Green Eggs and Hamlet 27th Edition of the Southeastern Oklahoma State University Literary Journal Editors Noah Patton Rachel Childers
Staff Dylan Candelora Colton Duehning Dawn Smith Kameron Dunn
Lead Designer & Cover Design Michaela Jestis
Faculty Advisors Dr. Randy Prus, Chair of English, Humanities, and Language Jack Ousey, Professor of Art Letter from The Editors Welcome to the 27th edition of Green Eggs and Hamlet. We have had the great honor of editing this journal two years in a row, and if you have seen last year’s edition, you know that we reimagined this journal as a cohesive representation of Southeastern’s very best art and literature projects. This year, we have continued the effort to breathe new life into this journal, and we are proud to present this year’s edition: Metamorphosis, a celebration of growth and innovation.
We are so grateful for the feedback and support we received for this project and would like to take a moment to thank those who made it possible. To our faculty sponsors, Randy Prus and Jack Ousey, thank you for your endless support of this, and all your students’ endeavors. To all the other Southeastern faculty and staff who helped out, thank you for encouraging students to submit their work and for making sure we got the help we needed. To the students and alumni who submit- ted literature and art, we cannot thank you enough for your wonderful submissions, with- out which this book would be nothing. To our friends and family, we could not have ac- complished this without you cheering us on. To our amazing graphic design editor, Mi- chaela Jestis, and our incredible staff, Dylan Candelora, Dawn Smith, Colton Duehning, and Kameron Dunn, thank you for stepping up and doing whatever needed to be done. And of course, to all our readers, our hard work would mean nothing if there was not an audience to enjoy it, so thank you for giving this book purpose. We are delighted with the finished product, and hope you are as well.
Illustrated by Elaine Rodenbaugh Table of Contents
To Myself, at 21 | Misty Allsup | Illustrated by Elaine Rodenbaugh | 6
Friedenship | Kathryn Carter | 8
For There Can be no Bridge Without the Shore | Elijah Marshall | 9
mallory: a collection | Chance Eubanks | Photography by Noah Patton | 11
Arkansas St. bleak light, trafficky | Cullen Whisenhunt | 17
Crucifixion | Nicholas Zamir | Illustrated by Michaela Jestis | 18
The Way We Are | Salena Eckelhoff | Illustrated by Michaela Jestis | 20
Conscience | Mylaine Self | Illustrated by Stephanie Canaday | 23
Daisy | Kathryn Carter | 24
Ella Learns Compassion | Misty Allsup | 25
Switzerland | Stephanie Canaday | 26
I Should Have Just Read a Book | Sharon Scott | Illustrated by Savannah Mueller | 28
John | Reid St. John | 34
The Painting | Brandon Burleson | 35
The Butterfly Soul | Tayte Weatherly | Illustrated by Savannah Mueller | 37
The Ember That Sparks the Fire | Dylan Candelora | 38
Urban Isolation | Reid St. John | 50
Dark Thoughts in the Rain | Christian Potter | 51 Eutrophia [Necrosis] | Elijah Marshall | 52
Before the Storm | Kathryn Carter | 53
Relief Sculptures | Michaela Jestis, Samantha Brownlee, Anonymous, and William McCall | 54
Sir Walter Scott Gothic | Reid St. John | 56
Among Wolf and Man | Colton Duehning | 57
Trust | Mylaine Self | Illustrated by Elaine Rodenbaugh | 61
Spirited Away | Jaden Cotton | 64
Trudge | Dylan Candelora |65
Losing My Wings: A Journey into the Real World | Christian Potter | Illustrated by Savannah Mueller | 67
Primrose | Austin Duval | 70
Notes on Oklahoma | Cullen Whisenhunt | 71
This is How the Rookie Fumbles | Shalene White | Illustrated by Stephanie Canaday | 72
Snapshot of a Soldier | Stephanie Canaday | 78
Ballerina | Kathryn Carter | 80
Never Stop Standing | LaTressa Mapps | 81 introspectre: a collection | Chance Eubanks | Photography by Noah Patton | 83
Poet’s Eye | Tayte Weatherly | 89
Theresa | Stephanie Canaday | 90
To Keep or To Return | Salena Eckelhoff | 91
Uncle Eddie | Jennifer Stahnke | 93 To Myself, at 21
by Misty Allsup Saw a picture of you today, That faded five-dollar Yankee cap that you stapled together Because you couldn’t bear to throw it away; Those soft doeskin boots you loved, Scuffed and raw looking. Not an inch of you to spare, Lines cut deep through your forearms.
I know: because you work, right? You could never be a board barn princess.
Such a bright smile on so sad a face…
Illustrated by Elaine Rodenbaugh I know you better than anyone But I wish I could have seen you As others saw you – Throwing a long leg over a colt, Settling into a deep seat like you were melting into those grooved leather crevices. Seen your face tighten as the world exploded beneath you.
You and your bucking horses, I wish I could have seen that.
And, I wish I could have seen you playing the executive’s girl. Your hair all done up, The result of an insufferable hour at a salon, In your favorite heels, climbing out of your big truck. Laughing with the guys at the bar, Watching your boyfriend look at spreadsheets, Sipping on a Margarita that lasts all night.
Wish I could have seen you During all of those days you spent alone Working on problems no one else wanted to solve, Wearing yourself out. Doing work that made you strong Or Driving through the night, Never stopping very long, Trying to make a 22-hour drive in 20.
Yeah, I know you better than anyone But, I wish I could have seen you.
To Myself, at 21 7 Friedenship by Kathryn Carter For There Can be no Bridge Without the
And I cannot speak the luminescence of Shore blackberry violet by Elijah Marshall into the eyes of the blind, Nor can I transcribe the tones of birdsong in the ears of the deaf.
Tell me, can you speak the roar of the wind onto the skin of the stillborn child? or convince her that she lived in a world where sunrises and the moon are real things And make her to see the silver and amber of their morning and midnight sheens?
I like to think of myself as weaver of words But words like to be unwieldy things: signposts wedged in the gap between Thing and their signifying Shadow, And I find that the thick rippling scars Where I’ve welded them together Cannot always be polished out And that I’m gracefully constrained To be not a creator But merely a re-arranger.
For There Can be no Bridge Without the Shore 9 Words are bridges in need of a shore. Their burdens are keyholes In a bolted cedar wood door,
And for keyholes, we have, for making more, poems for shotguns.
But, no matter how many poetically gunpowdered keyholes I arrange into these doors, I cannot seem to say what I see — do you see what I’m saying? Of course, I know you do but do you see what I see?
There is One whose words rumble with undertones of reality, swallowing that abyssal gap called blindness resounding visceral and honey thick, sounding more violet than the one on my lips and on this page.
Let them raise beaches from the bottom of the sea.
10 For There Can be no Bridge Without the Shore mallory: a collection
by Chance Eubanks
Photography by Noah Patton 12 mallory: a collection mallory: a colection 13 14 mallory: a collection mallory: a collection 15 16 mallory: a collection Arkansas St., bleak light, trafficky by Cullen Whisenhunt
Sun sets full beneath cloud bank, burns an aggressive orange dying light.
Leafless, gothic trees twist inky veins up, screening a silhouetted smokestack steeple.
Off-white water tower gleams like an early moon, dimpled by black hole buzzards.
