The Literary Panther

Advisors Alphonso Dunn Emily Eklund Christine Redman-Waldeyer Heather Wojdylo

Issue No. 2

The Literary Panther Passaic County Community College One College Boulevard Paterson, New Jersey 07505

Credits

3 4 Contents

POETRY Nelton A. Barrett 9 Parul Begum 13 Alex Blau 14 Andre Brown 19 Albert Bustos 22 Miguel DeJesus 26 DeMond James 30 X’Zaviour Johnson 32 Amanda S. Kibler 34 Kamil Kozlowski 36 Matthew Redling 37, 39 Nicole C. Richardson 40 Matthew Zeitlinger 44

SHORT STORY Kamil Kozlowski 49 Jair Quijano 52 Nicole C. Richardson 54

CREATIVE NON-FICTION Fatima Jamal Kanouni 59

ART Albert Bustos 21, 31 Cesar Marquez 46

PHOTOGRAPHY Lisa Costabile 29, 63 Eric Francisco 27, 43 Fatima Jamal Kanouni 23, 35, 51 Hannah Tallorin 25, 38, 62

6 P POETRY

8 Nelton A. Barrett

Memories Just For You

My love, my love, my love. Ooh my love, my love, my love. Wait for me where we first met. Wait for me where we saw the sun-set.

My love, my love, my love. Wait for me where we first sat, Wait for me where we first met. Under the willow tree I will say my last goodbye, So be there by nine. For after that time I will have to rest, But if you cannot be on time I will do my best to withhold my last breath.

Under the shadow of death I wait for thee. Through the moonlight I seek thee. The truth… I wait impatiently, For love, nor hope, can hold me. But make haste, while breath flows, Because I’m too weak even to blow Or make ugly sounds of my last fighting breath. Remember this before I go In the field listen to the Bamboo-Phone And remember the sweet songs I sang so low.

My Dear, my dear, my dear. Ooh my dear, my dear, my dear. Meet me where we first sat and ate Not far from where we first met.

My dear my dear, my dear Wait for me not far from where we met. Wait for me where we first sat and ate. Under the Sapodilla tree, We will eat our last meal together And you and I will pray for this blessing to last forever. 9 Under the sapodilla tree We used to play childish games Under the Sapodilla we played our idol fames Under the sapodilla tree we played games of old and new, But best of all is the game ‘ooooH, how I love you”

Over and down the dark and rocky trails Ooh how I love to hold your hands And whisper in your ear, My dear have no fear. Until we reached the city lights Ooh what a thing to bring us near Just because we share The thing called “D-E-A-R”.

So remember all of this, before I go… Over and down those dark and rocky trails. My voice will speak comfort in your ear. And in the midst of changing winds I will weep with thee And by the spread of a dove count the things I love and be happy.

And under the willow Where we often sat and discuss And under the sapodilla where Together we filled our stomach

And through the bamboo-phone Hear the love-verses of my heart Which I sang so sweet and low. And in the spring Where lovers sing; where birds fluttering feathers glow… Remember with whom I love the most.

10 Nelton A. Barrett

What You Are to Me

On the road of life alone I love to trod along. But I met a lovely flower and I made the mistake of holding her hand. And now I want to understand this gentle butterfly.

As pretty as a rose, to me, as chattering as a bee. But I love to listen to her attentively. Although she complains how I look at her meticulously. She knows my eyes can see her true needs.

Thou the light of my eyes Light up the darkness around thee. I cannot see behind the mask of beauty, your everlasting mystery.

Thou my eyes want to unfold your mystery my soul need not see, but to unite with thee. For my soul cries out for what my eyes can only see the mystery I love.

Stay as guileless as a dove as fresh as early morning spring as clear as day and as full as the moon that comes by night.

Stay as pretty as a newly blossomed rose and beside me stay close… On this lonely road of life, on which I found 11 The L-O-V-E of my L-I-F-E.

Stay as natural as Nature’s Spring, in it birds come and sing. And no matter how the days have been and how uneasy I have felt I’ll just wash clean myself And drink to our health.

Just Stay as a dove. It symbolizes the things I love and yes, it’s the thing the world need so much, P-E-A-C-E and L-O-V-E.

My Instructor saw me wondering off in space, and think I can’t keep the pace. But at this time and date, I concentrate to dedicate these words to commemorate the day I thought of my Dainty Blue… All because of you.

12 Parul Begum

Friends without Faces

We sit and type every day and night Without thinking whether it’s wrong or right. With our smart phones we roam through the internet and get lost in a maze Looking for someone or something for days.

We desperately chat with others hoping that some friends we can make, we met Superman, Blade, Cinderella, and Tiana, but it didn’t occur to us that their profiles can be fake. We’re very happy and excited to have Blade as a new friend But we didn’t know there will be a sad story at the end.

We continue chatting and start sharing our Thoughts with a foe, sooner or later he or she will shatter our hearts with a bow and arrow. Now we are sad and depressed and there is no one to tell If we are mature enough we can tolerate the sorrow or else we will deteriorate within the hidden shells.

