2018 C H EA S N G E legee’’ss mmaaggaazziinnee ooff tthhe CCaappee CCoodd CCoommmmuunniittyy CCoollleg e aarrttss

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 1 5/15/2018 3:35:00 PM A Special Recognition of Service to

Rebekah Ambrose-Dalton, Naomi Arenberg, Kerry Drohan, Nathalie Ferrier, Michael Gross, Larisa Hart, Scott Nagle, Cindy Pavlos, Sara Ringler, Kathleen Vranos, Joe Thorpe and previous staffs of Sea Change for keeping this 50-year tradition alive.

Front cover digital photo Startrails by Aman Marfatia

Sea Change is a publication by Cape Cod Community College students through the Language and Literature Department. It is funded through the Student Media Board.

Sea Change Cape Cod Community College North 237 2240 Iyannough Road West Barnstable, MA 02668

Email: [email protected] Website: https://seachangecapecod.wordpress.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/seachangeCCCC/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/seachangecccc/ Archive: https://www.capecod.edu/web/langlit/seachange/archives

Sea Change, Volume 35 ©2018 Cape Cod Community College

Contributors retain full rights to their original contributions.

Cover design by Katherine Martinez and Robert K. Foster Back cover design by Robert K. Foster

Printing by Graphic Arts at Cape Cod Technical High School, Harwich, MA

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 1 5/15/2018 3:35:02 PM ii

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 2 5/15/2018 3:35:03 PM

ART

Senga Crossley Self Portrait 11

Stuart Friedrich Comfort 24-25

James Warren Garland Watertown Monuments v

Martha Holden Mussel Sky 16

Georgi Lazarov Famous Paintings Collage 23

Jonas Lombard Jonas 27

Aman Marfatia High Exposure 19 Centerville 20-21 Untitled 31 Sagamore Bridge 33

Sheeza Matloob Leaf Emotions 6

Emma McFadden Death is Colorful 13

An Nguyen Letter Form Abstract 29

Meghan Reed Artemis iv Spider 3 Addicted 14-15

Kendelle Wilkinson Geofluidity 18 Sacred Sun 7 NONFICTION

Robert K. Foster Home is Where... 30-31

Cassandra F. LeBel Expectations Versus Reality 10-13

Cindy Pavlos Comfort Zones 28-29 FICTION

Zac Cacciolfli Death’s Gift 22-23

Andrew J. Gates The Meaning of Life 32

John Hanright The Shipbuilder’s House 4-7

Amanda Lods Murphy’s Law (Excerpt of Lir’s Ball) 18-21 iii

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 4 5/15/2018 3:35:03 PM POETRY

Jessica Bowse Indigo 24

Robert K. Foster All That Coulda Been 25

Andrew J. Gates Through the Looking Glass 1

Kaitlyn Holzworth Black Lives Matter 8-9

Garrett Keenan Main Street 26

James Kershner Sluttish Time 17

Eelyese Mateo Co-creator 26

Jacob A. Savoie-Foster Roses Into The Void 2

Robin Smith-Johnson Steel Stacks 16

Artemis Meghan Reed chalk pastel (9”x12”) iv

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 5 5/15/2018 3:35:04 PM Letter from the editor

Dear reader, When you express yourself creatively through writing or other forms of art, you open up a bridge from yourself to whoever is consuming your work. This bridge connects people who otherwise may not have had anything in common, which is exactly what we aim to do with every issue of Cape Cod Community College’s literary and arts magazine Sea Change. Fifty years ago, the first issue of Sea Change was published and featured a range of writing not only from students, but also from faculty and staff. From that year on, Sea Change has incorporated fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, as well as photography, paintings, sculptures, and drawings. The magazine ran most years between 1968 and 2012 before a five-year hiatus. It was revived in 2017 by Professor Rebecca Griffin, whose passion for the magazine and her students’ success is evident. The Sea Change staff this semester is composed of six students who have all managed to put a bit of themselves into the pages that you will see. The pieces we have chosen to feature in this edition were selected with students in mind. We think of the magazine as a creative outlet for community members to showcase their experiences and voices. We hope that whoever reads this magazine—whether that be today or fifty years from now—will be able to connect to the work published in the 2018 edition of Sea Change. We hope you will feel inspired to take on your own creative pursuits and let your own voice be heard.

Cassandra LeBel Sea Change Editor-in-Chief

Watertown Monuments, James Warren Garland, photography v

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 2 5/15/2018 3:35:07 PM Through the Looking Glass By Andrew J. Gates

At a glance through the Looking Glass all appeared opaque, It seemed dark and dank, with little to intake. Yet you wondered and imagined what could lie beyond, Your mind began to fill with fears as illusions spawned. Not only were you afraid, but you were unable to respond To a miniscule voice that would otherwise be fond. It orated with a tongue soft spoken, brittle—dead. Invasive and cold, the voice’s influence spread. You were drawn back to the Glass not realizing your mistake, For once you had seen—no longer could you awake.

Thrust through the Looking Glass, all came to a rest, With no one to help, the darkness digests. As you scream and shout, your efforts in vain, A miniscule voice surfaces to further ordain. It speaks, in a whisper, you feel life begin to drain, Articulate and clear, the sharp speech piercing your brain. You try to escape this inevitable end, But with your attempts becoming desperate you further transcend. Your lids fall slack, your tears have run dry, And there it hits you—you open your eyes.

You will awake in a sweat and be relieved it was a dream, The adrenaline will slowly fade from your bloodstream. But then you’ll hear a miniscule voice in the distance, And note the resonance in this whisper’s persistence. Yet the harder you try to ignore its subsistence, In the end you will succumb to this essence’s existence. You will follow against your will, to its beckoning call, And once you arrive your mind will slowly recall. You will open the drawer not yet realizing your mistake, As you glance through the Looking Glass, all will appear opaque.

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 3 5/15/2018 3:35:07 PM Roses into the Void By Jacob A. Savoie-Foster

My favorite author hung himself, with an unfinished manuscript next to his lifeless body. My favorite poet jumped from a bridge, with a poem and a photograph tucked into his pockets.

