Kamelian 2009 Publication

ge e Colle ishwauke urnal K Arts Jo iterary/ L Realizing that educational institutions should encourage intellectual inquiry and being cognizant that we live in a pluralistic society the following disclaimer is given. The ideas and opinions expressed in Kamelian are those of the contributors and do not necessarily reflect the attitude of the Board of Trustees, the administration, the faculty or the staff of Kishwaukee College. Materials for Kamelian were submitted by students who have been enrolled in courses at Kishwaukee College during one or all of the previous three semesters. Outside jurors with professional credentials and knowledge in the respective fields reviewed all entries. The pieces selected for inclusion in Kamelian and the awards given were based on the juror’s opinion of their aesthetic merit. On the cover... JOS H QUICK BEAN SOUP Spray Paint, Acrylic, Nails, Particle Board 24” h x 40.75 ”w x .5”d BeanSoup TOGETHER” “BANDED ACKLER CATHY H SECOND PLACE BandedPHOTOGRAPHY “TogetherP1 S HY ROR OTOGRAP JU ART & PH T RTIS ER, A S SIGN ELL C DE ELLIE PETERSON W APHI ECH BYN GR RINT GRAPHIC DESIGNER RO LE P CAST MORNING STAR MEDIA E R ANN CHE M E TEA RA LEG ART BA COL T, BAR RD RTIS KFO IA A ROC ED FA, ED M B MIX 9 9 0 0 0 0 ESSAY - POETRY - SHORT FICTION 2 2 II RSITY SS I UNIVE N N O J. R LISH INOIS ER F. ENG N ILL BAU THER DEN , NOR MEI A A BA D WAR T ED LTAN I I ONSU ING C LISH L L PUB E E BARBARA O. ERICKSON M M RETIRED TEACHER/PUBLICATIONS ADVISOR ROCKFORD JEFFERSON HIGH SCHOOL A A K K P2 A TWO-DDIMENSIONAL ART WAR SCOTT REXFORD DS RST PLACE FI STO PAUL HONGI TH BRUNK ANDY LACE IRD PLACE SECOND P THREE-DDIMENSIONAL ART SARA THOMPSON FIRST PLACE CATHY HACKLER LIN SECOND PLACE DA MEKSH TH ES IRD PLACE PHOTOGRAPHY CAT HY HACKLE FIRST PLAC R E CATHY HACKLER SECOND PLACE BLAIZE DIAZ ESSAY THIRD PLACE YUKA HIROSE FIRST PLACE ELIZABETH SE FINKBO COND PLAC NER E POETRY QUIST KELSEY PALM ZACHARY EFFLER THIRD PLACE FIRST PLACE Y EFFLER ZACHAR LACE SECOND P LORR TH AINE MI IRD PLACE CHIELS SHORT FICTION INTYRE R. MAC TRICK OWEN DUVALL PA LACE SECOND PLACE FIRST P SCOTT FLEETWOOD THIRD PLACE P3 CONTENTS PA UL BRUN K KURT IS YOU W W INKED HAT WE 19 NATAL THREE IE CALH SHOULD SARAH OUN IN BE DOI CARTER THE CLO NG 31 WHAT SET 11 DOES TH E DAY T OWEN BLAIZE O HOLD DUVAL DIAZ TH 8 ZACH L THE C E ROADS ARY EF URSE OF HAVE E FLER VE INFINIT YES 23 LCRO S Y 26-227 STRA HOES 5 NGE DRE AMS 16 NEIGH BORS 35 ELIZABETH FINKBONE R THE ADD SCOTT F ITION OF F LEETWOOD OSTER CHI CATHY THE CLOCK LDREN 38-33 HACKLER “ SHOP 36-33 9 BANDED TO 7 GETHER” 1 UNTITLED 9 TOK YO EYE 18 VER TICAL LAND SCAPING 30 YU THE KA HIROSE TEMPLE 40 THE FINAL GIFT 14-115 MOON 28 MICHAEL HOLLAND HALF-EEMPTY CUP OF LOUD-MMOUTH SOUP 13 ANDY HONGISTO MONSTER BY THE SEA 20 TRAM VS. ROBOT 32 PATRICK R. MACINTYRE THE SCIURINI INQUIRY 6-77 LINDA MEKSHES IRIS BROOCH 22 ROSE TRIO 24 LORRAINE MICHIELS BURNED-OOUT 33 KELSEY PALMQUIST WHO AM I? 25 THE PROCRASTINATOR 28 LUCY 28 CARPE DIEM 34 KATHLEEN PIERONI S JOS UFFOCATIN H QUICK BE G 10 AN SOUP C SCO OVER & 21 TT REXFOR Z D UNTITLED ANETA TAY 12 LOR ODE T O ROME 29 SARA THOM PSON GLAS S RING 1 1 LEAN 7 NAT ING TOWER HANIEL WH 22 ITTENHALL THE WRITT EN REMAIN V P4 S 25 S VELCRO SHOES ZA CHARY E hy is your brother not right in the head? FFLER “W FIRST PLACE Was it something that your father did, POETRY Or something that you said?” It surely wasn’t the mother. It couldn’t have been the mother. She was dead when he was new And never got to velcro on his shoes. She died moments after Her husband, her babies father, your father – My father – pulled that living wailing thing out of her. I wasn’t watching. I didn’t want to. I heard her labored breath, heard the desperation Rushing from her aging lungs. There was a moment of unexpected silence, between Her breathing ending and brand new breathing beginning, Small young lungs filling the air with wines an wails. I looked to the reflection on the blank t.v. It wasn’t good enough. I turned around. Her hair, a silver crown splayed across the empty white. Her face frozen in the efforts of the final push; Everything she had. o Knowing she had to win. She did. VelcrSometimes even when you win you lose She never got to velcro on his shoes. ShoesP5 THE