one:
the smell of burnt plastic
creeping
from nowhere
two:
the white shroud
body carried
baba buried
three:
the black shawl
grief,
immortalized.
i was caught in a torrential downpour
of love, which sounds like a good thing
but the truth is: it feels like being stuck in traffic
which beats getting into a car accident, or so i hear
i don’t have my license or your common sense but
it’s all about waiting. i think
i can handle this as long as I get it to feel more finite
it’s harder now because i know what it’s like
to love every angle of a face while time runs
out. i am crying again because we only have
half an hour this time, and you
smell like my oxygen.
this anguish is mine.
i carry it until it
crushes my bones
spills my blood,
flows—
and i sit here as sacrifice
waiting with all my skin.
a pillar of salt to rub in my wounds.
i am both abraham and the
lamb, both my skin and
outside it
i am a vessel,
something separate.
i strangle myself
to let it out
squeezing myself from both ends
until i am
broken and bruised and blue
it’s been in me for so long
rotting and festering
and stupid,
yet
mine mine mine.
You gathered a cupboard
Of tawny-rimmed plates
Together,
You stacked them carefully
One
On top of the other
Their unevenness,
One
Not like the other,
Made them Russian nesting dolls
Sleeping safely in the pinewood cabinet
You mended them when careless hands
Made chinks in the clay
opening fissures which spread like veins
Waiting for the finality of shatter
Once,
An attempt to carry them all
Caused an explosion on the floor,
and I heard the crunch
Of the shards
Under the oversized slippers you made me wear
Protecting the soft soles of my feet
You gathered a cupboard
Adding to the collection
As the family grew and aged
My favorite plate grew too small,
Replaced by its larger cousin
With more space for the melted-chocolate-ooze from your frazil-edged cookies
Over time,
You couldn’t fix the chips and scrapes
Your hands were too unsteady
To smooth the glue in place
So,
The cupboard dwindled
And was not rebuilt by me, or you, or us
Now,
The surviving members are packed away
Suffocated by dusty-markered-cardboard and bubble wrap
I popped out of anger and grief,
Enveloped by the fear of ending an era
As I closed the boxes
Andrew Yang
A boy ran his wheels through mountains,
kicking his feet to ascend rising ground and
Waves of sun beat him to peaks.
But creeping last took breath back no less.
Ripped edge cliffs and tiding riding hills
Suggest a moving nothing.
And a boy’s mind complies.
Nothing moves, moves nothing
No less moving. Soothing, waves
washing grace.
A blank that moves space apart
And freezes time and starts a crater
of Heaven’s rhyme.
Learned in his labour and cleansed by his rocks,
the boy cranes neck and sets his next nothing.
Aydost Parlak
Andrew Yang
A boy ran his wheels through mountains,
kicking his feet to ascend rising ground and
Waves of sun beat him to peaks.
But creeping last took breath back no less.
Ripped edge cliffs and tiding riding hills
Suggest a moving nothing.
And a boy’s mind complies.
Nothing moves, moves nothing
No less moving. Soothing, waves
washing grace.
A blank that moves space apart
And freezes time and starts a crater
of Heaven’s rhyme.
Learned in his labour and cleansed by his rocks,
the boy cranes neck and sets his next nothing.
Aydost Parlak
Elliot Scharf
Elliot Scharf
Alyssa Nazmi
Abeer Almahdi
I lose sight of who I am when i’m without you,
Like our shadows when we embrace
When the sun is hitting our necks
Forming one mass of darkness that i cannot distinguish myself in
the sun burns when i look it straight in the eyes
when i look you straight in the eyes,
when i look you straight in the eyes,
there is no longer butterflies,
only lullabies repeating in my head,
trying to force me to go to sleep,
when all i can think about,
is how i’ve never known myself without you.
Alyssa Nazmi
Abeer Almahdi
I lose sight of who I am when i’m without you,
Like our shadows when we embrace
When the sun is hitting our necks
Forming one mass of darkness that i cannot distinguish myself in
the sun burns when i look it straight in the eyes
when i look you straight in the eyes,
when i look you straight in the eyes,
there is no longer butterflies,
only lullabies repeating in my head,
trying to force me to go to sleep,
when all i can think about,
is how i’ve never known myself without you.
Elli Slavitch
Katarina Mladenovic
Katarina Mladenovic
Kate Addison
Erica Stefano
Kate Addison
Erica Stefano
Leanne Young
Sunny Kim
Millie Valencia
i see the hollows of my soul
and imagine it to be the night sky
hidden in an abyss of darkness
is billions of stars
begging to be noticed
but failing to be seen
a façade of black
blinds the broken
to love myself
is to look into the darkness
and search the freckles of the sky
thread together the forgotten constellations
find the shooting stars
a glowing rip in the void of the darkest days
to love myself
is to navigate far from the light pollution
from a world that aims to outshine the stars
seeking the galaxies that shine within
embracing the night sky
despite its darkness
Leanne Young
Sunny Kim
Millie Valencia
i see the hollows of my soul
and imagine it to be the night sky
hidden in an abyss of darkness
is billions of stars
begging to be noticed
but failing to be seen
a façade of black
blinds the broken
to love myself
is to look into the darkness
and search the freckles of the sky
thread together the forgotten constellations
find the shooting stars
a glowing rip in the void of the darkest days
to love myself
is to navigate far from the light pollution
from a world that aims to outshine the stars
seeking the galaxies that shine within
embracing the night sky
despite its darkness
Alyssa Nazmi
Alyssa Nazmi
Sofia Mikton
We would like to thank the Arts Undergraduate Society Financial Management Committee (AUS FMC) for funding this project, and Chad Ronalds & Hebdo Litho for printing this issue. Moreover, we appreciate all the artists who submitted; it was a pleasure to review your work.
Although McGill doesn’t have a formal visual arts program, students find their own creative outlets. The Creative Supplement serves as a platform to highlight these endeavours. McGill students are notoriously bright and hardworking; we hope this issue proves that they are also immensely talented.
We would like to thank the Arts Undergraduate Society Financial Management Committee (AUS FMC) for funding this project, and Chad Ronalds & Hebdo Litho for printing this issue. Moreover, we appreciate all the artists who submitted; it was a pleasure to review your work.
Although McGill doesn’t have a formal visual arts program, students find their own creative outlets. The Creative Supplement serves as a platform to highlight these endeavours. McGill students are notoriously bright and hardworking; we hope this issue proves that they are also immensely talented.