Are my feet riding the same edge? Or can I toss roses over the edge and into the Abyss, and thank it?

A trip to the florist is long overdue, because I know now that This Is Water and that there are still Songs in my Dreams but I may not have known what it meant to swim or to listen if it hadn’t been for them.

And, I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope That somewhere down there, in the dark, someone catches the roses I tossed and finds the strength to scale back up.

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 2 5/15/2018 3:35:09 PM Spider, Meghan Reed, collage, ink, acrylic on canvas (16”x20”)

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 3 5/15/2018 3:35:17 PM FICTION The Shipbuilder’s House By John Hanright

The briny beach, coated by a dense layer “I always walk this beach; it eases my mind of fog, lies before a short, gray-haired man as he and refreshes my body,” he answers. walks into the dim expanse surrounding him. The The boy politely nods his head, his feet mist embraces the man, coalescing around his scuttling sand and shells as he shuffles alongside ankles as he drifts along the sandy shoreline. his grandfather, who stares along the coast at Each morning before dawn, the man pulls his the cresting waves and the continually peaking wrinkled and tired body from his weathered half speckles of ocean that occasionally break through of the mattress. He moves slowly, taking measured the fog. The sound of the chopping waves subtly steps as he begins his usual routine. The man resonates with the man. As he glances along the methodically brushes his twenty-seven remaining beach, those dull eyes light up, and a toothy grin teeth, combs the loose, thin hairs remaining on forms on the man’s wrinkled face, as if he were his scalp, and slides a sharp, single-blade steel seeing an old friend. razor against the faint white stubble forming on “David, look at that house over there. It his sunken face. A routine like this may sound belongs to a family of a very rich shipbuilder,” tedious, but it is this aging man’s way of enduring. he says. The man reluctantly deviates from his morning The shipbuilder’s house stands atop a dune, ritual to enter the spare bedroom, where his protected from the ocean, with a solid, imposing grandson sleeps. Each month, when the boy comes hardwood frame, decadent crown-molded arched to visit, he eagerly listens to his grandfather’s windows, and a crow’s nest perched on the roof stories. Gently, the grandfather jostles the child like a sentinel’s post. The grandson eyes the until his eyes crack open. mansion as though it might suddenly disappear. Following their breakfast, the pair dress in The man looks down at the boy and recalls his jogging clothes and raincoats. Five minutes after own memories of the old house. leaving the cottage, the pair arrive at the beach. “I imagine it’ll eventually fall apart and the The boy looks up to his grandfather, whose sea will take it, but it’s stood since I was a boy features are obscured by the fog like the top of a like you. I reckon when you grow old like me, that skyscraper hidden by clouds. house will still be there,” the grandfather says, “Grandpa, why are we out here? It’s foggy and with a hearty chuckle. I’m cold,” the boy asks. He looks down at David, whose eyes are glued The man cracks a slight grin, as though he to the house and ruffles the boy’s hair. David expected the question. returns his attention to his grandfather, grinning.

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 4 5/15/2018 3:35:18 PM “Do you think I could ever see inside of to the beach that he and his grandfather would the shipbuilder’s house, grandpa?” David asks. walk every month. “Maybe someday,” the aging man replies The sun is shrouded in clouds and fog as with another chuckle. “But for right now, we David walks the beach, passing by joggers and should head back. We’ve walked for a while, dog walkers. He sees a deserted sandcastle, the and there are chores to do.” water drawing ever closer to the fragile palace. It As David follows his grandfather’s sure- reminds him of the old, illustrious shipbuilder’s footed steps, he begins to walk backwards, house that he appreciated so much as a kid. gazing into the fog to again spot the David tries to visualize the construction, but shipbuilder’s house. his memory is hazy. An urge to see the house “Grandpa, the shipbuilder’s washes over David like a rising house is gone!” David exclaims. tide. He runs down the beach The aging man lets out a deep “I reckon when you grow as the haze slowly burns away, laugh at his grandson’s faultless unveiling to David images that error. old like me, that house rise closer to the surface with “No, David, the house is still will still be there.” every step. there. It’s just deeper in the fog,” “If the place is in good he says, smiling. enough shape, I may put an “Oh,” David says, slightly confused. “That’s offer on it,” David thinks to himself. good. I got sad thinking that I’d never have a Frantically, David surveys the dunes for the chance to see it again.” shipbuilder’s house, searching for half an hour. David turns around, walking forward again. The house is nowhere to be found. In his dismay, The old man lays his hand on David’s back. David does not notice someone watching him “Think of nature like one big routine, from a distance. David. Everything and everyone comes and “Excuse me, may I help you find something, goes according to the schedule. Things and son? You look a little lost,” says an unfamiliar, people in nature may mingle, but in reality haggard voice. we're only ever proceeding and receding.” David, startled by the sound of somebody “O.K.” is all that David could manage to else, turns around and peers through the fog to say in return. locate the voice’s source. *** “Where are you? I can’t see through this Twenty-two years later, David begins each damn fog,” David says. morning with a workout. He patronizes a David moves in the general direction from nearby coffee shop before crunching numbers which the voice seemed to originate, searching for Hutchinson Market Analytics, running from earnestly for the person to whom the voice business meetings in the afternoon to casual belonged. hookups at night. However, today is different, “I’m trying to find you, but I can’t see for it is David’s grandfather's funeral. Before anything. If you can see me, do you mind coming the very small, private ceremony, David returns closer?” David says.

