Editor: Julie Fulbright

Front cover photography by: Julie Fulbright The cover photo is of the trail between William Wordsworth’s two homes in Grasmere, England.

Graphic Design and Production: Tony Bartolo and Brenda Ellis

Printer: Caldwell Dockins, Cleveland, Tenn.

Copyright: 2004

Cleveland State Community College

All Rights Reserved

Cleveland State Community College is accredited by the Commission on Colleges of the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools, 1866 Southern Lane, Decatur, Ga. 30033-4097, telephone number (404) 679-4501. Cleveland State Community College is an Affirmative Action/ Equal Employment Opportunity (AA/EEO) institution committed to the education of a non-racially identifiable staff and student body. The college does not permit discrimination on the basis of race, color, religious views, veteran status, political affiliation, gender, age, national origin, orientation or disability against employees, students and guests in any college sponsored or hosted educational program or activity including, but not limited to, the following: recruitment; admissions; academic and other educational program activities; housing; facilities; access to course offerings; counseling; financial assistance; employment assistance; health and insurance benefits and services; rules for marital and parental status; student services; and athletics.

CSCC HS-04S171-4/12/04 Table of Contents Harry Dean–The Writer ...... 5 Clark Rose–Annessa’s Dad ...... 6 Krista Rison–This Is My Prayer ...... 8 Julie Fulbright–Grasmere ...... 9 Memory Lane ...... 10 Crystal’Ann Stanich–A Job Well Done ...... 11 The Last Semester ...... 12 Tracey Thompson–Seasons ...... 13 A Man ...... 14 You...... 15 This Little Girl ...... 16 Valorie Ray–The Road to Nowhere ...... 17 Anonymous–Smalls...... 18 Anonymous–Why ...... 19 Anonymous–untitled poem ...... 20 Kierren Lovick–The Projects ...... 21 Megan Standifer–Hope ...... 22 Brandy Parrish–Dear Soldiers ...... 24 Motherhood ...... 25 Labor of Love ...... 26 Something New ...... 27 Jennisy Harmon–Simple Words ...... 28 Melanie Fulbright–Ash Wednesday ...... 29 Leah Petry–Oda ...... 31 The Lecture...... 34 The Semester ...... 35 The Inmate ...... 36 Janice Noles–untitled poem ...... 37 Tiffany Bullington–When You Are Near ...... 38 Roshonda Westfield–The Definition of True Brown Sugar ...... 39 He Is ...... 40 Shaunta Hendking–This Honda Civic ...... 41 Cassie Ahwazi–Change ...... 42 Lauralyn Franklin–Gracefully Growing Old ...... 43 James Reed–Hugs ...... 44 Connie Quinn–The Wilderness Christmas ...... 45 Of Possums and Pumpkin Wine ...... 48 Brandon Grant–A Man Who Can Do It All ...... 52 A poem by Seeker–Full Circle ...... 54 Jean McCants Crockett–The Drama Queen and the Orator ...... 55 James Lawson–Blue Sky ...... 56 Coming Home ...... 57 Human/Nature ...... 60 Southern Stories True and Tall ...... 61 Kayla Partain–Night’s Huntress: A Little Riddle ...... 62 Jada Dachelle Davis–Beneath the Moon ...... 63 Meant to Be ...... 64 Nothing to Fear...... 65 So Far Away ...... 66 They Are Mine...... 67 Frontage Road 6 Amanda Swafford–Best Friends ...... 68 Foreign Land ...... 69 The Patient ...... 71 Becoming Mrs. Hardy ...... 73 Through the Darkness ...... 78 Jennifer Gregory–Western Union...... 79 Momma Can’t Answer the Phone ...... 80 The Precipice ...... 82 Brittany Hobbs–The Toothless Toad ...... 83 Parking Lot Madness ...... 84 Tamara Kharabora–Dreams of Reality ...... 85 A Pleasant Goodbye ...... 89 Jacque Goins–Co-Pay ...... 90 White Easter Sunday: 1961 ...... 92 Alpha to Omega ...... 93 Lord, Teach Us How to Pray ...... 94 Never Changed the Sky (911) ...... 95 Jonathan Garrett–Ode 1 ...... 96 Cayci Goins–untitled poem ...... 97 Chrissy Hughes–They Will Catch Me ...... 99 untitled poem ...... 100 Just Going to Drink a Little ...... 101 James McGrath–Doin’ Laundry ...... 103 Joshua Akins–Drunken ...... 104 Monica Crox–9-11 ...... 105 untitled poem ...... 106 A Nurse ...... 107 Peter Swift–The Spring...... 108 The Shadow ...... 109 Gene Henley–The Player ...... 110 Megan Oliver–Escape ...... 112 Laura Beth Burrell–untitled poem ...... 113 Marshall Toney–The Story of Lust ...... 114 Tonya Caldwell–Nature ...... 115 On a Cold Rainy Day ...... 116 The Berlin Wall ...... `117 What Is ...... 118 A Moment in Time...... 119 Julie Nelson–The Man in the Moon ...... 120

PHOTOGRAPHS SUBMITTED BY: Tonya Caldwell, Tyler Neff, Tangie Swanson, Christy Rogers, Janet Davis, Tabitha Hutton, Anita Coffey, Harsh Patel, Ravi Patel, Thomas Harris, Charity Jacquez, Heather Haney, Brandie Price, Quintin Marion, Jason Perry, Christine Cate, Lynda Casteel, Wendy Woodwin, J.T. Tallent, Charlotte Arnwine, Tera Burchfield, Joshua Adkins, Leah Petry, James Lawson, Julie Fulbright, Helen Darcey.

ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY: Charity Jacquez, Jonathan Roberts, Thomas Harris, Ashley Coffey, Amy Rose, Giovanny Carvajal.

4 Frontage Road 6 The Writer Harry Dean

No one in my family has tried to write, though they seemed much impressed when I made a little book. But my mother years ago did the next best thing. She tells how she held me in her lap at less than a year and started to read. First, a picture and wordbook of birds and I would nod yes or no before I could speak as she tried out the names of the birds. She continued to read to me until I could stand on my own feet in the books. Now, she is eighty-nine, frail and lonely, and I carry a great weight of gratitude and obligation for the wings she first helped me grow. I go to her weekly and sing back to her some of the words from the great treasure nest she pointed me toward, high among the peaks where Pegasus plays.

Buena Vista, Colorado, photographed by Tyler Neff.

5 Frontage Road 6 Annessa’s Dad Clark Rose

As my daughter was awakened from her sleep for the first day of pre- school, I observed the enthusiasm and excitement in her st1p and eyes. As Annessa’s father, I did not approach this particular day with excitement but with trepidation. I saw “our baby” only 3 years old walking into a new world, which is fascinating at times and cruel at other times. Such ques- tions as these stirred in my mind: “What will become of her innocence?” “How will she be treated by the other children?” “Will she be in good hands?” This beautiful little child with the French braid, cherubic face, and sparkling eyes is growing up before my very eyes.

She was entering Ms. Tracy’s class on this first day of school. So hard to let go and entrust her into the hands of another. I remember crying on the first day that my now 5 year old son went to pre-school. I gave him an embrace and in essence released him into the hands of another. This was going to happen with my daughter on this day.

My apprehension and fears were somewhat relieved when my daughter came home from her first half day of class. On that day, Annessa brought home a baggy full of intriguing items. The letter that Ms. Tracy sent home with the baggy helped me to understand what the items (sticker, puzzle piece, cotton ball, apple, eraser, and sunglasses) meant to my child:

Dear Annessa,

I am so excited to have you in my class this year! The items in this bag will help me tell you about your new classroom and classmates.

The sticker is to remind you that we will all stick together and help each other.

The puzzle piece is to remind you that you are needed to make our class complete.

The cotton ball is to remind you that our class is full of kind words and warm feelings.

The apple is to remind you that we will learn something new each and every day.

The eraser is to remind you that we will all make mistakes and that is okay.

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The sunglasses are to remind you that your future is “sooo” bright!

I look forward to having you in class this year!

With Love,

Ms. Tracy

With that I knew that my sweet daughter would have a gentle initiation into the world of learning. She was in good hands, and her fledgling spirit could soar. This letter and the love behind the activity melted my heart and my fears. This was Ms. Tracy’s concrete way of letting these children know that they were in a safe and loving environment in which they can play, grow, and learn. I am amazed as I watch my “little one” grow and develop. I praise God that we have teachers like Ms. Tracy who can teach and love at the same time. I am blessed to be a father of two. As Annessa’s dad, I know that she is in competent, capable, and loving hands.

Signed, Annessa’s Dad

Drawing by Thomas Harris.

7 Frontage Road 6 This Is My Prayer Krista Rison

O Creator of the earth, I praise your name on high, I look out at the beautiful Birds that climb the rugged sky. I see the Lion fierce who is proud in every way, The Eagle soaring with the clouds this blessed morning day. As I search the earth for peace, I see war of men, It puts an ache in my heart to know of such sin. I watch the peace among people fade into the night, As war becomes a reality, they flee from homes in fright. O Creator remember the fierce Lion; the Eagle in her wondrous flight, Why can’t we have world peace like them…it seems so right.

Photography by Helen Darcey.

8 Frontage Road 6 Grasmere Julie Fulbright

I am floating in the wind I see the sky so blue I feel the heat of the sun I long for love this true Nothing in the world Could be this wonderful The crystal blue water The force so powerful I long to feel, to know the heart Of the one who walked here He wrote of sweet Romance From words, he could not part I see the nature so often portrayed The sweet lamb with its mother How I longed to stop and pray My soul longs for another I touched the Daffodil I embraced the air I felt the spirit of a poet In a place called Grasmere

Dove Cottage, first home of William Wordsworth, Grasmere, England photographed by Julie Fulbright.

9 Frontage Road 6 Memory Lane Julie Fulbright

Climbing a staircase of nostalgia, Hearing only silence. No voices of potential wisdom Or responses from the learned. Only quiet halls that I once knew. Sidewalks with faces I know not, But strangely familiar they are. Traces of the past still linger In newly painted walls. Monuments and mementoes Stages and fountains Buildings and crosswalks Full of memory ghosts. Those were the days Fun and freedom A new spirit roaming. Now it’s just a brief revival Fading as I drive away. Flying above the past Never to touch ground. My wings have spread Beyond the golden crowd. I played my part in the play. Now the curtain comes down But just on one chapter. The book continues on.

Isla Mujeres in Mexico photographed by Tabitha Hutton. 10 Frontage Road 6 A Job Well Done Crystal’Ann Stanich

Is my hardest enough? Did I do my best? Was I worried for nothing? Every second passes as with the speed of a slug. My thoughts race faster than people running out of a burning house. My hands are cold like the white snow that paralyzes my body. My whole body goes into fear mode. I received my grade. Your excitement reaches Pluto. You want to scream “A JOB WELL DONE” I should not have worried. I did my best. My hardest was enough to make “A JOB WELL DONE.”

Drawing by Jonathan Roberts.

11 Frontage Road 6 The Last Semester! Crystal’Ann Stanich

Till the last day, I Have to keep going. Every day I will wake up, Lost in a perfect dream, And I’d rather Stay snuggled up in my blanket. Today is one more day closer to the day where I will have reached my goal. So today is the day where Each choice I Make allows me to Either succeed or I don’t. So the difference we are To make is an Everyday choice to wake up and, Reach our potential.

Fort Myers Beach, Florida photographed by Anita Coffey.

12 Frontage Road 6 Seasons Tracey Thompson

Seasons change, and so do I; But I feel that the changes in me do not compare. Spring showers and flowers While a small breeze blows, This is usually how the springtime goes. Next is summer; here come wild times. Spending days at the river, nights at parties, and mornings in recover; This is usually how I spend my summer. Fall comes next, the sweetest of times. The sweet wind blows; the leaves delicately fall to the ground. Sweet aroma of the air is one of the best parts. The colors of the treetops gently bring color to the views from the sky, Which touch all hearts. This is absolutely the best of times. Finally comes winter, to most hearts, splendor. Freezing cold air blows through my hair. Not much green and the trees are wiped clean. If we are lucky, we might see snow. When it comes, no one really knows. This is usually how the seasons go. Seasons come. Seasons go. Kind of like how my life flows, Changing too fast, How long will it last?

Photography by Helen Darcey. 13 Frontage Road 6 A Man Tracey Thompson

An adventure with flowers is how it began. I had to find Kermit. Instead I found a man. His eyes were piercing, Stunning me, in just one glance. Made me lose my balance. I had to catch my stance. He’s talented, handy, gentle, and cute! He seems to be true at heart. Not just another typical work of art. There is one answer that I now need to find. How in the world can I make him mine?

Photography by Helen Darcey.

14 Frontage Road 6 You Tracey Thompson

You can’t control me. I think for myself. You can’t console me. You think of yourself. I told you the truth. Your feelings were hurt. Now you push me away like I was only dirt. You said that you loved me! That was just talk? Now over something stupid, you take a walk. So run with your boys and have a good time. I’m not waiting around; I’ve committed no crime. If you can turn away and not so much as call, now I have to wonder if you ever loved me at all.

City of Chicago viewed from the Sears Tower in Chicago, Illinois photographed by Christy Rogers.

15 Frontage Road 6 This Little Girl Tracey Thompson

Day and day again, I just want to be your friend. I go out of my way, But, no time today. Maybe tomorrow? Is that what you would say? I know that you go by looks, Sometimes even books. The funny thing is, you see, You don’t have a clue about the real true me. I am one of those people who realize the truth. I don’t know who I am. I don’t have a plan. Half of the time I am off In my own little land. One thing is for sure. I am not just another silly little girl! You can say what you will. I will stumble back down that hill. Words can hurt. Scars don’t heal. One thing never changes. I am so real!

