Cordelia Vizcaino Leal
I open my eyes to blinding powder, white light. A blurry view after what feels like an eternity of darkness. I blink hard to melt the snowflakes stuck in my weary eyes, and adjust my vision. Fingers …
“Nikko! Get the table ready, the food is done!”
Piping hot bowls filled with bakareta, a beef stew with tomato sauce, carrots, and potatoes, and pancit, a noodle dish. My dad serves all of us. My …
A woman in a burgundy trench coat,
felted black hat, feather topped,
harboring a thick Boston accent
meets you on the Linden Path.
Because you look her in the eye
she asks you if you pray, if you …
A girl with lips the color
Of raspberry sorbet
Takes a drag of her last cigarette,
Or so she says.
She dips a small wand
Into a barrel of soapy liquid,
Reflecting her face in rainbows,
And her …
The colored air that we breathe
Ricochets from the waves
Of a stained glass sea.
And I know that the ceiling is only concrete,
But I feel it elevate me,
Almost making me believe.
I want so badly …
A mother’s tongue
forges sounds into syllables
blowing gently on the sparks
of recognition, traveling
from attentive ears to amazed eyes,
lighting the fresh kindling
in an old hearth.
Moi, Dich, We.
beneath the newer wood…
i can only picture this now:
your starfish body
melting into stale bedsheets
underneath the same
collapsible cotton roof,
we loved each other for the first time.
i cannot say i remember
how it felt…
My baptism had no business with fire
It was my creation that was in a holocaust
The womb from which I was expelled
Rooted me in the unholy churning of the center of the earth
In conflagration flame, …
The moon is only good for hanging hats.
It’s lost whatever magic songs it played
And now it’s just a night-light for the rats.
A whisper in a monstrously loud parade.
The sun is just a joker in …
The house was quiet went she went in. Isabelle remembered how much she loved going to that house with her parents when she was still a kid. Forty-five minutes away from Chicago, the “lake house,” as she called …
It’s not easy balancing school with drinking binges that last for days. I struggle to remember things and often feel sick. My black cat, Daisy, sits and stares out the window. I try to drink myself into breaking …
FUSION is Berklee College of Music's global forum of writing, visual art, and music that engages notions of interconnectivity and interdisciplinary approaches to the arts. We publish high-quality literature, journalism, film/video, photography, and multimedia projects by our community as well as internationally recognized artists. We also invite essays on the rich relations between music and the other arts; translations; and works employing fusion as theme, concept, or inspiration. FUSION is a celebration of the arts, responding to E.M. Forster's charge, “Only connect!”