GREYROCK REVIEW 2021 Greyrock Review is Colorado State University’s journal of undergradu- ate art and literature. Published annually in the spring through the English Department, Greyrock Review is a student-run publication. Submissions: Th e journal accepts submissions for art, poetry, creative Managing Editor nonfi ction, and fi ction each year in the fall from undergraduate Emily Byrne students of all majors at Colorado State University. Poetry Editor Sarahy Quintana Trejo Special thanks to the Lilla B. Morgan Memorial Endowment for the Arts for providing a grant to make this year’s publication possible. Th e Associate Poetry Editor Melissa Downs Lilla B. Morgan Memorial Endowment for the Arts provides grants to support art, music, humanities, literature, and the performing arts. Fiction Editor Mira Martin Cover Art by Samantha Homan Associate Fiction Editors Katie Harrigan Cover Design by Katrina Clasen Brendon Shepherd Logo Design by Renee Haptonstall © 2021 Greyrock Review Creative Non ction Editor Cody Cooke All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, in Associate Non ction Editor any form or by any means, without prior written consent from Aubrie Dickson Greyrock Review. Typesetter & Designer Katrina Clasen Greyrock Review Department of English Social Media Manager Katie Harrigan Colorado State University 359 Eddy Hall Graduate Advisor Carolyn Janecek Fort Collins, CO 80523 English.colostate.edu/greyrock/ Faculty Advisor Stephanie G’Schwind Printed in the United States. Sponsors Lilla B. Morgan Memorial Endowment CSU English Department POETRY FICTION Audrey Heffelfinger 8 Papa Maia Coen 13 City Lights Brynn McCall 10 beast / body Sydney James 45 Real Girl Maia Coen 23 Spider’s Silk Kate Breding 68 Miss A Kayla Henn 33 tears aren’t a woman’s only weapon PJ Farrar 35 conjecture, surmise, theorize (or: just wondering why) 80 The Kindly One Ethan Hanson Abigail Wolschon 44 A Revolution Poem 103 Cave Hunters Charlie Dillon 58 to all the Selves that i have been: No. 10 ART G McDonald 66 Nothing to See Here Charlie Dillon Dorie Keck 12 Seascape 75 Where Bullets Don’t Belong Asher Korn Rebecca Wilson 24 American Champion: “Jay” Hubert Stowitts 77 BUT america Amanda Rooms Claire Homan 34 Anthropogenic 90 messenger Grace Morris 40 Belle Grove Plantation in Iberville Parish, Louisiana NONFICTION Cheryl Prazak 57 Strings of Life 76 The Light in the Darkness Kayla Henn 26 How to Fail at Being Straight Zoe Baumann 67 Fear Grace Cooper 102 Connect 36 A Blurring Sense of Home 41 The Sound of Rain Devani Ruff 91 The Carp Charlie Dillon 59 To Draw a Face Samantha Homan 106 Cameron Peak Fire Megan Maulsby 92 A Library on Wheels Editor’s Note Dear Reader, I am overjoyed to present to you the 2021 volume of the Greyrock Review. Persevering tirelessly, the Greyrock team has worked diligently to create a journal that showcases the creative prowess that emerged from the pandemic. After carefully considering each submission, we have assembled pieces that we hope will start conversation. This journal is a compilation of the creative, daring, and exhilarating works of the undergraduate students at CSU. Their ambitions shine bright through their work, and we hope that you enjoy reading their pieces as much as we have. I would like to thank our diligent graduate student advisor, Carolyn Janecek, who served as the glue for the 2020-2021 Greyrock family. Carolyn’s passion, dedication, and free spirit has driven us to work hard and to discover our own passions through this project. I would also like to thank Stephanie G’Schwind, who oversaw this whole process and guided us through any challenges we faced. Thank you to our support- ers: the Lilla B. Morgan Memorial Endowment Fund and the CSU English Department. Most importantly, I would like to give thanks to the Greyrock Review editors. A deeply committed, enthusiastic team worked together to produce this amazing journal. It has been such a pleasure to work with you all, and I will never forget the time spent together on this project. And, of course, I cannot forget our readers. Thank you: for reading our journal, for helping us pursue our passions, and for inspiring us to spread our love for the arts. All the best, Emily Byrne Managing Editor AUDREY HEFFELFINGER Papa I am five or six This man believes that wasting food is a sin / illegally dumpster dives for moldy Papa splits the sand dollar, pours out the grainy white birds inside and we wonder oranges / ran At how the vengeful ocean could shape