on the telly, i see three hundred
and ten little indians, all falling down.

i wonder if someone would interrupt
algebra with a desert eagle.

i think of the ant i just stomped on,
if it has an iv-dripped mother.

i hear horns beyond the tiny frosted window,
from equestrians on steel unicorns.

their wheels gallop with hopes, fears,
wanting food, people, or memories.

when a tune brushes my lips,
i reflect on the mute.

when i dry my hills of flesh,
i contemplate the lepers.

i step out of the bathroom,
and prayer air fills my mouth.

i return to a java chip frappucino;
with not enough whipped cream.

Lauren Chen (Class of 2024) enjoys writing comedy, realist fiction and eldritch horror, though not all three at once. The work she chose for this anthology showcases her love for poetry and how she doesn’t take herself too seriously.