We should vow ourselves that we won’t believe the strangers Even if they act like power rangers. Online predators come in various ranges After all they’re all Friends without Faces.

13 Alex Blau

Raise The Torch

Overworking yourself will only make you fall Not everyone can start out standing tall In life sometimes you must crawl Before you can walk and have it all Working hard and living life without a break Is less of a benefit and more of a mistake We start out shuffling the dice giving it a good shake The outcome may give less than what it will take Still you must remember to strive for what you can do Not what others expect of you Success will still come to those down below You don’t have to have it all to put on a great show Entertain yourself by doing your best Do what you can but still get some rest Doing more than what you can is how you fail life’s test It’s a battle between you and yourself so what is the contest Life is like breaking a bone It will grow back even stronger than before in the broken zone You’re an instrument that life will take out of tone Still your journey isn’t left alone Deep inside you will find your metronome Everyone will become lost but it’s your choice whether or not you want to find your way home The tuner from within will get you back to where you have to be Like the Polar Express you must truly believe it in order to see Struggle has become a second nature to humanity What you will endure challenges more than just your sanity

14 “Unleash your inner desire to soar farther than anyone could before you expire” “Karma can be a nightmare but you can fight her because you’re a survivor”

Everything comes in three From start to finish your position hasn’t come for free It starts out with birth Then it transfers to struggle throughout your life on earth Until you reach down inside and cause a rebirth Deep within your soul’s fireplace igniting its flame above the hearth Don’t back down when your already pushing through to finish showing what your worth Finishing first by using what you have been able to unearth Digging down deep for the treasure you kept hidden inside Only your goals should reside Influence can harm the brain like contact with cyanide It’s a parasite that can manipulate in order for its intentions to hide Like an Olympic participant with every move it has a long stride Splitting our life making it divide Do what you would like to do and this problem would never come to light Its hideous plan would never blind my sight Keeping goals are perfect to have insight Never submit to what others force upon you every plight The world is a battlefield and all you can do is fight Success isn’t what others make of it, it is doing what you feel is right Martin Luther King Junior used his words to change America’s outlook He formulated his success like a recipe in a cookbook Cooking with ingredients he collected from himself in some sort of scrapbook Spreading more than he took Everyone in the world is food and the predators seem to always lay their hook In which we fall prey to because the warnings we mistook

15 “So you must continue to aspire to raise the torch a little higher” “Keep the fire burning even brighter” “Unleash your inner desire to soar farther than anyone could before you expire” “Karma can be a nightmare but you can fight her because you’re a survivor”

Lost in a game you created Still played even after the expiration that was dated Your success is so valuable that its gold plated You can set goals but sometimes they will become belated Not everything happens on time as history has already stated People who reap benefits were the ones who waited Whether or not this works can be debated How fate works is something I have always hated Break yourself down now and what will be left to go on with Your life would become questionable like an ancient myth The smell of defeat may have a strong odor but take a good whiff You only truly fail if you start asking what if Failure is a stepping stone to success so you will eventually succeed In the book of life there will always be much to read There is much to learn Getting what you want is something you earn The torch of determination lights the way for you to follow A path without a purpose is hollow Keep it held high throughout your journey to the sky As long as it’s lit you won’t die Don’t back down when you’re so close, just try This all works, I can’t deny Raise the torch higher and higher Don’t let anyone put out your fire It burns bright just for you to use It’s the most important thing besides family that you have to lose Stay strong and you will survive Get some rest and work hard in order to stay alive Being a follower makes you a puppet to envy’s control Jealousy is the reason others seek to own someone’s soul Reapers taking whatever they want racking up the death toll Stopping people from succeeding, isn’t that the ultimate troll Strive for what you feel is best Stand tall and stomp on all the rest Raise your torch in the air

16 But protect it like you care One day you will be king Freeing those imprisoned, so let freedom ring You’re the savior of the world so show us what you will bring Bringing hope to everyone who was once suffering Not everyone can find their way So lead them like Moses helping the Jewish people runaway Spread determination across your pathway Only let your success remain here to stay

“Aspire to raise the torch a little higher” “Keep the fire burning even brighter” “Unleash your inner desire to soar farther than anyone could before you expire” “Karma can be a nightmare but you can fight her because you’re a survivor” “So you must continue to aspire to raise the torch a little higher” “Keep the fire burning even brighter” “Unleash your inner desire to soar farther than anyone could before you expire” “Karma can be a nightmare but you can fight her because you’re a survivor” “In order to survive you have to aspire to raise the torch a little higher” “Keep the fire burning even brighter” “Unleash your inner desire to soar farther than anyone could before you expire” “Karma can be a nightmare but you can fight her because you’re a survivor” “Aspire to the raise the torch a little higher because you are a survivor, survivor, survivor”