something so delicate marathons into his 80s / asked me to do his taxes / fed his grandkids 3-month-old Foamy fingers pinching earth into tiny alabaster wings cookies from Starbucks / has never known my name Later papa runs, 800-meter-track-star style, to the bus stop still gripping my hand, my feet can’t keep up Now This man has entered my childhood home for the first time in 19 years And he drags my baby body along the concrete until my knees drip nineteen, years blood and loose skin This time with one less [ ] wife and a newfound desire to die [And i wonder why he doesn’t hear me screaming for him to stop, slow down The difference this time is that this time he is pathetic, pitiable, complacent And i wonder why this is my only childhood memory of my papa] And kind, when he forgets where he is I wished to use those alabaster wings, The terrifying figure from my mom’s stories smiles a toothless, trusting turtle smile to lift my body up off of the sidewalk’s ripping teeth At the grandchildren he does not remember / sits for hours in front of the tennis But i was porcelain and earthbound, stiff with solid bones and mouselike shrieks match he can’t hear / flips desperately through the Bible he can no longer decipher We reach the bus and my mom and grandmother say nothing How can i force myself to feel anything but pity for this giant infant They wipe the blood off of my knees, my stained pastel socks Clean up the mess as the women in my family have taught each other to do Out of sight damage is internal As i was searching for attachment Out of sight the damage can be absorbed by the mind body, a lesson i learned I peered through the tangled shroud of my mother’s stories too well A shifting amalgamation of those things repressed, held in the palm like a grainy white bird This man is the same man who beat my mother black and blue to the tune of Passed from mother to daughter driftwood and bones knocking on Horsfall Beach Who made his five kids line up, shoulder the weight of any crime he could think up: I peered into this reflection, past my own moon face to see the gorilla-like shadow using too much toilet paper / making a mess / talking to him through a veil this man, this man Learning martyrdom to save their siblings a beating Always-present-worst-nightmare This man was in the Korean War, struggled to see His God in The Atrocious But now my knees have scarred over, the birds went back to the ocean This man was abused by his mother, abused my mother, abused And it is too late 10 • GREYROCK REVIEW GREYROCK REVIEW • 11 BRYNN MCCALL beast body you are awake when the night you are the stops, when the moon drops moon like a dead fish and craters fish off the coast of the yucatán. the tan you hear when the shutters hiss ear the boy-child, bite the tips child from your bit fingers. from eat and be filled. and so you eat and so are filled and you learn to brush your teeth with your palms. you take the time to press palms. your tongue between the pages of a dictionary, to flatten you take your mother’s petaled name. your tongue of a dictionary, and so, you are awake when the night stops, when your eyes drop like dead and you wake moons, when you crater the night off the coast of the yucatán. go back to bed now. go back to bed. 12 • GREYROCK REVIEW GREYROCK REVIEW • 13 CHARLIE DILLON MAIA COEN Seascape City Lights 8x8in, Print A snow-white teacup sits on a glass coffee table without a coaster. The woman picks it up and brings it, steaming, to her bloodred lips and drinks. The tea burns her throat for an instant, but she smiles and places the cup back onto the clear glass. Her mother’s eyebrow is twitching slightly. She knows her mother wants her to put a coaster down, but she will not ask and so the woman will not do it. She finishes her tea in large gulps. “Well, Mother, this has been lovely, but I ought to be going now,” she says. Her mother smiles stiffly. “See you next week, Adeline.” Adeline gets up slowly and saunters through the glorious white liv- ing room with its cream-colored couches and cashmere-soft carpet with her shoes still on. She made a point not to take them off when she came in, leaving patches of wet from the snow outside. It’s December and the sparkling white Christmas tree has been erected by the bay windows looking out upon the New York skyline. When Adeline was a child, she liked to sneak behind the tree and sit on the window bench pressed between the bejeweled tree with its magnificent sparkle and the twinkle of the city lights.