‘Labyrinth’ Shines Light on Student Creative Writing

Senior+Julia+Greer+reads+an+older+edition+of+the+Labyrinth+as+she+eagerly+awaits+the+release+of+the+2017-2018+edition.+%28Photo+by+Fran+Delacey%29
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‘Labyrinth’ Shines Light on Student Creative Writing

Senior Julia Greer reads an older edition of the Labyrinth as she eagerly awaits the release of the 2017-2018 edition. (Photo by Fran Delacey)

Senior Julia Greer reads an older edition of the Labyrinth as she eagerly awaits the release of the 2017-2018 edition. (Photo by Fran Delacey)

Senior Julia Greer reads an older edition of the Labyrinth as she eagerly awaits the release of the 2017-2018 edition. (Photo by Fran Delacey)

Senior Julia Greer reads an older edition of the Labyrinth as she eagerly awaits the release of the 2017-2018 edition. (Photo by Fran Delacey)

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Central’s Lit Magazine is coming out soon. Students in creative writing classes work hard to put it together annually, and they can be pre-ordered for $8. Once they arrive, there is a launch party for the team that put it together and the students who have worked featured in it. Inside, there are short stories, visual arts, photographs, and poetry from many different students.

Here is a sneak peak into the Labyrinth, a poem by Annie Knight.

 

A Mother’s Arms

 

When you’re a kid everything is big.

The bushes in the backyard make up forests

And the old family dog is really a horse,

But he might not let you ride him.

 

When you’re that small your mother is a giant

And her lap is a safe haven.

She’s really 5’2”,

But you have no concept of height.

 

All you know is that you fit in her lap like a puzzle piece

And when you crawl up there

Her tan, freckled arms lock you in like a seatbelt

And you feel safe.

 

Then one day you stand up off her lap

And don’t sit in it ever again.

You never realize till the day

When you can’t sit in your mother’s lap anymore

Because you’re no longer small

 

And you don’t fit like you used to.

 

The bushes are now waist high

And the backyard is just the backyard.

And the dog is just the dog.

Now your mother isn’t a giant,

She comes up to your shoulder,

 

And sometimes you wish you could be small.

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