21st Century Literature

21st Century LAURYN YSABELLE ARCIAGA Literature VOL. 11 A compilation of different writings \"By reading the writing of the most interesting minds in history, we meditate with our own minds and theirs as well. This to me is a miracle\" -Kurt Vonnegut



\"Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry\" - Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Angel

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CONTENTS: SCENT THE MAN WITH HIS BACK TURNED EMBRACING WATERS UNDENIABLE THINGS WHAT'S HAPPENING? This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text.This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text.This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy BEST This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. POEM IN This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. TOWN!! This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text.This is some This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text.This This is some dummy text. This is some is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is dummy text. This is some dummy text. some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is This is some dummy text. This is some some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is dummy text.This is some dummy text. some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is This is some dummy text. This is some some dummy text. This is some dummy text.This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy text. This is some dummy dummy text. This is some dummy EMILY DICKIN SON

S C E N T

My fingers Stroke old artwork, Programs I designed once to Align myself with small theatre companies where I, in fact, longed to act, Frail now and filed away atop a closet Unable to disengage, I've Allowed them life out of sight But this morning I lightly breathe The scent of sadness and dread arising surprisingly from these leftovers Of that forsaken time when I was A glass blown to a hair's breadth aching for life to Pervade me, or simply consolation Failing to find what sent me searching, I swiftly press the pages Into their folder, to close tight again Against the bite of fresh, trenchant Memory. By: Jennie S. Redling

THE MAN WITH HIS BACK TURNED Daniela bought the mirror at the flea market one Saturday when she was passing b and for no other reason but to make him mad, insisted on stopping. The mirror wa wide at its base, and the upper part was finished with a Gothic arch. The brass fram in places, but in general still pretty, with vine reliefs and floral motifs. The mirror its antique glass in which things were reflected as if blurred by the mist of the years, a from the past, from long ago, not from today. Dani loved it. She didn't have enough but what she had was enough so that the vender agreed to hold it for her.

by in her older brother's car, When she got home, she begged her father for a as 12 inches long by 8 inches little, asked her grandmother for a loan and then at me was scratched and dented self was rose-tinted, an school sold some CDs to a few of her classmates. as if they were reflections The next Saturday she went to get the mirror. She h money to buy the mirror, didn't find the vender, just his wife, an autumnal blond with a witchy look. When Dani told her why she was there, the woman took the mirror out of a cardboard box where they'd hidden it. Excited, Dani paid the balance due and ran home with her treasure. She already had a place picked out for it in her bedroom. The trouble started that same afternoon. Not every time someone looked in the mirror, but often, they saw in the background, behind the normal reflections, a man with his back to the mirror. It was fearsome, strange. Because no one was standing there, and nothing else in the room could reflect such an image. The worst was that sometimes it was there, sometimes not. And it always happened that only one person at a time could see him. How then could they be sure of anything? The first hypothesis was that there was a ghost in the house and it could only become visible through the rose mirror. But when they took the mirror to other locations, the figure facing away remained the same. The family was mystified. They wanted to find an explanation for this thing. Finally they arrived at a conclusion: the man with his back turned lived in the mirror. They didn't want to know more. All they wanted was to get rid of him. Dani went to sell the mirror back to the vender from whom she'd bought it. He looked at her steadily with an enigmatic smile and offered her less than half what she'd paid for it. But Daniela wasn't inclined to bargain. She was already walking away from the booth when she chanced to hear the man murmuring, as if talking to the mirror: \"Back again.\" by Agustín Cadena

EMBRACING WATERS ~ By: Kaori Ekuni

I do translation work from Italian, as a kind of part-time job. Since it was about time I finished up with an interview piece I’d been nibbling at all week, I turned off the bedroom lights, closed the door, and went and sat down at my desk. I poured myself some whiskey, freely. That deep, rich hue of gold – what a way it had entrancing me. “Alcoholism? I don’t think you need to worry about that!” the doctor had dismissed, laughing “Your liver is fine, and your stomach too. You’re having only two or three drinks a day, after all.” When I told him I couldn’t quit, he got up and patted me on the back. “I’m sure it’s a passing fancy. And remember, Jesus thought it all right to take a little wine for your health,” he said. “I’m giving you some vitamins. Just try not to worry yourself sick.” “Try not to worry yourself sick,” I imitated the doctor out loud, swilling my glass. All of a sudden, I felt that I was being watched. I turned around to look: it was the yucca elephantipes staring over at me. The “Tree of Youth” – the potted plant’s bizarre alias – was a wedding gift from Kon, with its dense foliage of large, sharp, straight leaves, it seemed eager to pick a fight.

LXII Finite space, rim of a drum. It would help to incarnate while you can, to glean light even after nightfall, take a stroll in the mist and never leave the moment alone, or it stings everything. At the end, at the end of the surging sunset, in the insecure maturing burning without a grieving scheme, the solemn episode of the leaves— rustling and that’s all. Rustling. UNDENIABLE THINGS



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