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Steve Page Jun 19
Mr Parsons made it sound exciting.
But mum told Joan that she was wicked.
She wasn’t allowed her dolls for a week,
a week she spent bemused and resentful
and she refused to poo for three days
until mum relented and gave her Barbie back
– but the rest would have to wait.

It had begun with Mr Parsons at Sunday School
with the story of the blind man and the mud and the spit.

We’d sat on the adult chairs in a circle
Me, Joan, Gemma, Charlie, and the Brown sisters.
knee to knee in a circle in the corner of the hall,
the one with the draft and the stacked chairs reminding us
that we were the remnant of a once thriving community.

He told us how Jesus made a paste of mud and spit
[Charlie thought this hilarious and spat at Gemma,
so he had to stand with his nose on the wall for the rest of the lesson]
and how Jesus slathered it on the man’s eyes and then told him
(unnecessarily we thought) to go wash it off.

It hadn’t worked first time – was that a first for Jesus? we speculated
and the second time the bloke saw people again
but he was told to keep it secret, which made no sense.

So that afternoon, after dinner, Joan got mud from the garden,
and pasted it onto Barbie’s legs which were abnormally long and made her topple over
and on my action man’s face on account of his ****** scar
which I thought looked cool, but was curious to see what happened.
She pasted it on Ken and Sindy too, but not for any specific ailment.

She followed the prescribed method, slather, wash and then repeat
(which I think she enjoyed a little too much to be honest)
but after the second wash there was no sign of any healing,
perhaps because, like mum said, she was so wicked,
unlike Jesus of course.

I’d never seen mum go that colour – she was livid,
she told Joan to go wash the mud stains off her hands
and to put her dress in the wash.
Joan couldn’t be Jesus and it was wrong to think she could.
That sort of thing wasn’t for little girls.

The next Sunday Mr Parsons seemed a little miffed.
He and dad and mum sat in the hall, knee to knee for ages.
I thought we were for the high jump,
but after mum looked like a school girl caught stepping out of line.

Mum was very quiet and at dinner dad said that she had something to say
- to our horror, she apologised in front of all of us
and she told Joan it was okay to try and do what Jesus did.
It was what he would have wanted.

We were so ashamed for my mum
- neither of us tried to be Jesus ever again.
Arvon retreat - writing exercise about school memories.  These are an amalgam with some imagination
ChinHooi Ng Jun 16
C.C
The girl i liked


she's the one with eyes starry


like the night sky


a mouth red and cherry-like


her smile


is the spring rain


that gently awakens hundreds

of flowers


i don't know when exactly


i fell in love with her


the love germinated


perhaps concealed in the bashfulness


during high school


i knew it's love


when her head's on her desk


glasses on one side and sleepy-eyed


i couldn't help but take one more glance


my love for her


was hidden in a piece of eraser


in her little piece of bread


the feeling of liking her


is when i remember her smile


either with friends or alone


it is also after we parted ways


the feeling of missing her


couldn't forget and couldn't let go


she appears in my dream

running to me


the girl i liked


her name is so special


i still hope i can meet her


even if it's just one time


i will no longer hide


my love


i hope the thread of fate


pulls us together


love essentially


is the miracle of destiny


the girl i liked so much


her name contains neon and beverage


it's been inscribed here


since forever.
Jaicob Jun 1
Last day of school
Last English class
Last hug before study hall
Last school lunch
Last laugh with friends
Last history lesson
Last class game
Last bell
Last.
Destiny C May 25
My heart shatters on the floor,
like the bullets of a school corridor.

The sound ricochets in my mind,
like the screams of a parents not able to pick their kid up in time.

We are at war with the reaper.

The one who hugs the bullet while it pierces through the air.

The same one who casts its scythe away,
because the gun was more American.
Dua Kim May 6
take me to the basketball court
where you play with your friends
and i could watch you play
all day

i'll take you to band practice
where i practice with my friends
and you could watch me sing
all day
i wish he would take me. i watch him play every day in the gym. sometimes i catch a glimpse of him(let's call him S) and his friends playing on the court.
Yemaya Apr 28
is but a frame,
one that leads to places you cannot be
hanging them above you--
but just to see.
the window is my enemy.
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