Ana playing on Myrtle Beach in South Carolina photographed by Charlotte Arnwine. 16 Frontage Road 6 The Road to Nowhere Valorie Ray

The road to nowhere doesn’t get you ahead. It only brings you back to where you began. It makes you feel like there is nowhere to go. That’s why you don’t get far. The road to nowhere isn’t the place to be. Don’t you see? Please listen to me. It will only get you into trouble. The road to nowhere will only bring you down. That’s why you need to turn around And head in the other direction, So you can get back on the right road. The road to nowhere won’t help you out. That’s why you have to do things for yourself. If you believe, you can do what’s right. Then just try it.

Memphis Park photographed by Quintin Marion.

17 Frontage Road 6 Smalls Anonymous

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, When the road you’re traveling seems all up hill, When the money is low, and the debts are high, And you have to smile when you want to cry, When troubles are pressing you down a bit, Rest if you must, But don’t you quit. Life is unstable with its twists and turns As every one of us will sometime learn. And many of us will turn about When we might have won had we stuck it out. Don’t give up though the pace seems slow. You may succeed with another blow. Often the struggler has given up When he might have won the victor’s cup. And he learned too late when the night came down, How close he was to the golden crown. Success is failure turned inside out, The silver tint of the clouds of doubt. So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit. It’s when things seem worst When you must not quit.

Drawing by Thomas Harris. 18 Frontage Road 6 Why Anonymous

Why do I endure it? Why do I allow it? I’ve been cheated and wronged, but still his hold is strong. I tell myself I love him, and there is no one above him. And yet, I continue to be played. I don’t have to suffer under him. I don’t have to put up with it. So, why do I take it? It’s the things he says and the way he makes me feel. It’s the way he holds me and his kiss. Why can’t I step firmly on solid ground? Why can’t I just simply walk away? I know why – I love him.

Drawing by Thomas Harris.

19 Frontage Road 6

A poem by Anonymous

People care, and people try. People snare, and people cry…Why? And in the end, we all die! Some people are short with their words. Some people are flighty and act absurd. Many people have a happy demeanor. Many people need to be a bit leaner. Various people like to drink. These people are usually confused and don’t think. Most people act like humans with mistakes and faults. My advice is not to judge, and if you do, don’t get caught!

A barn along the way while 4-wheeling photographed by Jason Perry.

20 Frontage Road 6 The Projects Kierren Lovick

The projects is your best friend, the most educated teacher. It is also the worst of all enemies. It is more than bricks, liquor stores, and gun shops. It gives birth to some of the brightest young, black minds. It cradles and cares for some of the most beautiful faces. The projects is a two-headed animal, the first head a sheep, soft and kind, the second, a snake treacherous and deadly. If you’re weak-minded, it will eat and spit you back out. It holds every situation and deadly game. It is the cradle and the grave for most young blacks, and it is a burden for the rest.

San Francisco, California photographed by Brandie Price.

21 Frontage Road 6 Hope Megan Standifer

Shattered dreams slice through by reassurance letting the depression seep through my veins, covering my being in disgust, swallowing me whole, and taking away my pride. I feel lost now that I’ve experienced failure once again. I’ve learned to only accept it because it only lies ahead. I tremble; I shake. I am so surprised but shouldn’t be. This is nothing new because I only relive the past, never having the chance to regain my past from previous despair. When I think I have formed a sturdy fortress, my think wall never ceases to crumble, turn to dust, and float away as if it were never there. So failure sets in and controls me. In this dark night I find myself tilted off the edge of the world. All I see are diamonds strewn across an enormous blanket of eternity – glowing and sparkling. The rusty moon hangs crooked like a misplaced form, yet it portrays the beauty intended. The wind brushes against my face. A drop of salty sadness 22 Frontage Road 6 escapes the fold and wets my cheek. The tears fall continuously causing a waterfall of misunderstanding. The shining eyes look down hopelessly smiling and kissing my flushed face. The altered, bright thumbnail captures me with its loving strength, offering back my pride. The wind surrounds and holds me close to what is real. One foot is halfway off the edge while the other falls behind. I am hesitant to the world beyond me. The secluded road that holds my old footsteps disappears. And I create a more pleasant walk in the clouds.

Photography by Helen Darcey.

23 Frontage Road 6 Dear Soldiers Brandy Parrish

I thank you through my tears for conquering my fears. You fought for my freedom and my safety, for our children and our families. I thank you for what you endured. You gave of yourself and your family. I thank you for your time, courage, and dedication. I thank you for the fight, and for some, I thank you for your life.

Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C. photographed by J.T. Tallent.

24 Frontage Road 6

Motherhood Brandy Parrish

I’m the mother of a little girl who is the center of my world. She is only six months old; day by day I watch her grow. She smiles a lot and rarely cries; she’s the apple of my eye. I love to watch her learn, just like a candle burns. She is getting very bright; I hope I’m doing things alright. All I have is love and wishes and lots of Mommy kisses. Lessons to teach her when she’s bad and arms to hold her when she’s sad. Drawing by Amy Rose. And when she’s grown, I hope she’ll know just how hard it is to let go.

25 Frontage Road 6 Labor of Love Brandy Parrish

Pain so extreme I shut my eyes, So scared I thought I would die, So hard were the contractions. I thought it would never happen. Just when I thought I’d never make it through, That is when I delivered you. My perfect little girl, In that second you became my world. I cried as I held you in my arms and promised to protect you from harm. It was worth the pain I went through Because I was rewarded with you. A little angel from above, Sent from God for me to love. I thank HIM every night and pray for guidance to raise you right.

Photography by Helen Darcey.

26 Frontage Road 6 Something New Brandy Parrish

The things I’ve been through, mostly alone, but some with you. So hard to walk down memory lane when the path is filled with pain. So hard to let go when pain is that old. So hard to work through when pain is that new. It’s hard to walk with you when walking alone is all I knew.

Himalayan mountains photographed by Ravi Patel.

27 Frontage Road 6 Simple Words Jennisy Harmon

In all the words i could ever write, i could never describe Your Love.

How You bore all my sin, my sorrows, my hurt, my troubles on the Cross for me.

May this be a simple offering of thanks for Your wonderful Love.

If only these words could give You enough praise.

Photography by James Lawson. 28 Frontage Road 6 Ash Wednesday Melanie Fulbright

Dusk light filtered through the stain glass window, casting the shadow of Christ on the empty church floor in red and blue. “Do you think me foolish?” I asked. “Spending what little money I have on this vanity.” “You’ve always been amused by shiny pretty things,” he said. “Trust you to make me feel more foolish.” I smiled and shook my head. “And I was so hoping that you would offer some great wisdom of yours so that I might justify this purchase to myself.” “Do you really want me to tell you that it’s okay you spent the money on rebuilding this thing?” he asked. “I left the money to you to do as you will. You never needed my approval—for anything.” “Yes, but doting idiot that I am, I always sought it,” I sat down slowly on the church floor. “Now if only I had enough money to buy some seats.” “You don’t need me, you know.” he sat beside him. “Did you tell yourself that you didn’t need me?” I asked. “Yes.” “Did it work?” “No,” he said immediately. “I’ve never been good at lying. To other people or to myself.” “That’s why they all trusted you so much.” I laughed. “Do you trust me?” “I can do nothing but trust you.” “You are being a bit melodramatic aren’t you? “I broke my vows for—” I stopped and forced myself not to look at where he would be sitting. I suddenly wanted to touch, to feel the whisper of warm breath with such desperation he ached—but the church remained cold. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I miss you,” I said, but I dared not to look toward him. “I know. But you always say, what is actual is actual only for one time and only for one place,” he quoted at me. “Ah,” I brought his hand up to his face and wiped away a stray tear. “May the judgment not be too heavy for us.” “Well, you know, in the end, I realized that I love you more than the world,” he said. “You own me, and I own you, and so we are both stupid and doing more penance than others.” Against my determined efforts, my entire body shook as he watched the falling sun elongate the Crucifix on the floor. “I know,” I whispered after a moment. “I know you know. You are pragmatic that way,” he said. “That’s the root of the problem isn’t it?” My answer was stopped by the loud roar of a car engine somewhere outside. 29 Frontage Road 6

“You had better go see who that is,” he jumped up. “Yes, I guess I better,” I said. He smiled at me, and extended his hand to pull me from the ground. A voice called out from outside. “I’ll be right there.” And for a moment, I forget and reached out for the hand that was never there.

Photography by Helen Darcey.

30 Frontage Road 6 Oda Leah Petry

We called her Oda because Oda gave her her spirit.

Born in the summer of 1927, she had fight, old but sturdy, dusty but proud.

She stood majestically on her small hill for all to see.

I acquired her in Spring of 2003. She became part of me, just as I became part of her.

We were one.

I caressed her and refaced her, like a lover brushing the hair from her partner’s eyes.

She was beginning to come together, with new colors and a new spirit that she so desperately wanted, and needed.

She enjoyed the pampering, the new paint, the spackle, and the love that she hadn’t seen in years.

She was coming back to life, with the breath that I breathed into her; she spoke deep to me within my soul.

She loved the new life that the children’s feet brought to her hardwood floors; she soaked it in and then, let it shine through as if to say, “I’m not finished yet.”

Her creeks and groans were a reminder of her age, but the melody that they played said that her spirit was forever young.

31 Frontage Road 6

She once had glory, prestige, and power. And she would again, with the help from my hand.

Our hearts beat as one, hers for me, and mine for her. It was a love affair like no other; true love never dies.

Her heart gave out suddenly and without warning on November 25, 2003.

The fire that burned within her for years leapt forward and, without remorse, ripped through her beautiful walls.

It was on that day a part of me died with her, a part that will never return.

She now still stands on her hill top but sadly, no longer with pride. She still cries out in pain to me as if to say that parting hurt her just as much as it hurt me.

Her three chimneys still reach for the sky as her remains and ashes lie around as a constant reminder to me and to her that we never got to say good-bye.

For on that fateful day my friend, my house, Oda, died never to have new life breathed into her again.

Living and dying a long life is not what’s important; it’s the time in between that truly counts, and that is what made Oda unique, not the dates of her birth and death, but how she held her majesty in the time that she lived and, Oh how she lived.

32 Frontage Road 6

I drove by her, today, and although her call is now faint, as if a ghost calling out from her grave, she felt my presence, just as I felt her spirit.

She still calls me from across the train tracks as if to say that she misses the life and vitality that family brought to her empty rooms.

But we both know that our love affair has to come to an end. Neither wanted it, but it abruptly ended.

With every pop and crack of the fire that murdered her, I felt her pain, just as she felt my empathy for her.

We were one.

Her death will forever be a sad memory that I cannot escape. I still see it in my dreams every night, and when I close my eyes just to remember, because although our time was short together, it was precious and irreplaceable.

Remembering will keep her alive forever in my heart.

Because Oda will always be my home, my friend, and my confidant, because walls don’t talk.

I will always miss her, love her, and hold a special place in my heart for the house that we named Oda.

33 Frontage Road 6 The Lecture Leah Petry

Once upon a day break, as I wondered why I was awake. Over far too many hours of missed sleep As I nodded, so deeply napping, Suddenly, the teacher began tapping, as if someone rudely tapping on my forehead, tapping on the chalkboard. Tis some learning I should be doing, watching the chalkboard, But it was just a boring lecture, nothing more. Oh yes, it was early September with each separate report to remember loomed its grade over my head Dreading the coming tomorrow; to get an A I’d have to beg, plead, and borrow. My books secrete the knowledge, Knowledge lost to absorb For the clever and trite student, doomed to be bored, Lectures here forevermore.

Arlington Cemetary in Washington, D.C. photographed by J.T. Tallent. 34 Frontage Road 6 The Semester Leah Petry

Violets are blue, and roses are red. I can’t believe I got out of bed. Being woke up with bells ringing in my head, Just to find out, it was the alarm clock of dread. I am at school now, and all I want to do is nap for an hour, or maybe two. With a monotone voice and more lecture in sight, This semester will be a huge, long fright.

Photography by Helen Darcey.

35 Frontage Road 6

The Inmate Leah Petry

I could hear its call every day. Freedom. So close, yet so far away. It was as if it was mocking me from across the bay.

The view was punishment in an unusual way. Freedom. So close, yet so far away. Like a beautiful woman that I could only dream to touch. It mocked me from across the bay.

The Golden Gate, to the Oakland Bay, to the lights of the San Francisco skyline, All, as a sick reminder that my freedom is just out of my reach.

I could sit on the steps of the yard and stare freedom in the face. Freedom. So close, yet so far away. I let it mock me from across the bay.

I am a remorseful old man now, and I’ve accepted my fate, doomed to death in this wretched place. Maybe I’m institutionalized, or maybe I’ve grown wise. But I now take comfort in the stone walls. And the island that surrounds has now become my own hallowed ground.

Freedom is no longer across the Golden Gate.

Freedom will come with the completion of my Fate.

For it no longer mocks me from across the bay.

