Founded in the fall of 1991, Laurel Moon is Brandeis' oldest, national literary publication. Each issue we publish features original work from undergraduate students.
There is a room in a Museum filled with the face of a baby
swaddled in mother arms. The face is distorted, in pre-
Renaissance fashion. There is a lack of depth and perspective
And the face is mangled in closeness. As if the artists painted
Outward in, blanket painting the corners in until they finished
The smashed nose of the baby. There is a sweeping quality,
in the way details are muddled and mangled. That is the way
I have been taught to love. The fervor intensity of physical arms
held close and a kind of clawing for freedom. Resolved tears
Are issues solved; pinned away until the next time
Fingers squeeze and blood pumps. Fast. To love is to
Paint a segment of the picture without seeing
The rest of everything around it. To love is to make something
Mangled but stunning and something that lasts
Hundreds and hundreds of years despite
being terrifying and a little hideous.