The poem, “tiger, what it means to leave behind” by Jaden Crowder is a beautiful work, and one of my favorite pieces in the Spring Edition. It expands on the pains of growing and the bitterness of nostalgia, opening up on the heartache of faded friendships and lost innocence. The way it begins is playful – opening with a rhyme scheme most of us can relate to some of our most favorite lullabies from childhood. For me, this poem brought out a feeling that buried itself a long time ago – when the sun was something new on my skin, and the color green made my eyes smile. In many ways, this poem reminded me of my own lost childhood – having once thrived with pride like a cub, I am now older and as fierce as the world wants me to be. There is no time to play – we can only remember and continue to remember. I, too, had a friend like the poem describes. She was as blonde as our pinky-swears and as playful as any kid could be. I remember her smiles in the car when we sat in the backseat while our parents drove, racing to be in the front seat when we were older, riding scooters in the parking lot, and making soap potions in the bathroom. Yet, I just barely remember the last time I saw her – we were 13, I think. I believe we were by the pool. I think the sun still felt warm as it went behind buildings, the shadows resting comfortably on our forms like they were our own. The conversation was nothing special – it certainly didn’t feel like the last. We probably said ‘goodbye’ when it got too late, something like: ‘see you next weekend!’ rolling off our tongues as though they budded with longing right then and there. No, I don’t think she left because she disliked me. I don’t think she dislikes me now, even when she doesn’t respond to her birthday texts. It was a simple, ‘no, you can’t see her anymore’ from her mom that ended our friendship. Sometimes I think about her – usually it’s late and the world has exhausted me of any other thought to do with the present. It’s when I want to live in the past, lying in my dark bed with the moon outside my window which, I know, was the same moon then; the one that peaked over us at the pool. I think: ‘what is she like now? what is she doing?’ I think about how much of a sister she was to me, and I wonder if it was ever the same for her. Then I ask god what life would be now if she stayed. Does she not remember the days when we were small, dancing around the pool as sailors, mermaids, spies, and adventurers, just kids up to our tiger games, hoping the world was as big as our dreams and hearts? Leaving her behind; what that meant for me involved fabricating a wall around our memories to give the illusion there weren’t games to begin with. Admittedly, I think of her on these nights, but I don’t want to know if she thinks of me; I just pull the moon close and let my eyes flutter their lids, pressing my cheek to the pillow. This edition has many pieces that speak to me – pieces from teens who convey their own turmoil and passions through art. I opened up about two that had a very special impact on me. Art as a whole is meant to connect us to each other and ourselves, and I think it is wonderful that Élan grants young artists the opportunity to give that experience to the world. These works are from teens, but that does not take away their impact; Élan proves how crucial it is to allow the voices of growing artists to be heard. To me, as both a student and artist, that is such a beautiful thing. As this Spring Edition impacted me, it can also leave something with you. – Reece Braswell, Senior Art Editor

Looking through the final art and writing decisions of Élan is never a disappointment. There are always a couple pieces I am surprised by; maybe I didn’t pay much attention to them through the first selection process, but in their new context of the surrounding stories, they make perfect sense. Then there are the pieces I knew would be selected from the moment I first laid my eyes on them. The selection process is always tough, as we receive mountains of submissions from talented artists and writers, and we cannot include it all in the book. But from the moment I saw Samuel Pabon’s Pressure Cooker, I knew this piece would rise above the rest. Even the name of the piece invites speculation into the emotions of the subject. Yes, “cooker” could be a literal reference to the apparent heat the subject is surrounded by. But the subject of the piece is interesting because it invites a host of questions that a literal interpretation fails to answer—why is the figure holding a bag over his head? And why does he appear so serene in the face of so much heat and force? The composition pulls the viewer forward, as the steam surrounding the subject is portrayed in less detail than the facial expression of the boy with a bag over his head, as if the focus is not on the steam, or even the bag at all, but the emotional content under the surface. These questions force the viewer to consider the situation from the subject’s perspective. For me, the emotions of the subject registered on a personal level for me. I have a habit of taking on too many tasks in too short a time to complete them all. I call it work ethic, or perfectionism, or just being a workaholic—and, when I manage to complete all of my tasks, the pressure taken off my shoulders feels wonderful. But leading up to this catharsis, I put myself under increasing pressure, trying to live up to my own expectations of myself, failing to care for my personal needs, all with the goal of getting my work done to the best quality I can manage. The catharsis when I do complete everything is remarkable, but it creates a legacy of self-sabotage. When I look at Pressure Cooker, I see the same self-sabotage. The bag over the head and the serene facial expression is not unlike my own serenity in ruining my personal life for the sake of productivity. Under heat and force, diamonds are made—but so is oil and hot tar, compressed from the bodies of living things. Pressure Cooker is a warning that, if we do not reexamine the situations we put ourselves in, we will put ourselves through unnecessary suffering. Every piece in Élan’s Spring Edition tells a story, and this is the reason why I am so proud of this issue—reading through the book, noticing how the art expands on the stories of the writing themselves, is an emotional experience like few others. - Noland Blain, Senior Managing Editor

