6

July

6

July

JULY halfway

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Vestigial Year is monthly literature, photography, poetry, and art. In July, we are halfway.

“

2

non. Halfway

I wonder why it’s so difficult for me to write about “happy things.”

I hate using those words: “happy” and “things.”They are so juvenile, so unprofessional, so unpoetic.But they are words and they are true.

I’m not sure why I find it so easy to write about sadness.about loneliness.About the looks of tearshow the skin beneath their round eyes flares a bright pink and their eyelashes bathe in the glimmer of tear drops.

Why is it so easy to write about heartbreakabout falling out of loveAs if it’s dust that slips between cracks in fingersfalling away slowly until the only thing that’s left is the microscopic residue that clings beneath your fingernails.

It’s so easy to describe the feeling of someone on your mindAnd to feel your intestines twist and knot as you see that someone with someone else.

With ease I can describe struggleAs the rope I climb slips beneath meAnd the callouses and blisters that line my palmsSplinter open while traces of dark red bloodstain the frayed rope.

I hope it’s not because I’m unhappy.

That “sad things” are easier than “happy things.”Or that I only see sadness in the faces around me.I see frustration.I see physical pain.broken heartslost souls

But I am not sure if I see the other half.For when I look into the mirrorI’m not sure what I see.I hope that it’s happiness.

…I hope.

3

Haley Cormier

4

non. everything is nothing, with a twist

A poem in which I did not expectanything I love to last forever,because time never existed,in which we woke up at dawn to see Adam and Eve kiss through an apple orchard,

and fell asleep to the symphony of bombs and gunshotsin the last World War.

A poem in which it’s true that I travel in timeholding every hand like a promiseI intend to keep,cradle both the past and futurein my chest cavities like I can rearrange the consequences of the lack of love in the world—

A poem in which none of these wordsmean the same thing to you as they mean to me,in which the beginning of this is somewherein the middle.

A poem in which the universeforgets to tell me if I am halfway through my lifeor only now beginning it.In which it’s all the same thing anyway.

Elly Belle

5

non. Cry yourself to sleep tonight...

Cry yourself to sleep tonightCollect your tears, and make some tea.Drink your sorrows dear, for no one else will cherish them as you do.

Not a single soul will look twice, As you fade away into the whispers of the night.

Emily DiLaura

6

Haley Cormier

87

Haley Cormier

88

non. Her lips were dark blue...

Her lips were dark blue. She was young and alive, her lips dark blue.Shallow hearts sinking so deep we stayed cold for hours, even days.Loneliness is a feeling you cannot shake, it lingers.Her lips were dark blue and I kissed them long and hard.Her tongue danced in my mouth and for a flickering second I felt—the loneliness engulfs our bodies, our souls, and shakes them from within our bones.—I felt nothing.

Emily DiLaura

9

10

11

12

13

14

HALF WAY

15

Haley Cormier

816

non. Physics

Hailey Oby

17

Haley Cormier

818

non. Pranking Season is Over

I guess many years ago I first planted that seed. Way down deeper than I had planted before. It felt right at the time but I was probably just young and lonely. In fact, I was. I was born alone. I didn’t yet realize that’s also how you die. But you know me. I’m always on the run. Running from anything that might shed some light for me. Running from that garden where things were right, at the time. Or maybe they just felt right.So I left my little seed where it lay and that’s the last I remembered. But now I remem-ber that it was hard enough to forget. By the time I woke, a year had past. The sweat all the way down had blinded me at first. But I gave it some time.I guess I was the same old boy, but there was an undeniable twist. If I still had been in my garden I could have made something beautiful for friends to see.But I have a new shovel now and it has dug up this city without a clue what it has been hunting for.I dug for a while. Lord knows how I dug. But all I ever found was this dirt. I didn’t quite know what I was looking for but Lord knows it wasn’t this dirt. It should have been up to me to have known. But I had not yet bled for myself. It let me do more harm. But I bleed for myself now.And I know just who you are. And you’ve been swimming in dirt too. With your eyes thrown shut for a while. But I was able to catch a glimpse. And they helped me find that old shovel way down from that bottle. I hadn’t considered where to dig but some things just seem so right. I guess I had seen it in my blood. And the first push of soil gave me my old seed. The little seed I had for-gotten. Or chose to forget. And I don’t recall just how much it has grown but I do recall being halfway in love with you. I just don’t know which half. But I know just who you are. When you do too, we can sure as hell dig up the other half.

Dog eat Dog

19

non. Utter Fractional

We meet at the crossroads between death and new creation

We live in the world of now and not yet

You are serenity and I am the restless windup

With the halfway lean between feeling immortal and for you just two lips touchYou can very truly see the sorrow

We are full of words that breed lifeBut we are full of fear which brings our words dea

Ryan Yero

20

Haley Cormier

821

22

23

24

25

26

Haley Cormier

827

28

Hannah Hahn

29

30

Max Rochman

Josh Roepe

non. The In-Between

I suppose it’s the person you think of when you lay awake at night

Wanting nothing more than to drift off to sleep.

That’s when they enter your mind and become the last conscious thought before floating off into the land of dreams.

Their face, the last you see

No matter how far away they may be.

Or maybe it’s the person that comes to you on your train ride home,

While the world rushes by and somewhere between thinking of where you’re coming from and where you’re going you find yourself thinking of the in-be-tween where the colors rush by and past and present and future are an im-pressionist painting of beauty and chaos.

And they stand beside you as you watch it all rush by and they somehow fit right in.

But it could also be the person who fits the outline of the figure you swear is beside you when you open your eyes underwater and see the light breaking the surface reaching it’s fingers’ towards you.

Then again, I suppose for really lucky people this is all the same person who visits you in the in-betweens to hold your hand,

And assure you that while the world swirls around you and as you drift into a dream

They are there to tether you to the here and now.

Melanie Rainone

32

James Fitzgerald

33

1/2 0.51/2 0.5

Vestigial YearJuly

DesignEdit

Pg 2,4,7,8,16,18,21,27

Pg 5Pg 6, 9

Pg 10-15Pg 17Pg 19Pg 20

Pg 22-26Pg 28, 29

Pg 30Pg 31Pg 32

James FitzgeraldDavid YurmanHaley CormierElly BelleEmily DiLauraJay SiaHailey ObyDog eat Dog

Erin MilesHannah HahnMax RochmanJosh RoepeMelanie Rainone

Ryan Yero