Arkansas St., bleak light, trafficky 17 Illustrated by Michaela Jestis Cruci- fixion by Nicholas Zamir
For me to reach my full potential My old self must die This can only be done There can only be one No one but God can change me For God to rape me Maim me Beat me Bruise me Until my old self withers away A few splashes of water by a priest are not enough to truly change a person The devil is truly stubborn and will put up far more of a fight than that God must be more fierce
To pierce the evil out of you
Crucifixion 19 The Way We Are
by Salena Eckelhoff | Illustrated by Michaela Jestis
Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . I "Umm hmm." Comes the lifeless look down at the space between us to see response. Trent incessantly tapping his fingers on I groan inwardly and decide I am the jeep's shift knob. I cannot stand that too worn out to try and keep this conver- tapping. “Only three more hours and sation going. we will be there,” I keep telling myself. We both hadn't had a vacation I breathe in, breathe out, and close my in over a year and had decided to take a eyes. couple days off work to go on a little get Trent and I have been together away. We were headed to a little camping now for over five years. We have had our site at a canyon that we had been mean- ups and downs, like most couples do, and ing to go to for forever. We had already I love him, I really do, but lately it seems been on the road for three hours, and every little thing he does, that I used to with three more hours left to go, I was overlook or even find adorable, irritates really feeling the need to get out of our me to no end. It's not just the tapping; it's small confinement. the same little jokes that I have to pretend * * * * * are funny and laugh at, it's the way he I watch Celeste fidgeting in her never gets too excited about anything, just seat. I can tell that she isn't happy. I start the same even-keeled monotone emo- tapping my fingers on the shift knob as I tions. drive us to our destination. Is this what they call a rut? I don't What is it that has gone wrong? know . . . We were so happy, or at least I thought "So, are you excited about our we were, but the last few months have felt trip?" I try to inject some excitement into different. She doesn't smile as much and my voice to liven up the mood in the car. doesn't seem to mind when we aren't able to see each other. Doesn't she know how much I am trying? I glance over at my seemingly kidnapped passenger to see that she has closed her eyes. "So, are you excited about our trip?" I'm surprised she spoke. "Umm hmm." And I really am excited. Excited to get away from every- thing for a little while, and to rebuild whatever it is that has seemed to come between us. I wait for her to say some- thing else, but our short attempt at conversation had already come to a stalemate. I stare out the front window. There's a rest station up ahead. "You want to make a little pit stop?" I ask. There they are. Celesta's green eyes finally opened again, "Yes!" I smile to myself. That is the realest remark I have heard from her in a while. I pull over and park in front of the little out-of-the-way place. It will be nice to get out and stretch. “Don’t you think . . .” I turn to speak to Celeste, but she is already out of the jeep’s door and headed at a brisk pace to the store’s front entrance, her long, dark hair flowing down to her waist
The Way We Are 21 behind her. Okay. Never mind. I get out not be the same dang thing every time! and lock the jeep, trailing slowly behind. I have worked myself into a frenzy and * * * * * am headed to get a fountain drink when Finally! I jump out my door as Trent finally comes in. He sees me at the soon as Trent puts the jeep in park. I drink station, gives a little smile, and then know I should wait for him, but I just (just as I suspected he would) heads over need a moment – a moment to get out to look at the ‘que menu. some of this restless energy and frustra- I look over and study him as I’m tion before I burst. filling up my cup. I wouldn’t say that I walk into the store. It’s a nice Trent is off the charts attractive, but he is little place: your usual convenience store a nice-looking guy with his sandy blonde snacks and beverages, but also a little sec- hair and hazel eyes, but it’s more than tion featuring handmade items and a din- his looks that drew me into him. He’s a ing area claiming to have the best “que” genuinely nice guy, but he also exudes around. Oh, God. Trent is definitely this sort of confidence. And we all know going to want to eat here. One of Trent’s – confidence is an extremely attractive “things” that I used to find so adorable is trait to have. The thing is, now I know his getting fixated on certain things. He is that confidence was more often than a very habitual person, whereas I am all not faked. I can’t help the sad smile that about the unexpected. Right now, Trent comes over my face. just happens to be fixated on barbeque. No matter where we go, if they have barbeque, that’s what he’s getting. He’s been doing this for weeks now, and it is driving me crazy! What do you want for dinner tonight? Umm, how bout some ‘que. We just had that last night, and two nights before that! So? You know how I am. And I do know how he is. So, what do we wind up getting? You can guess. Yet, he wants to blame his wanting to eat the same thing all the time on me not making up my mind. But it’s not that, I simply want his input – for him to take the reins for once and decide what we’re going to do, eat, whatever. . . and have it
1622 mallory:The Way a We collection Are I was ashamed of my conscience, they say the conscience can eat you alive. Well, I can vouch for that, I walk around as if nothing is Con- bothering me, fighting the anxiety trying to spill out of my mouth from within. My chest feels jittery. I feel like when I talk it will come out jit- tery like the way my chest feels. Breathe. Take a science breath. Just keep breathing. This is so hard, they by Mylaine Self must notice, the people that surround me. There is no way this anxiety from my dirty conscience Illustrated by Stephanie Canaday isn’t filling the room full of thick disgust that can be easily felt by the closest of seating neighbors. Act natural, is what they always say. Have confidence. Did the worst of murderers ever feel like this? What they have done is so much more terrible than that of I, and I feel like I should be on death row from the severity of my wretched insides. At night when I lay down to sleep—yeah right. At night when I lay down to, lay there, I cannot control my thoughts, when my head hits the pillow my mind shoots into a million differ- ent places, like literally the worm-looking pieces of my brain explode out of my head following an infinity-like trail of no control from me. They think of every worst scenario possible. I take pills to calm it down, it helps some, but it’s like only half a million of my worm brain pieces shoot out. It isn’t so intense, but damn this is terrible. So, I drink. I try to drink the thoughts away, Along with the pills. Now we are at a quarter million brain worm-like pieces shooting out. Shooting… Shooting… Shooting… It’s gone.
Conscience 23
10 11 Daisy by Kathryn Carter Ella Learns Compassion by Misty Allsup If I went there a second time, I If I went there a second time, I would be prepared. I could ignore the would be oblivious. I had been warned smell and the rotting garbage, bagged but not prepared. My eyes would not and lying on the kitchen floor, and the wander from the woman’s eyes to her seeping brown stain that crept beneath food soiled blouse to the dark smears of the white plastic of the bags onto the dull, dirt and oily residue covering the walls once-yellow linoleum. I would not stum- around the light switches and door knobs. ble as I tread over the wavy foundation My eyes would focus on hers, the startling of the floor, or trip as I stepped down blue-gray of her light eyes. My mouth into the old part of the house, which would not ruin my good intentions; I sagged under its own weight, burdened could practice my pitch to perfect my by a half-century’s weather and neglect. I approach or I could simply be honest. I would be prepared. would not fumble for words if she said, I would not call attention to my- “You don’t know nothin’. How you gon- self by staring dumbly at what lay in front na help me?” of me, I would simply walk forward. I ` If I went there a second time, I would take care to keep my hands at my would not ask hard questions or offer sides and I’d curb the habit of swinging suggestions. I would listen. I would say I my long arms in time with my long stride. am here to help, because I was. I would I would be small; I could draw in my per- be humble and non-judging, because I sonal space to its absolute minimum area was. And, I would understand that if I to not disturb the innumerable piles of intended to do this job, if I expected to paper, magazines, phone books, and junk change someone’s life, expecting them to precariously stacked over every available change, I would lead by example. surface. It was just that I was not prepared. Ella Learns Comapassion 25 Switzerland by Stephanie Canaday
I Should Have Just by Sharon Scott Christy looked at her half-empty and two dogs. Her parents were still glass of wine and decided it was time to together, which is a miracle in itself these leave. She had been sitting here waiting days and her one sibling, a brother, was for over forty minutes. “Dating in this engaged to be married. So, all in all, a century just sucks!” She thought as she happy, pretty well-adjusted family. That slid off the sticky red stool at the bar and she could tell from bartender talk anyway. gave the bartender, Alex, a salute to say As Christy walked out into the she was leaving. She had been here, at cold night air she thought, “It sure would this bar, so many times she had memo- be nice to have a nice family like Alex’s,” rized all the bartender’s names. a family that is happy and normal. She Alex was a nice girl and a great thought about cook-outs on the patio, bartender; she made the best Bloody kids swimming in the pool, mom and dad Marys. She was married, had one kid, holding hands and laughing. Completely Read a Book Illustrated by Savannah Mueller different than what she had: an alcoholic pulled over for her. She quickly rolled dad, a brother in prison, a sister she has into the cab and slammed the door never met, and a mom, well, we’ll just say closed, “321 Southeast Cherry Road, that she is something special. She has nev- please.” The cab driver took off like a er been married, hell she couldn’t even shot to Christy’s home. She was thinking get a date most of the time. Kids were a about reading a book when she got home, dream of the past; at 36 she thought she maybe a romance by Feehan or possi- was getting too old to have children of her bly the latest Cross mystery by Patter- own. son. Whatever she decided to read she Christy hailed a cab, as she thought it would be better than sitting at rubbed her hands up and down her arms the bar waiting for something or someone to try and get warm; she was practically who will not be showing up tonight. jumping up and down when a cab finally The cab pulled up to her home, it
