The Delta Statement

Paring Knife

Paring Knife

Emily Saucier, Co-Editor-In-Chief March 7, 2024

I'm not skilled at wielding a paring knife. Never have been. My mother always has been, though-  Snatching the blade and its victim deftly From my hands to slice through Quicker and cleaner...

Self-Reflections

Self-Reflections

Lauren Harvey, Da Contest Winner February 27, 2024

I tried to avoid mirrors. I would pass them and instantly look away. My eyes were always cast down as I brushed my teeth, and my back turned as I changed clothes. Don’t get me started on the moments...

The Sweatshirt

The Sweatshirt

Lauren Harvey, Da Contest Winner February 27, 2024

Mom thrusts it into my arms out of a dust-covered storage bin. A smile graces her face as her fingers run over the embroidered letters: OLE MISS. That wasn’t an expression I saw on Mom’s face often....

Girl standing in burning lavender garden (Design by Naia)

Calling A Storm cloud shelter

Naia Marie Loper, Co-Editor-In-Chief February 22, 2024

I will survive you as I had before you, and will continue on after. I will remember who I was before we met, and resurrect her ashes from all the gardens that I burned. I cleared my lungs of all the pollen...

If I’m possessed by a demon, a single solitary demon, that demon’s name is Naia–she’s me.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Demons

Naia M. Lanton, Columnist/Da Editor April 24, 2023

I am, I have come to think, chronically possessed. I have had a non-zero number of exorcisms performed on me at this point.  Unfortunately, I can’t say that I’ve ever puked snakes or crawled up...

Poets will sing from the tatters of old books, until we listen to them, and then they will go on singing.

Southern Literary Festival, More or Less

Kelly Foster, Co-Editor in Chief April 19, 2023
Some polite clapping for Whitman, of course. He was perfectly sensibly senseless; everybody said so, at least everybody that was there, and if you were a person and you were there, then you were allowed to be right about poetry, some of the time. Whitman seems mildly disgruntled as he steps away from the podium. 
The Bloody Lollipop

I Knew Her: Blood and Sugar

Naia Marie Loper, Columnist/Da Editor March 20, 2023

By the smell of iron and roses By the taste of sugar and blood  By the sound of her voice laced  with kudzu blossoms and honey suckle, nectar dripping against  my neck.  I knew her...

Red Red Wine

Red Red Wine

Naia M. Lanton, Columnist/Da Editor March 9, 2023

With rose colored eyes she invites me in past her lips to where teeth penetrate the skin or who's skin is penetrated ? I have laid inside her grave  and naked we were  buried in roses...

The roads are silent and nearly tranquil as you swerve through your small, church-centered town. Less than a handful of cars join yours, even though it’s not technically that late. The stoplights will turn off soon, flashing red until the sun rises.

A Fragment of Memory From a Very Long Night

Emily Saucier, Copy Editor February 23, 2022

Imagine this. It's a little past 11 at night, and you're still living with your parents. You were in a dorm half a year ago, but you had to move back in and it’s Whatever, it's Fine. Your phone buzzes...

Image by Fathromi Ramdlon from Pixabay.

there is nothing but a hole (and other thoughts)

Chris Kalil, Student Contributor April 17, 2020

nothing – there is nothing there is nothing there is nothing. There should be something. Anything. The tumors in my grandmother’s brain the size of grapes. They moan like animals before they die....

Image from https://pixabay.com/photos/horses-equine-mane-fields-meadows-1150017/.

Horses

Emily Walker, Student Contributor April 15, 2020

I wish my father had never loved horses. I wish he had never taught me how to love horses. When I look at a horse, instead of thinking of its beauty or the urge I have to ride it bareback, I just think...

Jennifer McIntosh, Learning Young

To The Little Ones I Love

Skynia Butts, Student Contributor February 27, 2020

To the little ones I love,  I wanted to write you a Baldwinian letter, but I am not James Baldwin. I am not that lyrical or experienced with words. You probably do not even know who Baldwin is at your...