17 Alex Blau

Rise Above The Fallen

I will rise above all and become their downfall

I will get up and stand tall for I am in it for the long haul

Great power starts out small but I will rise up and crawl above all

Like the stars my future will shine bright staying insight

I will always fight for my right to become more than what others might

I am like the night staying hidden until I am ready to overcome the plight

My potential is high and that no one can come to deny

Some may ask why but only fate can unmask its face which is so shy

My skills are my ally and this is what I live by so as a result ill be dropping my ideas upon the world like tears from someone’s eye

My ambition is the key point to transition me to a better position

Determination is my ignition to spark the fire of creation among a society that could use more creative nutrition

To rise above the fallen is my mission in which will define me like a definition and raise my position so I may add a new addition to help life’s fallen generation

18 Andre Brown

MATERIAL CHAINS

I know some things others may know as well open your eyes look around we're living in spiritual hell you might want to cover your ears this may make you cry everything you’ve been taught to believe is a lie isn’t your reality mine? or am I a visitor from another plane? release the spirit, dig into your mind break the material chains we've been taught to glorify idols and look to money as the savior men with degrees put science over the creator the men who know are non complacent they take degrees and live free like masons live and love the surface you'll never find the core the universe is infinite a human being is much more isn’t your reality mine? or am I just insane? we look for wealth instead of self break the material chains

19 Andre Brown

WHAT IS A MAN?

I’m sure it’s hard to be Small as a fly or grain of sand I’m sure women won't agree But it’s hard to be a man

Life isn’t all sweet Sometimes I feel nervous and weak If I say it’s too hot outside They look at me like you’re a man You can’t be scared of the heat

Society thinks A man doesn’t hang his head He stands straight up A man belongs on top Plays the rock And never gets fed up

If a man is sick Doesn’t he deserve care? Is it fair to deny him freedom of expression? Can a woman not teach man a lesson?

Nothing is impossible Faith lets us know that we can If man is not God What is he? A man is just a man

Albert Bustos, Our First Rusty, 2010

21 Albert Bustos

In My Deepest Dreams

In my deepest dreams, I'm the next Buddha, standing next to Allah, writing entries into my very own Kabala. His aura gives off solar flares, and so I meditate about Alaskan air. Jesus and Muhammad make an incredible pair, when going over worldly affairs. I'm writing a poem with the feather from an angel, who told me with good deeds I can earn a halo. The smell of roses came with each breeze. We invoked saints with diamond rosary beads. I asked Lazarus about those who do evil deeds, He said that's blasphemous here there is no such thing as envy, hate or greed. Behind a tree I saw Moses, sitting in the position of a lotus. He opened his eyes and said to me that I was one of the chosen. He said a trillion religions don't matter cause there is only One. The One who birthed the universe who gave life to the sun. Some call it Nirvana, heaven, or the Tao. Yet it's so simple to understand, even by a child. As I walked the white sands I looked out into the sea, and in my heart I prayed to God saying I hope this is how it will be.

Fatima Jamal Kanouni, The Spotlight, 2014

23 Albert Bustos

Internal Flame

As the world turns, hearts burn, for the passion and desire, with stronger flames than a forest fire, in an internal-eternal flame, that can't be put out by rain. Only the drops of tears, can relieve a hell so fierce, and wash the soul, from the pain of old, that goes untold.

Hannah Tallorin, Untitled, 2014

25 Miguel DeJesus

Knowledge

As pen touches paper again, the ink releases this vapor within, which infests the readers mind, and changes their thought pattern, they soon realize that knowledge, is the only thing that truly matters, knowledge breeds wisdom, and a better understanding, of what life's demanding, our culture’s freedom, has the power for refinement, education isn't owned, we receive it on consignment, and we're all really equals, so why do we build and destroy with such violence, and why for a lifetime of memories, the dead only receive a moment of silence.

Eric Francisco, Untitled, 2014

27 Miguel DeJesus

TIME

Time is of the essence, Adolescence's A true blessing, No contesting, So young people, please, Remember these, Things, I bring, To the table, Do what you're able, But attempt all goals, Especially when you're on a roll, Don't give up, But never try to live up, To others expectations, You have your own mind, Your own imagination, So proceed with dedication, Maintain your concentration, Trust me, only good things are waiting.

Lisa Costabile, Untitled, 2014

29 DeMond James

Aquarius

I become the water bearer Giver of life Nurturer of the earth. The water keeps flowing Filling the room. Like blood in the Nile or the endless sands of the Sahara Shades turn from mocha to orange to Crimson Overwhelming my senses The water keeps flowing. Filling the room The water bearer seals me up Satisfying my empty core Fueling my fear Falling like a leaf down my cheek Runs a single tear. The water bearer keeps on pouring My soul, it cannot bear Bends under the strain My heart sinks My throat chokes My lungs heave The water bearer stops pouring Just as the tears leave I become the water bearer