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 5 5/15/2018 3:35:19 PM “You have not yet answered my first question, You will not find it here because it was condemned son. What are you looking for on a day like this?” almost a decade ago. Seeing as it was the only the voice says. household on that dune, and the foundation “I’m, um, trying to find an old house – no, was already too close to the dune’s edge to a mansion – that was owned –” David begins to safely relocate or demolish, the town decided to say. condemn the property and wait for the sea to take “By a shipbuilder...yes, I know just the place it,” the voice says. that you’re looking for, and you won't find it The voice continues, “People loved to look at here,” says the voice. the old place; it was a part of the scenery. But then “Oh! I’m on the wrong end of the beach! there was a huge storm recently, and, mind you, How foolish of me! I'll –” David says before he that old house – as well as all the others around is cut off again. here – have weathered some heavy storms, but “No, you are in exactly the right place, son. nothing like this one. The winds blew down trees

Leaf Emotions, Sheeza Matloob, sharpies only (7”x7”) 6

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 6 5/15/2018 3:35:20 PM and power lines. From our house, we could hear the After hearing this, David suddenly remembers ocean thrashing about. When the storm eventually the funeral. subsided, and we could safely leave our houses “I'm sorry; I really must be on my way. Thank again, quite a few people – myself included – went you for telling me what happened to the house. up the beach to check on the old house. Where It truly is a pity; I was planning on buying the the house had been was now scattered debris on old place. Well, anyway, it was nice to talk with the face of the dune: bent metal, smashed marble you...” David says. pillars, and heaps of bricks and wood. Strewn on David waits for a reply, but none comes from the beach were a carved door and a dining room the mysterious voice, only the sounds of waves table, dashed against the rocks.” crashing against the shore and gulls squawking Speechless, David stares at the sandy mount in the distance. Feeling a bit uneasy, David turns that he could barely discern through the sheet of and rushes in the direction from which he came. fog. He is astonished that such a force of nature As he walks, David remembers his grandfather's was enough to reduce to rubble such a stately and remark on nature. A knowing smile forms across seemingly unmovable structure. David’s face as he mouths to himself: “Ever “Yes, apparently it was time. Even so, it is still proceeding, ever receding.” a pitiful loss,” the voice says.

Sacred Sun, Kendelle Wilkinson, mixed media: acrylic, ink, and dimensional fabric paint (24”x12”) 7

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 7 5/15/2018 3:35:20 PM BLACK LIVES MATTER By Kaitlyn Holzworth

“How many years can a mountain exist before it’s washed to the sea? Yes, how many years can some people exist before they’re allowed to be free? The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind”

How many mothers must lose a child before we address the issue? How many jokes must we make, before satire is retired and action is taken? How many times can a man turn his back on his own people before they give up hope? How many protests does it take for eyes to be opened? How many hashtags must trend for the media to start telling the truth? How many bystanders must risk their lives for the truth to be told? “What events did unfold?”

The answer my friend is just blowing in the wind

Songs of freedom Gang truces Signs, protest Riots, violence Peace Justice, Justice, Justice What does it all mean? When will the real criminals stop being placed on paid leave? How long does it take for people to realize revolution is knocking on their door? How loudly must we beg? How senile must you be to not understand People are dying Families crying Burying another brother Another sister, another human being With a life, a story, a family Memories Lost

The answer my friend is just blowin’ in the wind

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 8 5/15/2018 3:35:21 PM Depression, recession Reform Modification, education How long before justice is served? How long before our voices are heard? How many murderers must walk free, before peace is made and lives are saved? Systematic, symptomatic

Just another “thug” Just another “criminal” Just another black kid in a hoodie How dare he sag his pants like that How dare he walk down the street like that How dare he make a wave with his death

Clearly he wasn’t a threat

Or maybe he was Maybe you “feared for your life” Maybe that 12-year-old really deserved it ya know? “He reached for my gun” Well they all do, right? They all pose a threat A threat to the racism of our government The systematic oppression bred in our very schools The self-oppression they dare to break away from Screaming “Black power!” Pleading for change A much needed change

How cruel must you be to hear the plea “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe” Yet stand aside passively? How evil are you to ignore the target on the back of your friend To let them walk around unprotected? To side with their abuser?

How ignorant must you be to say racism is dead? To ignore the color of one's skin? How oblivious must you be to claim there is no such thing as police brutality?

But hey the answer’s just blowin’ in the wind, right?

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 9 5/15/2018 3:35:22 PM NONFICTION

Expectations Versus Reality

By Cassandra LeBel

The daylight was just beginning to dissipate I enjoyed spending time with my friends, but I was as we arrived at the pond where we had planned to also fine with sitting on the sidelines during recess, set up our bonfire for the night. It was around eight, reading a book instead of hanging out. I was content and because summer had arrived, the days were now with my unique style until I saw that my classmates bleeding over into nights. Sara and I arrived first, and were all wearing Hollister sweaters and Uggs. I was before the daylight had completely gone, we got to always happy with my choices until I began comparing work on laying out the blankets a little ways up the myself with others. I thought that because everyone beach. was doing things one way and I was always the odd one I had met Sara our senior year through mutual out, it was easier to make myself act like them instead friends, but it wasn’t until after graduation that we of myself. began to hang out outside of classes. She drew me in Doing this made me question myself far too often. with her kindness, but I stuck I would notice any small detail around for the air of potential “I was always happy with my that set me apart from my peers, that she brought to my life. Up choices until I began comparing and as a result I started thinking until then, my summers had far too hard about everything been spent inside reading until myself with others. I thought that I said, did, and wore— dawn and actively avoiding the that because everyone was trying my hardest to be just like beach. I was always someone doing things one way and I them. It was exhausting, and I who used to spend most of was growing sick of it. my time alone living vicariously was always the odd one out, it My senior year was when through made-up realities was easier to make myself act I finally decided that I didn’t rather than putting myself out like them instead of myself.” give a damn whether I was there for real ones. She was like everyone else. I had close adventurous—and the key to friends who seemed just as an unopened world that I wanted to experience before quirky as I was. With everyone in my class going off I left a huge part of my life behind. to college, I knew I’d probably never have to see most For most of my childhood, my interests made me of them again. Still, when Sara texted me a few weeks feel out of place. At around ten years old I started after graduation to hang out with her friends, I threw feeling ashamed that my music playlist wasn’t filled down my book and jumped at what I thought would with edgy bands and rap music like my older sister’s. be my last opportunity to experience the typical high

