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Salamander Staff 2006 Nina Fedrizzi, editor Shaun O’Donnell Mitchell Wilsey Nadeen Vella Acknowledgements… We’d like to thank Dr. David Lloyd and the Creative Writing Program for their constant support in maintaining The Salamander… To all of the students who submitted their work – thank you! The literary magazine would be non-existent without you… ~ Salamander Staff 2006 ~ The Salamander 1 Table of Contents Nadeen Vella (photograph) — Imprints . .Cover Shaun O’Donnell Orange, red, and vermillion . .33 Ryan Arsenault A Real Boy . .34 Downtown . .5 Smoke . .35 Wishing Winter Away . .6 Diagnosing James . .36 Scorn . .37 Tisha Dunstan Snow Globe . .8 Jeremy Perrone Lost in a Dream . .9 Climbing the Stereotype Stairs . .38 The Playground . .10 Dearest World. .39 Mirrors . .12 It’s the same old world gut nothing looks the same. .40 The Streetlight is crying a story. .41 Steve Davidson (photograph) — Praying . .13 Steve Davidson (photograph) — Untitled . .42 Karen J. Durfee For the grieving… . .14 Jacob M. Pousson Love . .15 The man from Maita . .43 Second Sight . .46 Nina Fedrizzi Wordsworth’s Dilemma . .48 Eyelashes . .16 Zeitgeist . .49 Mom’s Sauce . .17 What Would William Wallace Say? . .18 Kristen Post What Ever Happened to the Signal? . .20 Pina Coladas . .50 Natalie Fonda Liz Schylinski The Armoir . .22 breakfast . .51 Bolt of Lightening . .24 My choice. .52 memoir . .54 Steve Davidson (photograph) — huaduck . .25 (no subject) . .55 Sarah Heukrath Mitchell Wilsey Petals . .26 Frog Stomp . .56 Olivia Martin I passed her in the hallway and this is what happened . .58 …A Thousand Words . .27 Miscarriage . .59 Mother’s perfume . .29 One Breath . .60 The Sky is Falling . .31 2 The Salamander The Salamander 3 Everything was the same, Downtown yet I recognized none of it – the closer I looked. I walked the cobblestone streets, passed the sad death sneers. The candy man with no face was spinning the sickly smells of sugary confections, to give to the children who were unwilling to accept. The neon butterfly fluttered onto my shoulder, as the policeman with the serpent nightstick shouted in tongues for everyone to leave. A candy cane strutted by, its sharp teeth clenched with peppermint, pasty red stripes dripping blood onto the pavement, blending with the crimson tears of crying children. The emerald green jay – that didn’t know it was supposed to be blue – was oblivious to it all. Echoes spun around the air, reverberating in my head, as interjections were offered to the people for the small sum of five dollars. The clock tower struck twelve, and a melancholy voice – high in the tower – announced that everyone should stop crying, it would all be over soon. Everything Downtown will be like it was before. – Ryan Arsenault 4 The Salamander The Salamander 5 Wishing Winter Away when a deer ambles the snow past, hits head hung low, flake and he trots along, by the crunch of flake, powder under his you smile, hoofs. and casually you are flick relaxed – a cigarette while overhead, aside, like a giant interstellar open book across the sky also throwing the moon is a twig – sprawling in the hot stove – on a blanket of twigs – I imagine you that burns up there in the cold adjusting stony earth your bikini top – of harvard. you smile i still wonder at Mark, what’s in the back who is standing, of your mind, on the moon’s shores, as you flash maniacally laughing a mouth full at a fat kid of brightly lit who just got stuck teeth – in an inner-tube. again. a fiery streak of red across the sky, the sun is rising. – Ryan Arsenault 6 The Salamander The Salamander 7 Lost in a Dream Lost and alone Snow Globe I am running Clock hands spinning, a violent chase. Looking glass, I’m spinning Mother reads softly swirls of white – it fades. nothing can touch me, Bonjour, the City of Lights here. moves from my reach. Snow melts and drops like rain I am picking up tiny specks of sand, my petticoat, Earth cleansed with white, a man tips his hat mouth open wide, a child – to the clicking of a carriage. singing, innocent and reborn. My pen falls nothing comes Like eyeglasses magnifying not today I see a world that’s free. not tomorrow Night falls and I am safe in the ink runs dry. a blanket of snow. Confusion and Let go, it’s a bubble – disorder, It’s safe to see what’s real. bound A glass dome turned upside down forever while the Heavens shake and watch a sea of Fate play out. red. – Tisha Dunstan I fall back eyes open to a nightmare and a dream. – Tisha Dunstan 8 The Salamander The Salamander 9 The Playground “Light as a feather, thick as a board.” “Light as a feather, thick as a board.” The