Albert Bustos, Gogh’s Olives, 2012

31 X’Zaviour Johnson

IT’s LIFE

Part one

Living a life unworthy of living Turning to God hoping to be forgiven Not knowing that life is more than what they see Not going to school to get that degree Having friends get pregnant at the age of sixteen Thinking life is nothing but peaches and cream Try to help and push them into a church But all they think about is selling their body and calling it work all I hear is “on my set”” on my hood” Some days I hear I wish a nigga would What I have to say no one wants to hear They act like they don’t even care But the word of god which is our creator Is the key to life and making it greater All you have to do is turn to god hoping to be forgiven Because like you I’ve lived a life unworthy of living

Part two

They all say its peaches and cream Because they are living life as if it were a dream Now that you’ve given your mind body and soul to Christ study his word and make it your life. Work towards him like you are working towards fame Carry his word like you are carrying that diamond ring He is with you and protects you 24/7 Make friends with that reverend His name is Kevin I know you don’t want to hear what I have to say But God told me to make a way Make a way to speak his word And when it gets personal you act like you don’t care Causing pain and strife to that child’s life Killing their dad and you call me a fag I’m gonna keep it real No one cares how I or you feel 32 Because the word of God which is our creator Is the key to life and making it greater All you have to do is turn to god hoping to be forgiven Because like you I’ve lived THIS life unworthy of living

33 Edited by: Amanda S. Kibler How to Love Dennecia Proctor I will put you first I will never disappoint you I will never neglect your trust - they say This is what I say: Love my character Understand my story Leave me with my thoughts, except my control.

I am Royalty to two little ladies. Take that. Something to obtain - My heart will be troubled. My heart will be full.

My father has three baby mothers. I have nine siblings, they say. But yet, I strive.

How do I develop meaningful relationships?

Clueless. Yet I embrace the challenge. I realize my weakness. I realize my strength. In God I trust. I will forever Love. He sees beyond my misunderstanding. In Him my wisdom is produced.

My Struggles amuse me. He creates a bright light in me.

Dedicated to My First Love, God

Fatima Jamal Kanouni, Sit and Free Your Mind, 2014

35 Kamil Kozlowski

Lady Macbeth’s Burden

Every night he is standing here, Wants me to get closer, gives me leer, Holding bloody dagger in his hand, He knows about my deepest fear.

Every moment fills my heart with dread, He does not move, with his arms spread Invites me to perform the royal dance, As we begin to spin around the bed.

Child’s horrid cry puts me in trance, It dictates the rhythm of the dance, Scarlet path I leave behind me, The blood spilled by my sick romance.

Scent of asphodels comes out of thee, Says before the castle welcomes trees, My soul no longer will be free I will be dead by God’s decree.

36 Matthew Redling

My Escape

Finally I have an escape. Within it I can let go. I am heard. I feel alive.

Inside it I am real. I matter. Inside nothing is invisible. I am obvious.

Through the pages I exist. The imagination can expand. The words are held in place.

The pages are an escape. Within the pages I can let go. The pages listen. Writing page after page I feel alive.

Hannah Tallorin, Untitled, 2014

38 Matthew Redling

Survival of Life

I am only here to serve.

A slave to society.

Given orders to support our race.

There seems to be a choice.

Times like this you have to decide to live or die.

These are the only choices.

Mankind has one purpose,

That is to keep balance to what is already hell itself.

Things have to change.

They won’t change though.

Adaptation takes hold of you.

If you cannot hold your ground,

Then become one of those who suffer.

Trapped you will be.

So follow the society you live in.

This is the one life you get.

39 Nicole C. Richardson

My City

The last time I walked home in fear Was last night ‘Cause in the morning The sun shines bright Everything feels alright Neither a care nor a worry But the truth is The reality is blurry You better hurry When night falls The outside offers no protection Inside these invisible walls And all I hear are sirens going by… Did someone die? See, I don’t worry It’ll be on the Channel 12 news With a family crying and confused And a Facebook status will post May they rest-in-peace to boast Over 200 different likes ‘Cause the streets claimed a life— Again? And all this time The crime continues to rise Bringing my city to its demise And I smize ‘Cause it’s a little bit funny When you hear people are willing to lose their lives Over a little bit of money And I admit this world is so cold But there’s no price worth losing your soul My city makes sure there’s no way to escape God forbid, I get an education And come to the realization That I can do more Beyond my imagination Perhaps graduation With a college degree 40 But that’s something my city Can’t foresee ‘Cause the future Doesn’t go beyond today And it’s quite perplexing There’s no second guessing When pop goes the weasel Gun shots fired Put a city in a state of upheaval It’s all evil ‘Cause everywhere we turn We’re like sitting ducks Waiting for the luck --to run out And a friend once told me This is no way to live But what will it give To get a city to thrive When it looks like the youth Just want to get high Self-proclaimed wanna’ be gangsters Committing bike drive-bys Really? Lies they tell To get the youth to sell Their lives to a one-way jail It’s amazing how the streets feel compelled To lead a hood life forsaking the good life This war-zone ground is like an addiction Shooting and slinging drugs Without any remorse or conviction Attributing to the social-economic condition Say a prayer, give the final benediction It gets repetitious The media’s depiction That I begin to wonder Is this a conspiracy we’re under? Designed to rob my generation Leaving my city in total desolation ‘Cause all they are doing is acting out in frustration There are no jobs or recreation So they killing each other