I Should Have Just Read a Book 29 was a rental from a gray-haired old lady. coat. He had snot running down onto his She was sweet but kind of a busybody, upper lip, well, there is reason number if you know what I mean. She looked at one not to have kids right there. her lonely home for a moment before “HEY LADY! Are…you…goooin- she walked to her door. She could hear ng….to… the game?” the happy sounds of life in her neigh- Christy just blinked at him for a borhood, it sounded like the park a few second or two, while he looked at her blocks over was having a game of some like she was retarded or something. She sort going on, probably little league finally decided to speak to him. football. It was that time of the year. She “No, I mean, I was, but I… Yes, looked towards the park as she unlocked I think I am going.” Christy wasn’t sure her front door and saw the lights glowing what she should, could, or wanted to say over the tops of the trees from the playing to the little boy. She was startled by anoth- field. er voice coming from behind her. Christy decided that she had had “Don’t be rude Matthew…and enough of being alone, lying in bed with a wipe your nose for god’s sake.” lamp light reading books. She said “Screw Christy watched as the boy called Mat- it,” and relocked her door and starting thew started to raise his arm but the walking to the park. Halfway there she woman snapped back at him. started to get anxious about being around “NOT on your coat, use the tissue in people she didn’t know and stopped. your pocket.” She leaned on an old pickup truck, she A woman in a navy coat with fur didn’t know what kind, a Ford maybe. around the hood walked up to her and The happy sounds of families yelling and introduced herself as the boy clumsily screaming assaulted her ears. She had pulled a white piece of tissue from his made up her mind to go home now, this coat pocket and wipe the boogers from would not do. She didn’t know anyone. his face. Christy almost smiled as he What was she going to do anyway? Sit on smeared the nasty glaze over his face the bleachers and stare at the kids playing instead of removing it. ball; people would think she was some “Hi, my name is Lisa.” kind of sicko. The woman stuck her hand out to She was about to head home Christy and waited for her to do the same. when she heard a voice. Christy looked at the hand offered her, “Are you going to the game?” trying to decide what to do. It was almost Christy looked around and a saw like she had never met anyone before. a little boy, he looked to be about five She felt awkward and didn’t know what or six years old. She just stared at him to do. She finally shook her hand, said a absentmindedly. He was about three feet short greeting with her name and then she tall, blond headed, wearing a fluffy red stood there like a dead tree. Finally, the
1630 mallory:I Should aHave collection Just Read a Book little boy broke the silence and spoke, or ber them all. After going through almost rather complained. everyone there she finally met Roger. “Let’s go already, momma.” “Roger dear. Roger. BABE! This is our The woman slipped her hand neighbor from up the street, Christy.” into Christy’s arm and started walking her Roger was preoccupied on his phone so toward the field at the park. he just kind of mumbled a low “Hi nice “We are going to the game too. to meetcha,” which got a reprimand from You can walk with us and tell us a little Christy. about yourself. Matthew, don’t run ahead, “ROGER, get off your phone, and stay where I can see you.” please greet our new friend here prop- Christy walked in silence down erly.” She had one of those “you’re not the street, well she was silent anyway. Lisa getting any” looks on her face that Christy went on and on, talking like she had prac- remembered her mom giving her dad, tically know Christy all her life. but he was usually drunk when she did it. “My daughter is a cheerleader Roger said bye to the person on the other this year, it’s her first year. Her name is side of his phone and shoved his phone Stacey, you’ll like her, she is so cute. My in the back pocket of his faded blue jeans husband, that’s Roger, he left earlier with as he stood up and looked Christy straight her because she was getting a little antsy in the eyes. about being late. She’s funny that way.” “Hi, Christy was it? I’m sorry. Christy thought to herself, “Oh, Nice to meet you. Please join us in our my, God, will it never end?” She walked little corner of the bleachers.” Then he the rest of the way to the game arm in smiled at his wife and gave her a peck on arm with Lisa and little Matthew skipping the cheek. along in front of her. When they arrived Christy couldn’t help but smile a at the field there were kids running little and think to herself. “What a happy around everywhere and parents laughing couple.” It sounds like the family that with friends who were just like them. Alex keeps talking about while she is serv- Christy felt out of place, she didn’t have a ing her drinks at the bar. Like the family family. Why was she here? she never had and probably never will. Matthew practically screamed Christy decided to excuse herself for a a question at his mother. “Hey mom, minute. She felt she needed a little space. can I go sit with Steve?” Lisa smiled and “That looks like a concession nodded a yes, then watched him scamper stand over there and I’m a little thirsty. away to another mother and another little I’ll be right back” She walked to the stand boy. Christy was marched straight up to and as she waited in line she dug through the bleachers and introduced to the other her pockets for money. She ended up women sitting and talking. There were so finding five dollars and some change. She many names that Christy couldn’t remem- was thinking that coffee would be great
I Should Have Just Read a Book 31 when she felt a tug on the right side of her laughed out loud. She caught herself and coat. Christy looked down to see what she covered her mouth with her hand. “You could only describe as Goldilocks in a mean the sousaphone, it’s a type of tuba. cheerleading outfit. The angel looked up Right?” at Christy and smiled. Stacey frowned a little. “Yeah, “My momma said I could come something like that.” stand in line with you and get her and me When they made it to the conces- a hot chocolate.” sion window, a man in a white T-shirt and Christy looked over at the bleach- holey jeans stuck his head out and said ers and saw Lisa waving and smiling at “hello” to Stacey. her so she just put on a smile and waved “Hello Miss Porter, what can I get back. As she and the little girl waited in for you today?” line she felt the little girl slowly slide her Stacey smiled her winning smile hand into hers. Christy cleared her throat. at the man and said she wanted three hot “So, you must be Stacey?” chocolates. Christy paid for the drinks The little girl nodded her head and walked back to the bleachers and curls bounced around where Lisa and Roger waited. like bumper cars on her “Hello Miss Porter, Stacey gave both her mom head. Christy smiled at and dad a kiss and slowly her and tried to think what can I get for you walked back to the field of something to say that today?” with her hot chocolate. Lisa wouldn’t be too strange. looked over at Christy and What do little girls like gave a whistle. now? She used to like to play her baby “Boy was lookin’ at you girl.” dolls. Do little girls still play with that kind Christy looked at Lisa, then looked of dolls? around. “Who? Who was looking at me? “Your mother tells me that you What did I do?” are a cheerleader for the first time?” Lisa laughed. “Michael, the man The little girl nodded her head at the concession, was watching you like a and smiled even bigger than before. “I hawk.” loooove it so, so, so, much.” Christy looked at Lisa with a Christy smiled at Stacey. “You confused look on her face. “He proba- know, I never got to be a cheerleader. I bly thought I was some strange weirdo was in band and it was fun.” She thought buying drinks and giving candy to little back to high school and her old friends. kids.” Lisa just laughed and told Christy “I did have some fun back then.” that she thought the man liked her. Soon Stacey smiled. “My daddy was in band the conversation got Roger’s attention too. He played the su...suziphone.” and he told Lisa to stop trying to be the Christy laughed, she actually neighborhood matchmaker. Which got
1632 mallory:I Should aHave collection Just Read a Book the couple into the sweetest little spat that “He likes you,” Matthew said. ended up with them kissing and Christy “You can take him home if you want to. blushing as she looked over at the conces- If he goes to a friend’s house then I can sion stand. still see him when I want to.” Christy spent the next two hours Christy looked at Matthew and talking with the Porters and their friends. then looked at the small ball of trouble After the game, Lisa and Roger gathered in her hands and thought to herself. “I their children and they all started to walk don’t want a cat, maybe a goldfish or home. something, but not a cat.” But she found “We are planning a small get herself saying something else. together next weekend. You should come “I would love to take Moon home over.” Lisa would not take no for an with me.” answer so Christy finally said she would Christy walked home carrying a at least make an appearance. When they black and loud kitten. She was surprised came to Lisa and Roger’s house the kids people didn’t look out their doors think- ran inside screaming and yelling as the ing someone was killing the poor thing. parents said goodbye to Christy. Roger “Meeeoww, meeoooow, offered to walk her home, but she said meeeeoooow” all the way home. She she would be fine. just knew that this was going to be a long “It’s only a couple of blocks, it’s night. A long couple of nights if Moon not necessary, but thanks, Roger. I appre- had anything to do with it. Why couldn’t ciate it.” Matthew came back outside car- she have said no? When she got home rying something that looked like a stuffed she walked into her house and placed bear. He looked up at Christy. Moon on the floor. The little shit fol- “Midnight had babies, this is lowed her all around the house meowing. Moon.” Christy reached out for the She finally couldn’t stand it anymore animal before Matthew dropped the poor so she picked him up and sat down on thing. the couch. Silence. Christy was afraid to Christy looked at the ball of fur move so she ended up falling asleep on she held in her hands. It was mostly the couch holding Moon. It was the first black, but it had white ears. “Oh, it’s a night that she had slept well in a long time kitten. I wasn’t sure at first. She’s beautiful actually. Matthew.” Matthew bent over laughing. “It’s not a girl”’ “I’m sorry, then he is handsome,” Christy said. The small kitten started to purr and then it tried to crawl into her hair.