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 10 5/15/2018 3:35:22 PM school world that I had so often read discussed our favorite books and music. about. As much as I enjoyed my time with I worried when she picked me up at her, I was eager for the night to begin, my house because I wore a sundress while and soon, it did. she was wearing jeans. I immediately In what seemed like no time, we were felt the same feeling of separation that at the pond setting up. When her friend had made me so miserable just one year showed up, I recognized her from school. before. I forced myself to push past She brought along a few of their friends the voice in my head telling me that I from work—three boys from Europe didn’t belong in that car with her. But who were here for the summer to work. then I found myself surprised at all that The dark sky seemed to have dropped we seemed to have in common as we over us in no time, but what came even

Self Portrait, Senga Crossley, HB pencil (4”x3.5”) 11

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 11 5/15/2018 3:35:22 PM faster than the nighttime was the death of my phone’s other. I didn’t understand what was fun about this, but battery. I had been using it as a distraction from the I smiled and nodded my head as though I did. fact that everyone seemed to have something to say but After about an hour of mindlessly driving around. me. The three European boys were speaking quickly Sara pulled up to an apartment that belonged to the to each other in a language I didn’t recognize. Frogs three boys. I was simply grateful to be out of the car croaked from every area, and my other two friends, and on to something else. who were sitting to my right, were singing a song that Once inside, we all talked for a little while before I didn’t quite recognize. There was a lot happening all succumbing to our phones. Mine had charged in the at once, but as I stared at my feet, which were black car, but not very much. I was careful not to waste my on the bottom from sitting too close to the fire pit, I battery because by this point, who knew where we’d go realized that I had never felt time move so slowly. next? My eyes felt heavy as we sat together in silence, It was disorienting not being able to check the which made me long to be home. time anymore. The next thing I knew, Sara’s friend was At about 4:30 a.m., Sara decided it was time for us to standing up saying she had to make it home by her go. I was thankful because even though I was sleeping midnight curfew. I was shocked that it was so late. over her house that night and couldn’t go home, it was Sara, the boys, and I stayed for a little while after still better than being where we were. Disappointment she left. But before long, the fire started to die, and we came when she asked if I minded staying out a little ran out of wood. After kicking sand onto the fire to longer before going back to her house. Sara told me put it out, we all piled into Sara’s car. Everyone seemed that her mom slept lightly, and she didn’t want to wake to be enjoying themselves, despite the fact that the her up since she worked long hours. I agreed. We ended music played so loudly that no one could talk to each up going to a beach that was a few minutes away.

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 12 5/15/2018 3:35:22 PM The humidity made me uncomfortable as thoughts As I lay there, I thought back to earlier when ran through my mind. My expectations about what we had been driving around with the boys. Sara had it would be like to be a “normal” teenager had been nodded along with the music, too. But I remembered shattered. People always talked up these experiences, something in her face that didn’t look like the joy that I saying that they made your teenage years “the best years had seen earlier that day when it had just been the two of your life.” I had expected a completely different of us driving around. evening because of those words. I found myself For so long I had pushed my differences away and disappointed with reality and, as I felt time slipping tried to conform to what everyone else was doing. It away, I began to miss the perfect world that I had built had never occurred to me that I wasn’t the only one up in my mind. I couldn’t be the only one who felt this who felt like I did. But maybe, I thought, there were way. more people like me—people who seemed like part Before she fell asleep, Sara asked me if I had had of a crowd, but who did not embrace their differences fun, so I lied and told her that I did. It felt like the right out of fear they’d be left all alone. thing to say, but I couldn’t help feeling stupid for lying. I had never stopped to consider that they could be Sara looked disappointed at my answer, but soon, she lying too. drifted off to sleep.

Death is Colorful, Emma McFadden, watercolor and pointillism

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 13 5/15/2018 3:35:23 PM SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 14 5/15/2018 3:35:25 PM Addicted, Meghan Reed, mixed media (20”x48”)

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 15 5/15/2018 3:35:27 PM Steel Stacks (after a painting by Lance Walker) By Robin Smith-Johnson

They’re abandoned now, The steel star of Bethlehem the giant furnaces, like shines out from South Mountain. mighty horses put to pasture. As gritty clouds pass over it, Vandals trace the old railway beds the stacks come alive, belch orange flames, by nightfall. Their footfalls muffled, black smoke, the air alive with soot. they pass antique railroad cars nestled The heat and noise return, in brambles. trouble the sleep of townspeople below.

Ghosts of steelworkers – The vandals pause in their tracks, eyes empty, hair wild, stooped shoulders sniff, shrug their shoulders. Anything goes. carrying the vestiges of lunch pails – They navigate the spaces between. wander the long hallways of machine shops, eye the back-breaking ladders they once climbed.

Mussel Sky, Martha Holden, scratchboard (9”x10”)

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 16 5/15/2018 3:35:28 PM Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.

— William Shakespeare, Sonnet 55, 1609

Sluttish Time

By James Kershner

If only I could somehow have more time, I wish, as if time were a cup of tea, but time can’t be decanted like fine wine nor measured out in feet as if a tree.

We all have all the time there is indeed, for time describes the all that passes by. There's time for that tall oak to grow from seed, as we grow under that all-seeing eye.

The only question’s how will we employ the time through which we journey in our lives. How much we spend in sorrow, how much joy? How much in using ladles, how much knives?

Let go of both the future and the past. Embrace the present moment; it won't last.