41 One after another And I ask myself Are there any heroes left? ‘Cause the kids need someone They can admire Willing to challenge them So they can aspire, higher To be more than what the hood teach That their goals are actually within their reach And as I speak What are we doing To proclaim the streets That prey on the weak See, we all got to take a stand Lend a helping hand To fight the negativity That bounds our city to chains of captivity But first, in order to stop the Violence Speak up, Paterson Come out of silence

Eric Francisco, Untitled, 2014

43 Matthew Zeitlinger

Now You Know

When we first met Violets and guns Couldn’t explain your beauty But I played them for you anyway Beautiful on the outside Even more beautiful on the inside You made me feel You were everything I wanted I longed to kiss you To love you We’d sit on your porch In love, but afraid Too foolish, too young Eventually My love turned to jealousy Jealousy to anger Over boyfriends who came and went You hated me and I Was still jealous You no longer hate me But I admit Sometimes I am Still jealous

44 Matthew Zeitlinger

Why Choose

Love or Hate Society wants you to choose For and against Divides the world Abortion Homosexuality Kim Kardashian Really It’s all purely pathetic We are all Made from the same Anything and Everything Although judging by the looks of it I wonder And I wonder too often F*** Kim Kardashian

Cesar Marquez, Art From My Point of View, 2014

S SHORT STORIES

47 48 Kamil Kozlowski

Denial

Yet another late night phone call tears apart the silence and pulls me out from the world of nightmares. I don’t even expect a peaceful night anymore, I just go to sleep hoping this one won’t be as bad as the last. Wishful thinking. Corpse of my son chasing me around and my dead wife screaming, reproaching me for not being able to take care of my son – these are my restless nights. The phone still rings. I slowly make my way to the phone, trying not to hit the bottle of Jack Daniels I left somewhere on the floor. I’m not turning on the lights; it would just make the headache worse. I pick it up. All I hear is one sentence in a cold stone voice: “Eastside Park, that’s the location.” There is no long, dead silence between us anymore, there are no unnecessary words being spoken. There are no goose bumps all over my body or sweat drops on my forehead. There is no sign of anxiousness, just anticipation. I just end the call. I grab the key to the car and leave the house. I run out the building as fast as I can to make my way to the car. There are people that will try to stop me; there are people who know I am close to figuring everything out. I breathe heavily, I cannot find the car. I make a run around the parking lot and find nothing. I notice flashlights behind my back and men in the white suits calling my name. I curse them out. They were waiting for me the whole time. I have the location; all I need is to get there. There are more lights and more shouts, they are getting closer. My only way out is to run, give it my all and run. I will do it for my boy Billy and Joanna; I will do it for them. I jump on the fence and climb as fast as I can. I make my way over onto the other side. Am I safe? I don’t look back anymore. I isolate myself from the voices and lights that are chasing me. The street is getting darker, lights are fading. I’m one street away. I notice them on the other side. Joanna is holding Billy’s hand and they cheer for me, they are happy and joyful. I feel tears falling down my face, when I’m passing a man in black robe, grinning and nodding his head, saying politely in a deep voice: “Walter Fisher, age 43, patient at mental hospital, killed his

49 family in the drunken rage and hid the bodies in the nearby park. Dies hit by a truck.” Sound of horne, screeching of tires, freezing cold.

Fatima Jamal Kanouni, Life and Death, 2014

51 Jair Quijano

“A Life Half Full”