For my FREEDOM will come with my death today. 36 Frontage Road 6 A poem by Janice Noles

Smelling honeysuckles, chasing bullfrogs, running through the fields. Smelling blood, chasing the enemy, running through mine fields. Time with friends, days of laughter, hiding in dreams. Time in bunkers, days of hunger, hiding from death. Stars in the nights, music The Capitol photographed by J.T. Tallent. all around, sleeping in bed. Flares in the nights, bombing all around, sleeping in fear. Reading books, chasing girls, needing for fun. Reading maps, chasing men, needing a gun. Hugs for mom, love of sweetheart, waiting for a son. Hugs for gun, love of pain, waiting for the sun. Praying to God, wishing for an end, waiting for tomorrow. Praying to God, wishing to live, waiting for Peace.

* Wars are terrible, and there are always casualties of war that do not die on the battlefield, and no one knows more than the men and women who fight just what a high price for freedom is paid. It has changed lives forever, to have been there, gone through it, and to have survived.

37 Frontage Road 6 When You Are Near Tiffany Bullington

When you are near, I’m happy. When you are gone, I’m sad. Why is this so? I cannot figure this out! You remind me of a rose, Soft, sweet, and sometimes painful. I wish we could have true love because I am so weak, and you are so strong. I feel safe when you are near. You are my one true love; I love you with all my heart. My soul belongs to you and only you. I cannot think of anyone but you. You are on my mind day and night. Thoughts of you invade my privacy. At night I cry for you; I dream of you. I want to be with you 24/7. Why is God letting me feel this? My heart beats rapidly when you are near. I love you so much. Maybe one day, You will feel the same for me.

My horse photographed by Janet Davis. 38 Frontage Road 6 The Definition of True Brown Sugar Roshonda Westfield

I treat this like my thesis A well-written topic broken down into pieces

I am true brown sugar The one true ingredient that makes my soul enhance The thing that makes my hips sway and my attitude Snap The thing that makes me hot fudge instead of white chocolate

I am brown sugar

I am the light that illuminates everything you need to know I am the flower that blooms in the spring I am the words in that song you listen to

I am true brown sugar

Photography by Anita Coffey.

39 Frontage Road 6 He Is Roshonda Westfield

He is like the sun Shining through a glass window. He’s part of my brain. He’s always on my mind. He’s like a peach. Whenever I bite into him, he runs down my body. He’s like a leach. As long as he’s holding on, he’ll never let go.

You ask me who he is. He’s the love of my life, The soldier that fights, The mist in the morning light. He’s the fulfiller of joy when I’m down. He’s the captain of my heart and the alpha and omega of my soul.

Photography by Helen Darcey.

40 Frontage Road 6 This Honda Civic Shaunta Hendking

This Honda Civic was bright and orange. It makes you work for a sight in the dawn. The tint reflected Honda systems in the sun, Which made people want to yawn. The music was up so loud. It made you be proud. The rims were so shiny. It made you hold your tummy. This Honda Civic was so beautiful. It made you graceful. Oh, this Honda Civic.

Drawing by Giovanny Carvajal.

41 Frontage Road 6 Change... Cassie Ahwazi

Change is where life takes a different toll on a single person. Change is where one must strategize to survive the cold, harsh weathers of life. Change can take only a second but yet seems an eternity to an individual. Change can be rational or irrational; all depends on one’s actions and reactions. Change is where life and death border each other. Change is where uncertainty blows in the wind; we never know whether it will be a gentle breeze or harsh winds that will rip through our humble abode, causing a certain unease. Change can be a lamb: light, comfortable, springy with life, or it can be a demented monster, beating us down until we become weary, making us miserable, haunting and taunting stressfully bending and breaking our backs, or numbing our minds to the point where we don’t know whether we are coming or going. Optimism and pessimism can have effects on change depending how an individual particularly looks at the situation. Philosophers say change is good, but we as humans know it can be bad also. Look at society; have we come through the generations of change into good or bad? Are we that civil or superior as we think we are, or just as uncivil as our ancestors? Or were they not as uncivil as we think they were? Change is what we humans have to cope with. This is life. This is a big part of life. This is what we call change.

Victor Pirkle at Cloudland Canyon photographed by Lynda Casteel. 42 Frontage Road 6 Gracefully Growing Old Lauralyn Franklin

While surveying my reflection on a customary day, I heard myself bemoan: “When did I get so gray?” All too apparent were the lines ‘round my eyes; Barely did I recognize my very own thighs.

Scrutiny of the highlights adorning my crown Turned my facial expression to a smile upside down. I mixed the concoction from under the sink; Guaranteed to look younger – at least that’s what I think.

I question while skillfully painting each numbered hair, “Will I mirror Snow White, so lovely and fair?” With a bounty of age-defying lotions and creams, I behold myself younger, as if in a dream.

Awakened to what is the inevitable truth, This middle-aged prototype cannot redeem her youth. Miss America and Cover Girl, kindly step aside; Originals by design were not fashioned to hide.

True beauty isn’t found within the depth of one’s skin; It’s a unique work of art radiating from within. So, while rivaling silver highlights and wrinkles on your face, Savor growing old – fully in God’s grace.

Photography by Helen Darcey. 43 Frontage Road 6 Hugs James Reed

It’s wondrous what a hug can do. A hug can cheer you when you’re blue. A hug can say “I love you so,” or “Gee, I hate to see you go.”

A hug can soothe a small child’s pain And bring a rainbow after rain. The Hug! There’s just no doubt about it. We could not survive without it. A hug delights and warms and charms. It must be why God gave us arms.

Hugs are great for fathers and mothers, Sweet for sisters, swell for brothers, And changes are some favorite Aunts, Love them more than potted plants.

Kittens crave them. Puppies love them, Head of state not above them. No need to fret about the story or ‘elm, The more you give, the more there are of them.

So stretch those arms without delay And give someone a hug today.

Mountain stream in Athens, Tennessee photographed by Thomas Harris. 44 Frontage Road 6 The Wilderness Christmas Connie Quinn

It was Christmas Eve, and I was on a wildlife release mission. As I topped the hill and turned off the pavement, I passed a little country church. There was a light on inside, but the parking lot was empty. In a short while, the congregation would gather there, attempting to draw closer to, and joyfully reaffirm their relationship to God.

After leaving the blacktop, the little truck rattled and bumped over the rub- board roads as each intersection led on to steadily worsening terrain. Pastures, livestock, and small modest country homes receded into the distance. When the last brightly decorated houses disappeared behind the tree line, I felt alone. Traveling deeper into the Cherokee National Forest, I stopped at a mossy trail that was invisible to the inexperienced eye.

Gently hoisting the two small pet carries and a Have-A-Heart metal trap, I walked down a long sloping ridge to the head of a marshy hollow. Except for the animal containers and transportation, this night could have been another time or place. There were no sounds of cars, no lights, no signs of humans. The air in the hollow had a presence that was brisk and misty, and the slightest night sounds were loud in the stillness.

I started along the hollow while I reviewed the late afternoon phone call. Everyone except me had already left to attend church or spend time with friends or family. The elderly man was very apologetic for calling so late on Christmas Eve, but he said that something had killed some of his chickens. His box traps had yielded three young animals, and he wanted to inquire about relocation. Knowing how few people had compassion and mercy for the wild creatures, I thanked him for his concern and hurried to his farm.

While we investigated the site, his colorful Bantams protested from their perches and cocked their heads sideways to watch us. The scene at his barn confirmed that his losses were due to a weasel. The three captives were innocent. But since the couple eeked along with nothing extra except a few eggs to sell, it seemed best to remove the three wild juveniles from the area.

“Everything’s got its place in life, and everything’s good in its own way,” the old man said in a soft wisdom-worn voice. “I’ve lived with the wild things, not against them like most folks. I’d hate to know that any harm came to them, especially on Christmas Eve. Our Lord was born in a stable, you know.”

45 Frontage Road 6 When he was assured that the three would be safely released, I loaded the trap and carriers and drove away into the deepening twilight.

I really did not mind to run the errand. I had no specific plans for the evening. As the years had progressed and family members had become specters of the past, it was difficult to find enthusiasm for the season. Happiness was for kids and merchants while the elders had ever-deepening introspection.

Turning my attention to the task at hand, I realized that it was a splendid night. The landscape was easily discernable in the soft moonlight. Trunks of deadfalls littered the ground near a small creek, and a series of rocks formed a shallow pool that looked promising for giving up minnows and crawdads. Nearby stood the remains of an old house inhabited long before the Forest Service took control of the region. Since there was shelter and food, I selected this as the first release site.

When the metal trap was opened, the coon, one of this year’s kittens, clung to the cage bottom and hid her face with her black paw. When she carefully emerged, uncertain that she was free, she reached forth and slowly patted the ground with exploring hands. She froze when her frightened eyes met mine and then bolted away in typical coon humpbacked fashion. An old oak beside the pool provided her sanctuary, and she skittered into its heights. After a quick look in my direction, she flattened herself in a fork and became a silhouette against the moonlight sky.

The possum, also a spring baby, was equally hesitant to leave the security of a closed carrier. Not wishing to scare her and being in no hurry to leave the forest, I sat on a downed tree and waited. When she finally eased out, she was a study in slow motion. After each step, she stopped to read the night; with her ears turning, her whisker and nose twitch. As she carefully walked the length a fallen tree, her fleshy thumbed hind feet grasped the trunk. The swinging of her tail from side to side accentuated her bowlegged gate as she hurried, slowly. When she stepped off the tree, the rustling of the dry leaves scared her, and she disappeared quickly into the undergrowth.

Not wishing to release two members of an ordinarily solitary species close together, I crossed the ridge with the other carrier. Above a slowly meander- ing creek, there were some small cave openings. Wondering if the second possum would find these natural shelters, I set the animal down to rest and calm and then opened the cage door.

Below there were patches of mist lying over the streams and outlining them under the shadows of the eastern hemlocks. The water whispered its allure 46 Frontage Road 6 as it flowed over rocks and tree roots. On the northern side of the creek, there was a stand of beech trees. Frost glistened on the little tan moccasin shaped leaves that still clung to their young branches.

Hearing the quivering calls of a family of screech owls, I searched the sky for movement but found nothing but the vastness of the heavens. Not even the full moon could diminish the brightness of Orion with his loyal dog Sirius. The evening star was radiant. The Milky Way was ever so vast. I felt that I stood between Earth and Heaven, being able to witness the majesty of both stretched before me. For a while I was lost in time and found myself thinking, “Peace be with you. My peace I give unto you.”

The second possum had gone without my notice.

Picking up the carrier, I retraced my path by the dark footprints on the frosty leaves.

As I drove back up the rough dirt roads, I was grateful to the old gentleman for the unexpected Christmas gift that his call had made possible. I paused at the little church and listened to the congregation singing “Joy to the World.” Their desire for Him had led them to church this night.

His wild creatures had led me to His Cathedral.

Our barn photographed by Janet Davis.

47 Frontage Road 6 Of Possums and Pumpkin Wine Connie Quinn

Poppy was both overjoyed and unsettled by the news in his sister’s letter. Carefully folding the pencil-written page, he put it in the pocket of his old woolen coat, pulled the toboggan down tightly on his head, and started down the rough dirt road toward home. It seemed that May’s husband was thinking of taking a job up in Asheville, so she had decided to pay a visit on their way up to take a look at the area. Apparently, the letter had been delayed because she was due to arrive the next day. There was little time to prepare.

As he passed by the smokehouse, he selected a nice string of fresh leather britches and a piece of ham. Early in the morning, he would pick some greens, grind corn for meal, and set sweet taters by the hearth to roast.

Scurrying up the shaky plank steps, he let the screen door slam and rattle behind him as he rushed to tell Mallie the news. He found her stoking the wood stove to cook a pot of hash and some cornbread. New cakes of rich hard butter surrounded the butter press, and quart jars of fresh milk sat ready to go to the springhouse. He was pleased to think of how much May would enjoy a real country supper. But his troubled thoughts kept going back to the one problem that was nagging at him. What was he going to do about the still?!

When he had meticulously built it in the kitchen behind the wood cook stove, he had been satisfied that it was a place safe from prying eyes. It never occurred to him that he might sometime want to hide it from his own kin. What was he going to do?!

Having been tried as a young man for killing his uncle, and later for helping to burn the first meeting place of the Church of God, he had a somewhat checkered past. The local gossips had gotten good mileage out of him, and it had been hard to live down. May honestly believed that Poppy had reformed his ways and that still would be a sore disappointment to her.

While Mallie went about fixing supper, he got a Mason jar, drew off a sample of his current run of shine, and shook it to test for quality. Instantly the clear liquid was swirling with the beads that denoted a good batch. After putting it in jars, he tossed the last few dregs toward the fire, but before they reached the flames, they exploded into bursts of blue fire and vanished. “Yes,” he thought, “this was a good run and would bring top dollar with those upstanding men in town who sneaked off and hid to have a snoot full!”

48 Frontage Road 6

The government and the holier-than-thou locals didn’t understand that making a little hooch was the difference in having money to buy a new coat and some shoes for the children or wearing rags wrapped around their feet. Times were hard for people high up in the North Carolina mountains. Equally frustrating, he thought, as he walked toward the shed, were the folks who were critics of shine but seemed to accept a little homemade wine. Very likely, they overlooked the wine because they drank it themselves!

With the Mason jars carefully hidden, he turned his attention to the pump- kins and their on-going fermentation. After lifting the cloth and removing the stem plug, he poured more sugar inside the rind. It would not be long until the pumpkin was dissolved and ready to bottle and age. Big Boy, the pet possum, waddled over to sniff the air and see if Poppy had something for him and was rewarded with a ride on Poppy’s shoulder down to the springhouse where they both enjoyed a ripe apple. Poppy had rescued and raised many such orphaned possums through the years, releasing them outside the back door when they were ready to fend for themselves. Thus, he had many nightly visitors who came inside at the cat hole. Neither was it uncommon to find possums gone to bed somewhere in the house. Mallie, knowing Poppy’s love and understanding of nature, accepted his Cherokee belief of all creatures as his fellow brothers and sisters in life’s journey.

