2016 and 2017

THE HOWL A LITERARY & ART REVIEW 2016 AND 2017 Editor Phil Ferguson Assistant Professor of English/Creative Writing Virginia Highlands Community College Cover Art: “Withering” by Pam Conley. The Howl logo created by Lori Ferguson. Printed by Virginia Correctional Enterprises, Richmond, Virginia. *All rights to individual works are retained by the authors or artists. 1 DEDICATION To a man who lived life to its boundaries with a hearty laugh, an infectious smile, and a wit and wisdom sharper than any sword. To the “Bard of Abingdon,” I dedicate this edition. Thank you for thirty years of impact on art and literature in this community. JOHN “SEAN” O’SULLIVAN (1921-2017) FERGUSON’S NOTE: A longtime friend, a cornerstone of the Abingdon Arts Depot, and a dedicated member of the Virginia Highlands Festival’s Creative Writing Committee, Sean will carry on in our hearts for lifetimes. (And I will carry the hand-written poems that he mailed to me over the years). PF 2 EDITOR’S NOTE My precious friend, Sean lived ninety-six years on this earth. With my note this year, I want to take this time to speak about…well, Time. As writers and artists, we get lost in time. We battle it with deadlines. We relish in the escape of creation, oblivious to the minutes and hours that pass during that wondrous process. And when the time is right, we share our work with the world. The nature of “Timing” has never been more apparent to me. As I have shared throughout the previous editions of this collection, my personal battle with cancer covered many years, many procedures, and ultimately led to a stem cell transplant in March 2016. After a slow cell-building process, my body began to reject the transplant in early 2017. Then, I suddenly got the flu. Fear is a prime catalyst for writing/art, and one day I will take down all of the layers of true fear that this experience caused. However, when my body attempted to fight the flu, unsuccessfully, my donated stem cells shot up to 100% (the goal all along) to fend off the illness. Suddenly, the cancer was gone. My donated immune system was now in charge, and the timing of it all seemed both scientific and divine, at once. So yes, I want us to think about Time and Timing this year. In addition to the “Sean” dedication, I also need to dedicate this edition to folks who gave so much of their time to this college. To the 2017 VHCC Retirees: Debbie Barrett Pam Conley Tom Fleckenstein Charlene Eastridge Debbie Gobble Virginia Pippin Pat Sauve Dava Sweeney 3 Many of you have been in the pages of this publication, and so much of your energy carried this project (and this professor) through the “birth and raising” of this dear child. You can never be replaced, and as long as this edition of The Howl lingers around our dear world, your passion and investment to this college will never be forgotten. With love, Phil. As always, a colossal “THANK YOU” to all the administrators of VHCC, all of the authors/artists who submitted work, the priceless efforts of the Business Office, all of the faculty and staff of our college, members of our surrounding communities, and everyone who supports the arts in this area. Let’s get to the “howling,” my friends. - Phil Ferguson The apology about structure: I edit this publication by fixing the misspellings and typos that occur in submissions and align the paragraph structure of prose pieces. I, however, do not touch neither the format nor punctuation of poetry due to the creative freedoms granted the minds that structure the piece. All artwork and photography were submitted as black and white to insure the best original quality. I do not touch original ideas in this journal. For the love of art. If a piece of literature is submitted without a title, I use the Shakespearean first line rule. If a piece of artwork lacks a title, I provide a one-word title based on my first reaction. That’s fun. 4 CONTENTS Poetry: “Cheese” by Louis Gallo 7 “The Limits of Allegory” by Warren Harris 20 “Thomas Crofts and I Tell…” by Thomas Alan Holmes 30 “Whitetop Glass & Grocery” by Bunny Medeiros 31 “Every Changing” by Glenda Quillen 42 “Jordan” by Lilly Huskett 44 “Failure?” by Langley Shazor 54 “Think about Death” by Colby Hinchey 55 “Thankful” by Linda Hudson Hoagland 61 “Wings of Fire” by Bethany Lortz 64 “The Two of Us” by Sonya Daniels 71 “Mêlée for Acquiescence” by Jodie Bryant 74 “The Invitation” by Corry the Psychic Artist 