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S p r i n g 2 0 2 1 the normal review A Literary and Arts Publication The Normal Review A Literary and Arts Publication Montclair State University Spring 2021 Cover art: Limits by Javas Lal Medium: Colored pencil on sketchbook paper. Cover design by Casey Masterson Copyright © 2021 The Normal Review Montclair State University 317 Dickson Hall Montclair, NJ 07043 All Rights Reserved For more information, visit: thenormalreviewmsu.wordpress.com or email: [email protected] Thank you to: OUR EXECUTIVE BOARD Editor in Chief Art Editor Casey Masterson Sean Dolan Poetry Editor Prose Editor Cristian Morillo Emma Daly Secretary Kyle N. Velez OUR PRODUCTION STAFF Rosaria Lo Presti Erin Rudderow Heidi Wassong Melissa Hawk OUR FACULTY ADVISOR David Galef MISSING WRITERS There are five unclaimed poems in this edition of The Normal Review. Any work listed as "Unclaimed" can be claimed by the original writer by contacting [email protected] with proof of authorship. TABLE OF CONTENTS How To Submit 1 On a Scale of One to Ten Unclaimed 2 Yoo-hoo, Solitaire, Peppermint Patty 3 Alex Baumbusch Brujeria 6 Sean Dolan To See the Face of God 7 Grace Wilson Spirit 10 Javas Lal Man with Handler 11 Kyle N. Velez Perfectly Mating a Soul to Flesh 13 Julia Young Just Sam 22 Olivia Prusakowski Flowers and Diamonds 31 Sean Dolan Day at the Volcanic Beach 32 Sean Dolan FIGMENTS 33 Eduard Jurado Hazelnut Kisses 34 Rosaria Lo Presti Learning to Sew 35 Grace Wilson Smile Edward DuCoin 38 Body Art 39 Unclaimed Sea Monster 41 Heidi Wassong Secondary Chills 45 Unclaimed Blessed 46 Edward DuCoin Numb 47 Julia Young Is Anyone's Favorite Hobby to Wash Dishes? 48 Unclaimed Dare to Dream Nicole MacGregor 49 Glitter Session 01 51 Unclaimed Juliet's Soliloquy 52 John Jenkins Follow Me Back to the Garden 56 Rosaria Lo Presti Collected Olivia Prusakowski 58 Girl and the Panda 67 Edward DuCoin Contributors' Notes 68 HOW TO SUBMIT Only undergraduate and graduate students at Montclair State University are eligible to submit. The work must be the original creative work of the attributed author or artist. Specific submission guidelines and other information: thenormalreviewmsu.wordpress.com Questions, comments, concerns? Ask the editors. We are always reachable through our emails: [email protected] [email protected] [email protected] [email protected] 1 On a Scale of One to Ten Unclaimed “how much do you like me, on a scale of one to ten?” you asked me and i tried to pretend that i hadn’t liked you for months that i hadn’t forced myself to keep you at arm’s length, that my heart wasn’t racing at the thought of you leaning in to kiss me. “how nervous are you right now, on a scale of one to ten?” i was nervous about getting hurt and letting you in and the moment that everything would fall apart. but i told myself the nerves didn’t matter, i told myself you were worth the risk. the question you didn’t ask but i now have to, “how heartbroken will you be if this is the end, on a scale of one to ten?” ten, ten, ten. 2 Yoo-hoo, Solitaire, Peppermint Patty Alex Baumbusch Grandma always told us to leave her house the same way you came in, because the Italians say so. If she saw you doing the opposite, she’d tell you to turn around and go to the other door. Except my family would just use the garage, so no worries about an Italian myth. My brother, Ryan, and I picked up a routine when we went: get a Yoo-hoo from the garage fridge, check on Grandpa’s solitaire game, and then steal a Peppermint Patty. The aroma of Sunday sauce would hit us like a brick wall when our shoes came off. The flavors of garlic and olive oil masked the “grandparent” house smell, because all of them have one. The day was spent spending time with my grandparents and finding things to do while the sauce cooked. We sat around the table and chatted for a while. Although there were no assigned seats, we all sat in the same ones. Grandma had decorated the seats with cushions, but Grandpa flipped them up and sat back, using it as a backrest. As we told stories, I’d always get a tap on the shoulder, it was Grandpa. “Honey, hand me a slice of cheese. Grandma doesn’t want me eating anymore.” So, I’d slice him a piece of Irish cheese and place it on a balsamic Triscuit cracker. I lowered my hand and snuck the cheese and cracker combo to Grandpa, but it never ended