Inklings 2025

Home? Lael Sanders ’26 i stare at a blinking cursor black on a white page i seem not to know the town i was raised in how can that be? i will not lie to you; i will not paint a beautiful farce i will not write some tasteful sonnet praising the sticky -sweet sunlight and salty air of my town these days the warmth seems oppressive and I smell gasoline more than anything i cannot tame the wool of my home stretch twist bend the fibers i cannot weave it into something ___ (awesome? touching? even now i cannot find the words) do not take my thoughts as insult it’s this city that brings me strife not your home the salt that you lick so lovingly from your lips serves only to sting my skin 49