Poppy’s musings were disturbed when Mallie pulled the cord at the back door of the house, clanging the bell at the springhouse. It was time to eat! The steaming hash and cornbread buffered them against the cold in the old creaking house. After supper, they straightened the house by the dim light of kerosene lanterns. There was really not much to tidy up because they did not have many possessions. They talked about the still, wondering what they would do. It seemed that the best they could do was to keep May out of the kitchen.

The fateful morning arrived. Poppy hung quilts on the clothesline behind the house in an attempt to hide the still’s smoke hole and hoped for the best. Mallie had cooked the leather britches, ham, greens, cornbread, and set out the fresh butter and milk. Dinnertime came and went. Finally, May arrived at 3:00 o’clock.

Poppy hurried out, met her at the edge of the road, and gave her a bone- creaking bearhug. Pausing on the old wooden footbridge, they looked for minnows and watched the creek rush around the mossy rocks. Arm in arm they passed beneath a brightly colored canopy of hickory trees that lined the old pathway. Laughing and kicking at leaves, May picked up and peeled some walnuts from the tree that Poppy had always liked to climb and sit in when he wanted aggravate Mallie. 49 Frontage Road 6

Supper was soon ready, and May explained that she was sorry to eat and rush off, but the car had broken down outside Chattanooga, and they wanted to get on to Asheville in case they had more trouble. Being hungry for country cooking, May helped herself to the vittles, all the while listening to stories about Poppy and his animals. “On cold mornings,” Mallie said, “we can be assured of finding possums in the bed covers. He loves every kind of animal wild or tame. And he’s doctored everybody’s stock in the settlement.”

When she finished eating, Poppy brought a cup of the pumpkin wine for May to taste: “But, you’re not moonshining are you, Brother?”

Poppy tried to look innocent: “Oh, you should have seen the pumpkins we raised this year! Some must have weighted fifth pounds, and most all flesh. Made some of the finest wine I’ve ever had! I’ll get some for you to take with you,” he said, as he hurried from the room to discourage May from going with him to the kitchen.

When Poppy came back, Big Boy was riding on his shoulder, the scaly tail curled around Poppy’s neck. In his right hand was a big Mason jar of pumpkin wine that Big Boy was straining to grab. “See, even he knows good wine,” Poppy laughed.

Amid tears of farewell, May accepted the wine, a poke fill of shuck beans, and a few late tomatoes. She pined at the distance between them. Poppy walked her to the car where there were much hugging and tear drying. When she finally got situated, the car pulled away as Poppy called out, “Come again, one and all.”

After watching the car disappear down the hollow, Poppy turned slowly toward the house. He was happy to have seen May, sad that their time together was so short, but relieved that she had not seen anything of the still. By the time he and Mallie picked up the table and washed the dishes with the last of the hot water from the stovetop, it was dark, and they were both worn out. The night sky was moonlit, deep, and starry. With no breeze stirring, the rapidly dropping temperature promised a hard freeze. Since there was no electricity in the mountains at that time, Poppy always let the fire die down until the wood was glowing red logs of hot ash, and then he banked the fire by covering it with white, dusty, burned-out ashes. Meanwhile, Mallie took the little clothes irons from the hearth and wrapped them in flour sacks to put in the bed to help warm their feet. Then, with Mallie in her long wool flannel gown, and Poppy in his long handles, they settled down to warm and rest.

Sometime in the early morning hours, Poppy was awakened by the movement of some of Big Boy’s children under the mounds of quilts and blankets. He 50 Frontage Road 6 pulled his wool toboggan over his ears and watched his breath in the cold stillness. Poppy thought of how grateful he was that May had visited and that he had escaped her wrath for his impropriety. Then, right beside the bed there was a soft “clunk” and some rapid smacking sounds. Big Boy had turned over the jar of pumpkin wine and was having a snort.

With an impish smile of boy-like satisfaction, he drifted off to sleep mutter- ing, “What May don’t know won’t hurt her!”

Scenic view from Cherohala Skyway photographed by Tangie Swanson.

51 Frontage Road 6 A Man Who Can Do It All Brandon Grant

A MAN WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING, A MAN WHO CAN DO IT ALL, HE KNOWS YOUR DARK LITTLE SECRETS, ALL YOUR LITTLE BITTY LIES, THEY ARE ALL THE SAME IN HIS EYES. MURDER, THIEVERY, A LITTLE WHITE LIE, WE SINNED AGAINST HIM AND SENT HIM TO DIE. A WORD FROM HIS MOUTH COULD HAVE DESTROYED US ALL, BUT YET HE DIED ON THAT CRUEL TREE FOR A MORTAL MAN LIKE YOU AND ME. IF YOU ARE IN TROUBLE, HE WILL PULL YOU THROUGH. EVERYTHING THIS MAN CAN DO, BUT YET WE CURSE HIM AND MAKE FUN, NEVER SPEAKING OF THE WORKS HE HAS DONE. WE LIE DOWN AT NIGHT AND PRAY FOR OURSELVES BUT NOT FOR OUR NEIGHBOR OR ANYONE ELSE. A MAN LIKE THIS SHOULD BE FAMOUS THROUGH ALL THE LAND, BUT HE IS SCORNED AGAIN AND AGAIN. ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER SIN, BUT WAIT, THIS TIME IT IS THE END. HE HAS HAD ENOUGH; HE IS COMING BACK. IT IS TOO LATE FOR YOU, JACK. YOU NEVER SOUGHT FORGIVENESS OR SALVATION, MULTITUDES LIKE THIS THROUGHOUT THIS NATION. YOUR HOME IS HELL FIRE, THE DEVIL YOUR FRIEND. FOR ETERNITY THERE IS NO END. FOR THOSE WHO SOUGHT HIM, YOUR HOME IS HEAVEN. YOUR ETERNAL SALVATION, THERE IS NO QUESTION. THE MAN WHO YOU CAN SPREAD THROUGH THE LAND, TELLING THE MAN HEALED THE SICK AND ILL. YOU LIVED YOUR LIFE BY HIS WONDERFUL BOOK. EVERY PASSAGE FROM IT YOU TOOK, APPLIED IT TO YOUR HEART AND LIFE. A MAN WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING, A MAN WHO CAN DO IT ALL, NO, IT IS NOT JOHN, PETER, OR PAUL. IT IS THE MAN WHO GAVE IT ALL ON A HILL CALLED CALVARY, DIED FOR POOR LOST SINNERS LIKE YOU AND ME. HIS NAME IS JESUS. 52 Frontage Road 6

HE IS THE SON OF GOD. BELIEVE IN HIM AND GREAT WILL BE YOUR REWARD. WHAT YOU DO TO OTHERS YOU GET IN RETURN. DO NOT ACCEPT HIM, AND YOU WILL BURN. A LAKE OF FIRE WILL BE YOUR HOME. THE REST IS UP TO YOU; I HAVE DONE MY PART. NOW PLEASE ACCEPT JESUS INTO YOUR HEART. A GOD OF ALL COMFORT SPEAKS PEACE TO YOUR SOUL. PLEASE TELL ME YOUR NAME WILL BE ON THE ROLL.

Highest top of the Himalyan mountains in India photographed by Harsh Patel.

53 Frontage Road 6 Full Circle A poem by Seeker

A day in the life of routine, Such courtesy we give to one thing. It takes our thoughts and our passion. It wraps us up in the latest fashion. A day in the life of that job, Turn on yourself and walk with the mob. Did I hear you say this is all you are? Trade love for money to buy a new car? Happiness doesn’t have to be a dream, Certainly not found in any machine. Take a step back and turn around. Look where you once were; you’ve lost so much ground. Service or Good...which is your pleasure? Or do you prefer riches to measure? Experience is one of life’s trickiest things. Such time it takes to grow wisdom wings. By the end of the lesson, you’ll be wanting to fly. At the end of your life, you’ll know the answers to why. The truthful answer cannot be purchased or bought. There is no corruption or greed in simple thought.

Hotel in Bahamas photographed by Tonya Caldwell.

54 Frontage Road 6 The Drama Queen and the Orator Jean McCants Crockett

I’d always wanted children. It was my husband who’d not really cared much about whether we had kids. I’d been the one, I’d been adamant, so I probably deserved my life’s sentence.

No, actually, I adore my kids. It’s just that some days it would be nice not to have to face turmoil and upheaval. That’s all I ask. It’s not that much to request, is it? No, I didn’t think so either.

But our God is a great God, full of compassion yet evidently possessing a penchant for irony. I mean, I was a good, good child. I was not a pain; in fact, I was probably sickeningly too sweet. Part of that was possibly due to my weight problem (i.e., wanting acceptance that way), part of it natural disposition, part of it the fact that I was the only girl in a family with three boys—do I have any “parts” left? Anyway, I did not deserve problem children.

And if I were to be honest, they are not truly “problem” children— just bitchy teenagers. For example, with my daughter, life is a constant sea of thunderous waves and stormy winds. Each day brings a new earth- shattering challenge or problem or . . . yes, drama. If it isn’t her boyfriend’s troubles, or his friends’ rudeness, or his family’s woes, then it’s her own apartment’s flooding, or her puppy’s potty-training puddles, or her boss’s demands, or her best friend’s sudden snappishness, or her instructor’s unfair expectations. There is no end to her world turning upside-down or inside- out. Life is never sublime, dull, or calm. Life for my daughter is one vast, fast-paced tumult.

Then there’s my smart-alecky, silver-tongued son whose goal in life seems to be to never not get in the last word, no matter what the topic. Brilliant in school and on standardized tests, he challenges us with philo- sophical and religious quandaries amidst a life of the average teenager’s mood swings. Unlike his sister who tells us every single thing about her life, he knows better: he’s watched us get “bent out of shape” over her dilemma- driven psyche, so his resolution is to tell us as little as possible about his real life experiences. But arguing a point is still his “joie de vivre.”

So I wanted children, and God blessed me with them. Possibly because of, as well as in spite of, all the heart-rending challenges they offer my husband and me, I feel truly thankful for these unique people who ensure that my life is never ever boring. Never. Ever.

55 Frontage Road 6 Blue Sky James Lawson

The Sky was bright and clear, with a gentle breeze of optimism blowing freely through Her air. A radiant blue She emitted, evoking warmth and happiness. Then from the south the clouds began to gather, grayish white then turning black as coal. The once gentle breeze growing formidable and turbulent. The rain came as a few drops, then growing steadily to an unceasing torrent. The winds wailed, and water poured from the sky. And then almost immediately ceased. The winds began to calm, and the Sky exhausted herself of rain. A thick heavy fog was left in the storm’s wake, blurring the beauty and serenity of the Sky. But the Sun peaked through the clouds and the mist, and the Sky responded with a glimmer of blue. And the warmth began to reappear, for the Sun and Sky were one.

Fort Myers Beach, Florida photographed by Anita Coffey.