The drinking glass sat on the desk, teetering on the far corner by the window. A mess of papers and forgotten mail practically hid it from view, but it served its purpose. It always had. The afternoon sun beamed down on the glass, the warm rays shattering in a spray of gold along its beveled edges. Had anyone other than Oscar been around, they might have noticed the glass almost seemed to carry an air of smugness about it if that were at all possible. Signs of age marred the glass. The many hands and countless homes it had passed through had left their marks. Thin scratches like webs scarred the once clear surface, and a fall some years back had chipped its rim. That had been a terrible day. If it could, the glass might even feel shame over what had occurred, but it had done its duty, served its purpose. It always had. Oscar glanced over at the glass, lingered a moment before gazing out the window again. The glass' current post offered it endless time to relax, a welcome reprieve from its wild youth. Evenings had been spent in dim lighting, the chill of ice cubes numbing the sting of whiskey poured inside. The quiet clinking of the cubes was a peaceful tune, a sigh almost, and the days strolled by in luxury. Two years later, a secret affair and a messy divorce banished the glass to a box crammed with other dinnerware. How long did it wait in the dark? Time went by, and then came another hand, another home. Solitary confinement had sobered the glass, matured it. Its next post would teach it value and worth, as Sammy's little fingers dropped pennies inside it. The clinking this time carried a tone of hope, every coin a promise of something greater to come. Dozens of times the glass had been filled and emptied, the fingers a little bigger each time. Eventually, even bills made it inside, and sooner than expected, the glass was emptied for the last time. Dust settled in a hazy film that covered every inch of it, and Sam, all grown up, had left home and forgotten the glass. A dark cupboard became its new home, but even that was short lived. One afternoon out in the yard, a stranger offered fifty cents for the glass, and in minutes it had a new home. Three families flew by, punctuated by two brief stops at thrift stores. The lonely shelves had become a comfort for the glass, giving it time to reflect and better understand its purpose. A myriad of sugary drinks had blessed it during its stay with those families, the ice cubes 52 singing along with the laughter of children. With its help, secrets had also been overheard while pressed against walls and doors. Birthday parties and family reunions came and went. And once, during a lively dispute, it had been flung across the room. That, however, was not the cause of the chip on its rim. The carpeted living room had broken its fall that time. The chip came with its next owner, Mr. Haggerty. Another box had been passed around, full of unwanted or unneeded things, until the glass finally reached the small apartment of Mr. Haggerty. Time had not been kind to the old man, and his days were spent mostly in bed. There were moments, brief ones, where he shuffled about the apartment, refusing to accept what his body wouldn't let him forget. But the wheezing and labored breath brought on by his illness slowed Mr. Haggerty down. Every day at four he swallowed a series of pills with a gulp of water from the glass, fostering it with a sense of pride. Without it, the old man would most certainly die. The illness took its toll, and Mr. Haggerty's daughter was forced with the task of caring for him. She performed her duty with resentment, treating her father and his condition as a burden. Her care of him became reckless, negligent, and with time her face showed signs of defeat. It was an ordinary day, the pills ready and set in a smaller paper cup. She took the glass and filled it. Mr. Haggerty refused to stay in bed, and his shuffling filled the tiny kitchen. There was shouting, angry words bouncing between the two. The daughter's hands were deft, and Mr. Haggerty never noticed. The glass held more than just water. The poison worked quickly, the glass slipping from the old man's hand as his breathing caught, his heart pounding. They fell in unison, the man and the glass, water splashing around them as they struck the tiled floored. Footsteps padded out of the kitchen, and the door slammed. The following year was spent in yet another thrift store, hidden among a scattered mess of dishes and glasses. Many hands rummaged the shelves, but none took the glass home. All the better, as it didn't feel ready for another post. Time and darkness were necessary now to forget, to heal, but it knew nothing would remove the scar on its rim. Then came a new hand, a new home, warm and inviting. The glass spent its days on the desk, on the far corner by the window. It sat day after day, resolute in its duty, serving its purpose as it always had. There was no greater satisfaction. Time would probably bring another home, another task to perform, but for now it basked in the afternoon sun. If the glass could, it would have smiled as Oscar the cat padded off the windowsill, tail held high and lapped at the water it held inside.

