Submissions are accepted on a regular basis, year-round.
Can include, short stories, essays, poetry and prose.
Must not exceed 3,000 words.
Must be written by a current ESA student, or alumni.
Submissions are accepted:

Thursday, 5 March 2015

The Immaculate Daughter
Meghan Dunsmuir

It is in the palest light
That an infinity begins

In the mind of a girl
In the morning time.

But the moment is fleeting,
It also ends.

There was a bus, and we got on it.
We laughed like we knew where we were going,
Intruding on late night travelers.
We got off
As quickly as we had gotten on,
Irrelevant passengers on a routine
Journey through the dark.
Now we stood
On the side of the road,
Still smiling.
Still pretending,
Our vision blurred
By flecks of rain.

In the second of waking,
As light fights its way
Through cracks in the black,

A gossamer floss
Is suspended between
Dreamland and lifetime.

Ready to shatter
As the weight of yourself
Crashes down.

He stood
Beside the side door
Outlined in dewy light.
I came out,
Stocking feet on a damp,
Concrete floor.

We fell into conversation,
Easy, delicate and soft.
But we grew out of talk
As I leaned forward
Into him.

His mouth
Became my mouth,
And his hands
Became my hands,
And the softly moving fingers
In between my own,
Drew me closer.

When consciousness breaks,
The weight of the past
Demands attention.

From hard truths,
To white lies
And the bottles under the bed,

To all of the things
That have never been said.

My hands felt
The coarse fabric of his shirt
That must have once been soft.
While his hands felt
For the underneath.

And so in the blackness,
I only saw what there was to feel,
Of his mouth
And his shirt
And his hands on my ass.

These secrets are kept
To offer protection
To an idea
Of a daughter.

Who is strong enough
To deal with anything,
Or at least should pretend
That she can.

A daughter who wasn’t raised to think
That things can go wrong
Before they can grow.

When we go back inside,
The room feels as sodden
As the soles of my feet.

I think that I danced,
And I think that the smoke
Got into my lungs
From under the door

And it definitely did
When it was passed
All the way around.

Because it seemed as though
The floorboards where a baby girl
Had once stacked building blocks
Were plummeting
One by one
Shifting the things
I knew to be true
That are not so true

The secrets are part
Of the mind that awoke
When the flash of the infinite
Possibility arose.  

And though the weight
Comes falling back down
It also retains  
The mind
That is mine.
In the morning I will wake,
Free of any burdens,
That I’ve been carrying.

The moment
Where it is infinitely possible,
For everything and nothing but

Until then
I wait,

For the palest light.

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