One my favorite pieces in Élan's spring edition is Noland Blain's "When my Mother Calls Me to Say She Quits Being my Mother." It takes a while, in this piece, for the narrator to come to terms with the fact that the mother is not somebody that they feel deserves to have the title of mother— but still, stuck in the past and the subconscious, likely from being manipulated into thinking the mother's actions are somehow their fault, the speaker tries to understand their parent and why they, for some reason, feel bad about a relationship that clearly stopped being good for them. Time and time again, I have heard my mother find ways to pin her dissatisfaction of the world on us children. For a long time, I took it personally when she would reach out to me only to say that she was done with us children, that we never loved her, were unappreciative and only wanted to do things that hurt her. Even as a child, even when I recognized that these words were only meant to get reactions, I ached. When I stopped talking to my mother, much like the narrator in this poem, I began to get nightmares that would scare me further and further away from wanting to call her my mother. I started to realize that there were and are times, definitely, that she isn't. This poem articulates the desperate need to disengage from a parental relationship that many people have trouble articulating, especially when it comes to mothers, who we often expect to be the one person that will always love us and always be there when we need them. The Spring Edition of Élan is packed with many deeply intimate and connective pieces such as this one-- another that really sat with me was "Minor Grievances" by Katlynn Sherman, which explores how the speaker's relationship with their paternal figure changes as she grows up and visits him in jail, now old enough to decide what this means to them and how they are going to process this moment and engage with the world from then on. What blows me away the most about this piece is that it was written by one of my good friends, and having talked to them about the situation in this piece and then reading the piece and seeing how they expressed and translated this piece into their art— it’s otherworldly. I get chills sometimes thinking about how all of the pieces, poetry, fiction, and elsewise that I read are somehow derivative of somebody's personal experience-- even more so when I, often times a stranger, find myself in their work. With Élan being written by kids my age, sometimes when I read it, I think about how there is a chance that I could be friends with this person or know them outside of their work and see all the ways in which they manifest within their creative work. It feels like such an untouchable thought sometimes, because when I read these pieces, I am blown away each time by the amount of creative talent and intimacy that is in a world so close to me. Even more so, the amount of understanding and closeness I feel to strangers in another universe, might not end up being strangers. - Evette Davis, Senior Web Editor

In Élan’s 2020 Spring Online Edition, there are many pieces that reveal a vulnerability in these artists’ background and where they come from/what has helped them grow in their lives. Both the art and writing in this edition are so raw and honest. I loved going through the process of looking at both art and writing for this book edition because there is so much personal truth held in each piece that makes the book as a whole truly unique. A creative non-fiction piece I connected to as soon as I read it is the piece, “Faults in a Guitar Strum” by Mia Parola. This piece focuses on the relationship between a daughter and a father and how the relationship has changed and developed over time. I especially love the descriptions used in this piece moving from memory to memory, because each description shows a new layer that was added to their relationship as time went on and she learned/understood more about her father as she grew older. I found it so easy to connect with this writing piece because it reminded me of memories with my own father and how we have grown apart and together again. I especially connected with the moment where Parola’s father had to temporarily move for work and she describes staying up with him often in hopes he wouldn’t leave when he came to visit during that period of time. I’ve had similar experiences with my father because he works so often that every moment I do get to spend with him I hold onto really tightly and try to wring it out to last as long as possible. There is a fear in the idea of “losing” this other person or having them less in your life as you both grow older and have to do separate things. Several other emotions (i.e. happiness, sadness, etc.) are added to the fear created by the experience described in this piece as part of you grows separate from that specific person, even when you remain close. That aspect of the different emotions and development in the relationship is something many people can relate to and can remind them of their own truths. Many people have experienced a situation like this, and like I did, can reflect on their own personal memories while or after reading through Parola's memories and experience. The honesty shown in “Faults in a Guitar Strum” is shown throughout the rest of our 2020 Spring Online Edition, with each piece telling its own story and truth. Hearing and seeing other people's hearts in their pieces can be so inspiring, especially when you can relate your own memories to each story being told, whether it's in the form of art, fiction, poetry, or creative nonfiction. I strongly encourage you to read the Spring Online Edition, which can help inspire you to create a telling of your own stories through writing and/or art whether you knew you needed to tell a specific story about yourself or not. - Catriona Keel, Senior Web Editor

