Alumni Winners
Oblivion
Jennie Riad
How many generations needed to occur
for me to find you?
How many stars had to align,
how many chance encounters
and fateful decisions had to converge
across centuries to bring us together in this moment?
It's a dizzying thought
to imagine the countless lives lived,
the loves lost and found; the journeys taken
and paths untrodden
that ultimately led to our meeting.
Were our ancestors aware,
on some subconscious level,
that their choices were weaving
a tapestry that would one day connect us?
Did they feel the faint echo of our love resonating through time?
Perhaps it was destiny,
a preordained plan written
in the constellations long ago.
Or maybe it was simply a beautiful accident,
a serendipitous collision of two souls in the vast expanse of existence.
Whatever the reason,
I'm eternally grateful that
the universe conspired to bring us together.
It took countless generations,
but finding you makes it all worthwhile.
Seven Hundred and Fifty Years
Grace Crandall
Can light erode?
​
was my first thought as the actual shaft of pale yellow sun climbed up the rear interior wall of Merton College Chapel in Oxford. I had slipped inside by pure serendipity, offered a way through by a kind student who had seen my hungry look.
​
It was seven months since I graduated from college, and my ratty sneakers were planted on a floor over seven hundred and fifty years old. For seven hundred and fifty years this chapel had stood, and for seven hundred and fifty years this faithful streak of light had risen up the rear wall. Without fail, without disruption, and seemingly without consequence.
​
Through the bombings, through the riots, through the illness and the anger, through the sermons and the funerals, the processions, the concerts, the deaths, and the christenings, it kept its post. And when the church was empty on days such as that unremarkable June afternoon, it rose without praise and without acknowledgement along its familiar path.
​
There were subtle nuances to the light that I would have never noticed in a photograph (if any can be found). It was dappled, and upon closer inspection, mostly soft summer sun accompanied by a myriad of greens, browns, grays, yellows, and subtle blues. I can't remember the look of the stained glass window that cast it. I don’t believe I ever turned to see.
​
I stood, entranced and twenty-three, penniless and uncertain. The light, as it had done for seven hundred and fifty years, rose steadily. It laid its soft hand on the crypts, the candle plinth, the ancient wooden window frame. My heart beat on in my chest.
​
Every day — seven hundred and fifty years.
Seven hundred and fifty years, and it had not left a mark.
​