The OrphanAGE, Vol. 1.08

– 4 min read
A small ladybug on a wooden surface with sunlight casting soft shadows, creating a calm and serene atmosphere. Blurred landscape in the background.
Photo by w.e. leathem

First Lines

A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses the moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead. ~ Graham Greene, The End of the Affair

In This Issue

  • Poetry by Celeste Oster
  • Paintings by Jeanne Bangs Kasten
  • Music by Juliette Frost

Do you recall that spare, cold, ethereal inevitability of Billie Eilish’s theme for True Detective’s "Night Country"? A listen through Juliette Frost’s sensory propitiations take us every bit as far. Trained on the cello, and with more than a passing resemblance to her antecedents (Kate Bush, Billie, Madonna...), Frost writes, produces and records her own work, digging out juicy nematodes for our time and place.

Jeanne’s offerings shimmer their refraction across the surface of memory, tactile souvenirs of trips made to the Netherlands to visit family. At risk sidetracking the collection, I asked Jeanne if I might step away from the theme to share her very recent Robert Hall Pearson House, whose brooding palate captures the unease not only of "Bleeding Kansas", but speaks directly, poignantly to our current national zeitgeist.

Celeste Oster’s work, at first glance, may lull you into a false sense of laissez faire but you’d be wrong. Seriously wrong. Still, you only get three. For the rest, you’ll have to wait for her pending collection: three from her upcoming release tentatively titled Tuesday Herons.

Note for all you gawkers and aspirants: our submissions are open. If you think you have something to add to the conversation, make it smart, make it thought-provoking and make sure you send it to us here. Selection is juried so submission does not guarantee publication.

Peace,
Dante

Celeste Oster

14

(after Rilke)

Always we move through curated spaces,
beautiful spaces planned, and cultivated.
We need no longer think of seasons.
 
Darkness is a dream we can choose, or not.
The dead have no say.  Would they rather molder
freely in the loamy sun-warmed earth? No
 
matter.  Harvest what you will.  Plug old eyes
into new sockets, let viable hearts beat nourishment
into dying veins.  We’ll bury the rest,
 
or burn it.  Let useless carbon rest sequestered
— corpses in concrete crypts, ashes loose
in marble boxes.  My mother lies
 
underground, impotent and grudging
in sterile soil.  The cemetery’s artificially lush
grass thrives just beyond her reach.

Morning

My bones grow heavier while I sleep.  
When I wake, the pull of gravity cradles
me as the feral shape of dreams is
displaced by human alignment. Returning
to form is no longer a natural process.
I feel a buzz of hornets singing through the
nerves under my skin, invisible harbingers
of mortality. I imagine the prickle of atoms
spinning in the emptiness of my body. Tiny
miracles of lightness, unconcerned
by my delusions of weight and form.

Alternative Facts

                       —for Eve

I am nine years old crossing a meadow on a horse and the man behind me in the saddle keeps his hands on the reins. I am ten years old and the boy who takes me into the woods does nothing remarkable. I’m not damaged in the woods. It’s such a mundane day, I forget it entirely. My mother is emotionally stable and I can tell her anything. The man on the horse is always sober and never chases mother screaming through the house. I never miss the bus on purpose so I can wake her up before I go to school. She always sees me off. There are no cracks to fall through.  The world is solid and nurturing. The boy in the woods is kind to me even when he doesn’t want anything. I grow up feeling valued.  I’m never afraid of anyone. When the man on the horse dies, I feel a little bad about it.

Jeanne Kasten

A watercolor of a classical building reflected in a canal, flanked by autumnal trees and wrought iron railings, evokes a serene, reflective mood.
A row of colorful, historic European buildings reflects on a calm canal. Leafless trees and a clear blue sky enhance the serene, picturesque scene.
Cozy street scene shows an empty cafe with tables and chairs lining a cobblestone path. A clock and vintage lamps hang above. Calm, inviting atmosphere.
Black and white watercolor landscape of tall pine trees beside a small, distant house under a cloudy sky. The scene is serene and slightly melancholic.
A sketch depicts two seated individuals on a beach, both wearing hats. The person on the left wears a purple top and beige shorts, and the person on the right wears a blue shirt and brown pants, holding a colorful bag. The scene conveys a relaxed, tranquil vibe.
  • Maurtishuis in The Hague, where you can find The Girl With the Pearl Earring
  • Oude Rijn, Leiden, Netherlands
  • Restaurant De Klok, Leiden, Netherlands
  • The Robert Hall Pearson House - Near Baldwin, Kansas, built in 1890. Sight of The Battle of Black Jack, June 2, 1856. This is where John Brown attacked the encampment of Henry C. Pate, often cited as an incident of "Bleeding Kansas" and a precursor leading to the civil war.
  • Watching the North Sea - My brother and his wife

Jeanne works in watercoler, pencil, and gel pen. She lives in Kansas City. Find more of her work at her website.

Juliette Frost

The Big Quiz

1) what shimmers in the water?
2) when do her bones grow heavier?
3) Where does she drown?

Send us your quiz answers!