This year’s Spring Edition has a lot of vulnerable, brave pieces of art and writing ranging from a large host of subjects. Some delve into the nature of being human; others cling to heartfelt, specific memories; however, one piece that stood out to be initially was “Becoming a Wishbone” by Riley Bridenback. Bridenback’s piece speaks to people who have lost loved ones. As one of those people, this piece speaks in tones I am familiar with. Starting with the title, “Become a Wishbone," clearly documents the speaker’s journey from point A to point B in their life. It seems to me, through this piece, that the speaker is acknowledging a change in herself—one that is far from welcome. In the last stanza, “my skin in tight with abandonment, soft with grief. Like a / wish bone / being pulled by the greasy hands of children, I am waiting”. This small snippet shows the reader’s knowing of a change, and that which has made her full of abandonment and grief. The speaker is becoming those two emotions, through a traumatizing experience. The speaker expresses frustration with other people asking if they are “okay”. I have a similar experience with this, so this also stuck with me. I am really looking forward to seeing this spring book edition in the hands of others. I wish to see artists work come alive with this new edition, and for them to receive the recognition that they deserve. - Jasper Darnell, Junior Layout and Design Editor

Élan's Spring Online Edition's accepted pieces all tell a story of their own that is brought together nicely through the fantastic art. In this issue, my personal favourite art pieces are the ones that are showing their own style in a unique way like Post Humous by Alli Russel, Composition 9721 by Tamia Brinkley, and Wonder by Kaitlyn Griffin. These are types of pieces that Élan rarely sees in our editions, and I’m glad that these interesting art works are being showcased. The most exciting aspect of this new Spring Online Edition is the new layout that was implemented. Élan is always looking for new ways to fresh up our brand while still engaging our audience and still being familiar. This new format of the book is a small change, but it is one that makes Élan look different from what we have been doing for so long. As the Senior Layout and Design Editor, I am extremely proud of my Junior counterpart, Jasper Darnell, in undertaking this new idea and being flexible and excited for change. I feel like what was accomplished during these difficult times was outstanding, and I’m so happy to be able to see everyone’s hard work pay off. For written pieces accepted into Élan, I have a few pieces that hold a special place in my heart like: "Primal Instinct" by Sofia Miller; "Oranges" by Breana Kinchen; "tiger, what it means to leave behind" by Jaden Crowder. Out of these pieces, the one that struck me the most was "Oranges" by Breana Kinchen because of the intimate connections and memories that are being shown within this piece. When I first read this poem, I could feel the nostalgia and truthfulness that was unique to this speaker. This poem sets itself nicely into the book, but is also a piece that stands alone strongly. This 2020 Spring Online Edition is an exciting issue! - Luz Mañunga, Senior Layout and Design Editor

Élan is celebrating National Poetry Month by providing poetry prompts for our readers. We hope you use these prompts and poetic inspirations to create poetry and submit to our future issues! Download and enjoy!

I have two favorite pieces in Élan’s Spring book. My first favorite is "The Barbie" by Myka Davis-Westbrook. Myka recalls their interactions with different barbie dolls as a child. I love the way Myka described the barbie dolls skin tone, “had skin like a Peach” vs. “brown like dirt.” It captured my childhood, choosing to play with the peach colored dolls with perfect long hair vs. playing with the dirt colored dolls with “hair sticking every which way.” This poem is so relatable to me as a little colored girl who grew up playing with dolls. I know exactly how the character in the poem felt in the moment. As a child you chose to play with the pretty dolls’ vs. the rougher looking dolls, you don’t really consider the race of the dolls. That’s not important until later in life once you experience life and learn. I think both points come across in the final moments of the poem, “My miniature hand thumbed a dent into the plastic toy’s face until it looked less human dunking it head first in my sandbox. I play house with the other two.” I liked the imagery and power in the line. It might be a stretch, but I think it’s also symbolic for how black girls are viewed now in society. "The Barbie" is made up of four powerful stanzas filled with imagery. The title alone stood out to me and made me want to read the poem. My second favorite piece is "Ghetto Fabulous" by Miracle Singleton. I’ve seen her preform this piece numerous times and it never gets old. I like the positive images of the African American girl in this poem. I like how she turns the negative around, “they call my ghetto fabulous with my golden hoops dangling from my chocolate ears that hear “she ghetto” as that statement exits their sore lips,” and sounds so careless. Confidence radiates throughout this piece. After reading "Ghetto Fabulous" I felt confident, empowered, proud to be an African American female. I like image of this carefree, confident, chocolate girl walking around just being her while the rest of the world watches her. I like the way the piece reads like a spoken word piece. "Ghetto Fabulous" and "The Barbie" are the black girl duet in the Spring book. They approach race and show the story of the black community differently, while adding some variety and spice to the Spring Edition. - La'Mirakle Price, Junior Managing Editor

