Inkwell 2018-2019

Dinner for the Guests By Sebastain Kocz

Blerck. Snerck. The aliens filtered in out of the dark. Knerck? No knerck, I responded.

They were a bit disappointed, for they really liked knerck. Fine. Do you want me do look for some knerck at Kroger? Sherpaderp! They answered joyously. Alright then. I turned to my loyal sheepdog, Dries-Mertens. Dries, can you watch over the house in my absence? He gave me a look meaning that he didn’t want to, but he knew he had no other choice. Good.

A Poem About Grass by Megan Asbrand The grass is breathing. Can you not feel it beneath your feet? A steady rise like the tides as a day goes by. Have you not noticed the way walking at noon

never feels quite unlike a crime? How the ground holds a grudge with each budge, but you can’t put your finger on why. As each second passes, a carpet of grass rises to kiss the soles of your sneakers and slowly sinks back by dark. A sea of green guardians of a gateway to an unknown depth beneath us that we have never bothered to properly delve into because the endeavor of shoveling and disheveling all that dirt is too daunting of an undertaking. But still after all these years, another generation silently guards the depths we fear. They breathe in.

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