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 17 5/15/2018 3:35:29 PM FICTION Murphy’s Law (Excerpt from Lir’s Ball) By Amanda Lods

trange things always happen when you’re in the of a drizzling twilight searching for a Boston train that wrongS place at the wrong time. It took me twice as long actually runs on time. Could anything go worse? You know, to get back to my flat since the Trowbridge Street stop had at that point, no one should ask themselves that question some kind of malfunction. The announcer was incredibly because just about anything could go wrong. Murphy’s law. vague, something about vandals trashing one of the cars Damn you, Murphy and your adages. An amusing image and the police getting involved. Apparently, it would take of myself formed in my head, one of me facing someone another hour or so to get back to the stop near home. So with a “Hello, my name is…” sticker on his sweater that said I trekked along in the spattering rain down the vaguely lit, “Murphy.” Then there would be me, theatrically waving my concrete path of Brookline Ave. to the uneven cobblestones fist at him angrily like some kind of Pop Art with a dramatic of Boylston to the next station that hopefully would be open. pout. I pulled the fabric of my raincoat hood taut over my head to I snorted audibly, and I let the image ease me. Intellect keep my cropped hair dry and zipped it up. It seemed to do be damned, sometimes you just need a little whimsy to get absolutely nothing; I could feel the cool dampness seeping you through arduous gloom, but it didn’t chase away the through and soaking my shoulders. I sighed but trudged on. nervous apprehension that I was being followed. Figures my night had to end up like this. I get my dream- I’m normally an optimistic person so that hair-raising come-true scholarship, crush the makings of a bizarre awareness had me vexed, and I shivered. No need to be foreboding, future, hallucinate black dogs, and conclude the rhapsody superstitious, or dwelling on falsely placed heartache, I thought to

Geofluidity Kendelle Wilkinson 18 mixed media: acrylic, dimensional fabric paint & gold/silver mica (24”x24”)

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 18 5/15/2018 3:35:32 PM High Exposure, Aman Marfatia, photography myself, taking a meditative breath. I had so much to look the other stared wildly at me. Without saying a single word, forward to in the next few days. I was going to be in Scotland he stared in amazement. He reached out suddenly, painfully tomorrow, for goodness sake! I was getting my tabula rasa, grabbing ahold of my wrists, and a stark desperation filled my blank slate to start my study abroad before starting work his croaky voice. on my doctorate. Seriously, Eavan, get a grip. You’re fine. The “Do you see the Wild ones? Tell me, child. Do you see fine hairs along my arms continued their crescendo and a them? They dance beside us, but they are not us. He, who creeping sensation arose that something was lurking behind is of them, cannot become me. We are the taken. Taken me. Eyes facing forward, I kept my pace. Ignore it, I thought, younglings. The wanted world. Wanted for themselves. and hopefully whatever or whoever it is will realize I’m nothing worth You mustn’t give it. Once we lived among them as equals. stalking. Like seriously, how is following Now we are taken for their amusement and a five-foot-five redhead with wide- pleasures. See them, sweet child! Open your rimmed glasses vaguely appealing? “Ignore it, I thought, and eyes before they take you too! See the Good As I rounded along the edges of hopefully People! For they see you!” Back Bay Fens, I quickened my pace “Let go of me, you crazy old bean pole!” but ended up slamming into something whatever or whoever I snatched my arms away from him and warm, rancid, and distinctly alive. It stumbled off as fast as I could, rubbing my was a man. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t it is will realize I’m noth- lightly bruised wrists looking back to make watch where I was going. Excuse me.” ing worth stalking.” sure he wasn’t following me again. Except, The man was homeless. His when I glanced back, he was gone. disheveled hair and dirty, rumpled My stomach dropped, Ok, Eavan. You clothing said as much. Yet my carelessness barely startled are a Baine. Baines are strong willed, intelligent, and don’t scare him. His eyes were sunken in as if he never ate, like the easy. You’re just jumpy from all the caffeine—something you don’t hollows of a skull. One eye was covered in a patch while need because it makes you neurotic and ten times more likely to have

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 19 5/15/2018 3:35:33 PM a panic attack. No dice, Eavan. Keep your wits together. I swear if corner. I checked my watch. Quarter to nine. I barely had one more weird thing happens tonight, I’m going to just check myself time to get to the next station, but my advantageous side won into the nearest psych hospital. I tried to calm myself, but to no the battle instantly in favor of getting a glimpse of whatever avail. Who am I kidding at this point? I think, biting my lip. or whoever decided that following me was a good idea. A tiny Everything about tonight has gone awry. However peevishly, or part of my brain started reciting the lyrics to “Renegade” by hell, even impishly, intelligent I may be, I was no cold-hearted Styx, and it gave me a little confidence boost. scholar. I wasn’t immune to the trials of life, the pitfalls of Resolved, I sped up and ran around the corner, prepared dating, or the stress overload of graduate school or, hell, even to bring down a beating on whoever had been stalking behind attempting to balance an Ivy League, collegiate work ethic me in the shadows for five blocks. That fearlessness died while maintaining a social life. But this was surely stretching it the second I saw my shadow. I stopped dead in my tracks a bit, wasn’t it? Seeing things that can’t obviously be seen by and felt that infamy shrivel up and die inside me. My mouth anyone else, and Back Bay loonies attacking me with bizarre hung open, freakishly amazed and encompassed entirely by words of wisdom were not what I wanted that day. Maybe a dread-filled horror.That’s most definitelynot a mugger or rapist. stress can actually make you insane? The street lamps had cast a murky and muddled reflection I made it almost to the towering spires of Trinity Church off the puddles that made it that much more difficult to see. on the corner of Clarendon and Boylston when I saw It swirled and caved in on itself in a way that reminded me something far too large to be a car weaving its way along the of Celtic knots, ever-twined and infinite. It was massive.Most shadows of concrete. Psych hospital it is then, I thought wryly. certainly not a dog… wait. Is that what it’s eating? The black shadow Curiosity got the best of me as I saw it slink off around the snarled and hissed in a way that made the ground tremble

