll be reunited soon, my love.

Forever yours,

Cupid


By: K.J.S.

 

What Psyche Wished Cupid Knew

My dear, even with a horrible appearance, who is to say I would not have loved you anyway?

My curiosity got the better of me.


By: K.J.S.

 

 

Binnorie: Before He Cheats With My Sister!

“My husband cheated on me, and not just with anybody — with my sister. I found them together at a bar. So what did I do? I keyed his car, and I ripped his leather seats. I found a baseball bat outside the back of the bar and shattered his headlights, and I punctured all four of his tires. And then, I was so mad I drowned my sister. Yeah, a bit far I guess. And what did she do? She haunted me and ratted me out to my whole family and my husband. So now what?” she asked her therapist.


By: K.J.S.

 

 

Zelinda and the Monster: Father Goes to Town

There was a man with three daughters, all different in disposition. When he went to town, each asked for something different. Rosina wanted a dress, Marietta wanted a shawl, and Zelinda wanted just a rose.

Their father was headed back when he realized he had no rose, so he went into the field and found one to pick. Once he picked the rose, a monster appeared and threatened the man’s life.

The father begged and begged; he had three daughters at home alone he needed to care for.

The monster let the father go, but required a life as sacrifice.


By: Savannah Kotkin

 

 

Zelinda and the Monster: In the Castle

Zelinda heard her father’s story and knew it was all her fault; she volunteered to be given to the monster in the castle.

When they got there, the beast was satisfied with the father’s sacrifice and sent him out, keeping the girl there.

The monster fell in love with her.

Zelinda was indifferent; she could not love such a hideous, disgusting thing.

He would profess his love for her every day in the gardens. “Won’t you marry me? Things will change, I swear it.”

But Zelinda continued to tell him she could never love him.

He was too hideous.


By: Savannah Kotkin

 

 

Zelinda and the Monster: The Monster’s Plan

The monster told Zelinda that if she did not marry him, her father would surely die. He showed her the future in a mirror and she saw it to be true. She sobbed and sobbed knowing what she had to do. To save her father she must marry this cruel monster.

“Okay, monster, I will marry you to save my father.”

Once Zelinda spoke these words, a handsome youth took the place of this creature, shocking her entirely.

She was completely okay with this marriage.

They decided to elope and run away, for true love had taken over them both.


By: Savannah Kotkin

 

 

How I Feel

I feel sad but the kind that’s joyful
I’d cry seeing Superman fly
More examples…
But I don’t want to rhyme
The best kind of poetry doesn’t rhyme
Its expression is its ideas
Not whether you can dance to it
I want to dance with you
You’re so far away
I know when you’ll be here
I know when I won’t be
I don’t even doubt
I don’t even wonder
I’m just sad because I see Superman flying
Except it’s me
You’re Lois Lane
I come to save the day
No matter how many times you fall
Jesus save me


By: Drew Miller

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Tiny Tales of Spring 2021 Copyright © 2021 by Laura Gibbs is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License, except where otherwise noted.

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