56 Frontage Road 6 Coming Home James Lawson

Bobby is coming home today. Ms. Eller spent the last three weeks fixing up his old room, taking care to leave everything in place just as it was on the day he set off to do his duty for God and country. She took great care when dusting around the model cars, so as not to knock them off the window ledge where they rested. The bookshelf, which filled the corner of the room, was polished and each book dusted and placed in its own designated section. Bobby sure was an avid reader, not comics or spy novels but good books, the classics as he liked to call them. After graduation he planned to attend college and wanted to be a playwright, or a novelist, and he had the grades to do it. Why, the town just knew he was gonna make something of himself. “He’ll do his mom real proud,” they used to say. Of course, guess he always did, I mean after his daddy died and all, and that was terrible in itself. I mean Bobby became the man around the farm. Fences to mend, hay to be bailed and of course livestock to be sold, the work never stopped. They did have Bucky Wilson to help out, and even though he wasn’t very bright, he was strong as an ox and a faithful friend to Bobby’s mom and dad. So when Bobby got his letter that Uncle Sam wanted him to go off and fight for his country, Bobby knew his mom would be okay. Then, there was Tammy, Bobby’s sweetheart since the eighth grade. She would come over on Saturday afternoons, and she and Bobby would walk down to the creek and study or go “fishing.” They used to do a lot of “fishing” together. She would be coming over tonight for dinner. The phone rang. Startled by the noise breaking the still silence, Bobby’s mother dropped the picture of Bobby and his dad against the hardwood floor, shattering the glass into shards of various sizes. Stunned, she glanced back at the picture as she ran down the steps to answer the phone. “Hello,” she said somewhat irritated and out of breathe. “Well Eunice, has that boy of yours gotten home yet?” “No Betty; he hasn’t.” Betty and Ms. Eller grew up together, and she was Bobby’s godmother. Since Bobby had no aunts or uncles, her family was the closest thing he had to relatives. “Well, I thought you might be making one of your big dinners tonight, and I know you didn’t have time to think about dessert, so I made a peach cobbler. I know it’s his favorite.” Ms. Eller knew that this was a request for an invitation to dinner; which when given, would be turned down, but when the dessert was delivered, the invitation would be accepted. “Well, why don’t you come over and stay for dinner with us. It’ll be me, Bobby, and Tammy.” “Oh, Eunice, I don’t want to intrude,” said 57 Frontage Road 6 Betty as she took another puff of her cigarette. “Bobby’s coming home, and ya’ll need to catch up. Lord knows, you haven’t seen him in two years.” “Speaking of the Lord,” Betty paused momentarily, “will he be at church with you this Sunday?” “Yes, he will,” Ms. Eller, said adamantly, with one hand on her hip. “Oh well, I thought he might have changed some with being in the Army and all.” “I tell you what,” Betty said feeling somewhat embarrassed and afraid she stepped on a nerve, “I’ll pick up some ice cream on my way over to go with the cobbler, so don’t you worry; everything’s gonna be fine.” “I’ll see you at five thirty.” The phone clicked, and Ms. Eller smiled as she hung up the receiver. Betty was probably now trying to find her nicest dress to wear. “Oh my, I almost forgot,” she said to herself as she went back upstairs to the coat closet. She pulled out Bobby’s favorite sport coat. He would want to wear this on Sunday. “He’s probably filled out quite a bit,” she thought. “Maybe he can leave it unbuttoned.” She fanned the coat in the air to break the smell of musk and mothballs. As she descended the stairs, the jacket snagged on a protrusion of wood, ripping through the fabric. A moment of panic engulfed her as she let out a gasp frantically examining the tear. It was along the seam. A minor inconvenience, but this could be fixed. As she sat at her sowing machine stitching the tear, her thoughts drifted back to her Bobby, his first birthday, his first day of school, the night she stayed up with him when his temperature was one hundred and four, his first date, his high school graduation. The doorbell rang. “Who could that be?” she thought. The jacket was finished, so she sat it down; walking down the hall, she could make out the silhouette of a tall man at the door. As she opened the door, she could tell it was Bucky. “Hey there,” she said cheer- fully. “What brings you out? I thought you and your wife were goin into town?” “I’m sorry, Ms. Eller,” Bucky said bashfully, “but Sarah went up to see her mom. I don’t think she’s doin’ too good, and so I thought I’d come back and work on the tractor some more. Plus, it would be good to see Bobby again.” They grinned simultaneously as Bucky tipped his soiled hat and walked down the wooden steps and headed toward the barn. She offered to have Bucky pick him up at the train station, but Bobby insisted that he would catch a ride. He was so independent. She remembered when his dad offered to drive him to school, but Bobby said he wanted to walk. It gave him “time to think,” he would say. Supper would be ready soon. Fresh baked ham with potato salad and fried squash, and let’s not forget Betty and her peach cobbler. She opened the cabinet and got down his favorite ice tea glass. As she placed it on the counter, she noticed a small chip around the top of the rim. In his letters home, he mentioned this glass several times preferring it over the metal canteen he has used for the past two years. How was it he put it, oh yes, “ the pricelessness of simplic- ity” that he cherished and missed. Yes, her boy was coming home.

58 Frontage Road 6

She sat down at the kitchen table, both remembering past meals and fantasizing about future family gatherings when she thought she heard the faint sound of a car turning up the long drive. She jumped from the table and ran through the screen door and onto the porch. Yes, it was a car, a dark colored sedan but hard to make out from the cloud of dust. Her heart began to pound, and she felt weak. “Bucky!” she yelled and pointed toward the drive. Bucky looked up and started to quickly walk toward the house. The car slowly made its way up the long drive kicking up a cloud of dust, concealing everything behind it. She could make out the silhouette of two men in the car. Her heart continued to pound, and her hands began to shake. The car slowly came to a halt, and the two men stepped out.

* The story may appear to end abruptly, and that’s the way it’s sup- posed to be. This was written for the reader to decide the ending.

Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, California photographed by Brandie Price.

59 Frontage Road 6 Human/Nature James Lawson

I walk towards the rocky shore, as the dried weathered leaves crackle under my feet. It seems as if no man has been here before, Mother Nature pure and complete.

The feel of the water is crisp and cold, but as refreshing as a summer rain. I resume my journey but soon take hold, to observe a watchful crane.

Soon the silence is broken by a crow, who finds rest on a fallen tree. A mother duck with hers in a row, now isn’t this how life is supposed to be?

As I walk, I curiously look around, careful to take note of what I see. A carpet of pine needles cover the ground as I come across a barren oak tree.

Her limbs outstretched and standing tall, asleep for the winter’s night. And until she awakens for spring, summer, and fall, she’ll keep her tenants out of sight.

I cannot believe I found this place, so calm, so peaceful, so clean. Do I deserve to be in such a state of grace, where everything is pure, and lovely, and serene?

I suddenly stop as I look around, while by myself I’m not alone. For the quiet I hear is nature’s sound, and realize I’m walking through another’s home.

It’s home to the fish and the water fowl, and even dwellings for the smallest ant. Where squirrels, and chipmunks, and raccoons prowl, and wait! What is this? Off in the distance are cooling towers, of a Nuclear Power Plant. 60 Frontage Road 6

Southern Stories True and Tall: An Elegy to Southern Writers James Lawson

From humble beginnings or privileged lives Our Southern writers have allowed us to dream or fantasize. To forget our troubles or worries for a while a laugh, a cry, or just a little smile. There’s Uncle Remus or Mr. Harris if you choose, and the story of Brer Fox and Brer Rabbit and who outsmarted who. Mr. Twain gave us Huckleberry and Tom, who sailed the Mississippi on a raft of logs. Or who could forget Calavaris County, and those amazing Jumping Frogs? Eudora Welty gave us the Golden Apples and a Delta Wedding, then there’s The Sound and the Fury and Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, for a darker setting. As canvas is to paint, our mind is to your text. With each page and each chapter, not knowing what will be next. We see love mixed with war and how the human spirit will not bend, as depicted in Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind. When life has you down, or caught in its muck and mire, have Breakfast at Tiffany’s with Truman or take a ride with Tennessee on A Streetcar Named Desire. So when you and Walker Percy are Going Back to Georgia, and Mr. Wolfe says The Hills Beyond are now in sight, remember what Lewis Grizzard said that Chili Dawgs Always Bark at Night. And remember my friends that in the South, whether it be true, or it be TALL , they’ve always got a story to tell you all. 61 Frontage Road 6 Night’s Huntress: A Little Riddle Kayla Partain

Most people see me as Nothing but normal, but They do not know that Part of me that revels in The chase and loves to Rip apart flesh and feel The spurt of warm blood In my fanged mouth. Nor do they see the gleam Of wisdom in my eyes, for I Am as old as Churches and Love to hunt at night.

Answer: A Vampire

Drawing by Ashley Coffey. 62 Frontage Road 6 Beneath the Moon Jada Dachelle Davis

As I look At the evening sky, I dream of a day When in your arms I shall lie. Seeing the glisten Of the moon, Makes me hope That day is soon. Being apart Night and day, In your arms I want to stay. Walking beneath The moon’s bright beams, I think of all Those special dreams. One day those dreams Will become realities, Together a life of love We will see. Then the sky Is filled with stars, Right in front of me There you are. My knight in shining armor There to take me away, To ride off into A brighter day. Somewhere beneath The same dark sky. The moon is shining On my special guy. The two of us separate But not apart, For we hold a place In the other’s heart.

63 Frontage Road 6 Meant to Be Jada Dachelle Davis

I lie awake dreaming, Of having you in my arms. Hoping one day you will see, Loving me will do no harm. I feel as if the world has ended, As I sit alone crying. On the outside I seem fine, But on the inside I am dying. A heart once locked to the world, Until you came holding the key. You are the only one to see, Being mean and hurtful is not truly me. The love we have is so special, No one could even understand. I will wait a lifetime to present My heart to that special man. My love runs deeper than can be imagined, It will last through all eternity. Then at last that day arrives, You and I, the way it is meant to be.

Photography by James Lawson.

64 Frontage Road 6 Nothing to Fear Jada Dachelle Davis

I close my eyes, Snuggle up all nice and tight. God’s love reassures me, His angels are in flight. Wrapped up with a bow, Marked “This is very fragile!” God sent you my love, On the wings of angels. I swore to myself, I would never love again. Then God sent his angels, With a message of a special man. Feeling I had nothing to lose, I opened my heart’s door. Now I have everything, And so much more. Thank you, God, for the angels, And for sending me someone dear. Thank you for telling me, “You have nothing to fear.”

Hunnington Beach, California photographed by Heather Haney.

65 Frontage Road 6 So Far Away Jada Dachelle Davis

As I watch you drive off into the sun, I know I will see you when school is done. Being with you for hours at a time, Holding the one thing I hope is mine. I remember the first time you took me to the races, And seeing all those unfamiliar faces. There have been so many special occasions, But the most memorable ones were prom and graduation. I miss the times when we would spend Hours at the races on the weekends. There are so many memories to tell, Of how far in love that I fell. Dating my best friend I thought unlikely, Until the feelings appeared, oh so slightly. The feelings grew until I could no longer deny The way I felt for you inside. Now today you are so far away, Driving three hours for us to spend a few days. Occasional weekends and lots of letters Help to make this distance better. We endure this time apart, For time is said to be good for the heart. My parents and I don’t seemed to agree, With you is where I’d rather be. My education can be obtained, At UNC where I had once dreamed. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. This, one day, my parents will see. But for now I shall stay, In this small town, so far away.

66 Frontage Road 6 They Are Mine Jada Dachelle Davis

I see kids playing all around, And angels are walking the grounds. Gates in purest white, And streets of gold are all in sight.

The angel band plays, Songs so sweet and gay. Flowers that smell so sweet, With enough food for all to eat.

Jesus sits at the right hand of God, Everyone is happy; there are no sobs. Everything is such a sight, In a land where there is no night.

Mansions for miles at end, In this land there is no sin. The pearly gates are opened wide, With a glassy river to the side.

From the book of life sins are erased, Heaven is truly a wonderful place. Yet still at the judgment, entrance is denied. Those who accepted Jesus, God says, “They are mine!”

67 Frontage Road 6 Best Friends A poem for Raechelle Amanda Swafford

Through the years, boyfriends will come and go. Through the years, we’ll slip away from some people we Love the most. But through it all, we’ll remain Best Friends. Years from now—miles apart. Years from now— college days gone. Years from now—our friendship will remain strong. We’ll survive marriages, having real jobs, and babies. We’ll survive moving away and making it on our own—maybe. But our friendship will suffice even if we can’t see each other every day. Years will pass and the phone calls will become few. We’ll write less and not be able to make it for Christmas Dinner, as we had planned to do. But we’ll be thinking of each other, because that’s what Best Friends do. If you get lost in the fast pace of everyday life, just remember you can always pick up the phone and call me, because for you I’d drop it all and be there. You’re my Best Friend—more like a sister. No argument could ever come between us. You know in me— you can always trust. If some day you should feel alone—it seems like your husband doesn’t understand and your children have all gone. Just say a little prayer to wish the pain away, and if all else fails just whisper my name. No matter how far away I may be. I know I’ll still hear it. Because you are my Best Friend and our bond is that strong. Soon, we’ll grow old and begin to forget. But if we forget everything else—let’s promise to never forget what our friendship means. Remember that we went through break ups, rumors, and fights. Remember we witnessed each other’s wrongs and rights. We share high school memories—good and bad—and who was the one we always called crying to at night? Remember all the laughter and, yes, even the tears. Promise not to forget through the years. One day our lives will come to an end. If I go first, I hope you know how much you meant to me, and I hope you know you were my Best Friend. If you should go first—don’t be sad, because you will be with me forever. Everyone will know you were the Best Friend I ever had. Through this and so much more—you will remain my friend. Our friendship will surely make it, because you and I will be Best Friends till the end.

Kittens photographed by Lynda Casteel. 68 Frontage Road 6 Foreign Land Amanda Swafford

I hear the fear that you’re always talking about. I feel the tears that try to fall. So, just take me by the hand. Please, run away with me to a foreign land.

Pain is a miserable kind of friend. They like to take you in— Play with you a while. But, in the end, they leave you in denial. Don’t fear the darkness. Don’t turn away from pleasure. Just close your eyes now. Stay forever! I want you to take my hand. I beg you to run away with me to a foreign land.

Don’t regret the feelings. Don’t let yourself forget. I have no painful memories. Not a word of confusion on my lips. Try to remember with me— Please don’t let your heart forget. Baby, give me your hand. I promise I’ll stay with you in that foreign land.

I’ll never falter. I’ll never stray. I’ll be with you forever. By your side I’ll stay. But first you have to tell me the truth. Not one lie... Don’t speak another’s name. Don’t make me cry. Love me just the same. Take me by my hand. Take me away to that foreign land.

Hold my hand. We’ll live forever in that foreign land.

69 Frontage Road 6 I’ll be by your side forever. I promise I’ll never leave. My word, Baby, you can always believe. But you have to take me by the hand. Look past the fog of tomorrow mornin’. That’s where you’ll find me. So, take my hand— Take it in yours. Because I’d live forever in that foreign land with you.

Drawing by Charity Jacquez. 70 Frontage Road 6 The Patient Amanda Swafford

I went mad they tell me. They swear I went insane. They denied the help I needed. Refused to hear your name. Then one day they just locked me up. A forgotten girl. Hey! No more problem.

You’re always with me. Like the air that helps me breath. You come to me every night in my sweetest of dreams. The touch of your hand conveys the Love you have for me. The look in your eyes means I’m the only one they see. The way you hold me: Oh, so tenderly! You know me.

Then the walls came crashing down. You called to say good-bye. In that moment, I wanted to die. Every night I cried. So many teardrops fell from my eyes.

Eventually I went mad. I guess I’m insane. They locked me up— Oh, how sad! They do nothing for me here. They only ignore my pain. It’s just like them to refuse to listen to the sound of your name. My lips are told not to speak of you. My heart cries out every night. I need you here, here by my side.