with just the cracker. Grandma kept a bowl of chocolates on a ledge next to the table, and it’d always magically end up half full by the time I left. And empty wrappers magically ended up in Grandpa’s pockets. Eventually, my boredom would kick in. The box of Lincoln Logs waited in the closet as Ryan and I snuck snacks into the living room to watch the news that was kept on at all hours. Eventually, it would change to Judge Judy, because Grandpa never missed an episode. Although Mom and Dad would yell at us to eat in the kitchen, Grandma bent rules and always had extra placemats hidden. I’d eat my shrimp and Ryan would eat his chips with salsa as we talked about the Lincoln Log town we would soon build. I would always ask the same question. “Ryan, can we make a horse farm? And a house next to it?” “Yeah. As long as I get the Sheriff with the brown horse. We can use the Hess truck to carry logs.” We were practically experts in building a town. Grandpa would sit behind us on the 3 couch and ask us about what we were building and what else we should add. With his glass of white wine with three ice cubes in one hand, he would tell us, “Wow, kids. This is so good!” And ask us questions about our town and who the people “running” it were. The town was kept up until it was time to leave but there was always more to be built. Building a town out of logs was fun until we finished, but pool days were amongst my favorites. Grandma and Grandpa would already be out back, awaiting our arrival. Our routine stayed the same, except for the Peppermint Patty. We’d grab a Yoo-hoo from the basement fridge, check on Grandpa’s game, and steal Luigi’s Italian ice from the freezer. My go-to was always watermelon. As we sat and ate our ice, mom would apply sunscreen and start the timer for 30 minutes. We were able to go in after the timer was done and the ice was finished. “Okay, kids. You can go in.” My pink bucket was the center of everything I did playing in the pool. I helped Grandma while she cleaned the stairs by polishing each rock in my pink bucket. I would brush the concrete surrounding the steps with pool water and get praised for helping and being a great granddaughter, although I never really helped make anything clean. When Grandpa finished his game, he would come in the pool and use the tiny boogie boards to pull me around in. I refused to learn how to swim, but Grandpa still tried. It always went: “Alex, kick your legs as I pull.” It never worked. It was no use, since I lasted all about 20 minutes in the water until I pulled a lounge chair over in the shade, Grandma wrapped me in new clean towels and fell asleep. There was always extra laundry for her to do. I’d only wake up to play a game of a family favorite, Rummikub. Playing Rummikub on the glass table outback was how our pool days ended. I’d play with my mom when she was teaching me and pull out my tricks. I always acted like I “dropped” something so I could look through the table to see where the tile we needed was or where the joker was sitting, then act as though nothing happened. They caught on eventually, since I would drop something every two minutes, but I had a good run. 4 As I got older, my pink bucket disappeared and the Lincoln Logs were no longer played with. Snacks were occasionally brought into the living room, but rules weren’t bent anymore. I played Rummikub by myself and was able to win… without cheating. I was no longer pulled by Grandpa on the tiny boogie board. The chair didn’t get pulled over for a nap and clean towels weren’t wasted and I started to actually clean the stairs for Grandma. Years went by and the moments I had became memories. Grandpa was slowing down and what we once did was no longer. In my senior year of high school, I lost my Grandpa and the future moments we would have shared. My routine changed and I was no longer able to look at Grandpa’s solitaire or sneak him cheese and crackers when he wanted. However, the house will always be a safe place since he is looking down. 5 Brujeria Digital painting. Sean Dolan 6 To See the Face of God Grace Wilson “There is a prospect greater than the sea, and it is the sky. There is a prospect greater than the sky, and it is the human soul.” --Victor Hugo, Les Misérables Growing up, I went to a beautiful old church with stained glass windows.

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