About Flagpole. (Athens, Ga.) 1987-current | View Entire Issue (Dec. 24, 2025)
20 FLAGPOLE.COM ■ DECEMBER 24, 2025 & DECEMBER 31, 2025 slackpole continued from p. 19 A boom in the economy. Maybe a little brown creche under the tree buried by the bright presents. Christ’s light is greater than all of these though He lights the whole universe with His love Tender and humble and warm. Pots and Pans By Jasmine Rogers The guys are all sitting in the living room, bellies pop ping. Her grandpa is just starting to doze off, and her uncle has already worked up to a loud snore. Her stepdad and brother are jawing at each other on the couch, their atten tion drawn to the game only when the crowd screams for primacy. Great Uncle Harold nods along even when no one is talking. Her grandma and mom are on the tail end of a round of laughter caused by her rinsing the dishes in cold water. It doesn’t suds up as much when you use cold, she had said. They both finish with the same long hooooo and a shake of their head. As the steam rises from the cold steel colliding with water now of a proper temperature, everyone gets down to business. An efficient assembly line is made: Her mother gathers all the soiled things, her grandmother makes them squeak again, she mops up the excess water with a limp towel, and her aunt puts everything back in its place. The potent combination of routine and too much good food puts her in a trance. Even the occasional, where does this go, fits within the monotony of the work. A quick glance in the living room shows all the men, mouths open wide, in various stages of slumber. Their sleepy sounds add to the squeak of countertops as the women complete the last of their tasks before they settle into the hard wooden chairs that surround the kitchen table. Her grandmother is the last to sit after placing a teapot within the center of the cleared and cleaned space. A peculiar silence falls, limned with a sense of ceremony, broken only by the occasional clink of a spoon against teacup as the women coax their honey to dissolve. In hushed tones, the women speak of extended family and family friends, births and deaths, marriages and sepa rations. They compare memories and histories, weigh them against time and experience, and reconcile it all into coher ent story. Nodding to each other and themselves, they sip the last of the tea, lean back in the stiff chairs, and accept what comfort there is to find in the completion of another year. Inside Out By Leigh Martin She wondered what to start this with. She had been flirting with it since the second exodus from Athens. She decided this would be the most appropriate: “you have touched me, and now I am left with nothing.” “welcome human, welcome.” She woke at three in the morning, looked at her blank phone, and decided it was still late enough to drink a beer—a Tropicalia, perhaps. Maybe that would quell the humiliation of caring more. Seeing Athens again after three decades had been jar- ring. She used meeting a new man as the gambit. She’d found it odd that she couldn’t land on an outfit after all the shopping she’d done. But that was how it started: Realizing she couldn’t find something that would please both The Globe and him/her. The true game was afoot. As she pulled into Athens, she took a slipshod photo of her mother’s old dorm—Myers—through the car window. Another tiny token of affection. He had mentioned playing catch with his sons. She never got to tell him she played catch well. She never got to tell him many things. The shittiest part was that he wasn’t boring. He was more interesting—more intriguing—than she’d expected. It made pretending to learn to love even sadder, of course. Going back to a bunch of empty need was not going to work anymore. Did it ever? Maybe she flubbed the first kiss. She had been so, so tired and so shy. It would be almost hilarious if that were the reason. Almost. The best part had been waking up in the Hotel Abacus (hadn’t she seen Nathan Shepherd there when it was still The Foundry?) with a bit of hope. She drank two Coca-Colas to combat the four Guinness she’d inhaled at the glorious, intimidating Globe. Few would realize how much it had thrilled her to simply be there, sharing fish and chips like she belonged. She wandered through almost all the old haunts: Mitch ell Street, Reed Hall, the dramatic stadium—everything except Milledge Avenue (oh Chuck, oh Exsirlence). She felt haunted by her younger ghost, the one who had wanted so much and thought it would all come. All of it hurt. Most of all, she liked you. You and your attention and the way you spoke made everything before seem ridiculous. It was like remembering chocolate when you’d been think ing white chocolate was it. And another thing. It was almost funny when the hotel desk clerk com mented on her Athens, Greece shirt—“that’s a pretty ironic shirt.” It was thick, and she got too sweaty in it. She took awkward selfies at her red-and-black stations of the cross. One survived. One tried. You play, you win. You play, you lose. You play. And his aunt had been in Pylon. The Wild Circus By Zeke Clements, Mylo and Asher Kinlaw A young trio band, The Wild Circus, was spotted playing Porchfest at 590 Nantahala Ave. as its first gig. “It was so exciting, playing that first gig,” said Zeke Clements, one of the three members of the band. He is also the illusionist, the one that does the magic tricks in between the music. The other two band members are twins Mylo and Asher Kinlaw; they play a variety of musical instruments such as guitar, bass, saw, banjo and accordion. Formed from Camp Amped/Nufi’s Space, the band members found out that we lived right across the street from each other and so we started playing music together in the shed. We started a band called the Wild Circus. People read a lot. This is probably good for Slackpole. We want to sell our music on Bandcamp—hey don’t type that! We will release an EP first or maybe a single. Guys look what he is writing down. How dare you! Traitor. Can you stop??? No it is making it... wait... what?? OMG? Guitar pedal. Ha ha. (snickers). WE NEED TO THINK ABOUT WHAT THE GENERAL READER IS INTERESTED IN. Let’s get back on track here. We can edit it later. We play indie-rock, rock and roll and progres sive rock. (That is, some rock and roll elements—and can I also say “shoegaze” elements, if you know that that is.) We sometimes record on the four track, but we haven’t released anything yet. Four tracks are pretty cool. Let’s name the songs. We have songs like “Confusion,” “Feel One Way,” “Hypnotization,” “Cherry Red Skies,” and that’s it. After this we should practice a bit. The Albatross Learns By Danielle Towers She is not the wounded bird though her wings were once marred by your furtive barbs, nor the vindictive corvid as she eases splinters from her skin: one by one by one. Uncommon she may be; she bears each pruning with quiet hands, And as salt clears from her eyes, the tides grow predictable. Then she will not clamp her mouth shut again - the next blade falters at the edge of her wings. Cast as bitter, she becomes nothing more than unripe fruit in their mouths. And with hurt but resilience she stumbles into the wind. She will learn to be the albatross, tracing the easy arc of the world. Fixed on the very few, her true North, she will glide, until she shows another there is a way. Skyscrapers By Forrest Peters Let’s get together to watch It all go up in flames. I’ll bring the popcorn, You can bring the memories. I’ll make sure to grab the Bottle of wine you like— The one that has no label. Experiencing life the same Time as you has made me Grateful. Becoming close with you Is my single biggest Accomplishment. The discovery of you— Something worth Jumping out Of the car for. I get worried when I lose things. I am incapable of losing you. The gravity you give off Isn’t forced—no, It’s magnetic. Opposites waiting for Their attraction. The universe planned it. Inseparable since the beginning, In this lifetime, through the Generations, all while Mother Earth was still spinning. The story of us finding one Another— Our connection, our bond, As the universe keeps playing Us along. The true love story, The one that’s never boring. ► continued on p. 22
