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Spring 2017 J A B B E R WO c Y K JABBERWOCKY undergraduate literary journal university of massachusetts amherst Cover art by a. t. halaby abberwocky ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!” He took his vorpal sword in hand; Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree And stood awhile in thought. And, as in ufsh thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of fame, Came whifing through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy. ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. JABBERWOCKY STAFF EXECUTIVE Elizabeth Riezinger, Editor-in-Chief Benjamin Quinn, Managing Editor Alana Richelle Craven, Associate Editor POETRY MaKayla Allen, Head editor Delia Blieler, Assistant editor A. T. Halaby, Assistant editor Julia McLaughlin, Assistant editor FICTION Kortni Song, Assistant editor Kaitlyn D’Angelo, Head editor Elizabeth Barrett, Assistant editor Julia Caudle, Assistant editor Natasha Charest-Ciampa, Assistant editor Mariah Girouard, Assistant editor Danielle Jin, Assistant editor Lizzy Keery, Assistant editor Mira Kennedy, Assistant editor Amberly Lerner, Assistant editor Gratis Maxwell, Assistant editor Tayla Monturio, Assistant editor Jill O'Loughlin, Assistant editor Jessica Orlando, Assitant editor Jake Phillips, Assistant editor Maggie Yonce, Assistant editor CRITICISM Delia Bleiler, Head editor Anna Keller, Assistant editor Sam LaBelle, Assistant editor MEDIA AND COPYEDITING Brynn Stevens, Head editor Lia Ashe-Simmer, Assistant editor Victoria Bourque, Assistant editor Emily Brunelli, Assistant editor Lianna Churchill, Assistant editor Jocelyn Figueroa, Assistant editor Isabel Fowler, Assistant editor Irina Grigoryeva, Assistant editor Elisabeth Layne, Assistant editor ii ABOUT JABBERWOCKY Jabberwocky is an undergraduate literary journal published by the University of Massachusetts Amherst. The student staff is selected by officers of the English Society, which is the official undergraduate branch of the English Department. All editors and contributors to Jabberwocky are undergraduate UMass students. Jabberwocky is divided into four separate staffs for the purpose of reviewing submissions: poetry, fiction, criticism/nonfiction, and media. All submissions are anonymously reviewed by the respective staffs to be approved for inclusion in the journal. All contributions by members of the Jabberwocky staff were reviewed anonymously without input by the submitting staff member. Jabberwocky is not copyrighted. Any student work that is included in the journal remains the property of the artist. All contributors reserve the right to publish their work elsewhere in accordance with guidelines set by other publishers. The views and opinions expressed in Jabberwocky are solely those of the contributors and do not necessarily reflect the viewpoint of the staff, the department, or the university. We would like to extend a special thanks to the English Department, particularly Celeste Stuart, Randall Knoper, and Rachel Mordecai. Jabberwocky was printed with the extraordinary support by Amherst Copies. Questions, concerns, and input can be sent to [email protected]. Students interested being on staff for the next issue can contact the Jabberwocky email in Fall 2017. Submissions will open again at the beginning of the Spring 2018 semester. iii TABLE OF CONTENTS POETRY 1 Poem #27 | Natalie Roll 5 Roses Blooming in Athenry | Peter Duffy 8 A Refraction of Feathers | Cressida Richards 9 My New Home in the Clouds | Mira Kennedy 10 V-D | Adara North 23 Self-Portrait with Fairy-Queen | Benjamin Quinn 25 Cart | Sxm Wxng 26 Morning | Kylie Weld 55 Bodily Consequences | Zak Russell 56 Soneto 17 | Mina Puig 57 Cantaloupes | Peter Duffy 62 Wildflowers | Nick Warner 63 Trench Warfare | Lauren Stock 64 What if we are the gyre? | Jake Phillips 66 Prognosis | Ashley McDermott 69 Spoons | James Davis 70 No Title | Anonymous 71 A Seed Grows in the Desert | Adara North 72 Diamond Ring | Rowan Dubin-Masuck 73 Selfish Appetites | Sxm Wxng CRITICISM Spacial Narrative of Berkshire Dining Hall | Colin Aubut 67 iv TABLE OF CONTENTS FICTION 3 Audiopathy | Sxm Wxng 11 The Oracle of Del's Pies | Jake Phillips 20 le jeudi | Brooke Durkan 27 Time | Lauren Stock 30 Bus People | Elizabeth Riezinger 36 ORANGE | Elisabeth Layne 58 Weekly | Ramsez Taariq McCall MEDIA Oh | James Davis 2 Flowing in and out | James Davis 2 Black Bouquet | Lianna Churchill 5 Mt. Greylock | Lianna Churchill 6 Tire Dragon | Lianna Churchill 6 End of Childhood | Lianna Churchill 6 Reminscing | Lianna