Lunch Ticket
  • Current Issue
  • Archive
    • Issues Archive
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
      • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
      • Issue 1: Spring 2012
    • Genre Archive
      • Creative Nonfiction
      • Essays
      • Fiction
      • Flash Prose
      • Interviews
      • Lunch Specials
      • Poetry
      • Translation
      • Visual Art
      • Writing for Young People
  • About
    • Mission Statement
    • Lunch Ticket Staff
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
      • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
      • Issue 1: Spring 2012
    • Achievements
    • Community
    • Contact
  • Weekly Content
    • Friday Lunch Blog
    • Midnight Snack
    • Amuse-Bouche
    • School Lunch
  • Contests
    • Diana Woods Award in CNF
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
    • Gabo Prize in Translation
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
    • Twitter Poetry Contest
      • 2021 Winners
      • 2020 Winners
      • 2019 Winners
  • Submissions
  • Search
  • Menu Menu
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Twitter

Treehouse

July 3, 2019/ Amanda Lopez

[creative nonfiction]

The magnolia tree in my front yard blossomed in early March; the branches weighed down with huge white flowers, only a breath away from the ivy-coated ground. My brother and I used to swing from these branches, flipping over them and putting our weight on thinner and thinner limbs as we monkeyed closer to the top. We’ve had to cut down two of our favorite branches since then; “they rotted out from the inside,” our parents tried to explain, but we didn’t understand. We couldn’t.

It’s been a few years since I’ve felt the burn of bark against my palm, blood rush to small scratches against my wrists. The stumps of the old branches my brother and I used as footholds are nothing more than slight curves in the trunk of the tree now, and I lose traction four times before I can pull myself into the low canopy. The exhilarating fear of being ten feet off the ground hits me again, and I climb.

My brother and I always wanted a treehouse. Maybe it was the Magic Tree House series, or maybe it was the allure of a hideaway only we could reach. Upon convincing our mom that it would, in fact, not kill us, we appealed to our woodworking grandfather, and one can find, just three branches away from where I pulled myself up, a hand-built three-by-two-foot wooden platform. It wasn’t exactly what we imagined, but the rush of disappointment faded quickly once we realized this meant more time up there, laying down to read, write, seeing who could throw red magnolia seeds the farthest and jumping down from higher and higher branches to give our grandma the occasional mini heart attack.

The wooden planks are smoother than they used to be, coated with a thin green layer of age. When I lie on my back, my legs dangle off the edge, toes dancing off the ground. I run my fingers over the bark of the trunk with one hand, skipping over the ants making gravity-defying runs between earth and sky, and shield my eyes from the sun with the other. A bubble of birdsong, faraway highway traffic, and some kid playing basketball down the block places me in this temperate evening, the air thick with humidity but no trace of heat or cold.

Above me is another rotting branch, burst open and black inside. I look past it to the light streaming through the leaves and I start humming. Poems write themselves in my head and fly off on the wings of that red cardinal on the fence, yes, that right over there. I pull myself up, twist and turn myself to the first branch, and, as if I’m eight again, I crouch, wrap my elbows around its neighbor, and let go.

Lucia Brown, a high school student from Columbia, SC, has had her work featured in Richland Library’s Kids in Print, as well as on the blog Read Write Revolution, and she has successfully hidden the (very, very rough) book she wrote in elementary school. She is a graduate of the South Carolina Governor’s School for the Arts and Humanities creative writing summer program, the Anne Frank House’s Spoken Word International Poetry Workshop, and the Western Pennsylvania Writing Project. As for her first real novel? She’s working on it. Contact her on Instagram: @luciaruby.

School Lunch Archive

  • 2021
  • 2020
  • 2019

Friday Lunch Blog

Friday Lunch! A serving of contemporary essays published every Friday.