53 Nicole C. Richardson

SHE

She sat in a plain, white room with nine other women all wanting the same thing. There was nothing inviting about the place except for a few semi-parched ferns scattered about. A small television in the front played an episode of Judge Judy as the humming of the air conditioner drowned out the sound. These distractions could not invoke an environment of tranquility for each woman was embedded in their own private thoughts. For the depths of concentration have a tendency to bring about uncertainty, but justification of the mind has the power to influence. There was nothing pleasant about silence. The thought of it made her tremor. If there was one thing she learned was that with life begets difficult decision making. Several minutes had passed before the women were instructed to remove their bottom articles of clothing and dress in the paper-thin robe provided by the nurse. One after another they walked to the bathroom and returned to receive a square-shaped ticket from the nurse. The ticket indicated the order to how each person would be called. Names have a way of ruining reputations; in fact, it was better to be a number she thought. It possessed no human-like qualities, and it couldn’t stare you back in the face and hold you to its shame. She grabbed her number from the nurse and returned to her seat. Another nurse of petite stature cheerfully entered only carrying a dark-blue tray. The nurse carefully handed each person a small, white fluoride cup while scanning the room for everyone’s attention. “What you are about to take is Valium,” the nurse announced, “This will help ease any anxiety that you feel. Make sure before you leave that you have a designated driver.” The nurse promptly removed herself out of the room as the other nurse returned with a second set of tickets in her hand. The nurse quickly flipped through the cards to make sure the numbers were in order. “Number one, two and three,” the nurse called motioning the women toward the door. A little time had passed and the women slowly started chatting with the person seated next to them, but her mind was in a distant place. There were no thoughts of rue—just emptiness. Instead she became engrossed in the appearance of her profusely, sweating hands. She examined the beads of water and watched the droplets trail down the veins of her wrist. At that point, she had stopped listening for her number. Nothing mattered but the palms of her hands reacting to a 54 moment she’d soon rather forget. “Number seven,” the nurse repeated loudly. As she regained awareness, her heart beat erratically. Standing up, vertigo set in. Seeing this, the nurse grabbed her by the hand and slowly led her down the hall into a room. “The doctor will be in shortly,” the nurse said and closed the door. With nowhere to sit, she walked toward her burden of compunction. She stared at it and with a slight hesitation sat on the cold, metal table. For whatever reason, she couldn’t get the morning messages out of her head: the old woman with the picket sign, a small crowd of disapproving beliefs and a young man holding a picture with an image of an underdeveloped fetus all seemed to dictate her choices. A woman’s choice is not hers, she thought to herself, especially when religious values pronounce conviction upon the heart. The hardest thing to do is never easy. Her selfish pride wanted to keep the secret buried deep. Life comes with a price, a price that she was willing to terminate in order to keep the life she owned because the truth was much more than she could handle. The doctor and his assistant finally entered the room. The doctor sat on the stool next to the table. He was a tall, black man with salt and pepper hair. He did not say a word—not even a warm hello nor give away a pleasant smile. She just watched him as he fiddled around the rolling cabinet and began pulling out several apparatuses: cervical dilator, uterine curette, and vacuum suction among other tools and placed it on a tray. Never once did he look up at her. He turned his head and gave his assistant a certain look as if he had communicated to her telepathically. “Lie back and place your legs on the stirrups,” the doctor’s assistant commanded in a soft undertone. Filled with trepidation, she followed the instructions of the assistant. Her legs began to tense up as she put both feet on the pedal-like foot holder with her legs knock-kneed. The assistant could sense the uneasiness of the woman before her. Trying to replace fear with comfort, the assistant gentled her eyes and said, “Everything will be okay. Just look to me and hold my hand and if you need to, you can squeeze it.” The assistant looked at the doctor as he gave her the signal to begin to explain the abortion procedure. The nurse started talking but the sound of her voice had trailed away. Looking up at the ceiling, all she could think about was how she allowed herself to be put into this position. She wondered if the doctor had a daughter of his own. Would he condone her choice to such a personal decision or would he become a hypocrite against his actions in

55 light of his own thinking. The nurse tenderly stroked the woman’s hair, which brought her out of her thoughts. “So, you will feel a small discomfort when the doctor starts scraping the sides of the uterus followed by a humming sound. Don’t worry, but everything will be okay,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Okay” was the second time the assistant had used those words. But she was not okay. She gazed into the eyes of the nurse searching for any sign of approval to indicate her entitlement to a woman’s right to choose, but she couldn’t find it. The nurse just held her hand. The doctor turned on the vacuum aspiration and a tear rolled down the side of her cheek. She turned her eyes away from the nurse as her eyes watered. It was too late. The price for a life she knew was too high. She faced the fact that she would be forever haunted by the lie she told to veil the truth. What did it matter? The guilt would consume her for terminating her unborn child the day before Mother’s Day. She knew that God forgives, but what she didn’t know is if she would be able to forgive herself.

56 C CREATIVE NON-FICTION

57 58 Fatima Jamal Kanouni

To Kiss the Ground She Walks On

“I was so sick and I still had to work four days a week, while going to school full time. And I still have no money. I’m poor,” my schoolmate writes, texting me from her new smart phone. “I’m so stressed; my heart palpitates all the time. I should get it checked out.” This went on for one hour. “Yeah…wow…aw…I hear ya,” was all I could text back because I got tired of putting together words to form well-meaning and empathetic sentences. After hearing about how she’s too poor to get a new car or buy organic food, I finally chimed in after recalling a vivid memory: I remember when I was 16, my mom reminded me to do something before she left for work that day. So, an hour after she was gone, and my 1-year- old sister woke up from her nap, I scooped her up in my arms and climbed up the wooden stairs outside of our apartment door. I knocked on my neighbor’s door, and she let me in, cheerful and welcoming. “Sit down sit down, would you like tea?” The usual. I told her no thank you, and I could only stay for a few minutes, I just came to ask if I can borrow $10 to buy my baby sister diapers. My mom said she gets paid on Wednesday and she’ll pay you back then. Her cheerful demeanor never changes. She makes it too easy. I felt no shame in asking. I love my baby sister and my mom, anything I could do to help, even if it meant asking my neighbor to borrow money–again. She comes back with $20 and tells me she doesn’t think $10 will be enough. She says she’s in no rush to get it back. But I don’t say it like this, I just text, “Yeah, trust me, I know all about poverty, I had to borrow 10 bucks from my neighbor once to buy my sister diapers.” She had to call it a night.