Churchill 7 Lonely | Lianna Churchill 7 Hazy Goodbyes | Lianna Churchill 7 And We Capture The Light Still | Brynn Stevens 9 ghosting | Alana Richelle Craven 19 To The Wonder | James Davis 19 Au-delà de la Fenêtre | Brynn Stevens 20 Chrysaora fuscescens | Alana Richelle Craven 24 Untitled | Isabel Fowler 26 Dance Daily | James Davis 29 From "Lines That look Like This" | A. T. Halaby 29 Lauren in the Rain James Davis 40 Brief Respite from an Unpaid Internship | Alana Richelle Craven 55 N | Madeleine Conover 61 Blue | Madeleine Conover 61 Poppy Picking | Madeleine Conover 62 Protesting for a Green Future | Madeleine Conover 63 Long Island City | Ramsez Taariq McCall 65 Vibrant Fall Sunset at UMass | Richard Cuoco 68 Soften Your Gaze | Brynn Stevens 70 v Artist Statement for Cover Artwork by A. T. Halaby Tese pieces are a part of a series, "Lines Tat Look Like Tis". I spend a lot of my time trying to focus my anxiety and panic disorder into cre- ation. For materials, I use a ruler, 25% cotton paper, and various pens and markers with diferent points. Poem #27 Natalie Roll Pressure Long lines, lies & longings of Love, inching Between each other to make An ascension To a rosy Truth. Torn in hand. 1 Oh James Davis Digitally Manipulated Photograph Flowing in and out James Davis Digitally Manipulated Photograph 2 Audiopathy Sxm Wxng You get to the back before you can breathe, which is goddamn impressive considering the span of this building. Micah’s right next to you, stride for stride, something you know without looking be- cause you know by hearing. Her steps sound just as quick as yours and she keeps chanting something over and over again that’s just hopeful enough to be a lie. (She makes a most fretful metronome in disaster). It never took you this long to get to the band room in middle school, though you were still late for rehearsals, but good thing Mi- cah was always there early to save you a spot in the back before she took her seat in the front row. Micah didn’t have perfect pitch like you but she did have a mom who could drive her across town for fute lessons. Micah didn’t get scared pissless at the sudden thun- der of timpani during her frst recital. She never had to stare at her grimy kitchen foor listening to ma sigh sharply from her nostrils as the disgruntled Medicaid consultant went on and on about sensi- tivities and syndromes and disorders. And when ma was working back-to-back shifs Micah’s mom always sent you home with a pack of cold lunchmeat, a box of clementines, things you usually got for birthday dinner. You always thanked her with something be- tween a mumble and a whimper, then winced as her teeth clashed and mouth mashed as she said at a pleasantly perfunctory decibel: you’re welcome. It’s not like school was ever an Eden but today this place is an abso- lute horrorhouse. Te Red Cross has patched it up better compared to the shitstorm outside, where black roads have cracked open as if hell was hungry and buildings have crumbled like stacks of saltines, but in these hallways everything reverberates with grating potency. Perhaps the reason why your lungs have taken a backseat is because your ears are demanding more, more than your body can give, more than is humanly possible—there is nothing unheard and everything unmistakable, your livewire mind ready for the fnal 3 crash— —then it all comes to silence when you reach the auditorium. You are now beyond sound, beyond breath. Strange, they all look like long white loaves of bread, or shiny plastic snowbanks arranged in rows. And to think there are bodies in there. And to think ma is in one of those glossy cocoons, thrown into premature pupation by a rod of rebar through the ribs. You fnd this out afer screaming questions at relief workers, read- ing an abundance of toe tags, and going al-pha-betically through the missing persons’ list. All the while Micah’s by your side, squeez- ing your hand, making phone calls until she fnally gets a hold of her family. (Tey were playing golf when this happened. Who knows, someone might have gotten hurt from a toppled birdbath or designer poplar.) She lets go of your hand once someone fnally picks up. Tat someone is saying something that’s making her start to sob, and you fnd yourself engulfed in sense again—everything bursts raucous and cacophonous all at once. Tere is sound again, hopelessly, relentlessly, infuriatingly. Next to you Micah gasping over her cell sounds like she’s hollering at you through a megaphone. She’s crying, too, but with a diferent species of tears, with a cry that drives something in you to tear her throat out.