I Should Have Read a Book 33 John by Reid St. John The Paintingby Brandon Burleson
If you were a piece of artwork, you’d be the one the painter held dear, the piece that he showed no one because it was so precious to him.
But we all want beautiful things, and the painter’s beautiful piece was finally seen.
One night a man made a mischievous plot, to steal the beautiful painting which he once had spot.
His plan had no flaws, so into the painter’s house he snuck scratching the windows with his terrible claws.
Once he got in, you could see by the moonlight his devious grin.
The painter was sleeping, that unfortunate soul. For he knew not the man nor his goal.
The next morning the painting was gone, the painter was sad. He couldn’t find it anywhere, so then he went mad.
Crazed with the replication of perfection, painting nonstop. Beautiful, creation after creation came from his shop.
All the paintings sold away. Not a one of them stayed.
The Painting 35 And the painter painted till the end of his days... It is sad to say, but not only the painter’s painting was stolen that day.
Perhaps the man didn’t notice, just what he stole, because along with the painting he took the painter’s soul.
Crazed with the love he couldn’t replicate. The thoughts of his beloved painting he couldn’t separate.
He died alone, paintbrush in hand. Eventually so did the mocking of his obsession no one could understand.
So if you’re ever sad, or feeling blue. Just remember, you’re someone’s painting, their obsession too.
They may try to find others, but none can compare, to the feeling in their heart, when you were there.
1636 mallory:The Painting a collection The
Butterfly Forgive my butterfly soul, Soul for I flitter and fly away from you when the wind has the slightest cold.
Forgive my butterfly soul, For I loved the color and shade of you but not after I stole your gold.
Forgive my butterfly soul, For I have nothing left to say to you, refusing to rest in your mold. by Tayte Weatherly Illustrated by Savannah Mueller
The Butterfly Soul 37 1638 mallory:The Ember a collection That Sparks the Fire The Ember That Sparks the Fire 39 40 The Ember That Sparks the Fire The Ember That Sparks the Fire 41 42 The Ember That Sparks the Fire The Ember That Sparks the Fire 43 44 The Ember That Sparks the Fire The Ember That Sparks the Fire 45 46 The Ember That Sparks the Fire The Ember That Sparks the Fire 47 48 The Ember That Sparks the Fire The Ember That Sparks the Fire 49 Urban Isolation by Reid St. John Dark Thoughts in the Rain by Christian Potter The clouds roll over the sky, making the world appear gray and downcast. Sprinkles litter the ground like confetti as everything grows quiet in the world. Lights start turning on to give life to the gray world. The streets begin to look damp as the rain keeps coming. Shops litter the sidewalks, their glow giving off a warm coloring as if the city wanted to warm up the world. A figure glides down the sidewalk, as if escaping something sinister. She slows down as she comes up on a shop and she peers inside. A man is sitting alone at a table. She moves to go inside, but instead watches as a girl slides into the seat across from him. A pang of loneliness hits her as her phone buzzes. She looks around to see that nobody is around. She sighs as she continues down the streets, unsure of what she’s looking for, or even if she is looking for anything at all. She comes upon a park, the rain still misting down upon the world. The street lights have faded and she’s left with only lamp posts littering the park. As if she were possessed, she begins to wander down through the park, memories filling her mind as if trying to drown her. Tears stream down her cheeks as she collapses onto a swing. The wind blows through, rustling the leaves on the trees, making her shiver from the cool air. Her eyes cast themselves downwards as memories surge forward like an army, fighting for her attention. It begins to rain harder as she wraps her arms around her- self, as if she were trying to hold herself together. Her muffled sobs cutting through the silence. Her heart begs her to let go as she starts to swing with the wind. Her brain tries to quiet her sobs as her demons continue their barrage of self-hatred on her soul. Voices of people who abandoned her, faces of those she missed all telling her one thing. She gets up and restarts her journey, now knowing where she was heading. What she was looking for. She uses her hair to hide her face so people would contin- ue to ignore her. Cars race past her, as she walks along the bridge. She stops and sits on the edge of the side of the bridge, staring out over the water, her demons scream at her in her head as her brain tells her to not listen. Her heart wailing as much as she was. The voices keep on as everything else dies out. Standing up on the edge, she opens her arms as one word rings out above the rest. “Jump.”
Dark Thoughts in the Rain 51 Eutrophia [Necrosis] Of euphoria, my child, we’ve let the ocean drink her fill.
Pour for her, through a plow furrowed lattice, like rich fermented tea, a laughing draft of strength and vigor
And she will dress herself in red, a scarlet gown to lap her feet like the coming of the tide, and crown her head with auburn blooms.
She will rise and fill her belly with the heavy drink.
And the ocean would not fall with ease, armed with strength and a bladed cornucopia, if not for the scarlet strands about her heart and red folds about her lungs.
Her nurseries choke on algae blood and she with them could drown, hypoxic and vigor-drunk.
by Elijah Marshall
52 Eutrophia [Necrosis] Before the Storm by Kathryn Carter Untitled by Michaela Jestis 3d Relief by Samantha Brownlee 3d Relief by Anonymous 3D Relief by William McCall Sir Walter Scott Gothic by Reid St. John Among Wolf and Man by Colton Duehning
The Catholic church was a re- a pale, ominous ray from the moon above markable sight in the chill of the eve. cast light between the shadows. The three It stood high and mighty, as should a men walked through the common room place of worship, against the darkness of the church and past the alter, where now swelling around it. The cool stone only the clergymen were not forbidden. seemed, in the growing intensity of night One clergyman, Leon, was present among anyways, to shine in a holy radiance that the men and had allowed them access could only be depicted as pure. With many times before. In one hand he held the lush country set against its staggering a lantern and in the other, clutched tightly mass, it was truly a sight to behold. The under his arm, he held the Word. Once only sign of nearby civilization was the past many extended corridors and walk- small, mucky trail that lead to a small ways, the men fell upon the large wooden village in the Canton of Valais, nearly two door, bound in iron clasps and bolts with miles away. The trail was narrow, but well a large wooden barricade running hor- weathered by villagers seeking safety and izontal across the width of the massive familiarity away from the village. Only by aperture. Jorge, a farmer from the village, daylight, though; the devil’s power was and Kaleb, a blacksmith, grabbed each weak in the light of day. Jorge knew this side of the gargantuan wooden plank and for fact, as did the rest of his weary com- relieved it from its place. Leon walked pany. To travel by night was a dangerous past the men without a word and pushed affair on account of the wolves. They only open the door, revealing the spiraling travelled now because they were protect- steps into the dungeon below. Jorge took ed by the Almighty God, and their wolf a dirtied rag from his trousers and wiped lay chained and starved in the dungeon of the beading lines of sweat from his brow. the house of God. For it was not the work that produced The band of accusers halted and these, but rather the fear that took hold of dismounted their steeds before the majes- his heart. tic structure and bent the knee in prayer Upon arriving to another wooden before entering the church’s gloomy inte- door of lesser stature, Leon took a key rior. In the daylight, the inside of the holy from around his neck and unlocked the place was a glorious and vivid sight that door with a loud, metallic clanging. He could heal the blind, but in the night only threw the door open, a fresh wave of vile
Among Wolf and Man 57 fragrance accompanying the change of air, himself. Kaleb then took a wary step for- and thrusted the lantern forward to cast ward towards the beast and said, “Answer light upon their prisoner. The sight was a he who speaks, for he is a man of God haunting one, indeed. On the cold, damp and demands words.” floor lay the beast. It lay facing away from The Daemon then turned his dark eyes them, its spine irregularly prominent towards the blacksmith. “Thou hast against the glow of the oil light. The flesh imprisoned and starved me,” he croaked, was torn and scarred, some wounds more “and now demand my words of affirma- recent than others. The fresher openings tion. I shall not give any. While I rot away upon its body produced red flesh, reveal- in such a god-forsaken place, my wife and ing hints of white bone and pink tendons. child stay fast at home awaiting provisions Leon advanced a few more steps before that any man should give his own.” halting at a safe distance from the Dae- Kaleb clenched his fists in agita- mon. The beast’s dome stirred, it’s shaggy tion from the Daemon’s blasphemous mane dragging upon the limestone sur- remarks. His brow furrowed and a cold face. The clergyman laid the oil lamp on sweat broke out upon it. “The Devil’s the floor, illuminating most of the base- tongue wags in thy ear, Father. What is to ment, and clutched the Word within both be done with such blasphemy? Shall we his hands tight enough to drain the blood stand while he mocks the good Lord?” from his fingertips and knuckles. He held Leon turned to the blacksmith it square in his chest as if it were a shield and replied, “Thou shalt stay fast Kaleb. of impenetrable iron. “Hast thou a word Best not to take anger so quickly against of guilt for the Lord?” asked Leon. a force weaker than that of the Word.” The Daemon lifted himself slight- He held the Word out in front of him ly off of the hard floor as to avoid paining towards the beast, attempting to steal a the wounds on its spine. It then turned word of guilt from it. “Thou must answer, towards the guild and offered a look at for the Lord commands it. Give thyself its wooly, unshaven face. It looked upon freedom and be cleansed in the eyes of them, its almond eyes glowing in the light the Lord.” of the lamp. The beast licked its dry, Its lips widened, blood swelling cracked lips and merely stared at the holy in its cracks, into a grin that chilled Jorge man. Jorge stepped away from the silent to the bone. The flame from the lamp conflict before him, in fear of the present flickered in its eyes, the lake of fire push- state of their prisoner and of events that ing itself forth from the bounds of the were sure to come. After some moments pit. “Thou still condemn me? I possess of silence Leon re-stated his acquisition. no dark powers, nor signed Satan’s pact The man kept on staring without a word, in my blood. The sin I have committed for the heart of a wolf is made of cold warrants not the punishment which thou iron and can only be penetrated by God hast dealt.”