76 “Lover of the Woods” by Sherre Sullivan 80 “Return to Sender” by Christina Bolte 86 “The Golden Calf: A Question” by Warren Harris 89 “Mourning Song” by Louis Gallo 109 “As the Music Plays” by Brandi Helton 111 Prose (Fiction/Memoir): “Joe at the Circus…” by Levi Wallace 9 “A Long Way to Chillicothe” by Linda Hudson Hoagland 22 “Teeth on the Edge of Vegas” by Keaton Mullins 33 “The Ten Dollar Dog” by Stewart Minnick 47 “Learning to Drive” by Glenda Quillen 57 “The Call” by Bethany Lortz 66 “The Cherokee in Me” by Sherry Sutherland 82 “Maria’s Education…” by Carla Dolce 92 “Plight of Humanity” by Langley Shazor 112 “Jack and the Cat” by Phil Ferguson 114 5 Art/Photography “Withering” by Pam Conley Cover “Stories” by Samantha N. Cutshall 8 “Invitation” by Kiana Jade 19 “Out of Use” by Sarah Jane 29 “Outlook by Mark P. Stewart 32 “Bicyclist” by Langley Shazor 43 “Repurpose” by Sarah Jane 46 “Alive” by Samantha N. Cutshall 53 “Main Street” by Langley Shazor 56 “Reflection” by Pam Conley 60 “Moral Lassitude” by Kiana Jade 63 “Edge” by Samantha N. Cutshall 65 “Priority” by Mark P. Stewart 70 “The Gift” by Sherry Sutherland 73 “Facing” by Mark P. Stewart 75 “Anubis” by Sherre Sullivan 79 “The Root of All Evil” by Sherry Sutherland 81 “Two Stars” by Pam Conley 85 “Cove” by Samantha N. Cutshall 88 “The Bond of Fuzzy Hugs” by Brandi Helton 91 “Steel Fence” by Langley Shazor 108 “Intricacy” by Kiana Jade 110 “Lost to the Elements” by Sarah Jane 113 “Two Cats” by Lori Ferguson 119 6 Cheese By Louis Gallo Just as you think your mind has had it the word “cheese” comes to mind and you note that it rhymes with “ease” and “Belize” and if you put a “y” at the end of it the cheese transmutes into a Hallmark valentine and you pop that valentine with an awl and thousands of bubbles explode into the room and you note that “bubble” rhymes with “rubble” and suddenly you’re stranded in the ruins but in that rubble you yank a hunk of cheese from under a stone and you taste it and, oh man, what good cheese! So you write an ode to cheese while eating both the cheese and the ode which rhymes with commode. 7 Stories By Samantha N. Cutshall 8 Joe at the Circus (or The Day Indigo Died) By Levi Wallace It was raining that afternoon. It was one of those rains that starts in the early morning, so early that it’s night, and continues for the rest of the day. Grey skies had turned the Blackum Brothers’ Family Circus into a ghost town of multicolored tents and wagons. No one wants to go to the circus in the rain. At the back of the circus where the small acts stayed, musicians, magicians, and side show freaks stayed in their tents watching the rain. A musician named Joe sat at the front of his tent, looking out into the downpour, idly rubbing his guitar pick in his hands. His friend and fellow band member Mulligan Shorty dozed on the cot behind him, oblivious to the world. Eventually the shower let up enough for the guitar player to see across to the other row of tents. A fire eater called Black Devil John was also staring into the rain, but his hands and feet were moving to some inaudible rhythm. Joe watched closely, trying to catch the beat in this silent melody. Finally it came to him, he grabbed his guitar, and began to pick out notes. The sound of his six strings reached across the alley. Black Devil John pricked his ears back, searching for the origin of this music. It didn’t take but a second for him to spot Joe, and when he did he went into the beat with earnest, getting as much sound as he could out of the box he was sitting on. Mulligan Shorty awoke from his nap. Still shaking the sleep from his eyes, he joined in on his fiddle. Someone in a nearby tent picked up a jar of beads so they could join in on the rhythm. In a short time, the song took on a life of its own. People all up and down the row of tents joined in. Everyone with an 9 instrument started to play. Anyone without an instrument made one up from junk lying around. Dozens were clapping their hands and stomping their feet in time with the beat. Joe was playing strong. Doing more than his part to add strength to the music. But he heard something that made him stop short. Cutting through the symphony of box beating and foot stomping was a clear soft voice, barely audible over the din. Others had been lending verse to the song, but this voice made a path strait for his ears.

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