Cry three nights in a row and you win a prize. You’re blindfolded and driven to the nearest cave. Cup your hands, shower yourself with cave water. And explain yourself. One of the nights might come easily – I watched a boy sing an old woman’s song, for instance, or I’m afraid it’s over soon. But to speak the others you must stumble into the cave pool and swim laps, breast-stroking into the dark and glittering tunnel and back to the mossy entrance, and each lap you’ll need to swim deeper and stronger, and though you wouldn’t admit it to your rational friends, you imagine the eyes and the brain might look like this, might be connected by unwept tears like this, and you’re shocked when your hand smacks the back wall and you follow the echoes and you trace the perimeter and dripping over the moss you cannot find the mouth.
— Jordan Cutler-Tietjen is a senior in Jonathan Edwards College.