I cry so much it hurts my eyes. I scream, but the sound falls upon deaf ears. I’ve been locked away for so long it feels as if I’ve been here for a hundred years. I wish upon the twinklin’ star. I dream of running away with you. Going away really far.

71 Frontage Road 6

I talk to who ever will listen. If they will hear my words, I speak. I wait for them to release me. I wait so patiently. I need to be with you. I need to right our wrong. I haven’t seen you in all of eternity. Oh, God, it’s been too long.

They say I went mad. They say that what I want is really bad. I don’t believe they comprehend the depth of my need. They don’t want to face the truth. They hide from reality. So, I’m the insane one, huh? I’m the one who has no sense? I know what I want. I know this isn’t where I’m meant.

They give me shots. They try to keep me asleep. I’m no longer as alert as I used to be. I’m slowly losing grip here. I’m slowly letting go. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to give up hope.

They come now with a needle. They say it’s time for another dose. I don’t want their medicine. I kick and scream. I scratch at their eyes. They say to relax. They tell me to let go of that ghost that haunts me inside.

They succeed in their venture. They administer the shot. And now I am talking crazy, they say, to a woman dressed in white.

72 Frontage Road 6 Becoming Mrs. Hardy Amanda Swafford

The cell was cold, despite the unseasonable heat that was pounding down on the small town I once called home. It was April, I think. At least, that was the last month I remember hearing when a group of boys, not much younger than me, ran past my barred window shouting: “April twenty-third.” Whatever that meant. I couldn’t make out much more because their voices had gotten lost in the noises of town life. Now, I set on a cot. All alone. A sawdust floor beneath my bare feet. I hadn’t cried since the trial. I couldn’t bring myself to cry. I had nothing more to cry for. They had burnt my home, killed my baby, my husband, my mother, and my cousin Lacey. Everything was gone; only I survived. So now... I would die. Alone. For witchcraft. A crime I had not committed. It hadn’t been my fault that the Judge’s niece had come down with a fever. I barely knew the child. I was eighteen, married and happy. What reasons would I have for cursing a nine-year old girl? The townspeople knew me. That was the scary part. They knew I believed in God. They knew I was a Christian. They knew I despised black magic. But none of that mattered now. All that mattered now was that someone had to pay for the death of a nine-year old girl. As if that weren’t enough, they even tried to say I put them in a trance and forced them to murder my family. My husband, my daughter, my mother, and my cousin... I set on a bench in the front of the town Church. The same Church I had attended since I was born. The same Church that I had once called every member in it, “friend.” The Judge, the jury, and the townspeople all stared back at me as if I were some heartless murderer. No one defended me. I defended myself. Three days prior to the trial, Mr. Duncan—the lawyer for the girl’s family—came to my cell. He had known me for some time. He knew my mother, my husband, even my father. He had even come to my house and ate supper with us a few times. He had done as many of the people in the Church that day had done. He used to be my friend. “Constance, how long have I known you?” he asked sitting down before me. He seemed distracted. Or maybe he was just uncomfortable. “Five years, Mr. Duncan,” I answered, not meeting his eyes. “Five years,” he repeated. “That’s a long time.” Where was he going with this? I wanted to scream at him how much I hated him—hated these people who turned on me. They had been my friends, but now they were my enemies. “I know you’re scared, Constance. I mean, I would be too, but it’s 73 Frontage Road 6 only gonna get scarier if you don’t listen to me. All you have to do is confess. Confess to being a witch. To practicing the craft, and to murdering your family and the Murphy girl. It’s that simple. You’ll be free then.” “Free?” I demanded. “Confess to murder? To being a witch? To burning my family alive? To something I didn’t do? You weren’t there, Mr. Duncan. You didn’t hear their voices. You didn’t hear Isabella screaming.” Those screams would haunt me forever... It had been a long March day. Patrick had been out in the field working. Ma and Lacey had been busy baking a cake for Isabella’s birthday party. It was March 15th, I remember, because March 16th was Isabella’s first birthday. I had been working on a dress for her. A special dress—I was sewing it myself. I had to finish it before her party, so all day I had been working extra hard on it. It was so clear now. Patrick had come home at five o’clock, and we had gone in for supper. By seven, Isabella had fallen asleep, so I took her up to her crib. Not long after Isabella was put down, Lacey fell asleep too on the couch. Ma, Patrick, and myself sat at the table talking and drinking coffee. We talked about a lot of stuff that night. Stuff that had gotten jumbled up in my brain. Stuff at the time that meant so much to us, but now... Now, it didn’t matter all that much. By nine o’clock, they were all dead. I don’t even recall how I escaped myself. Barely, I know. I had almost suffocated, but somehow— miraculously—I had found my way to the door and gotten out. I thought Patrick, Isabella, Ma, and Lacey were behind me because the last thing I remember Patrick saying was, “Constance, I love you. Go ahead, save yourself. I’ll bring Bella, Mother, and Lacey with me. Go!” He kissed me then. When I pulled away I saw the look in his eyes. Those beautiful hazel eyes that never lied to me. “GO!” he had commanded. Not hesitating, I turned and ran blindly through the fire toward the door that led outside. Once outside, I hit a mob of people, gasping for air— strangling from the smoke I had inhaled. I screamed to them: “Save them! My mother, my husband, my baby; Lacey—they’re in there! What is wrong with you people?! Can’t you hear me? My family is dying in there!” No one seemed to hear me. They just stared at me as if I were mad. Then I heard, over their own cruel shouts of accusations, my baby’s cries. The fire hadn’t found her yet. She cried out for me, but I couldn’t save her. I fell to my knees sobbing. “Get her!” I heard a booming voice, I was almost certain I recog- nized, command. “Get the witch!” “NO!” I cried as a group of men grabbed my arms and pinned me down. “No! You have to save them. Help them—PLEASE!!!” 74 Frontage Road 6

I kicked at the men as they held me down. I kicked and scratched and screamed until I couldn’t move anymore. My tears flowing down my face in anger—frustration. The dust from the dirt-gravel road all over my dress, my face, and in my hair and eyes. It stung my eyes so bad, but I kept fighting. I struggled against their weight until all strength left my body. It didn’t matter much; no one listened to me. They just drug me down the graveled road toward the jail all the while chanting: “Burn! Burn! Burn!” Mr. Duncan left me. He shook his head as he turned and walked out of the room. He wanted me to confess. To lie. He wanted me to die in shame. I would much rather die knowing the truth than die saying, “Yes, I am a witch and murdered my family.” The Judge pounded his gravel before saying, “Constance Hardy, how do you plead to the accusation of practicing witch-craft and by doing so in the process killing your family and a young girl?” I set on the bench, my hands clasped before me on my lap holding a locket firmly. It held a picture of Isabella and Patrick. It was the only thing that kept me strong. Kept me sane. “I plead... Not guilty, your Honor.” Everyone gasped at the sound of my decision. “Order! Order!” The Judge shouted over the noise. A deafening eerie hush fell on the onlookers. “Do you realize, Mrs. Hardy, that you have just signed your own death certificate?” “I would much rather die knowing I committed no crime, than die in a punishable lie.” Yet again, another gasp. “Fine. If you do not confess, I have no other choice but to ask the jury their verdict and I think we both know what that will be. So... I ask you again: Mrs. Hardy, do you confess to the deaths of Eliza Murphy, Patrick Hardy, Isabella Hardy, Grace Carter, and Lacey Carter? Do you confess to practicing Black Magic freely—willingly?” I stood in the Church staring directly at the Judge. He stared back at me. A man who didn’t care one way or another. He enjoyed this witch-hunt. “No. I do not.” Another gasp. Everyone murmured their bewilderment around me. I stood in silence. I waited. “Order! Order!” The Judge demanded. Everyone fell to deathly silence. “Does the jury have a verdict?” A man stood up, but without him saying it, I knew the answer. “A hanging.” I only cried after that. For about three days. By the third day, I figured what was the point? Looking back now I see that it was inevitable, almost from the start. But the days were growing shorter. Now, I just waited for the door to open. 75 Frontage Road 6 On this day it opened. Around noon. A man stood with a rope in the doorway. He just stared at me as if I were nothing. Not even human. Not a woman at all. “It’s time,” he told me. I stood up. Being careful not to show my fear one bit, I walked toward the door. He slipped the noose around my neck, and the cuffs about my wrists then, without a word, he led me toward the hall. Outside the sun pounded down on my face, it was stifling. The townspeople shouted, “Witch! Die, Witch, die!” as I passed them staring straight ahead. The man walked in slow silence before me, leading me toward the tree. Toward my salvation. I walked up on the platform and stared out at familiar faces as they tied the rope end to a branch. This was it. As I stared out at the crowd the man turned to me and asked, “Any final words, Mrs. Hardy?” I took a deep breath, inhaling the dusty muggy hot air around me. “You have made a terrible mistake!” I shouted. “ You will burn in Hell for this!” Then the rope tightened about my neck. Choking me, but not before the plank slipped out from under me and my legs dangled in mid air in disgust. Darkness surrounded me. Silence. The voices faded as a shimmer- ing light flashed before my eyes. My whole body ached, especially my lungs. For a split second, I felt a sharp pain in my neck, a loud snap, but then... Then all pain was gone. Nothingness was all I had left. No sounds. No voices. No heartbeat. Only death... Constance Carter opened her eyes and jumped up in horror. Breath- ing, but barely—more of a gasping ache of a breath came out. She cut her gray eyes around her bedroom unsurely. When had she fallen asleep? What a horrible dream. She could almost feel the noose still around her neck. Sitting up, catching her breath, she tried to remember when she had fallen asleep. As she tried to recall, Constance heard her bedroom door open. She looked up, still in a daze, and tried to make out who was in the doorway. It was her mother. Grace Carter smiled at her. “Good mornin’, Connie. You’reawake.” Constance nodded still caught up in her dream. “I guess so.” “Well, it’s about time. You have a big day ahead of you. You have to be up and dressed before ten. Your wedding is in a few hours,” her mother reminded her. “Wedding?” Constance asked confused more now than ever. Wasn’t she...?

76 Frontage Road 6

Her mother walked over to the side of her bed and stared down at her young daughter. “Are you sick, Connie? Don’t you remember? How long have you been asleep?” Before Constance could answer, her mother continued. “You and Patrick are to be married today at two. You are to become Mrs. Patrick Hardy today.” But? How could she have forgotten something that important? The dream. Constance stared up at her mother’s smiling face. The dream. It made perfect sense now. She was to become Mrs. Patrick Hardy today. It was inevitable.

THE END

Drawing by Amy Rose. 77 Frontage Road 6 Through the Darkness Amanda Swafford

Twilight sets & Twilight fades, through the darkness I see your face. Midnight sun & April rain, I feel your presence always the same. Hummingbird calls & treeless valleys, through it all I see you there. Ocean scenes & rainbows bright, descending Eagles take a flight. Loving you may be fate, but sometimes not even that is right. Heart shaped poems & tear jerker songs. You promised you wouldn’t be gone so long. Kamikaze kaleidoscope lifting me up, so far apart, yet you’re the one I love. Memories flash; pictures scattered on the floor. I’ve never begged & I never will!!! Nature takes on a beauty of itself; Geese & Ducks take their flight. Spring fades & Winter becomes anew; leaves fall as they often do. Tumbling down a hill—afraid of nothing, as a little child would do. A new chapter of life—our paths are forever intertwined. Laughing at meaningless jokes; rolling our eyes. Now we’ve come to the end of adolescence; it’s time to say good-bye. But when Twilight sets & Twilight fades, through the darkness, I know, I’ll see your face.

Bald River Falls in Tellico Plains, Tennessee photographed by Christy Rogers.

78 Frontage Road 6 Western Union Jennifer Gregory

Western Union came to call today, On everybody’s favorite neighbor, Mrs. O’Shay. She didn’t expect to see the soldiers at her door, Didn’t want to take the yellow slip of paper; she knew what it was for. She didn’t want to hear about someone’s deepest sympathies, They didn’t understand her pain at all it seemed. The men, in greens, they walked away. They left her to her grief, And as her legs gave way Her heart shattered underneath. Then it seemed impossible, but a letter came, He had sent it to her just before he passed away. He just said, “It’s me again. I know it’s been a while, But I haven’t had much time to write, Less time than that, to smile. I’m wanting to be with you, every single day, But I hope you understand, that it’s for freedom that I stay. The war is slowly winding down; perhaps next month they’ll send me back. Good-night, sweetheart, I love you. Greetings from Iraq.” Western Union came to call today, On everybody’s favorite neighbor, Mrs. O’Shay. Now she knows that Tom won’t come home the way he thought he might. Instead Mrs. O’Shay will come and greet him, when his coffin gets there, tonight.

