Founded in the fall of 1991, Laurel Moon is Brandeis' oldest, national literary publication. Each issue we publish features original work from undergraduate students.
It’s January, and the dark hollows of my eyes get deeper as my sleep gets shallower.
I toss and turn and I think of Sylvia Plath, and how much my mother hated The Bell Jar, and the candle wax I dripped onto my desk earlier that I decided to leave there for some reason.
It’s January and I dream of heat.
Of sand invading every crevice of my body the way you invade every corner of my mind. Stagnant is the life I once had flowing like a river but I pause now because
It’s January, and my scarf smells like jasmine perfume because I would do anything to feel green again. The sun will come out, but not today, today
It’s January and I cried in the bathroom last night when I wondered if things would always be like this. I don’t think so I think
it’s just January.
The first sign of spring is always those little purple flowers in my grandmother's yard
Would we be happier in California or would we just be numb?
Paige Wilson is a young creative writer seeking to touch on the complexity of growing up alongside the technology boom and the pandemic. She lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where she studies English at the University of Michigan. She enjoys long walks, the farmer’s market, and poorly-made horror movies.