SIGMA TAU DELTA RECTANGLE Journal of Creative Writing VOLUME 94, 2019
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SIGMA TAU DELTA JOURNALS SIGMA TAU DELTA JOURNALS INTERNATIONAL ENGLISH HONOR SOCIETY SIGMA TAU DELTA RECTANGLE Journal of Creative Writing VOLUME 94, 2019 SIGMA TAU DELTA REVIEW Journal of Critical Writing VOLUME 16, 2019 2019 Copyright © 2019 by Sigma Tau Delta The Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle No. 94 The Sigma Tau Delta Review No. 16 Managing Editor Dan Colson Editorial Interns Miranda Heyman Jennifer Pinto Emporia State University Emporia, KS All rights reserved under International and Pan–American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Sigma Tau Delta, Inc., the International English Honor Society, William C. Johnson, Executive Director, Department of English, Northern Illinois University, DeKalb, Illinois 60115–2863, USA. Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle and Sigma Tau Delta Review journals are published annually with the continuing generous assistance of Northern Illinois University (DeKalb, IL) and Emporia State University (Emporia, KS). Publication is limited to members of Sigma Tau Delta. A limited number of print copies are shipped to Chapter Advisors to distribute to Sigma Tau Delta chapter members. Sigma Tau Delta is a member of the Association of College Honor Societies. Subscription Information Please email the Sigma Tau Delta Central Office to request a subscription: [email protected] Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle: ISSN 0888-4757 (print), ISSN 2471-3171 (online) Sigma Tau Delta Review: ISSN 2471-318X (print), ISSN 2471-3201 (online) 2018–19 WRITING AWARDS FOR THE SIGMA TAU DELTA REVIEW AND THE SIGMA TAU DELTA RECTANGLE Frederic Fadner Critical Essay Award Mary Welch: “Pedagogy with a Purpose: Using Dialects to Prepare Students for Diverse Futures” Eleanor B. North Poetry Award Grayson Chong: “Language Lessons” E. Nelson James Poetry Award Rebecca Santiago: “When I Was a Little Girl” Herbert Hughes Short Story Award Anna Jankovsy: “The Right Side of the River” Elizabeth Holtze Creative Non-Fiction Award DeAndra Miller: “Dead to Rights” Contents THE RECTANGLE Poetry When I Was a Little Girl REBECCA SANTIAGO 5 Language Lessons GRAYSON CHONG 9 A Sonnet for Prosperos GRAYSON CHONG 11 Widow’s Routine GRACE LARSON 12 The Gift GRACE LARSON 14 Pothole Pollock DAVID M. DOYLE 16 Hemingway’s Key West Cabin DAVID M. DOYLE 17 Pieces C. BOUGIE 19 Perhaps in Tunisia REBECCA PICKARD 21 Ode to the Hercules Cluster MCKAYLA CONAHAN 22 A Flower for Me (A Little Algernon) BENJAMIN KIM PAPLHAM 24 The Art of Silence MAEVE QUINN 27 i already mourn the birth of my unborn son KETURAH HANCOCK 29 Crocodile in the Bathtub RACHAEL CROSBIE 31 The Eclipse TORI SHELTON 33 vii viii CONTENTS You Can’t “Kill Your Darlings” If They’re Already Extinct SOLANA WARNER 35 Valentines KARA TRAVIS 37 And the tomatoes, they tasted like sunlight MILENA VELEZ 39 My Mother Saves the Wishbones JESSIE BOX 40 Missing Fragments JEDDIE SOPHRONIUS 42 The Last Carrier Pigeon ROBIN GOW 44 Creative Non-Fiction Dead to Rights DEANDRA MILLER 49 Blood MELANIE JADE RAYBON 54 Instinct JEANETTE MARIE WARREN 58 all fags go to heaven NICK MALONE 65 Living in the space between words LOUISE HOY 72 Short Fiction The Right Side of the River ANNA JANKOVSKY 81 Dissolve SCOTT ZIEGLER 88 Housework CASSANDRA SANTOS 95 Open Heart ALI LANDERS 101 A Slow Burn RACHEL HOLBROOK 106 Padre Nuestro RITA MICHELLE RIVERA 112 The Trashman GREGORY KASSEN 117 Season of Flight LYNN TAMAYO 123 Across the Water-Colored Sky VIA D’AGOSTINO 130 A Sower’s Parable KYLIE MULLEN 135 THE REVIEW Pedagogy with a Purpose: Using Dialects to Prepare Students for Diverse Futures MARY WELCH 145 The Revelation to Jane: Christianity and Apocalypse in Jane Eyre CLAUDIA MCCARRON 153 Nasty Women: Grendel’s Mother and Wealhtheow as Equal Depictions of Femininity KARYN KEANE 161 The Death of the Performative: Language and Action in Richard II and 1 Henry IV AARON AKINS 170 CONTENTS ix “Round about her tomb they go”: Editorial Emendation in Much Ado About Nothing KYLE RIPER 176 “We Meant It, Which Is the Bad Part”: Tyranny and Consent in The Handmaid’s Tale ABIGAIL SCOTT 182 Tita de la Garza Belongs in the Kitchen (in a Totally Feminist Way): Unlikely Empowerment in Like Water for Chocolate MEREDITH STAMBAUGH 188 Challenging Western Conventions of Authenticity: The Power of Autobiography in Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s “Jumping Monkey Hill” BRITTANY GARDNER 194 The Role of Women in Shakespeare’s Second History Tetralogy DRAKE DEORNELLIS 201 Topdog/Underdog: Employing Illusion to Procure Control MARIA BRIZEK 208 Fitzgerald’s American