middlesex art/litmag

Month: November, 2012


Those who knew her called her spirited
She was beautiful – her laugh instantly recognizable
Her family defined her as compassionate
Sometimes spoiled, but always willing
To give everything
Everything in her to another soul
If it might make them smile
She liked to say she was made of
Country roads
Cattle ranches
and the Ozark Mountains

But she knew
She was found somewhere else
In someone else
When she saw her reflection in his eyes
How he had managed to work his way into
Her heart
Infusing the blood it pumped with his essence
And how somehow he engendered
The little girl forgotten
After leaving the home she used to know
In braids and dancing and strawberries and big skies

How a single word that slipped his lips
Made her question her whole world
But still she crafted her perfect answer
In his ability to make her feel so strong
So safe
So loved
So content
With the organized mess that she was
She pounded out her trail with him
Wrote her history while his warmth
Kept her searching for that next breath
And the next
And the next
And the next

-Anonymous, November 2012

Images of Society

Drawing by: Sonia Tremblay


There’s nothing scarier
Than being on the edge.
There’s nothing more frightening
Than looking down
And realizing
That you can’t see the bottom.
There’s nothing more thrilling,
More ice-cold,
More exhilarating
Than being this close
To something so utterly unknown.
It is so terrifying
Yet so alluring
And it sends chills down my spine
Just to think
That I could take that step,
That I can leave.

-Abigail Sokolsky, November 2012

Window to the Soul

Drawing by: Sonia Tremblay

Take Me

Hello Love,
I thought I saw you today,
Locked in an embrace,
Oblivious to the world,
Trapped in a kiss.
But then you turned,
Were something darker in hue,
A black magic rose,
Thriving in somewhere,
Too entwined,
To have grown off of Light.
But you grew off of something
Equally as beautiful,
Dark as the night,
Thick as oil,
And equally as hard to understand.
I realized that I’d mistakenly
Assumed you were Love,
And, strangely, was not disappointed.
You were more beautiful,
Most precious,
And much more rare.
For you cannot survive forever,
And each moment,
In your presence,
Is a jewel.
When you know that there’s a limit,
When you’ve accepted that there may not be a tomorrow,
That is when,
You open your petals,
And Passion,
You take us away.

-Abigail Sokolsky, November 2012


Drawing by: Sonia Tremblay

The Sea

An Idle King


the sea, the sea!

it beckons


it rises and falls and plaintively calls,

“to me!

to me!”



“dive in!

you’ll see!”

i am it and it is me


i am

the sea.

i am become a name

a thought

a whisper…


the void calls.

i am not.


-Hannah Brown, October 2012

Ruy Belo

I have been translating from Portuguese a poet
who as a young man before he left
the Church belonged to Opus Dei.
He studied canonical law in Rome.
I never get his name right.
But he left and he wondered
what happened to childhood and spilled
the animal spirit of the sad, an animal sadness,
olive trees in rain men working
things all the things left to themselves
sunset being nothing and nobody else
across a thousand pages, more, drew from stones
the music necessary to continue.
I cannot get his rhymes right,
these casual quatrains on the death
of a famous cyclist, day dying,
how he kills himself by letting both arms fall,
a minha maneira de me matar
é deixar cair ambos os braços.
I want to translate “Humphrey Bogart”
but can’t get it right. Pure-water gaze.
The poet’s brother.
Only sunset
sunset only sunset and not even that

-Mr. Hilsabeck, October 2012

Fall Scenery

Photo by: Liz Stasior

Photo by: Liz Stasior