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 20 5/15/2018 3:35:36 PM ever so slightly. The thing snapped its jaws around a poor willpower could react: the first was to think that this was yelping animal, hidden behind the alcove between the brick some dude looking for a free thrill without my consent, and walkups. I watched as the shadow stretched the remains the the second was to become the female interpretation of Usain length of its body as it swallowed. My stomach churned, and Bolt. Not knowing what else to do, I thanked the heavens I fought the need to be sick. for my consistent daily runs and bolted in the other direction The pale light cast a quick flash of a putrid green brilliance back toward Copley Square, feeling like a coward. against the beast. Barely hidden by the stair railing, a single serpentine eye peeked out between the bars and blinked back at my trembling frame. With a rumbling growl it raised its head, whipping its long, lithe body to and fro. I got a full visual that finally raised an alarm in me to scream, but my voice caught in my throat. It was essentially a ginormous horned snake, the size of several school buses put together. I closed my eyes, willing the whole scene in front of me to just disappear. Oh god…. This…this can’t be real. This isn’t real. You’re imagining this, Evie. Snap out of it. I opened my eyes to peek, and there was an inkling in me that it was indeed real. The serpent loomed over my quaking frame and eclipsed the lamplight. There were two ways my

Centerville, Aman Marfatia, photography

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 21 5/15/2018 3:35:38 PM Death’s Gift by Zac Cacciolfi

It happened in a hospital where a young lady was what he had seen happen. “She needs a miracle now to trying to give birth, but things were not going so well. survive,” a doctor said. Death kept watching, tapping The woman seemed to lack the energy or even the life his foot with impatience and nervousness. He checked force to do it. The grim reaper, Death himself, knew her a watch on his wrist, a stopwatch from the olden days. time was coming soon. From the ground, he rose in his The ticking watch would run out in 45 minutes. As time hooded cloak, hiding all his physical features aside from dragged on and on, Death felt like hours or even years his bone skull. A messenger bag was on his side, the strap had passed with no reply. When only 10 minutes were hanging over his left shoulder. Slowly, his bone fingers left, the doctors knew the woman was close to losing her came out of his long sleeves to grab a clipboard from his grasp on life. Slowly, Death gave up hope. bag. A paper attached to the clipboard contained many But then, a scroll suddenly appeared in front of him. names; most of the names had checkmarks next to them. With haste, he opened it and saw in big letters over his It took a bit of flipping through the papers to find the request, “APPROVED!” This made Death happy. He young woman. Soon he found took an hourglass from his her file and frowned. The bag. No matter what angle he paper stated that she would die turned the hourglass, the sands today while giving birth. This “Death looked up to were almost out. Reaching into is what always hit him hard— his bag again, he took out a the fact a child does not get the woman and smiled bag full of sand. When the last the chance to see his mother minute for the woman arrived, through life, and the mother slowly before giving her a she vaguely saw Death himself. does not have the chance to At first, she was horrified. But see her child grow up. Even thumbs up.” then she saw him add sand to though he wasn’t officially the hourglass. Death looked up entitled to toy with the living, to the woman and smiled slowly Death sometimes made a few before giving her a thumbs up. exceptions to do them some good. As Death waved his The sands began flowing slowly, meaning her life would hand around, a paper with the words “Request Form” be long, yet slow at the same time. As the woman saw this, appeared like magic. In a rush, he wrote to request that she smiled too, feeling her energy renew itself. Doctors this woman receive more time to cherish the child. He sensed her new flow of energy and rushed in surprised. wanted a happy ending instead of a cruel and sorrowful The father-to-be rushed in, shocked about the change he one. This request was directed toward an entity higher saw. “It’s a miracle!” a doctor said. “It’s like she’s been than Death himself—someone who decides how long granted new life!” After a few hours, Death finally saw one must live before dying. Soon the paper vanished, and what he wanted: a newborn baby boy and a happy family. all Death could do was wait. The mother looked up, toward where she had last seen An hour or so later, the woman began to shriek in Death. She was unable to see him, but she knew he was intense pain. Death saw no sign she would survive this watching and said thank you. Everyone wondered who she birth. The doctors worked hard. Some even left the room, spoke to, but Death knew. With that, Death left to go on unable to watch the scene without showing too much with his work, hoping to pursue a few more miracles in emotion. Even the father-to-be was outside, crying about the world of the living.

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 22 5/15/2018 3:35:39 PM Famous Paintings Collage, Georgi Lazarov, pencils (18”x24”)

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 23 5/15/2018 3:35:43 PM IndigoIndigo By Jessica Bowse I Bysee Jessica beyond Bowse the red flame, to the one that burns blue.

OrI see violet, beyond or indigo, the red or someflame, other to the hue. one that burns blue. Or violet, or indigo, or some other hue. II see see beyond beyond a name,a name, to tothe the soul soul within. within. Where life lies, true love, unintentional sin. WhereI see across life lies, from true me,love, in unintentional the disguise sin. you wear, Not man, nor woman, but soul standing bare. I see across from me, in the disguise you wear, I see beyond the red flame, to the one that burns blue, NotA tired man, wise nor woman,spirit, sick but of soul it too,standing bare. The wall, the shield, the forced attitude, We repress and condense our feelings for who? IFor see beyonda game thewe redcall flame,life, a strangeto the one way that to act,burns blue, When we made up new rules, and didn't look back. A tired wise spirit, sick of it too, I see beyond the red flame, to the one that burns blue. TheOr violet,wall, the or shield, indigo the or forced some attitude,other hue, You see I’m not looking to step in your shoe, WeI crave repress the and whole condense story, ournot feelings just a preview, for who? The hook, the climax, the downfall too, ForNot a gamemany weventure call life, so a deep...does strange way thatto act, scare you?

When we made up new rules, and didn’t look back.

I see beyond the red flame, to the one that burns blue.

Or violet, or indigo or some other hue,

You see I’m not looking to step in your shoe,

I crave the whole story, not just a preview,

The hook, the climax, the downfall too,

Not many venture so deep...does that scare you?

