A students' magazine for mental health advocacy




and I’m starting to wonder if it’s some curse
that exists between privilege and pain

like I grew up in a small town
where every boy imagined
he must be Superman

only to discover how
human he really was
when he tried
to fly


I know the pain goes both ways

today I miss a call from my mother
and she practices her mourning
in the space of my empty bedroom

there is another phantom parent
beside her for every added
minute of silence

but mother’s hands
haven’t yet mastered
the Lazarus touch

no boys come
bounding back
from the dead

no girls remember
how to un-disappear


I bet sometimes Clark Kent’s
adoptive mother would catch him
at the foot of his bed praying for a planet
she had never even heard the name of before

and I wonder

is this the only way to realize
you are not so alone in the universe?


I keep trying to
imagine these deaths
as something beautiful

because poetry sometimes
lets me imagine that death
can be beautiful

like the autumn leaves
just turning over

but the leaf
is a car

and the orange
is twisted metal

and the red
is everywhere

it won’t stop


I don’t know
how to say goodbye
to people I never really met

people I mostly imagine as
abstractions of themselves

I know none of you were
really from distant planets

so excuse my guilty tongue
excuse my reckless imagination

let this moment be for you
let this second be the one

where some piece of sky
lights up to remember
you were here once

and every phantom
hand will point to
the days when
you were
so real

and so close
to all of us

and so alive



Emma Rebholz is either a very small creature living in your pocket or a Writing, Literature, and Publishing major at Emerson College. Their poetry has been recently published by or is forthcoming from FreezeRay, Souvenir, and The Rain, Party, & Disaster Society. They probably wants to be your friend.