Epic: Echoes of Homer in The Great Gatsby ASHLEY WALKER 216 Plaintive Restraints: Facing the Music of Kate Chopin’s The Awakening TERESA RAMONI 224 “For whom was built this special shell?”: Philip Larkin’s “Church Going” as Cultural Elegy M. ELIZABETH GEDDY 232 The Dangers of Performance in Eliza Haywood’s Fantomina BRITTANY J. BARRON 239 BACKMATTER Contributors 249 Judges 259 About Sigma Tau Delta 261 SIGMA TAU DELTA RECTANGLE POETRY When I Was a Little Girl Rebecca Santiago My mother woke up one day and told us we weren’t Puerto Rican anymore. Spic and span wasn’t a cleaner but something hollered out car windows; a drive by slinging hollow bullets aimed for olive skin, seven years in the making. A woman at a museum called me a little boy but she walked away too quickly for me to tell her my then frizzy, tangled hair was too much work and my mother didn’t have the time or patience to kill the lice. When I was a little girl my mother said we couldn’t be Puerto Rican anymore. The stain of my skin was a reminder of the three uncles who gang raped her, a crime 5 6 SIGMA TAU DELTA JOURNALS / THE RECTANGLE to which my grandmother said “bullshit.” A walking stain a reminder of shame and a Spaniard father who chose a pale wife and two kids to replace us. My sister got his pale card and used it to pass while the sun spat on my shoulders and darkened the pigment; I made a lateral move from spic to nigger. Because an other is still an other. When I was a little girl, my mother said we couldn’t be Puerto Rican anymore. I thought we were because she played Celia Cruz on Sundays, made pernil for Thanksgiving, and called me pendeja whenever I walked past. My mother taught me only the essentials of our language: Maricon, hija de puta, stupida, flaca, golda, puneta, bendicion? Que Dios te bendiga. When I was a little girl, my mother said we couldn’t be Puerto Rican anymore. She turned the pages of books in the department of records, pacing the halls like she was waiting on the delivery of a new life. REBECCA SANTIAGO / WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL 7 Tedious labor led to factual fiction; the story is so real but doesn’t wholly belong to us. She stole a baby from that nursery of yellowed paper and broken spines and called it “Native American.” Seminole from a father she never knew, Apache from a bloody handshake she made with a stranger, Taino from her mother. When I was a little girl, my mother said we couldn’t be Puerto Rican anymore. Lynched voodoo dolls dangling in a coat closet in the name of black magic. Meanwhile, smiling to a tribe weighted down in turquoise and ivory jingle dresses, owl feathered headpieces, a wingspan to free this caged bird made of fabric and fringe. Smudging the shit out of the four corners. Prison walls built around me with bricks from her story. Celia was replaced with the Arawak Mountain Singers. Pernil was replaced with bison. Bibi Atabei became her mantra. Blacks were lazy, Whites were evil, Hispanics were bottom feeders—opportunists willing to scheme and violate in word and deed. Asians and Arabs served a purpose—nail stylists and bodega owners. But none could ever be as pure as the Native stereotype. 8 SIGMA TAU DELTA JOURNALS / THE RECTANGLE Her DNA 50% culture and 50% coquito, she swore it was one and the same because a stereotype can become truth when an excuse turns into a reason. Puerto Rican? We never were. Her lack of identity came from her lack of security. A sad child searching for a new life, a new dress, a new skin. To erase the scars left on body, mind, and soul. Puerto Rican became a synonym for pain, danger, betrayal. I would be better off, she reasoned— a naked soul with a fighting chance. Dead set on salvation she sent me out with no destination and no return address. When I was a little girl. Language Lessons Grayson Chong I learned to speak this from a Woman who molds her mouth Into eeeees and ooooos so I may learn What the soothing sea sounds like. So I may memorize the easy breeze Making music with the coconut trees. I learned to speak this from a Man marking mangroves in his head While teaching me about Anansi And de duppy dem. My timid Tongue twists into plantains and palm Trees to imitate the songs of their voices. I learned to speak this from my Grandparents who always asked: Who You is? Yardie. Yardie. Yardie. You is. You is. You is. But here, language is strict. Tight teeth. Tongue Tries to teach itself to abandon -in’ for -ing. Guh like a punch to the gut. Uh! Ouuuuu like bruise and abuse. Ee? confuses 9 10 SIGMA TAU DELTA JOURNALS / THE RECTANGLE Itself with Eh? Here, yuh and oonuh morph Into conjoined twins as you. Is becomes are. R Like rasta. Rawtid. Rupture. Tongue becomes The best backside.