***** Some people think they’re “poor.” They can’t give away their dollar to the toothless beggar because they’re “broke.” They can’t afford to give when they deserve. Life owes them after all. They were born in paper houses by mistake; they were supposed to live in glass castles. They are kings in suburbs, queens in the city, lords in the country. They are poor because they live in Hartford’s North End. They sleep in garbage dumps in New Delhi. An animal doesn’t deserve their compassion. Who has time for that anyway? They are animals. They growl and foam at the mouth. They devour what little food they can fill two carts with. Priorities. They are as clear as a foggy day. Saving for the latest smart phone, because what they bought 15 months ago is now 59 obsolete. What happened to that homeless man? Cell phone bills, car payments, cable, rent, liquor, cigarettes, LED flat-screen TVs–that’s what happened to him. Who has five bucks anymore, let alone a dollar? They’re poor: Some hopping out of a Benz and paying at the register with an EBT card. They’re ungrateful: Growing up on Payless sneakers instead of Nikes. They’re inconsiderate: Manners are for aristocrats. They’re heedless: College doesn’t buy diapers. Not now, anyway. Some people are poor and hungry alright. If they only knew.

***** “She exemplifies a great work ethic. She goes above and beyond every time,” the presenter read aloud. The award is presented to the hardest working person of the year. But, there are people more deserving. College, jobs, and relationships: This is nothing. Worrying about having nothing; a grave in which hope lies in; that’s something. Stress and anxiety that manifest into cold sweats and panic attacks. My mother. She is the hard worker; she “exemplifies a great work ethic.” The kind that always got her somewhere and nowhere. Up at 6 am, she would leave for work at 8 am, after she washed and put away all of the dishes. After a bus ride downtown, she made it to the small private school by 9 am. Time to assist the preschool teacher with art projects. Accidents happen every so often. She responds quickly and dresses the child with a clean pair of trousers. Help the kids walk up to the gym for playtime. She looks down. Her light blue shirt dress wears the yellow and blue paint of today’s art lesson. Her black skirt is splashed with green. That was Lulu’s favorite color. Mama comes down from the gym and begins opening up the folded, metal tables. She’s preparing them for the lunch crowd that flows in from 11 am until 1 pm. She opens up boxes that hold bags of chips and candy bars. She puts out water bottles, Snapple® iced teas, paper plates, and napkins. The pizza man is here. She runs to pay him and calls on the secretary to help carry the boxes to the table setups. She opens the boxes and the steam offers momentary comfort as it envelops her face. They smell like baked-crisp bread and marinara sauce simmering on the stovetop. But she smells nothing, and hasn’t for 15 years. Nasal polyps and no insurance. Surgery is a luxury she cannot afford. Lunch is over; the lunch money is handed to the secretary. Clean up time. While students are in their afternoon classes, it’s time to clean the bathrooms. Noxious chlorine fumes sting her eyes as she pours them in toilet bowls. While the bleach disinfects, she hurriedly wipes down the mirrors and countertops. Then, returns to scrubbing the toilets and putting in new toilet paper rolls. Back to the preschoolers to help the

60 teacher wake the tiny Rip Van Winkles. They start off slowly, even shy. Then, they transform into 300 horsepower engines. After they’re in line to leave for the day, she runs around the classrooms picking up chairs and flipping them over on desks. She immediately dances across the floor with the broom and upright dustpan. Next, the mop and bucket make their entrance. The mop waltzes throughout the rooms, weaving in and out from underneath desks. Occasionally, it takes a minute to quench its thirst in the bucket of soapy water before returning to the stage.

***** Great work ethic is not always rewarded in the same ways. It’s hands with bulging green veins and callused palms. Great work ethic arises at 6 am and sleeps at 11pm. Great work ethic is not a choice, but a mild form of torture. Great work ethic is rewarded with dark under eye circles and varicose veins. Great work ethic is you don’t qualify for housing assistance, an EBT card, Medicaid, or a break. Great work ethic is trying to keep up, yet always falling behind–on bills, doctor visits, and education. Great work ethic is cleaning other people’s homes while yours looks like a disaster site. Having a great work ethic is watching mama walk to the bus everyday to go to work. Trying to imagine how many steps she takes to get to the bus stop. Wishing so badly to kiss the ground she walks on and lift her up so high her feet never have to touch the pavement again.

*****

Mama finishes by vacuuming the carpeted areas in the school and changing the wastebaskets’ bags. After taking all of the day’s trash outside, she locks up and leaves by 5:30 pm–if she had no interruptions that afternoon. She heads to one of the many grocery and 99-cents stores downtown. She picks up a paper towel, dish soap, and extra notebooks her daughters need for school. If it is payday she will stop and get her daughters fluffy socks, cozy pajama pants, or some plates and cups to replace the broken ones. Mama boards the bus and is home around 6:45 pm. She walks the 4 long blocks home and walks straight into the kitchen. She washes drumsticks and decorates them with onion, salt, and specks of black pepper. She adds turmeric and paprika and then water. She pours water over basmati rice and adds vegetables. While the food is cooking, she hears about each daughter’s day–complaints, triumphs, and worries. She serves dinner. After everyone is finished, she makes herself a cup of tea, and winds down for bed. Tomorrow is Saturday. That means there’s more to clean. Dust has been collecting in those big houses.

Hannah Tallorin, Untitled, 2014

Lisa Costabile, Untitled, 2014