58 Among Wolf and Man “What sin hast thou committed by a mere whisk of the clergyman’s hand. against the Lord?” cried Leon, “Hast Leon wiped the saliva from his face and thou not ventured the countryside on all stood tall over the whimpering beast. fours in the form of a wolf, mauling live- Jorge stayed where he was in the shad- stock and taking babes from cribs? Did ows, quaking in fear. He watched as Leon thou not severely maim his wife, being re- turned towards Kaleb and nodded his ceived pitied and in tears by the Church?” head solemnly. Kaleb stood a moment The beast turned his head to- longer, glaring down upon the beast, and wards the floor, tears splashing upon the sunk into the shadows of the dungeon. limestone underneath. “Embarrassed of He returned with a large woodcutter’s drunken stupor, and with it poor axe hung over his shoulder. The judgement. Act as an animal “Thou cannot beast looked at Kaleb with a I did, but never did I take glimmer of fear in its dark form of any creature than transform in the eyes. Jorge, for a fleeting the one that lies before house of God. Satan’s moment, saw something thee. I beg that thou will powers hold no weight human in those eyes. He believe a man’s words and here.” feared the thought, but forgive him of misgivings the Daemon seemed even against his own.” more human than the stoic priest “The forgiveness thou seek is the who glared down upon it. “I can spare no Lord’s. Dost thou not understand that the more words. Thou hast been secured in Lord is the only one that can absolve sin? this church for some time, and it has be- Cry for the Lord, my child, not a woman. come apparent that Satan has gained total Punishment awaits thee, though forgive- dominance upon thy soul. Punishment ness may yet be achieved.” shall now be dealt upon thee.” The beast’s weeping suddenly The wolf looked upon the clergy- turned into wails of grief and anger. Its man with despair and disgust. “The work cries sent Jorge swiftly upon his rear and of God thou call it? Be on with the deed ushered a convulsive jerk from Kaleb, then, but I have one last request: do the who was the most iron-willed save for deed thyself. The blacksmith must not the holy man. Leon stepped towards the perform the dirty work for lack of sight.” crying wolf and knelt next to it, his hands The clergyman scoffed and re- still clenching the Word. “Thou cannot plied. “My favor has already been given. transform in the house of God. Satan’s The attempt on thy soul is more than the powers hold no weight here.” villagers would have given. To bind thee The Daemon turned its eyes back upon a wooden plank and behead thee towards the clergyman and spit in his for the public would they have preferred. face. Kaleb gasped at the defilement and Out of mercy thou were brought here to lunged towards the wolf, but was stopped repent before thy sentence could be car-
Among Wolf and Man 59 ried out. Satan, however, has now taken hold of a good man’s vessel and shall be extinguished.” Leon gestured for Kaleb to approach the beast. He then gestured for Jorge to step forward, “Be not afraid, my child. For this is God’s good work. Ye can sleep heavily tonight, for one less wolf occupies these woods tonight.” Kaleb approached the wolf and lingered over the groveling thing’s figure. Leon raised his hand, and with it brought down the axe upon the wolf’s neck with Kaleb’s might. It took few hacks to send the head rolling upon the limestone. It rested facing towards the lamp, the flames casting upon its gory visage. Leon patted Jorge’s back and said, “Many thanks for providing thine eyes as witness to the good deed,” then promptly left the men to burn the corpse within the furnace.
60 Among Wolf and Man Trust by Mylaine Self | Illustrated by Elaine Rodenbaugh “It is such a beautiful evening,” I on his shoulder and he kisses my fore- say as I stare into his icy blue eyes. head; we slowly grasp each other’s hand, “Yes, yes, it is. We have not had and it feels like I am 15 again, holding a weather this pretty in a long time,” he boy’s hand for the very first time. Butter- replies. As he is talking, I feel as if our flies are shooting around in my stomach relationship is closer than ever, and there and I am ecstatic, but I hold it in because is a feeling inside me that we are almost I don’t want to break the moment. I want one. Our souls are grabbing each other to giggle and laugh like a schoolgirl, but and pulling so tight. It is creating such a I must stay mature and classy. He has no warm and loving sensation inside me. As idea how good he makes me feel. we stare at the pond together while sitting I look up at him and whisper, “I on the bank, I feel as though all of the love you so much!” past trials and hardships are now worth it. He replies, “I love you so much We finally truly know each other and we too.” Oh, those words will resonate in have never been so in love. I lay my head my soul forever; it feels as though he has
Trust 61 burned them into my heart. They feel so an episode of Botched when I hear his strong and sincere, there is no tension or phone vibrate over the shower sounds. hatred in the air right now. I lean over to his nightstand to see a text “Can this moment last forever?” I message on his screen. He has his phone ask him. set to where it doesn’t show who the mes- He replies, “I wish it could.” sage is from. I try to read it, but he has I start hearing a Bzzzz…Bzzzz changed his passcode. “Where are all these bugs coming from?” “This is really strange,” I whisper He says, “They’re probably coming out out loud and then place his phone back because it’s dusk. Are you ready to go?” where it was. I am contemplating whether “Yes, I guess so.” He begins to to break our romantic streak and how stand up and holds his hand out for mine well we are getting along or to ask him to help me up. I think to myself, Wow, why he has so many settings changed on this is truly a fairytale. He has never been his phone and who has texted him. What so romantic and loving before. We begin do I do? I think to myself. I know I do walking to the house hand in hand, walk- not want to be in a relationship that has ing quite slowly. I feel like he wants to secrets or insecurities, so I am going to say something. I just keep quiet and wait. bring it up in a different way. While I’m He takes a deep breath and says, “Lyla, I thinking about it, he walks in our bed- need to tell you something.” room and starts to get in the bed. I just “Yes?” I reply. keep quiet and act interested in my TV “I feel like we have been so show. separated and distant since the affair, and He says, “Well, goodnight!” I am very sorry for that. I know I was in I reply, “I think your phone vi- the wrong, and I like the direction we are brated while you were in the shower.” going. I feel as though, somehow, this has “Oh, I bet it was just an app or drawn us closer as a couple, and I like it.” something.” I am in shock and say, “Yes, I Damnit, I think to myself. I want agree. I was hoping you were feeling the him to look at his phone so I can ask him same as me and not just leading me on what it was, but he never does. Disap- any further.” pointed, I just say, “Goodnight then,” He stops and looks me in the and roll over. He knows I am suspicious eyes and says, “I would never want to but does not say anything else. I am so intentionally lead you on, you’re too good exhausted that I fall asleep before I am for that.” I just smile and cut my eyes at able to see if he looks at his phone. him in a flirty way, and we begin walking The next morning, I am awak- again. We reach the house and begin to ened by the sunlight beaming through the take our showers. I take mine first, so I windows, and I look over my shoulder am in the bed before him. I am watching quickly to see if he is still there, because
62 Trust I just know he will be gone. He is, but his car keys are on his nightstand by his phone, which is unusual. Maybe I am just overexaggerat- ing and analyzing the situation too much since he cheated on me. Maybe he really has changed and does love me enough not to cheat. I get up to get dressed for the day, and I smell perfume: a perfume that I don’t have.