The culture we live in is one with constant media coverage and constant headlines—so constant that one can easily become desensitized to it. In a world fraught on the daily, it can often be difficult to see oneself in the endless news cycle, especially if it wouldn’t directly affect the one watching. Barker Thompson’s “Mixed-Emotion Elegy for Closeted Me” is a complicated work that entices the reader to untangle it, forcing the reader to engage with a reality they may have shunned or ignored. And what reality does Thompson explore? What terrible place does the speaker of the poem find themselves in? The poem takes place largely in an ecosystem of ignorance and immaturity, an environment known as middle school—what other setting crawls with raw hormones, petty politics, and juvenile angst? Middle school is never one’s ideal circumstance, so from the very first line of the poem, I felt magnetized to the speaker and their plight. How couldn’t I? When I was in that awkward stage of life, nothing felt right, especially as a closeted kid. Such a secret is heavy to a child, when all one understands is the schism it could rupture between oneself and one’s friends. In middle school, one’s identity is still in formation, and thus, as Thompson describes, everyone is self-conscious and afraid. It is not until halfway through the poem that the true stakes are revealed, invoking the deaths of LGBTQ+ peoples often ignored by media, or else buried under other headlines. This is where Thompson’s subtlety reaches its full effect. There’s a term (used often to deride or diminish the poem) for a work that expresses outrage at the social injustices that pervade society: a “soap box.” But Thompson’s poem is special, as it doesn’t just express outrage, though the speaker certainly deserves to feel angry. The poem is thoughtful and reflective, a reminder of the humanity at stake when we shut ourselves off to what’s happening on the other side of the screen. The elegy transforms the personal into the universal, with a topic that could easily be cloaked in vague expression and unhindered fury. I saw a mirror of my own struggles coming to terms with my identity, that fear and loneliness and self-consciousness. Thompson’s words allowed those old wounds to heal a little more, and for that reason, this poem has a place in my heart. Thompson’s poem, “Mixed-Emotion Elegy for Closeted Me,” is just one representation of authentic craft present in Élan’s Spring Edition. - Noland Blain, Senior Managing Editor

There are many beautiful and thoughtful pieces in Élan’s 2020 Online Spring Edition. A poem that comes to mind is “Primal Instinct,” by Sofia Miller. The sensory images and tactile descriptions make it come off the page. The same could be said for the choice of diction in this piece; its words are lively, creating a flow for the reader to move through. “Primal Instinct” gives a haunting reminder of what, I interpreted, women must go through in society – what we must go through in life. The last two stanzas especially bring this idea to light, its bitter-sweet details almost sticking to the roof of your mouth. I highly encourage that this is read this with a careful eye and thoughtful mind. It is truly a beautiful work, and shows the diverse selection of writing we have accumulated this edition. Another work that stands out to me is “His Love,” by Lily Stanton; a fictional piece that depicts familial love and its strength through trial and hardship. This piece introduces us to the tired, almost melancholic mood, which connects to the dark setting the two main characters inhabit. The casual tone of the main character, James, puts us into the situation, his inner dialogue true to the emotional trials of having an aging mother. The specificity also makes this piece to come to life; little descriptions, such as the color and texture of the couch, or the elderly mother’s hands, gives us a space to see and feel. The dialogue is also very telling of the writer’s skill, as it develops the relationship between the two main characters and sustains enough tension to push the story forward. The same could be said for both the character’s actions, as well; every gesture and choice of body language drives the emotional plot. It’s the final moments of “His Love” that truly deepen the wounds of this piece. In those moments you see time reverse; you see James yearning for the past, when he was just a boy. Then, an aching quiet spreads over the page as those final words are said, leaving you unresolved. That is why I always go back to this piece – the emotional depth is thought-provoking. “Primal Instinct,” “His Love,” and many more will leave you in a similar, thought-provoking state. These types of works are important to art, because they expose you to different ideas and experiences – that connectivity and understanding of individual human experiences is key. You will find that many pieces in Élan’s 2020 Online Spring Edition deal with family and hardship, both in our selections of poetry and fiction. Coupled with these works are visual pieces to amplify their depth. As an artist, myself, I feel as though it is vital for art to show us the array of experiences a human can have; that there is no single life to live, or way to feel. - Reece Braswell, Senior Art Editor

