“MOM!” It was about as urgent as a teenage boy is willing to sound. But I’m writing. “MOM!” I hear it again, so I leave my office and run upstairs to find out what’s got my son riled up. He’s standing in the hallway outside of his bathroom. He points to the...
I wore black and white checked capris with elastic suspenders lined with protest buttons. Give peace a chance. Make art not war. I (heart) New York. My shirt was an old Hanes undershirt I had scribbled on with sharpie markers. Pictures of a paintbrush, drama masks,...
REBEL WITHOUT CAUSE ‘I am not human, I’m Sarah’ was perhaps my earliest form of rebellion, in response to the taunting of older siblings. But it stuck. To this day I defy rules, cannot sign on the right line, fail miserably at standardized box-filling...
First of all, I’d like to extend a hearty hello to everyone reading this post. My name is Sandra Marchetti and as many of you may already know, this is my first week on the job as the new Poetry Editor for Minerva Rising. I am thrilled to be in the fold and am...