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, 2 May 2019


I am whole. Tierra y yo.
-Micheala Yarmol- Matusiak


Zoom out
Google Maps
Place the Man on The Moon
Bleep Bleep
Cars, Cars, cars
Zoom In Out
Manual Focus Monocle
Lens turtle shell
Extinction and Fossilization
Elastic Band waves
Salt Lake City
X Orange
Writing for today

Zoom out.
-Micheala Yarmol-Matsusiak

For when faith Fails

Right now, the water is murky, filled with nitrogen and algal bloom.
The fish and I have lost our habitat,
I need a sign that this ecosystem will be restored.
That balance will be once more.
Tell me that the fields will turn from ice into potent sunflowers that fill the air with
warmth and longing.
Let the stars fall and please, let the bees return.
I wait for the hives to fill, for the hibiscus to open their vibrant petals.
I long for the hydrangeas and the ferns, the english oak and the daffodils to bloom and
burst once again,
among the ruby and creamsicle tinged skies.
These visions have no sense of time, there is no time
time is not real, a mirage over gypsum deserts and yucca plants.
It is stuck in the asteroid belt along with the lost hopes and dreams that we cast away
out of reach from gravity, with no trajectory of return.
This brings the question:
Can technologies advance?
Can I manipulate the hummingbirds to travel past Mars and bring my dreams home to
me? Bring my love home?
Tell me Universe is this in the stars?

Are we meant to reunite ourselves with what we have lost in yesterday tomorrow?

Field Note 1

Sediment formations are surrounded by emerald water and schools of fish.
I glide through the rippling waves as the salt content keeps me afloat.
The sunshine etches itself in wave-like patterns across my arms, refracting and
reflecting through the frigid sea.
Though I am covered in goosebumps, I am reminded that I am a part of this beautiful

-Micheala Yarmol- Matusiak


Have you ever had the feeling
When you wake and hear the chirping
Of the swallows, by your window,

By your window, they all sit

You start walking down the pavement
Which you took when you were little
And remember seasons passing

Seasons passing, bit by bit

Or you read a little something
About people that you knew once
Names and selves that stayed in your head

In your head they do not fit

Nowadays, have you the feeling?
Do you wake and hear the chirping
Of the swallows by your window

By your window, do they sit?

-Jeanne Polochansky

Saturday, 27 April 2019

The First Lullaby

Catch the fairy of the soul
Clasped within the polished bowls
Place it in the hazel round
And hide it under jealous thorn

Stitch a thread of love and life
Through the forests of whitened branch
Draw a line of hollow breath
On skyward stems and languid leaves

Plant the seeds of slender down
Long or short, either is well
Let raindrops fall onto the bloom
As long as they’re not bitter, but sweet

Paint the berries cream and gold
Glaze in silver, cover in silk
Dot spots on the hill with truffle and spice
And powder it off with shimmering dust

Let gold streams flow between each strand
Running through kaleidoscope falls
Make the wandering sun plant a kiss on the path
Its butterflies painting trails of pink

Listen for cries of the buried mountains
Hear the hum of hooved travelers
Blind the fliers but see their wings

Guiding fires towards the sky

-Jeanne Polochansky


I can open both of my eyes
Yet while one sees, the other one cries
Looking past the shoreless sea
I spot capsized rafts awaiting me

I peer into mirrors to find what’s amiss
But I end up blinded instead of blissed
I hear voices that say the key
Is something that I cannot see

Don’t wear tinted glasses – surreality lies
Pink isn’t always the colour of skies
The dark is your friend, as should be your ears
Since invisible silence causes great fears

Water can’t help and neither can you,
The stings have pierced all the way through
Once you’re here, there’ll be no wound to tend
All that’s left is to wait for the end

Forget the colours of your breath
They’ll be gone soon, inviting death
Trade irises for rose bouquets
There’s nothing to see here anyways

They’ll wrinkle and whittle if you watch for too long
Your nectar will dry with the hummingbird’s song
But you sent a seed on its brittle wings
Don’t fret, lest you lose the garden it brings

Perhaps in the depths of the greenest waves
Meadows of coral cover the caves
I don’t know for sure of this faraway bloom…
…are they growing for me? (Only fools would assume!)

Petals, like paint strokes, dapple her hair
One day she’ll find out they grew everywhere
For now she believes she’s accursed with this view

Alas, she’s mistaken – she’s blessed with it too

-Jeanne Polochansky