The cover art of Élan’s new Spring Online Edition may bear some similarity to what you’ve been doing over the past few weeks. In our newfound isolation, we’ve all made adjustments, big and small, to our daily routine and how we use our time, whether that’s working from home or getting to spend more time with our cats. We initially selected Keila Smith’s painting Morning Chat as the cover of the issue before it bore such an uncanny resemblance not just to our morning routine, but to our afternoon, evening, and night routines; now that it does, it seems like nothing less than fate that we should have picked it. The cleverly titled piece depicts a moment of domestic bliss, a girl and her cat lounging in the comfort of their home, taking momentary refuge from the everyday troubles of the outside world. It’s grounded in comforting warm and earthy tones, paint skillfully rendering the depth of the scene. Like we’ve all been pushed to in the past month, it urges you to consider the time you spend alone, or rather, the time you spend with yourself. In its station as the cover of the issue, Morning Chat doesn’t so much serve as an indicator of the tales of the contents to come. In a sense, it more so suggests a portrait of the reader, existing outside, escaping into, and taking refuge in these tales. They are not of any one thing-- these are tales of woe and of joy, tales of grandparents, fathers, and farmers, of orange-picking and of spaceships crashing to Earth. It would have been impossible to choose a piece of art that perfectly encompassed the diversity of experience in this issue, so we instead looked to this piece as a way to celebrate the universality of humanity that exists within that diversity, time with ourselves being a constant and how we engage with ourselves and engage with others in times of isolation being fresh on the mind. I hope this period of isolation will allow you to look more closely at what your life looks like in isolation: how you’re spending your time alone, what you value when you’re alone, and in turn, what that means for you and your life both in isolation and not. And in the meantime, I urge you to take a moment to cozy up with your cat, a blanket, a cup of tea and read the unique selection of poetry, prose, and art that Élan’s Spring Online Edition has to offer. – Blake Molenaar, Junior Art Editor

As the senior fiction/CNF editor, this is my second time playing the lead role in deciding what fiction and CNF is put into the book. I was really proud of the 2019 Fall Edition of Élan and I’m so happy to say that I’m just as proud of this one, if not more. Reading through this edition and seeing the art and the writing fills me with so much pride. Helping showcase these amazing writers and artists' work is something really special and I am glad I play a part in it. I say this in every blog post I write, but I always want creative nonfiction in each edition we release. In this edition we have "Faults in a Guitar Strum" by Mia Parola, a creative nonfiction piece about a girl and her father. Even by the first few lines I felt like I was reading something special. Her descriptions of her father and the interactions between the two are really vivid and mirror relationships that we all have with others whether they are our parents, grandparents, etc. I think this piece is really engaging in the way it bridges the line between being really personal but also universal. I’m really happy we have it in our book. One of my favorite fiction pieces in the book is "How You Learned to Sleepwalk" by Jasper Darnell. Every time I read this piece it’s just as powerful as the first time. This piece lets the reader follow someone who is imagining their father after he has passed away. I think the choice for this story to be in second person is a really strong one because it brings the reader even closer to what is happening. You are truly in the moment and you feel everything the character is feeling. It’s a visceral feeling and almost seems to knock you off your feet when you reach the end. I think of this story kind of similarly as I do to "Faults in Our Guitar Strum" in that we’re seeing something really specific to one person or character’s experience, but can still clearly see ourselves and our relationships in these pieces. I think most of the work in our Spring Edition has this quality to it and that’s a part of what makes it all so meaningful. Now I want to talk a bit about the art in this edition. It has some of my favorite art that I’ve seen in Élan. A piece I love is Faces of Happiness by Sena Sugunama. I love how joyful it is and I feel like it pairs well with pieces about family. It stuck out to me from the moment I saw it. Another piece I really like is Eldest Child by Erin Murphy. When I first saw it I immediately thought of the Madonna and Child painting from our 2019 Fall Online Edition. It’s a really well done piece and when paired next to "When My Mother Calls Me To Say She Quits Being My Mother" by Noland Blain becomes even more powerful. Each edition of Élan I have been a part of seems to have gotten better and better. I feel like we are continuing to improve and that is all thanks to the people who submit their writing and art. They are what makes this book so special and meaningful not only to us as the staff but to our readers as well. I think our Spring Edition has something for everybody to enjoy. - Anna Howse, Senior Fiction/CNF Editor