air held a crisp cold, This was the new game – our jackets, small and outdated now; Hide and Go Seek, Truth or Dare and Skip It rustled along with the vividly colored had exhausted themselves. trees-as we moved along with them. The Craft had made its impression, dangerous and exciting, we were, “Light as a feather, thick as a board.” only in the fifth grade. The gazebo was wooden – it was before the PTA worried about splinters, “Light as a feather, thick as a board.” before plastic colored framework Jessika, I think her name was – painted over our existence. memories have begun to fade, as someone else’s laughter now “Light as a feather, thick as a board.” echoes in the wind. Twenty kids to a class, my classmates, my friends, “Light as a feather, thick as a board.” I knew their last names, birthdays, We picked her up as a whole, giggling – parents’ occupation. wondering if our two fingers each, could hold her up. “Light as a feather, thick as a board.” We believed the unexplained, we believed in ourselves, we believed like I have never believed since. – Tisha Dunstan 10 The Salamander The Salamander 11 Mirrors She was on a train from nowhere, to nowhere. Her head gently propped itself against the window, the rhythmic motion of the train car felt like, she supposed, being soothingly rocked to sleep by a parent. Daringly with her glistened eyes, she saw, reflected off the darken night, a young girl, no older then herself, laying her head on the shoulder of a young man. Meanwhile, two children, one boy and one girl, ran up the aisle smiling, their mother barely able to keep up. The observer looked closer in to the glass, two brilliant blue eyes, as brilliant as the river that flowed smoothly by, stared back at her. There was something unsettling about that face, about those eyes-they were absent, barely it seemed, in this world. It took just a moment to realize whose eyes they were – and it scared her. – Tisha Dunstan Praying Steve Davidson 12 The Salamander The Salamander 13 For the grieving... Love… “To all of us who have lost someone” Another life is lost But at what cost The staying power More heartbreak is born When trials dare And more spirits torn. To crush the hour And strip you bare Unbearable grief Of all you’ve held Or so now it seems So dearly there. Where go we from here After shedding of tears. The solid ground When flooding waves Once again now the torch Threaten to drown Of another has passed What’s built to stay. To those left behind Strength undeterred To fulfill the task, Refusing decay. Of furthering life The driving force As each morning breaks Behind the wheel To press beyond sorrow Of so much more And breathe a new day. Than surface appeal. Intangible pull To go ’bout the business No moment can steal. Of bettering lives Not those of our own The compelling motion But those by our side. Of forward progression. Relentless devotion To be counted among Not bitter recession. All the brave and ambitious Friend of the heart And touch yet another No foe dare to question. Precious life that’s still with us. – Karen J. Durfee In loving memory of my cousin and childhood friend, John Donaghey – Karen J. Durfee 14 The Salamander The Salamander 15 Eyelashes Mom’s Sauce I leave eyelashes everywhere: She hovers over the large cooking pot Stuck to shower walls, One steam-pressed strand of russet hair rebelling Strewn Across her dewy forehead On movie theatre floors, She dashes it away And once, quietly, in a boy’s hair While he slept. Dashes the pot Oregano, a sprig of rosemary I’ve sewn them often in the wind Some thyme (It’s there that they work best), The savory aromas instilled by summer days Murmuring incantations In the sprinkler-fed herb garden Only I can understand. Baking there near the red-clay markers Then plucked, dried, and hung away on the cellar door I’ve found them Now crushed over the cooking pot Pressed neatly Their scents released Between tissue folds in a wallet, One final stand against the encroaching cool of autumn Stuck in wine rings On the counter, She churns the weathered wooden spoon Scattered among bills Drawing deep and strong against the thick red current On the big oak desk. Sees her own mother’s sinewy arms Burnished olive like hers And on rare occasions, Pull and churn, pull and churn When providence fails, I’ve been known to pluck a few Somewhere the kids are on their way from school In secret Trudging beneath book-laden backpacks To rob them of their tender bushels, She lifts the spoon, samples one pleasantly searing drop Send them off from finger tip, At the window a saffron leaf crunches Into the gusty unknown.

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