Today’s course:

Diagnosed at Sixty – My ADHD Journey

April 22, 2022/in Blog / Kait Leonard
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/pexels-tara-winstead-8378728-scaled.jpg 1707 2560 Kait Leonard https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Kait Leonard2022-04-22 17:37:172022-04-22 22:35:30Diagnosed at Sixty – My ADHD Journey

Why Video Game Preservation Matters

April 15, 2022/in Blog / Nicholas Galvez
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/yhvdvrkpjob1dvtswdfi5fy195xhoy9hbfrsydeeqbb5gcpbchqlljpxybfr_408748_uj7j.jpg 800 1600 Nicholas Galvez https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Nicholas Galvez2022-04-15 11:36:442022-05-09 15:25:34Why Video Game Preservation Matters

Sarees in America

April 1, 2022/in Blog / Majella Pinto
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/DSC00012.jpg 1536 2048 Majella Pinto https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Majella Pinto2022-04-01 13:03:542022-04-11 13:43:18Sarees in America

More Friday Lunch Blog »

Midnight Snack

A destination for all your late night obsessions.

Tonight’s bites:

QVC-land

May 6, 2022/in Midnight Snack / D. E. Hardy
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/Diana-Hardy_QVC_Feature_Photo.png 533 800 D. E. Hardy https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png D. E. Hardy2022-05-06 23:45:322022-05-06 19:25:59QVC-land

Escape Artists at the End of the World

April 29, 2022/in Midnight Snack / Lisa Levy
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/waldemar-brandt-eIOPDU3Fkwk-unsplash-scaled.jpg 1707 2560 Lisa Levy https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Lisa Levy2022-04-29 23:49:582022-04-29 20:27:32Escape Artists at the End of the World

The House in the Middle

April 15, 2022/in Midnight Snack / Megan Vasquez
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/alec-douglas-iuC9fvq63J8-unsplash-scaled.jpg 2560 1707 Megan Vasquez https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Megan Vasquez2022-04-15 23:45:322022-04-15 08:32:48The House in the Middle

More coming soon!

Amuse-Bouche

Little bites every Monday to whet your appetite!

Today’s plate:

Antigone in NYC

May 2, 2022/in Amuse-Bouche, Poetry / Ann Pedone
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/nathalie-stimpfl-EDKWnb-kZV4-unsplash-scaled.jpg 2560 1707 Ann Pedone https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Ann Pedone2022-05-02 11:53:542022-05-02 08:54:07Antigone in NYC

Slackers Rule

April 26, 2022/in Amuse-Bouche / Karen Regen-Tuero
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/erik-hansman-PL5VrlAISt4-unsplash-scaled.jpg 1706 2560 Karen Regen-Tuero https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Karen Regen-Tuero2022-04-26 16:08:292022-04-26 16:08:29Slackers Rule

Ownership Records

March 28, 2022/in Amuse-Bouche / Lucy Zhang
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/james-fitzgerald-2XlWpFPzsdc-unsplash-scaled.jpg 2560 1707 Lucy Zhang https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Lucy Zhang2022-03-28 11:55:502022-03-27 19:38:27Ownership Records

More Amuse-Bouche »

Word From the Editor

Here at Lunch Ticket, 2021 represents ten years of our literary journal. 2021 marks the start of a new decade, one I can only hope will stand as tall and iconic in the history of our publication as the jazz age in America. What we’ve put together this fall is what I call and will fondly remember as our “Roaring 20th Issue”.

More from the current editor »
Current Issue »

Connect With Us

lunchticket on facebooklunchticket on instalunchticket on twitter
Submit to Lunch Ticket

A literary and art journal
from the MFA community at
Antioch University Los Angeles.

Get Your Ticket

We’ll keep you fed with great new writing, insightful interviews, and thought-provoking art, and promise with all our hearts never to share your info with anyone else.

Newsletter Signup
Copyright © 2021 LunchTicket.org. All Rights Reserved. Web design and development by GoodWebWorks.
Scroll to top