Cumberland State Park in Crossville, Tennessee photographed by James Lawson. 79 Frontage Road 6 Momma Can’t Answer the Phone Jennifer Gregory

Momma, please pick up the phone. I know that you are home. I know that you aren’t answering Because what I did was wrong. I know I should not have left that way, And I should not have made you cry, But Momma please pick up the phone. I know that you were right. I should not have gone to the party, I should not have dated that guy, And I’m really sorry Momma… For making you yell and cry. You can lock me in my room forever, You can throw away the key, But Momma please answer the phone, Why won’t you talk to me? Momma please pick up the phone, I need you to help me please. I’m stuck here in the wreckage Of where Jon’s car used to be. I don’t know where they are now, They were right here I swear, But they’ve all disappeared now, And life really isn’t fair. Momma please pick up, The cops are finally here, And they’ll say that Jon was drunk, And that they’re all dead, I fear. I really did not drink a thing, I knew then you’d really cry, But Momma please answer the phone, I’m scared I’m going to die. The paramedic says I’ve lost a lot of blood And that the woman we hit has died, But Momma that car looks a lot like yours, Just answer the phone all right? The paramedic asked for your name, And I gave him yours. Then he just walked away, Momma what for? Please just answer the phone, 80 Frontage Road 6

Now you’re really scaring me. Even you wouldn’t let me talk this long On our answering machine. Momma? Momma please? Now the guy is crying. Can you tell me what’s happening to me? I can hear it in the background. No, it couldn’t be, Please tell me that it’s not true, You didn’t come after me. There’s no reason for you to be Out on this tiny stretch of road, But I know now that it’s possible, Momma, you can’t answer the phone.

Photography by Helen Darcey. 81 Frontage Road 6 The Precipice Jennifer Gregory

I’ve never felt so uncertain in my life- Rejecting the sure thing to stand here And stare out into the precipice of the unknown. Not knowing what’s ahead and so tempted to go back, Even though I know that what is ahead Must be better than what was before, But I remember how I chose foolishly in the past, Over and over again, And I wonder what is stopping me From making those same mistakes And foolish fantasies My one and only reality? I’m no longer sure of anything, Not past, nor future, Enough to know my own mind— Much less my heart. But still I’m here. Determined. And refusing now in this moment And for forever, to look back. Isn’t that what this time is all about? Discovery? There really is no way to fail, But if I do, I know here in this moment, That it may prove to be disastrous, And that if I fail at this one small thing I may just possibly fail at the entirety of my life’s purpose. And so I stand here looking out over the precipice, Pausing as I contemplate, And then, as I no longer desire looking back, Jump, into the unknown.

82 Frontage Road 6 The Toothless Toad Brittany Hobbs

The toothless toad hopped down the road to see what he could see. He hopped upon a lily pad and ate a honeybee! “How do you do that...” asked his friend “...without the use of teeth?” The toad replied, “I roll him up beneath my tongue and squash him underneath!”

Drawing by Charity Jacquez.

83 Frontage Road 6 Parking Lot Madness Brittany Hobbs

Parking lot madness is all around, Crazy teenage drivers are abound! Cars that squeal and cars that smoke, One girl screaming, “GO ON, SLOW POKE!” Nice cars and clean cars, Dirty Cars and cheeps cars. The parking lot is busy busy! The tension makes me dizzy dizzy! The madness is all around, Crazy teenage drivers are abound!

Chicago, Illinois viewed from the Sears Tower photographed by Christy Rogers.

84 Frontage Road 6 Dreams of Reality Tamara Kharabora It is done; nothing could turn back time now. How long will it take? Will it hurt? How will I know when it’s over? Will anyone even care? How will people find me? Thoughts raced through my head at an uncontrollable speed. Did I do the right thing? Were there happy times though? It could not have always been so bad. I remember times when there was joy in my life.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

“Daddy!” I lunged off the bed and hugged my dad to me so hard that it even hurt me.

“Hey, hey now! You’ll hurt yourself.”

“You came.” Tears of joy were cursing down my young face. My dad was home, and that was all that mattered.

“I told you I’d come. I wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.” Noah Kars bent over and gently scooped up his twelve-year-old daughter into his arms.

“Will you stay for my birthday party today?”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

We sat on the bed for a long time saying nothing; words were never needed; the love was always there. The day had started out just fine for me!

“Well, hurry and get dressed, honey, and come down stairs, and we’ll have breakfast together.”

“All right, be right there,” I said.

Noah got up and left, closing the door softly after himself. I sat on my bed for a long time after my dad left, thinking of how our lives had changed so fast. One day he was there with me, and the next thing I knew, he was gone. The fact that he came home really made my day. He was there, and no one could have taken him away.

Tears streamed down my already cold face. He promised!! My heart screamed at all the cruelties that life throws our way. Slowly I began to feel the relaxing daze moving in; “It will not be long now,” I thought. I looked down at my scarred hands, knowing it was considered as a sickness to be so weak and look for an easy way out. To me, it was noble. If people that are

85 Frontage Road 6 hurting stick around, then they would affect everyone else’s mood, and ruin them. I thought the right thing to do if you are at the end of your rope is let go. Even with those thoughts in my head, tears made little rivers on my face. My life was about to run out, and I did not have anything accom- plished to make my life a reality for people. Hope disappeared from me a long time ago; it was taken away, searched furiously for, and never found. Numbness began to steal into my bones like a thief in the night, silently going through the house. I could not hold on anymore; life hurt so bad. It was a struggle just to wake up in the morning. That BITCH.

Where was she? She said she would be here around five o’clock; it was already seven thirty. What is taking her so long? She should just let Daddy pick me up, but no, she does not want to. “MOM!” In a voice barely above a whisper, I began to pray.

“ Lord, if you are out there somewhere, please hear my prayers. My dad is gone, and I do not know where my mom is. She said she would be here.” Tears started trickling down my face. I remembered all the times that she never showed up because she was drunk somewhere. Did she not care that her only daughter was out in the dark waiting for her to come?

“Lord, it has happened before. She forgets about me a lot. Do I mean so little to her that she can so easily forget her daughter. It hurts, Lord. She has never told me that she loves me, or that she even cares. I always hear her complaining about the fact that she had me too young, and she could not go out with her friends anymore because of me. You know hearing that year by year does nothing to bring up my self-esteem.” With tears of frustration and hurt cursing down my face, I started to walk down the road in the direction of our place. My sixteen-year-old heart began to freeze up in hate for the woman who was supposed to be my mother. She was a bitch; she cared only about herself. Her hatred for Daddy kept me unhappy. I would go live with my dad any day.

I walked about eighteen miles before my legs just gave out. I made my way into the forest and lie down by a tree. In the middle of the night, the silence was broken by a gut-wrenching question asked by a broken soul: “ Why did you leave me here to die Daddy, why?”

With the crack of lightning, I began to drift in and out of consciousness. Pain was slowly beginning to dull out. A wise man once said that pain makes us strong. When I heard that, I wanted to kill whoever it was that said that. No one deserves to feel pain and hurt in his or her life. A thought began to creep into my mind—I will never be able to teach my kids how to be strong and fight life. I DON’T WANT TO DIE!! Crawling on my hands and knees, I headed downstairs. Phone, I have to find a phone. Where is the 86 Frontage Road 6 phone? I could not move; my legs weighed a ton, and I could not move them. Help me, Lord! Do not let me die; I changed my mind; it will all be okay. Just please help me.

With uncontrollably shaking hands, I picked up the phone and dialed 911. Ringing, ringing, endlessly ringing. Please someone answer the phone.

“Lord, I beg you, give me strength. Let someone answer the phone in time.” The prayer left the lips in a silent voice. Drowsily, a precious body drifted to the floor. Can fate be so cruel? Will no one hear the cries?

The tortured prayer was heard in heaven, but obviously ignored. Angels waited for the precious soul of a loved one to come to them.

“Hello, this the emergency department; how may I help you?”

I heard the voice, but it was no use; it was too late. Words were frozen forever.

“Hello, is there anyone there? This better not be a prank call. Sir? Ma’am? Is there anyone there that needs help?”

The beautiful body lie frozen in the hands of death. Silent eyes stared up into the ceiling, seeing nothing.

Up in heaven the angels were rejoicing. A shattered and hurt soul was brought to them whole. I was welcomed in this beautiful place with open arms. I felt no more pain, no fear, and all my scars were gone, too.

Years went by, and I watched the world from which I had come from change. My mom was too drunk to come to her only daughter’s funeral. My dad was there crying for the little girl that he loved and yet could not help when her voice cried out for him in the dead of the night.

“I forgive you Daddy,” a whisper from heaven was voiced. “Even though you could not be there for me all the time, live assured I died knowing that you loved me and would have been there if it were possible.”

My dad moved on in life; in the worst times of his grief I was there for him in his dreams. I never forgot him and know that he will always treasure me in his heart. Though I miss the few friends that I did have, I walk in endless joy here. Soon we will all be together.

BZZZZ. BZZZZZZ. The ringing of the alarm clock jerked me awake. Wide- eyed I just laid there for a couple of minutes. That was so real; it was almost scary. This I definitely had to record in my dream book. I took down the 87 Frontage Road 6 journal in which I write down my dreams and made some quick notes in it.

After brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I rushed downstairs and into the kitchen where I was brought up short by the scene before me. My mom was behind the kitchen table with an empty bottle of vodka in her hand. She was wasted.

“Mom what happened? What is wrong?” I shook her until I heard a moan coming from her lips. She stared up at me with blood shot eyes.

“Where is Dad? Why are you so drunk? You know Daddy does not like it when you drink so much.” Disgust for the pathetic sight she made welled up inside me.

“Your daddy is gone.” Her sneering voice was barely recognizable.

“What do you mean he’s gone? Why? Where did he go?” I took her by the shoulders and started to shake her, but it was no use; she was out cold.

I began to shake uncontrollably as I remembered the dream that I had just had.

“NO!” Falling to the kitchen floor, I began to pray.

“Lord, this cannot be happening. Please let this be some sick joke, and bring my daddy back.”

I laid there on the floor the whole day waiting for my dad to show up or call. No word was heard though. I finally got up from the floor around midnight, and in a daze, moved into my room. That night heaven must have heard the tears and curses of a teenage girl crying out for her dad. No amount of tears or threats brought about an answer to her though. Just when the sun began to rise over the earth, a child fell asleep on a tear-soaked pillow.

88 Frontage Road 6 A Pleasant Goodbye Tamara Kharabora

Death pale arms reaching out, Thy blood, crisscrossing in any slashes. The moan of the wind, rocking thee to sleep. O Silent night! Unholy night! Hear the cries of a tortured soul. Pain made footprints on a weak, delicate heart. Hardship, trying to reach an unreachable goal. Alas! Look! a white valley. Stretching, stretching. It’s calling thy name! Shant I listen? Sweet music floating through the white mist. Rubies collecting on the sparkling blue, Dripping, dripping. Oh the peace! Slowly, the man takes thy hand, And for the last time, drowsy eyes close. With a smile on thy face.

Photography by Helen Darcey.

89 Frontage Road 6 Co-Pay Jacque Goins

I make an appointment, I keep the appointment, Services are rendered, I pay the co-pay, I get what I paid for:

shock fear panic confusion breast cancer

pity chemotherapy nausea voice mail vomiting

visits cards apathy racing heart phone calls

sensory overload bald head embarrassment letters enlarged liver

wig humiliation kidney stones cataracts flowers

90 Frontage Road 6 cards surgery chemotherapy pain radiation

unemployment fatigue pneumonia pain tears

sorrow grief anxiety scripture strength

hope faith friendship love trust

courage reliance no regrets no return

I make an appointment, I keep the appointment, Services are rendered, I pay my co-pay, I get what I paid for:

life.

*This poem is a list that reflects the methodical journey through cancer treatment from diagnosis to wellness.

91 Frontage Road 6 White Easter Sunday: 1961 Jacque Goins

White hat with white flowers, White organdy dress, White gloves with pearl buttons, A linen hankie—pressed, Lace anklets to cover, Pale little legs, And white paten shoes, The color of eggs, White Bible, white pages, And a rosebud to hold, White sidewalk for walking, To the church down the road, And on that whitest of all days, On that third day, We drank from separate fountains, Sang about Jesus, And put our dirty nickels in the plate.

*Though Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection was pure and represented by “outer” attire, our worship and offering was tainted by racism expressed through segregation.

Our barn and trees after the snow photographed by Janet Davis. 92 Frontage Road 6 Alpha to Omega Jacque Goins

Alpha is the beginning of all things, Begin! With a voice, Commanding creation! Day passes to night; Evening still and quiet, First day, God made man to pass the days, Here I am passing days, Jacque was created, Kept in a quiet womb, Loved by my Mother, my father, my sister, Never forsaken by my Creator, Only here for a short time, Passing quickly—days pass, Quickly, quickly, Reaching towards my end, Seeking my Omega, Time does not love me, but I’m safe, Until my Creator’s Voice calls to me, “Come closer!” “When?” I say—“Soon,” He says, “Outline your days,” X. I am growing older, Y. I am growing older, Z. I reach my Omega—but no end in sight for me!

93 Frontage Road 6 Lord, Teach Us How to Pray Jacque Goins

Our Father in Heaven, Well, that hit the ceiling! Hallowed be Thy name, Sir, God, Jesus, Baby Jesus, Your kingdom come, With special effects, Your will be done, I still miss Mom, On earth as it is in heaven, Hawaii... Heaven—apples and oranges, Give us this day our daily bread, Pizza for lunch was good! And forgive us our debts, Verizon due Thursday, As we forgive our debtors, Debtor is a strange word in 2004, And do not lead us into temptation, God, I’ll never understand this line! But deliver us from the evil one, Sometimes I am my own worst enemy, For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever, You’re all that! And oh yeah, Amen.

*God has given us “Himself,” but we are often distracted by our busy lives.

94 Frontage Road 6 Never Changed the Sky (911) Jacque Goins

Hide me in the cleft of the rock, Or collect my soul at once, A cloud of dust, but sacred, Boils upward toward the sun, Soul, upon soul, a tower, Soul, upon soul—upon soul, But never changed the sky, Stunning, blue and bold.

Photography by Helen Darcey.

