Issue 59

Setting out to produce this issue of Red Cedar Review, the longest-running undergraduate-managed literary magazine in the country, our team knew we wanted to represent the potential of what publishing can be, rather than abiding by the restrictions of what it has been. From day one, we knew that our issue would seek to do what we haven’t done before: expand our journal’s reach by opening up submissions to all, regardless of academic status. Where previously we limited ourselves to reading work from undergraduate students, in this issue we welcomed submissions from all who wish to be published. Before we began to read submissions, we sat with the understanding that the work we’d take on would matter. We aspire to grow as a publication in tandem with our readership.


The publication before you is a culmination of research, care, and a desire to stay true to our values. We knew that our unique position as a university-funded journal allowed us to choose pieces that exist for the sake of telling a story and not for the sake of appealing to a source of funding. Our opportunity to publish genuine stories from emerging writers is one we hold dear, and we hope that the work we’ve done in this issue encourages that sentiment in future publications.


As widespread as public conversations about increasing diversity in publishing have become, broad threats of censorship hover in the periphery. As the personal and political remain inextricably entwined, the role of art to bridge the two together holds lasting importance. Discussing selections brought up conversations about grappling with the anxieties and comforts of living and the small and large moments that seem to dictate our lives. No two pieces of writing here are alike, but all pieces explore the limits of what it means to search for purpose in a time where our paths feel decided by forces both external and uncontrollable.

As the issue began to take form, our team’s excitement only grew. Work for this issue extended beyond what you see before you, and we wish to acknowledge our combined effort for not only the production but also in maintaining the reach of Red Cedar Review through the forms of blog posts, social media, and more. All of this, however, would be nothing without the actual work of all who seeked to call this journal a venue for their art. As a group of creatives, we send a sincere thank you to all those who shared with us. A final special thanks goes to both the Department of English and to our Professors, Dr. Kate Birdsall and Matthew Rossi, whose guidance and support was integral every step of the way.

Table of Contents

Chaos and Order by Adrianna Smith Reig

Drought by Anton Amit 

Paradise is a State of Stasis by Isabella Folio

Frozen by Beth Horton 

Écriture Féminine by Mer Wade

Stage Fright by Cornelia Ovren

Charcoal Drawing of Danika by Donald Patten 

Oscar (1854 – 1900) by Emily Buckley

Six Cats by Jennifer S. Lange 

Carrion Profits by JR Sloan

Opinions Are Like Disposable Grocery Bags Gathered Into a Ball by Milford Thomas Milford 

Her Petals Have Jagged Tips by Larissa Hauck 

Inglorious by Tor Rose 

Sharp Corners by Barbara Martin 

Elementary Eucharist by Emelia Gauch 

Wrecked Reflection by David Goodrum 

Try Me by Gabriel Lukas Quinn

Spoon by Pawel Grajnert

Jelly Roll Morton by Allen Forrest 

We Yelled Into the Night by Kimberly Lambright 

Bullets by Abdul Mueed Balogun

On Losing A Child by Joanne Monte

Riding My Fixed Gear Bike by Juan Sebastian Restrepo

Civil War Hour by Hannah Mari

The Deliveryman by Dean Zach

Anti-Oedipus by Lauren Caldwell  

Winked, Blynken and Nod by GJ Gillespie

Friends in your Head by GJ Gillespie 

Haikus for the Woman at Kehenah by Oren Ulysses

Cobalt Kids of Congo by R.T Notaro 

Lost & Found by Cat DM

Inner Thoughts by Claire Annino

No One’s Ever Really Ready For a Troll by Robin Young

The Beast by Bernadette Benda 

Being a WoMan by Claire Athern 

Dancing to Tradition by Cornelia Ovren 

We Could Never Be Strangers by Abigayle Allen 

Playboy Cartoons by Anthony Arci 

Mea Culpa by Asia Rappold 

We Always Forget Summer by Ella LaBarre 

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