Trust 63 Spirited Away by Jaden Cotton Trudge by Dylan Candelora Step. The land is a beast of emptiness; its jaws of nothingness gnashing This oasis, a child in her barren sea. A chime of magnolias whispering, Rustling in the breath he blows, but mounted on a precarious precipice That gives way unto the dark. If nothing comes from the dark, Does this disease of emptiness reside within? Step. I am the ghost that wanders, trudging through the night. I am the cat that slumbers, prowling without the light. Black is my color, so I may pass unseen—but prying eyes, They keep looking! Where are her wooded sentinels To wrap me in their shadows? Step. Alas, if not for her flowing visage, solitude would be so perfect! A tranquility of emptiness where the wolf can hunt alone, But the wily feelings creep forward, rumbling in the distant sky, Broken by a fissure of light, perturbing the thought’s content. There’s sadness in her starry eyes, and a smile that stills the wild. I hesitantly approach, shyly stalking forth, tail drooped. Slowly, the bladed shadows unfurl my fearful pride— Our eyes meet. My blood freezes. The sudden splinter of suspension blinks self-reflection, And all thoughts recede as time tumbles forward. Step. Racing across fields, embracing the rush of darkness Until the ground turns to nothing, wings beating against the air; I am an owl silently soaring beyond the mountain, Gazing far below at the twinkling embers of life. Step. The howling winds crash into the land with the fury of the sea; The gale thrashing into life in shadow of the towering storm.
Trudge 65 Step. The torrents of swirling waves finesse my gradual asphyxiation. Step. Gasping for stars, submerged in an eternal ocean of despair. Sight flickers— Step. There is no one to save me, no phoenix that rises from flame— There is nothing, nothing from which everything comes; The same nothing to which everything must return. Step. I am the raven, gazing upon a desolate waste of ruin; nothing Scavenging for something; something in all this nothing. Scampering through the graveyard of life; searching— The tombstones march by in unison, thieves in time; A flood— Memories. The childhood nostalgia strung with a web of regrets, Where only an apparition of the past remains. Step. Sometimes it is too late to go back—he is gone. I was the ghost that wandered out of reach— But now he is the ghost that I can see no more. I should have seen it there, that starry, starry night, Where you took your life. Step. I desperately need to know, seeking beyond the known, The answer to this life. I have wandered on and on, Lost, unto the night. I see her peace of mind, Out among the stars; I need to guard it so. But she must never know. Step. I am trudging through the night. Step.
66 Trudge Losing My Wings: A Journey into the Real World by Christian Potter | Illustrated by Savannah Mueller
People walk by me, without actu- praying that I may be heard. Rain starts to ally seeing me. I reach out for them but fall and my wings become heavy with wa- my arms aren’t long enough. I cry out, ter. I try to continue my fight against the but am not heard, my cries falling on the cage that I have been locked in. Lightning ears of the deaf. I tear at the bars but to flashes and I collapse against the bars, too no avail, they remain. Thunder booms tired to fight anymore. The weight on my overhead and I realize the rest of the back, holding me down. The rain pelts world does have ears to hear with. my body as I lay there whimpering from I scream against the thunder, the fear of being stuck here forever.
Losing My Wings: A Journey into the Real World 67 Suddenly, a sharp pain tears they try to talk to me. Their mouth mov- through my shoulders. I scream against ing in silent words as if they were scared the thunder once more, praying that to use their voice. somebody will help me. I feel something “Shh. Don’t let them take this fall away from my shoulders. Rising up, away. You are special. Don’t let them kill my wings lay on the floor of my cage. The that.” I whisper. The child’s eyes widen sun finally rises over the horizon of the and they stand up. Reaching for me, they city. Looking down, I caress the feathers touch my cheeks, wiping my tears away. on my once beautiful white wings as they I back away from them and continue my slowly disintegrate in my hands. I hear rat- journey, now looking for a way out of tling as somebody finally opens my cage. this God forsaken city. The masses push Looking up, I feel an animalistic rage fill against me, trying to make me follow my body. them. My warden’s eyes are dead and I finally get away from them and I sad. He observes me quietly before feel something emerging from my shoul- allowing me to climb out. The morning ders. I look back and see wings. Beauti- sun illuminates my cage and I feel the ful and deep gray in the sunlight. They chains still on my wrists. I shield my eyes open and I take off. Hands grab at my from the sunlight as something is forced ankles. I fight, trying to escape the mass- over my face. I snarl at first before I allow es. They drag me back down into their it to settle over my eyes, blinding me to ranks. Stomping on my wings, they start the rest of the world. I’m forced to start beating me down. Blood flows out of my walking down the sidewalk. Following the body, painting my wings and the concrete masses blindly. around me. They, knowing that I could Noises surround me along with be trampled, start walking once more. the dull breathing from those walking with I’m stepped on multiple times me. Suddenly, I feel like I’d rather be in before I’m able to force my way up into my cage. I force the blinders off of me, a standing position. I run to a cage and blinking in the sunlight that I was missing. climb on top. Opening my wings, I take I look around and see more cages all over off again. Hands reach for me as I escape the place. Children with their wings, look- into the heavens above. Lightning flashes ing happy but also very sad sitting in their and I think of that legend of the boy who cages. I rush back to my cage, praying that flew too close to the sun. I finally break I could go back. Upon arriving at what through the clouds and emerge into the used to be my cage, I see a new person in sunlight. It warms me and I open my my cage. I walk up to it and they look up arms while I embrace the world around afraid of what I could bring to them. me. Nobody else seems to be up here. I Kneeling down, I reach in and touch their continue searching for anybody like me. cheek. Tears stream down their cheeks as Not finding anyone, I return to
68 Losing My Wings: A Journey into the Real World the city. I find a warden and he eyes me curiously. “Why aren’t there others like me?” I ask, imploring him to give me my answers. “They all died, alone because they couldn’t conform to the rest of the world,” he answers nonchalantly as he opens the door for another to join in the world of nothingness and robots. I shake my head, backing away scared, before taking off once more rising above the city. Finding a rooftop to stand on and stare down at the rest of the world. I find myself drawn to the edge of the building. Looking down, I notice that nothing but smog covers the city, hiding all that lays below. I feel myself teetering between jumping and staying there. A voice whispers softly as if coax- ing me to jump and join those who had stood here before me.
Losing My Wings: A Journey into the Real World 69 Primrose by Austin Duval Oklahoma is Notes on Oklahoma a cliché of cow twitches and coyote grins
Of pie filling dropped from pecan trees rooted deep in red earth and lime stone
Of needle knife fights between bois d’arc and mesquites over nonexistent rain
Of fish fries, smoked brisket, and red beans on corn bread with okra, okra, okra
Of porch swing sweet tea solitudes watching buzzards circle baked roadkill carcass
Of red ferns and wild flowers, paintbrushes, blankets, Susans and milkweeds
Of cowboys and Indians, ponytails and ponyboys, cattle rustlers and horse thieves
Of rednecks in blue collars, overalls, wide brims, boots, belts, and buckles
All of this, and much, much more, a given, Like primrose on the road side
by Cullen Whisenhunt Primrose by Austin Duval Notes on Oklahoma 71 This is How the Rookie Fumbles by Shalene White | Illustrated by Stephanie Canaday
7 6 All Michael wanted to be was an was special. Till one day in 10th grade, average teenager. Unfortunately, there his English teacher used it to describe was nothing average about him. He at- Edgar Allen Poe. It was then he realized tended an upper class high school in the even his mom thought he was weird. rich part of town. Yet, he did not come There was nothing average about from a rich family. They were not poor, him, not even his average name was by any means, but rich? They were not. actually average. Michael Walker seems He did not have very many friends, some pretty average and nondescriptive, right? of his classmates called him weird and Till you see this bean pole of a teenager odd. His mom always called him ‘eclec- saunter out. Michael had severe ADHD, tic.’ Michael grew up thinking it meant he so he did not walk anywhere - EVER!