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 24 5/15/2018 3:35:44 PM All That Coulda Been By Robert K. Foster All That Coulda Been I’mBy Robertwell versed K. Foster What will your future self say In the Art of Letting Go. you shoulda done now? I'm well versed SometimesIn the Art thoughof Letting that Go.has meant Time passes, Bye. Sometimes though that has meant Letting go of the good things, To build the future, let go of the past. Letting go of the good things, ThingsThings I Iwoulda, woulda, coulda, coulda, shoulda shoulda But don’t let go of all the good things Held on tightly. Held on tightly. That woulda, coulda, shoulda been. There is a point in life ThereWhere, is awhen, point youin life just have to Know when to hold on, the good. Let the bad things go. Where,Move on.when, you just have to Know when to let go, the bad. To build the future, Let the bad things go. Know when to live, now. You must let go of the past. Move on. But now I wish to let go To build the future, Of letting go, of not holding on. youI no must longer let gowant of tothe let past. go in my life. I have lost too much. I'm also well versed But now I wish to let go In the Art of Not Letting Go. Of letting go, of not holding on. What will your future self say IYou no longershoulda want done to letnow? go in my life. ITime have passes,lost too Byemuch.. To build the future, let go of the past. I’mBut also don't well let versed go of all the good things That woulda, coulda, shoulda been. In the Art of Not Letting Go.

Know when to hold on, the good. Know when to let go, the bad. Comfort Know when to live, now. by Stuart Friedrich Facing pages: Comfort, Stuart Friedrich, wire, matches, and a tin 25

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 25 5/15/2018 3:35:45 PM Main Street By Garrett Keenan Co-creator Main Street at night By Eelyese Mateo You are the co-creator Oh such a sight But I did it all alone Labored her into my world Musicians are playing Without your hand to hold Under the full moon’s light You are the co-creator That’s what her features say Feel the sea salt within your hair But I gave her life and love And you gave her DNA Fresh food and music You are the co-creator The one who helped conceive Fill the air A baby girl that will grow up And expect a man to leave Gulls and vendors screech and yell You are the co-creator That’s all you’ll ever be As children delight in the carousel . . . . Our daughter has two parents She has both roles in me Main Street at night, and the magic is right

So tell me have you been to Main Street at night?

Shown opposite: Jonas, Jonas Lombard, watercolor, ink

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 26 5/15/2018 3:35:46 PM SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 27 5/15/2018 3:35:46 PM NONFICTION

Comfort Zones By Cindy Pavlos

Newborns encounter the world from their landing. But most conversations are also give-and- earliest comfort zone, gazing up, snuggled in take. Once I’ve shared my story, almost everyone against the warmth of a parent. Babies on all fours has a personal fracture story to tell. I hear tales of reconnoiter the floor underneath them like tiny broken bones and stages of immobilization, and I am archeologists. Our view of the world varies by the absorbed by other’s misfortunes, especially those with number of legs we are able to use. Once we are good outcomes. upright on two legs, our perspectives shift again. This Last week, still wheelchair-confined, I took a progression, however, comes with no deep breath and stepped outside my guarantees. One false step, one tiny slip, zone of comfort, heading towards the can send us tumbling down steps and “My comfort Commons. The gradient is steep. It’s land us back in the adult version of a a virtual downhill ski slope on the way stroller. Although wheelchairs keep the zones expand over. My hair is blown back by the wind broken body from being bedbound, they as I effortlessly sail down the walkway. also return the rider to a more child-like and contract But trying to return, my arm strength perspective on the world. Without the and enthusiasm run out halfway back, comfort. like an and I sit there, unable to move my chair The elevator doors open on the uphill one more foot. My muscles quiver, ground floor, and I wheel myself into the accordion.” tears of frustration form, and I ponder already-occupied space. My companions what to do, stranded halfway. It’s hard to shift along the far walls to make room ask for help, but a good Samaritan stops for my chair. They gaze up at the illuminated floor and offers me a push up to the sliding doors. The indicator, following our progress. I am at mid-door kindness of strangers amazes me. level, inspecting the graffiti common to college doors. Embarking on a journey across campus feels like I wonder how long it takes to etch a few words on an Homer setting off on his Odyssey. Instead of facing elevator door. Did the writer take multiple trips up the Cyclops, Sirens, or Lotus-Eaters, my challenges are and down to get these few words inscribed? the potential booby traps encountered when moving I exit on the third floor and turn right, headed for between buildings. my office. It feels so good to be back at work after On Tuesday, I discover the circuitous route from weeks of confinement. It’s a sorely missed piece of the North Building to the handicapped-access doors normalcy. Friends spot me riding in this unexpected at the back of the Science Hall and the lower level vehicle and hurry over, bursting with concern and of the lecture halls. Once inside, disabled visitors are horrified questions. What happened? Will you be okay? faced with an intimidating steep ramp connecting the Are you in pain? By the end of the day, I have briefly entrance to the lab areas. I am grateful for the strong considered placing an info flyer on the back of my arms steering me through this maze, and I promise chair, detailing my brief attempt at gymnastics on myself never to tackle this route on my own. slick midnight steps and my inability to stick the Doors present an unexpected challenge. Bathroom

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 28 5/15/2018 3:35:47 PM doors, I discovered my first day back, are so heavy Thumping across the quad gives me time to they are almost impossible to push open while seated. question the forces that pushed up the pavement’s And although most exterior doors have automatic concrete blocks. I imagine a sort of intra-campus controls, the push buttons are not where one would tectonic-plate scenario, their primordial forces at expect. These exterior doors come in sets, each with work. its own control buttons. But the push buttons are My comfort zones expand and contract like located in different places, as if someone might want an accordion. Morning bravado and an “I-can- to only open the first set and then stay on in the little do-this” attitude sometimes dissolve by afternoon glass solarium for a bit. into a deep yearning for the safety of my recently Several weeks later, upgraded to a walker, I am retired wheelchair. more confident about the outdoors and feel my To not feel safe is an exhausting education comfort zone expanding. But crossing the campus on into what some face every day. It’s a club I’ve two legs and four wheels, every crack in the uneven temporarily joined by falling down icy steps on a pavement causes my walker wheels to lurch right December night, and it’s a club I can never forget. and left. My minute sense of balance is threatened.