SCIURINI INQUIRY eath has an odor all its own; one every living being Without hesitation, I headed toward the smell and D I could tell by the almost imperceptible hitch in knows instinctively, but usually does its utmost to Pàdraig’s breathing that he had caught wind of it, deny. In particular, humans excel at masking that as well. He was blind as a bat – always had been uneasy, hereditary sense-knowledge with suchis that without his glasses – but his senses of smell and evasive questions and comments as, “What hearing were developed to a frightening degree. Oddly smell?” or, “That reeks!” It’s as if by doing so, the enough, his peripheral vision was also phenomenal. finality due all mortals is pushed even deeper into It was freakish how he could stare right at something the recesses of the mind than normal – a, “what you a foot in front of him and not see it (even don’t know can’t hurt you,” type of thing. In essence, with cor- rective lenses), but was able to catch the slightest Man gives himself an excuse to be shocked by death, movement of an object ridiculous distances off to rather than to be forced to dwell upon it; to either side of him. Not that any of that was helpful acknowledge it; to stand by powerlessly and accept now – it was too dark to see anywhere but inward. its inevitability. The sudden and unexpected causes less fear and anxiety than the long awaited and This veering suddenly off into a new direction was an old story. Pàdraig knew of my penchant for known; but, unlike most, I don’t try to fool myself. trouble – for, quite literally, sticking my nose where I know that death awaits us all, and judging from it didn’t belong – but rarely complained when what my nose was telling me, that anticipation was over for one of God’s creatures close by. I dragged him into one of my adventures. With It was darker than the inside of a sable coated varying degrees of success, he’d do his utmost to rein feline – and just about as damp and miserable, too. me in a bit if things got a little too out of hand, but, The rain had been falling for days without let-up or for the most part, he understood and played along. surcease, very nearly biblical in its fury and A millisecond before the white beam splashed endurance, yet there still didn’t seem to be any sign onto the soon to be Atlantean, vert sward, I heard of relief in the foreseeable future. My feet were wet, the snick of a flashlight’s on button. Sweeping the and my rusty hair, highlighted in white more and torch side to side, Pàdraig and I continued forward, more with each passing year, was plastered to my simultaneously exited and apprehensive at what our skin. Rushing headlong into my mid-fifties, the investigation would turn up. A few steps later, we wrinkles and folds grooved into my heface and too-wide come upon it. nose ran like miniature creek beds with the tears “Jeez. Oh, man! That’s not good.” Heaven had been shedding for nigh on a week. It for Did I happen to mention before now that Pàdraig T has a most eloquent way of expressing himself? Yep, sure wasn’t adding anything to my looks. But for all my beauty-challenged visage and he does, alright, though it tends to go out the window advanced age, there was one who still called me whenever he’s embarrassed or startled. Off hand, I’d “pretty girl” – the guy who was, at this very have to say that this less than profound utterance moment, walking beside me. His name was Pàdraig. was a reaction to the latter. Not that I could fault him. Six feet tall, weighing in at 25 stone and built like a Truth be told, I’d never seen such a mess. The pot-bellied stove, he and I made quite a pair. A main torso looked more or less intact, with the odd heightly, rotund Massachusetts bred Yankee of limb here and an unidentifiable piece of skin there. Scottish decent and a short, red haired, Illinois born Average male, maybe a little paunchy, with brownish-black streaked gray hair. He’d been healthy i Chinese-American shaped like a tornado. Don’t think that doesn’t gain attention. Yet for for a moment that in life and was obviously old enough to have a family, all our differences, we were identical in that, beneath but was still far too young to leave them mourning.

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