6 7 Michael galloped when he tried to walk. with respect. If a new student came in and It came out more as a run/trotting horse started to tease Michael, the other players mixture. It made him look even more would set the new player straight. Nobody awkward, if that was possible. messed with Michael. It was almost as if To look in his room, you would he was their mascot. think he was the average teenager. He Michael was born and raised in had acne cream in his medicine cabinet, the town where he attended high school. next to an old inhaler. In his closet next He had never been away from the town to his Mathlete letterman jacket was a except to go to a few away games. Those pair of rainbow colored suspenders from were never far from his hometown, when he dressed up as a clown for the though. Michael graduated from high children’s burn unit at the hospital. His school with honors. Again, nothing aver- letterman jacket was actually a blank let- age for him, even though that was all he terman jacket with the Mathlete logo on it wanted. He was .02 GPA points under with his name and graduation year on it. the Salutatorian; which meant he had Their sponsor thought it would be cute to the third highest GPA in the school. No make their jackets look like the football chance of being average. letterman jackets. “Hey Michael, heard you That is where Mi- were almost Salutatorian of chael was like the average “Well, I guess that’s our class, way to lay low,” teenage boy: football. He one thing you suck at, Robbie, the class clown, loved everything about being average.” called out to him. the game. He had a pair Michael rolled his eyes of shoulder pads, a jersey, a and said jokingly, “Well, I cup and a mouth guard, even though he tried to be lazy like you, but I still graduat- had never been on a football team. He ed with honors. Guess it’s ingrained.” was obsessed. He had posters of famous Robbie laughed at what others football players all over his bedroom would consider an insult and shot back walls. He even had pictures and auto- “Well, I guess that’s one thing you suck graphs of the high school football players, at, being average.” Only the ones closest just in case they made it big. to Michael would understand how that Unfortunately for Michael, he was comment could sting just slightly. too small for the team. The coach was Michael’s parents never under- scared he would get hurt in the try outs. stood why he wanted to be average. They So, he was doomed to being the ‘man- knew he was special and wanted him to ager’ every season. That usually meant use all of that to his advantage. “Michael, being the waterboy and ballboy. Michael I don’t understand why you want to be did not care. He was able to be part of valued at less than what you are,” his a team, and the players all treated him dad told him while they were waiting for
74 This is How the Rookie Fumbles pictures after the graduation ceremony into. had ended. “You are so smart, use that to He sifted through the envelopes your advantage.” till he found the one with the familiar logo “Ugh, dad, you just don’t get on it. He closed his eyes and opened it. It it,” Michael said through his teeth while started out “Congratulations Michael...” smiling for a picture. “I don’t want to be That was all he needed to see. Michael special, I don’t want people commending ran through the house looking for his me on how smart I am.” dad. “Oh my God Dad! I did it, I got in!” “You’re right, I don’t get it,” his His dad was trying to understand what he dad replied. was saying through all the excitement. “Because if I don’t turn out as “You got into where, Michael?” special or as smart as you and mom think Michael tossed the envelop on his dad’s I am, then I’ll disappoint everybody,” desk, and he saw the logo of the fighting Michael said quietly. Irish. “I am so proud of you,” his dad “Oh Michael,” his mom chimed told him. “You will love it there. It was in, “you will never disappoint us. We some of the happiest times of my life.” don’t care if you bomb at Michael spent the entire college and have to come “Because summer getting ready for home to work at Mc- if I don’t turn out college. He was excited. Donald’s, all we care as special or as smart as Even though it was an above about is that you tried. you and mom think I am, average school, he felt good And you did your best. then I’ll disappoint about his choice. He always We love you.” That wanted to play football for comment made him feel everybody...” Notre Dame. Michael did just a tad better, but he not care how small he was, he had a haunting notion that was going to make the first set of she was supposed to say something along try outs. those lines. That’s what moms do. The summer before his college The graduation ceremony was fi- freshman year was good to Michael. He nally over and all the hype that goes along sprouted up to six feet and two inches tall with it. Michael was able to start looking and bulked up to two hundred and sixty at his college acceptance letters. He was pounds. He was solid muscle. “I finally accepted to five of them. There were look like a football player,” he thought to other letters from colleges that he had not himself. “The girls are going to love it.” opened yet. Fear kept him from opening Michael had never had a real girlfriend them. He was nervous because he wanted before. So, the thought of having one to choose the right college. His dad went kind of scared him a little. to Notre Dame on a football scholarship, Michael’s first semester of his that was the one he was hoping to get freshman year was pretty smooth and
This is How the Rookie Fumbles 75 uneventful. He made friends, and the girls Notre Dame was behind six points. One were noticing him. He was still a bit awk- touchdown would tie them and put them ward, so he didn’t go to all the functions. in overtime. There were three minutes He figured if he spaced out the events, it left on the clock and Notre Dame had the would take them longer to realize he was a ball. weirdo. The coach sent Michael in to Michael eventually started to come play. The crowd went wild, the noise out of his shell, getting to know people. was almost deafening. Michael got on He started going to the events and parties. the field, feeling like a NFL superstar, He found out that he could be funny if forgetting that he had never played an he didn’t think about it too much. He actual game before. He’d only played in was kind of starting to enjoy the little bit scrimmages. This game had over 20,000 of attention he was getting from the girls. people in attendance, way more people Some of the guys kept asking him when than the scrimmages he’d been a part of. he was going to try out for the football The play was perfect! The full- team. Michael was starting to wonder why backs were working beautifully to keep he always wanted to be average and blend the defense away from Michael. All he in with the wallpaper. Maybe it is a little had was air and opportunity to make his fun standing out. first touchdown ever. He caught the ball He went to the try outs and made at the twenty-yard line. Beautiful catch! the freshman team. Michael was beyond He tucked the ball like he’d seen his ecstatic! He always wanted to play foot- teammates do to be able to run without ball, and here he was! There was quite a dropping the ball. Michael took off at the bit of hype going around the freshman speed of light. They made him a running dorms of the school. Michael was touted back because of his speed. to be a monster on the field. Everybody However, since his growth spurt, had sensationalized him so much that he he hadn’t run much. He was not used to started to believe it. His fear of failing was running at the height and weight that he in the far reaches of his mind, to the point had reached. He was going to make it! that he didn’t even realize it was there. He saw the end zone. Ten yards, eight The first freshman game was here. yards, five yards! He could hear he clock The fans were going nuts. Some had ticking down in his ears. Four yards left. homemade signs made for Michael. Some He could almost taste the touchdown. read “Michael Walker Run.” The coach Michael turned back for a sec- decided to keep Michael for a special ond because he felt somebody on his play, kind of like a secret weapon. The heels. That is where he messed up. That coach even started to believe the hype split-second head turn knocked him off of Michael. The time of the game had balance, and made him fall. He hit the come. It was in the fourth quarter and ground hard enough to knock the ball out
76 This is How the Rookie Fumbles of his hands. He slid into the end zone, but the ball stayed on the field. The entire stadium went silent. All Michael could hear was the blood pumping in his ears. Monday morning came around, and Michael headed to class. Not a soul even looked his way. Everybody was so upset, nobody even acknowledged that he existed. As he was standing there, trying to comprehend what was going on, he realized that he had what he had always wanted. He was now the average student with nothing special about him, and he realized he was wrong.