Letter Form Abstract, An Nguyen, graphic design (10”x10”)

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 29 5/15/2018 3:35:49 PM NONFICTION Home is Where... By Robert K. Foster

Currently, I’m living in a winter-rental house on work was becoming harder and harder to find. I left the shore of a Cape Cod tidal river. Across the small my job in 2006 and was never able to get another job river is protected natural land. I can tell what the tide that paid a living wage. I went through the pain of not is doing just by looking out the glass sliding doors to being able to find work, having my car repossessed, see what direction the river current is going. There and losing my house to foreclosure. I had worked are ducks and gulls, raccoons for ten years to get the house, and coyotes, hawks and owls and but, in the end, I had never really crows—not all at once of course. “There are ducks and gulls, owned it at all. I saved what I could It’s not lost on me how lucky I am to raccoons and coyotes, hawks of my belongings and moved on. be living here. Seeing all of this on and owls and crows—not Recently I’ve seen a number a daily basis makes my heart sing. of news documentaries about the But a few months ago, my all at once of course.” refugee problems in the Middle sense of home was quite different. East and Europe. I’ve also seen And a few months from now this news reports about the deplorable will likely no longer be my home. In a sense, I have conditions in Puerto Rico after the massive hurricane been “home-less” since 2009. That’s not to say that of 2017. The current political climate dictates that I’ve been walking the streets or sleeping rough at we should put up impenetrable walls and kick people night. I have just been always living, since then, with out of the country to go back “where they came family members or in a rental property that I could from.” I feel the pain of people experiencing these not call my own. things. I’ve never had it as bad as There is something about being they do—and I don’t claim so— unable to control your place of “There is something about but I have some sense of what it living that wears on the soul. “We being unable to control your means to no longer have a home don’t want you here anymore” are place of living that wears on to go to. some of the most painful words I understand now the drive to anyone can hear, even if they’re not the soul.” reduce one’s belongings, live in a said and only felt. There are people smaller space, have less impact on who travel all the time and love that life. There are the world around you, and be more self-reliant. More more and more now who live in camper vans or RVs and more people are coming to that realization. It is or trailers, even out of their cars, and prefer to live preferable to come to that on your own and not have that way. And there are many moving to so-called it thrust upon you by job loss, war, natural disaster, “tiny” homes. But I am one who needs a home base, or fuming politicians. In the end, we all still need a someplace I can rely on to always be there. place to live, someplace to call home. I had a house of my own once, before the Great It seems contradictory to me that a country that Recession of 2008 and later. But I was living at the claims to be the greatest country in history, the United epicenter of that recession, the state of Michigan, and States of America, accepts that there are people

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 30 5/15/2018 3:35:49 PM Untitled, Aman Marfatia, photography

physically homeless on its streets. That we seem to provide help. If you are trying to find a better life in do nothing about poverty or territories like Puerto a new place, then people shouldn’t stand in your way Rico, where people have lost the basics of modern because of racist ideals and concepts. life like electricity or even running water. That we So, yes, the repercussions of the Great Recession somehow fail to understand the desires of people are still being felt today. Many never got back what coming to our country simply they once had. You only have to see because they want a better life than the widening gap between rich and the one they’ve left behind. “If you work forty hours or poor in our country to see where it For me, I’m thankful that I have led. Today, when you walk out the a roof over my head, a place I can more in a week, you should door of the place you live and go to call home, for however long that be able to have a home to work or school or go shopping, try may be. But times shouldn’t be so to remember that it can all be gone hard that a job isn’t able to provide live in.” tomorrow. For many people in the enough income to pay for a place world today, losing their home has to live. If you work forty hours or already happened, and they can more in a week, you should be able to have a home never go back to what they once had. Don’t take for to live in. If you no longer have a home because of granted that you have a place to live. For many having war or natural disaster, you should be able to count a home is not just a dream, but also a fond memory. on other human beings to show compassion and 31

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 31 5/15/2018 3:35:49 PM FICTION

The Meaning of Life By Andrew J. Gates

Pain surged through his body as the air escaped his lungs. He found himself falling. He thought of her. His parents. His younger sister. He thought of every moment that something he cared about had been ripped from his reality. He watched as his life seemed to surround him. He wasn’t a good person, yet there, in that single moment, he felt content. With everything. A smile streaked across his face as a tear did the same. He knew there was only one way out; however, as he reanimated into that moment suddenly there was an enormous pressure reverberating through his frame. His body, enveloped by the land- scape around him, becoming completely numb—deprived of all his sorrows and sins, misfortunes and regrets—he felt nothing. But that smile still lingered, for he knew that what you lack in this life, you are granted in the next. As his eyes fell shut everything went silent but not dark. It was tranquil. After a few short endless moments, it was done. And beginning with the gift of remembering nothing, all became light, as she began to cry.

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SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 32 5/15/2018 3:35:50 PM Cape Cod Community College Media Cape Cod Community College offers several active media outlets where students can pursue creative endeavors. If you like what you see in this publication, please consider supporting us and our sister media outlets through an advertisement or donation.

The MainSheet Student weekly newspaper WKKL FM 90.7 Radio station https://www.capecod.edu/web/langlit/mainsheet https://www.capecod.edu/wkkl/index.html Current and archive issues: Audio feed: https://www.capecod.edu/web/mainsheet http://web01.capecod.edu/WKKL Office: North Building, Room 206 Contact: [email protected] Contact: [email protected] General manager: Naomi Arenberg, Faculty advisor: Kerry Drohan, [email protected] [email protected]

The Write Stuff A journal of student academic writing Sea Change Submissions and back issues: A magazine of the arts https://www.capecod.edu/web/langlit/writestuff https://seachangecapecod.wordpress.com/ Contact: Cindy Pavlos, Sea Change archives: [email protected] https://www.capecod.edu/web/langlit/seachange/archives Address: North Building, Room 204 Contact: [email protected] Faculty advisor: Rebecca Griffin, [email protected]

Sagamore Bridge, Aman Marfatia, photography

SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 33 5/15/2018 3:35:51 PM SeaChange 2018 AllBook V5.indb 34 5/15/2018 3:35:52 PM