95 Frontage Road 6 Ode 1 Jonathan Garrett

Flying is a unique and wonderful thing Starting with the birds and insects which sting Man became interested early in time But after many perils the act seemed too divine Through the ages several experiments were done From feathers to wings to machines that could run The feat, however, would have never been done Had it not been for Mr. Wright’s two sons The Wright brothers were an unusual pair They had the perseverance that led them to the air Several years of testing and study The brothers’ creation was finally ready They accomplished it over 100 years ago from today In a small town called Kitty Hawk on a breezy day The flight was short but in the end It was this event from which aviation technology begins The technology has grown in a very rapid way And it is common to travel by air in this day I am delighted to be able to fly It changes my aspect on life when I’m that high It’s humbling to think how small we really are When I see the big picture from afar So even though it seems like a simple deed I can see why the Wright brothers are in history

96 Frontage Road 6 A poem by Cayci Goins

Sometimes I travel alone I have seen things that I have never known I walked down the road there a woman stood for twenty dollars she was sold I kept walking on and I heard a man singing a violent and a cursing song The dirt road kept on going an unconscious woman held down without her ever knowing The rocky road dug into my feet I heard screams of pain of someone getting beat The path got dark and cold a child died of starvation is what I was told My feet are dirty with dirt I stumbled onto a paved road the proper woman looked at me and smirked The little path off the road went to the abused slaving from dusk till down yet he was so scarred and bruised The gravel road led to the house of the law it was getting really late passing by the window it was not his wife I saw Trudging through the mud along my path the people here carry an angry wrath I keep on shuffling my feet Why did this road…I meet? What is it trying to say to me? one-way is the only thing I see Smooth dirt that I cannot turn back now too many wrongs that should be righted somehow 97 Frontage Road 6 Streets of gold envisioned in my head for them it is a pit of hell they just want to sleep in a bed This path is so broad and wide it is not the straight and narrow however, it is for them to decide Weeds have taken this road this path that I travel carries a heavy load

Photography by Helen Darcey.

98 Frontage Road 6 They Will Catch Me Chrissy Hughes

They will catch me like they always do they say i can’t run away from problems too big to bear but i can’t stay and face them if they’re too big for me to care they will catch me and they won’t be pleased this time makes three and i’m farther than ever before they will catch me somewhere down the road they’ll put me in the car and tell me they care and i’ll do it again when problems get too big to bear.

*I don’t think we should run away from our problems but give them to the Lord when things get too big to bear.

99 Frontage Road 6 A poem by Chrissy Hughes

Ask me anything Because I know all Colest’s the name Don’t mess with me ever call me names forget all you know and get strange back pains hair growing from moles it’s a natural thing just a little trance kind of a spell look in a mirror and see what i mean Merlin’s my man and he brings me newt eyes and octopus tails and even some possum snout question my rules and ill show you a thing or two ugly little voodoo dolls with your face xanthypes are great you say you feel bad? ill zap that pain away!

100 Frontage Road 6 Just Going to Drink a Bit Chrissy Hughes

Just going to drink a bit, Just going to pop a few pills, No harm gonna come of this, No harm I can feel. Get in my car, gotta go, go, go, Get in my car, gotta get, get, get. Don’t know where, But I just need to split. My life is so bad, My life is so terrible, No one’s had it worse, No one ever will. Going up and over this hill, Getting kind of tired, Must be from those pills, Think I’ll just take a little nap. Hey wake up now, Such a nice nap. Where am I anyhow? Why am I flat? My life is so bad, My life is so terrible, No one’s had it worse, No one ever will. “You were in a car wreck,” said the cop. “Your car hit hers and ran through a fence. Hers flipped and rolled and finally came to rest, In a patch of trees that were very dense.” “We know you were drinking and popping pills, And now because of your stupidity The young girl you hit Will forever be in a chair with wheels.” My life ain’t so bad, My life ain’t so terrible, Someone has it worse, Someone always will. 101 Frontage Road 6 It’s all my fault, Such a terrible thing, Wish I hadn’t been so stupid, I feel like such a ding a ling. She had good things going for her, Smarts and a scholarship for track, Now she’ll never run again, Because I broke her back. My life ain’t so bad, My life ain’t so terrible, Someone has it worse, Someone always will.

102 Frontage Road 6 Doin’ Laundry (a haiku) James McGrath

Damn washing machine I loaded colors with whites Now I have pink shirt

Photography by Thomas Harris. 103 Frontage Road 6 Drunken Joshua Adkins

This man wrecked my house, He punched holes, threw glasses, and even punched Stephen; Why would someone do this you say; Just look at him as he lays, It’s not hard to say that this man was drunk all day; So that’s why he lays in his own, puddle of mayhem.

Photography by Joshua Adkins.

104 Frontage Road 6 9-11 Monica Crox

A day in September I don’t want to remember. The day of terror and a day of fear. First one fell then came two. The pentagon’s been hit - you know it’s true Few knew this was going to be the day, when our nation would be so blue. Tears fill my eyes to think of how so many lost their lives. We pray each day that someone will be found, yet the rubble has been sifted and hope does not abound. Although so many died our nation stands unified. United we stand divided we fall. All for one and one for all!

105 Frontage Road 6

A poem by Monica Crox

You are my savior; you are my friend. You carry me from within. I look to you when things are wrong. I look to you when my face is drawn. At times I question you, but I know you are right. Please let me be forgiven and stay in your site.

Cumberland State Park in Crossville, Tennessee photographed by James Lawson.

106 Frontage Road 6 A Nurse Monica Crox

As I sit with you at your death, I feel I know you by those you left. You must have been a wonderful man as so sadly your family sits in mourning. I see the love in their eyes and their pain is no disguise. How proud you must have been to be so blessed. A wife, a daughter, and two sons. They weep at your side and my hearts just cries for the life I have touched by being your eyes. I give you medicines to ease your pain, but I cannot take your life for that would be in vain. I may not know you but I feel I do—for your family became mine the moment I met you.

Photography by Helen Darcey.

107 Frontage Road 6 The Spring Peter Swift

Such a sight you are, Moving to and fro never standing still, How you hypnotize me with your smooth body, Pounding yourself to and fro, Wave after wave ricocheting everywhere you travel, Wave after wave pouring your body into my head, Peace, serenity, no worries of today, My every thought is squelched in your roaring silence, Drifting away you entice my mind, Floating down the rocks, Where are you taking me? Today... Tomorrow it matters no more.

Ocoee River photographed by Wendy Goodwin in August 1998.

108 Frontage Road 6

The Shadow Peter Swift a slave to pen and time, there is really no reason for this rhyme, I see metallic monsters rushing forward, while others left behind, honking and yelling, hustle, hurry, stress, and worry. busy loud environment caving in on me, as I sit here in Nature’s shadow, a faded bed of pine needles scream out, where is our meaning, nothing but a shadow, hustle, hurry, troubles, and worry once a young Tree... now old and tired, telling time, as time tells, voices speaking, students leaving, leaves rustling, Mother’s cold breathe sweeping the air, as the metallic monsters roar in the distance, man now too busy to talk, talking to their hands with hurried thoughts, busy loud environment caving in on me. as I sit in Nature’s shadow, a faded green bush is my only comfort, in the background I hear roaring monsters, pushing...pushing... as they chant hustle, hurry, stress, and worry.

Photography by Helen Darcey.

109 Frontage Road 6 The Player Gene Henley

What can he say Your face he can’t miss It’s a shame for a player To feel like this You’ve never really spoke But he sees you every day All he can say is that He wants to please you in every way No love for a player? Let him change that Your mind’s now in the gutter Let him bring it back He wants to take you to the mall Get you all the tightest clothes He wants to give you everything Make sure his love shows He wants to give you all the time For you two to be together If he sees a chance with you He’d grab it like a feather You’d travel through the town Hand in hand you’d walk The ladies would make a fuss Behind his back they’d talk Like they knew this wasn’t him He said he’d never settle down But they didn’t make a fuss They didn’t even frown But he knows that he is ready He knows that you’re the one He wants to sleep with you at night And wake up to the sun At night he’d hold you tight And tell you that he cares Then you wake up in the morning And he’s not even there

110 Frontage Road 6

You thought his words were savvy He made them sound just right But in the end he thought it was better To lead you on in spite Your feelings he never thought about You probably hurt right now There’s no joy inside you anymore The game has changed and how He told you he was ready The time you thought you’d savor But he fed you nothing but lines Cuz, in the end, he’s still a player.

Photographed by Helen Darcey.

111 Frontage Road 6 Escape Megan Oliver

Standing in a large room of white The four walls close in on me tight In the middle I stand twirling As the world is fastly whirling How strange it seems to me That all alone I be No windows, no doors, no sun shining In this place I am lost In it’s grip confining I scream and shout Yet nothing escapes only echoes ring out No one hears my sobs of stinging pain None of love only emotion of Loneliness to gain The room holds me in Perhaps this is the greatest sin

Photography by Helen Darcey. 112 Frontage Road 6

A poem by Laura Beth Burrell

There’s many things I can tell you I love about you, I don’t know where to start. I love the way you look at me and how I always find myself looking at you. I love the way you care. I love the way I can look into your eyes and in my heart I know everything is perfect in my world. I love the way you walk and the way you talk. I love the way you laugh. I love how you know I will still care about you just as much even when you are being as goofy as you can. I love how I can tell when you are happy and how you can tell when I am sad. I love how you care about me, even through my biggest mistakes and all my “ups and downs”. I love when I wake up every morning so excited just to talk to you, just knowing that every time we talk I find out something new. I love the way you look every time I see you, and how your eyes almost sparkle just for me. I love the feeling I get in my stomach when I see you for the first time in days, and even the feeling I have when your number’s just on my caller-id. I love the fact that I can go on and on about the things I love about you, my list is never-ending. I love the way you say your “goodbyes” even after I have kept you on the phone for hours on end. I love how, even if I think really hard, I can’t find a single thing wrong with you. I love the way I feel when I just hold your hand in mine, I feel so safe, like nothing could be better. I love how, even if I told you a million times that I care about you, and how much, a million times would never be enough. But most of all, I love the way I feel like you’re honest, faithful, and you would never do anything to hurt me. I love everything about you.

113 Frontage Road 6 The Story of Lust Marshall Toney

Is it her smile, her face, her looks, Or maybe them jeans they off da hook, Her name, who cares, A physical attraction is what we must share, Her clothes so tight, her hair just right, I wonder what she’s doin’ tonight, Man she fine, She’s considered a dime, Love at first sight, Love the first night, Easy Easy Easy, I got to have her, I must, Slow down, It’s just THE STORY OF LUST.

Panama City Beach, Florida photographed by Christine Cate.

114 Frontage Road 6 Nature Tonya Caldwell

What is nature without... beautiful sunsets or colorful birds chirping as they fly in the midst of a vibrant green forest. What is nature without... crystal clear waterfalls, blue lagoons, fragrant flowers, and the crisp clean air. What is nature without... the sound of the roaring sea, thunderous beats, fiery lightening, and turquoise skies. Mountain, trees, animals, and rivers They were all meant to be! What is nature without?...... Nature is the total forces at work, Those works that are in you and me!

Photography by Thomas Harris.

115 Frontage Road 6 On A Cold Rainy Day Tonya Caldwell

On a cold rainy day what is there to do? Perhaps you could hide, stay nestled in your room, snuggle under the covers. On a cold rainy day let your imagination flow freely, run with the wind, embrace your heart with kindness, release love and let it flow. On a cold rainy day capture your feelings, abandon pain that is unknown and quietly buried away. Desolation is lonely and life is empty, but life can be lovely. On a cold rainy day

Grassy Cove photographed by James Lawson.

116 Frontage Road 6 The Berlin Wall Tonya Caldwell

What a momentous event! That day, when the walls came down. A change of events, a turning of the tables That day, when the walls came down. Power was taken from one sovereign and hastenly given to another. Pain, grief, despair, hopelessness. That day, when the walls came down. Abandon houses, run down apartments, gray skies, thick fog, gloomy happy faces, lonely streets, bitter cold, a pretense of happiness quickly faded away. That day, when the walls came down. Victory for some, sorrow for others, death for many, and life has just begun! That day, when the walls came down

Photography by Helen Darcey.

117 Frontage Road 6 What Is Tonya Caldwell

What is a promise without a broken spirit? What is joy without shed tears? What is love without a heart that aches? What is laughter without a sad song? What is life without the cry of death? What is pride without sweet humility? What is pain without sorrow? What is victory without defeat? What is time with- eternity? IT IS EVERYTHING!

118 Frontage Road 6 A Moment in Time Tonya Caldwell

A moment in time our hearts met. A moment in time was innocence at its best. A moment in time we shared secret thoughts. A moment in time we unified our souls. A moment in time we brought forth life. A moment in time we nurtured happiness. A moment in time our lives took different paths. A moment in time we drifted far apart. A moment in time we painfully picked up the pieces. A moment in time we desperately struggled. A moment in time There we stand united as one...

Panama City Beach, Florida photographed by Tera Burchfield. 119 Frontage Road 6 The Man in the Moon Julie Nelson

It’s another cloudy night The moon stays hidden Shining thru is a fight To be bright is forbidden

Finally stars appear Next to unfold is the moon They show no more fear Light fills the room

Go outside just to see The man in the moon He’s smiling on me The man in the moon

He’s the only man No one else will do Reach to touch with a hand No more crying boo-hoo

Now he’s here with me The man in the moon Though no one can see He’s the man in the moon.

Photography by Helen Darcey. 120