This is How the Rookie Fumbles 77
Snapshot of a Soldier by Stephanie Canaday Ballerina by Kathryn Carter Never Stop Standing by LaTressa Mapps Here I stand in a familiar bondage. I pray to the GOD above that one day I will be free. There is so much out here for me, so much to do, so much to see. They call me nigger, gal, and darkie. What felt like raindrops falling from the sky, I feel the spit hit my face and slowly run down my cheek mixing with the tears falling from my eyes. I wipe them both away and wipe them onto my home-made skirt. My grand momma made me this skirt with her crippled arthritic hands. She wanted me to look pretty when I came, so I stand there. They won’t let me in. They don’t know that inside me lies a beautiful mind, a woman that can change the world. They don’t care, they only see my black skin, my nappy hair, my thick lips and my wide hips. Or maybe they do and the fear of my power evokes their rage and hatred, but I stand there. I hear the sirens in the distance and I know they are coming for me. They are coming to arrest me, again, hopefully. I don’t want another beating like the last time. I know the law says I can’t be here, but this is where I want to be. I am just as smart as the white people. I know I am, my momma and my grand momma have always told me, so I stand there. The sirens are getting closer and closer, I know my momma and grand mom- ma can’t afford to get me out of jail, again, but my heart won’t let me give up. I want to make my momma and my grand momma proud. I won’t give up, I stand there. The crowd is getting bigger, the shouting is getting louder, I can no longer understand their words, but their faces speak a thousand words. My fear is rising more and more with every passing second, but still I stand there.
Never Stop Standing 81 The white men and women keep shouting, pointing and coming closer to me. Sud- denly I feel a thud on my head. I looked down and saw the rock lying at my feet as blood ran from my head into my eyes, face and on my momma’s beautiful blouse. It is ruined. I stand frozen, blinded by sheer desire, as if this crowd will disappear and when I thaw I will enroll. I will stand here… waiting. The sirens are deafening. I see the police running toward me. I’m scared, I start to pray. GOD above, please don’t let them beat me, please don’t let them take me to jail. GOD above, if you are up there, if you are real, please GOD protect me from them… I jump up from my sleeping slumber and I realize it was only a dream. I silence my alarm clock that is belting out it’s loudest siren. It was only a dream for that girl. I will stand in her place today, I will appreciatively get up and get ready for college. She was my dream, I am her dream. I am living my dream and hers too.
82 Never Stop Standing introspectre: a collection
Photography by Noah Patton 84 introspectre: a collection introspectre: a collection 85 86 introspectre: a collection introspectre: a collection 87 88 introspectre: a collection Poet’s Eye A poet’s eye is a possession not easily gained. I’ve known ones who not only see but smell the rain, And little girl noses pressed against the window pane. But it’s not simply having your senses trained. It’s a bloody heart—seeker of beautiful pain.
by Tayte Weatherly
Poet’s Eye 89 Theresa by Stephanie Canaday To Keep Two months. . . we only made it or two freakin’ months. . . I hated that every- one was right. We were in love? Weren’t To Return we? I’m alone with my thoughts as I me- chanically fold my clothes and place them by Salena Eckelhoff into a box. I can’t quite comprehend groom some thing that they would most what could have gone wrong in only two likely never use, there lay a small moun- months’ time that brought an end to our tain of half-opened boxes to attend to. marriage. I hear the front door unlock and Frank and I had been friends creep open as I continue to stare at the since childhood; we each had other small mound. relationships over the years, but we always “Hey. . .” I look up to see Frank knew we would end up together – no standing in the doorway of the bedroom, matter what anyone else said. For some his hands in his front jeans pockets, look- reason, those who knew us best, always ing every bit as uncomfortable as I felt. said that we weren’t right for each other. “Hey.” I move my eyes quickly But, how does that saying go? We were from his, back to the half-opened gifts. blinded by love? As I think back, I won- “You know, Frankie. . .” Frank der what everyone else knew, that Frank begins as I quickly cut him off (we should and I didn’t know. have known that two people named Oh, I know what they thought. Frank and Frankie weren’t going to make That we were too young. That we were it), “We really need to go through these both too stubborn and pig-headed. That gifts.” There is no way I am having this we each needed a partner that was more conversation right now. laid back than either of us. That neither “Umm. . . yeah. . .” Frank comes of us had ever really figured out who we into the room to stand beside me. “So, were yet. Well, I guess they were right. should we finish opening them?” As I finish packing away my “I don’t know. . . I guess so.” I clothes from the closest, I come to what start pulling out a box. I never would have we had pushed toward the back, and what thought two months ago that Frank and I had been dreading – the wedding gifts. I would be opening up the rest of our The money we had received had already wedding gifts on the eve of our divorce. been spent on our honeymoon, but from There we sat on the floor in front the people who still believed it was more of the closet. Two soon-to-be divorcees personal and best to get the bride and opening up their wedding gifts. When
To Keep or To Return 91 we had finally finished unwrapping and then out the doors to stand on the side- opening them all, there was a cornucopia walk in front of our cars. of small appliances, dishware, and linens “No hard feelings, Frankie?” between us. “None at all, Frank.” And it was “What do we do now?” Frank true. “We just weren’t meant for each looks up at me. other.” Frank gives me a little smile with “What do you mean?” Umm. . . a nod of his head and then gets in his car finish packing and go our separate ways? and drives away. “I mean, do we give everything I look after his car until it is no back, or just keep it all?” Frank rubbed longer in my sight. I have a feeling I’m his eyes. “It just seems a little weird keep- never going to see Frank again. It’s sad ing everything when we’re not going to be really – best friends who had to go and get using it together.” married, completely messing everything God. I did not feel like sorting up. Nothing to do about it now. and sending all of this stuff back to their I get in my car and turn on the respective senders. “You know what? I radio. Ed Sheeran’s voice fills my car. say let’s just keep everything and half it. I'm thinking 'bout how people fall Just because you and I didn’t work out, in love in mysterious ways. . . I see no reason to give everything back – Maybe it's all part of a plan. . . because you know, we really thought we I'll just keep on making the same mis- were going to be forever. . . didn’t we?” takes, “Yes, Frankie, we did.” Frank Hoping that you'll understand. . . gives me a small, sad smile. I return the Our song. I look into the rearview mirror smile as I pull the stainless-steel blender as I pull out into the traffic. I so badly to my side and hand him the black blend- wanted it to work with Frank. But he er. knew as well as I did, that we weren’t We continue sorting out the gifts going to make it for the long haul. That’s until they are all gone, and Frank helps why I stopped him from repeating the me carry the rest of my boxes down to my same conversation we had had already. car. He just didn’t want a divorce – he want- “So, I guess that’s it.” Frank turns ed to prove everyone wrong. But I just from looking around the empty apart- couldn’t do it. Not when it would have ment to gaze at me. been at the expense of our happiness. “Yeah, that’s it.” I give one last I knew Frank would be okay, just as I look around the space we called home for would be. After all, we did each have a two months and then walk out the door, brand-new blender. locking it after Frank comes out. We walk to the front office to return our keys and
92 To Keep or To Return Uncle Eddie by Jennifer Stahnke
Like a small child chasing a butterfly, You intrigued us from the start; We couldn’t help but follow you, Where would you go? You captivated our hearts.
You’d be over here, over there, Sometimes fluttering all around; You were unpredictable and mysterious, One of us, but uniquely profound.
Occasionally we couldn’t find you, Where are you hiding now? Like the time you beat us from Miller Park to your house on 55th, You walked – we drove – holy cow!
Sometimes you stayed in one place, Rested your wings and took a breath; Enjoyed the moments with family and friends, Fished, gambled, and placed a bet.
You were quite courageous, Into space we flew at Great America; Never mind the swearing and sweat drops that followed, And other embarrassing hysteria.
Your home was a vacation destination to many of us, “Let’s watch Tombstone!” you’d shout over the years; Remember the black witch’s pot on the front stoop, And falling through the upstairs toilet-floor fears?
Uncle Eddie 93 You knew us all quite intimately; How did you remember everyone’s favorite food? Was it your thick black glasses and selective hearing Or did you perch and listen quietly when in the mood?
What good is a gun if you got a girl, you asked, A dedicated sailor you later became; I read your letters to parents and brothers, When you returned were you ever the same?
Who would have thought you like a monarch? Flying freely, heads turned your way; Our lives were enriched by your presence and laughter, Memories forever to stay.
On the green grass we’ll stand looking over, Prayers followed by voicelessness; Like the child looking on, when the butterfly is gone, You’ve completed your final metamorphosis.
94 Uncle Eddie