Community College of Denver Student Literary & Art Magazine 2015 & 2016 Community College of Denver Student Literary & Art Magazine 2015 & 2016 Hi! Ourglass, now in its 36th year of publication, is the journal of the English, Graphic Design, and Visual Arts departments at Community College of Denver, dedicated to providing a forum for the poetry, prose, drama, design, and artwork of our students. Please consider submitting your work to Ourglass. If you are attending CCD or have attended in the past, you are eligible to submit. Submissions are accepted between September 15th and March 24th of each year. We accept submissions of poetry, fiction, non-fiction, drama, and artwork, as well as any interesting combinations thereof, exclusively through our email address: [email protected]. All work submitted must include your name, phone number and current email address. Submit one story or essay at a time; poems can be sent in groups. Send in only low-resolution copies of artwork; we will contact you for high-resolution versions at a later time. Due to the sheer volume of work we must consider, we can only notify you if your work is chosen to be published. If you don’t hear from us, please do try again next year! We love hearing from CCD students and alumni. Follow US! Facebook | Facebook.com/CCDOurglass Twitter | Twitter.com/OurglassCCD If you have any questions, please email us at [email protected]. Thanks, The Editors Poetry & Prose Harmony Sheehan Gemini 1 Harmony Sheehan What They Don’t Tell You 4 Claudia Graham Kaleidoscope Eyes 5 Amber Dorr The Problem with Soulmates 11 Kelly Kracke Muses pt. 1 33 Kelly Kracke Muses pt. 2 36 Kelly Kracke Alone with Others 37 Willie Cornelius Fourth of July 39 Theresa J. Cole Last Chance Lost 49 Jeannie Madrid Almost a Dad 53 Kelly Kracke Fool’s Errand 59 Matthew Carron We’re the Fucking Weirdos 65 Jeremy Hirtzel Friendship 79 Artwork Cayla Cave The Lover’s Linocut 2 Xiao Xiao Kerrigan 3 Tania Lopez Ziko 10 Amanda Lorenz Alyssa Von Kirkbride 30 Hannah Jacobson So I’m Told 31, 32 Lauren Sievers Dansk Solnedgang (Danish Sunset) 34 Huong Tran Lady 35 Lorena Aranda Praying Figurines 38 Cayla Cave Album Shoe 48 Liad Sherer Octopus 52 Leon Romero Kid in the Crown 56 Stefanie Bednar Inception 57 Lauren Sievers Think Pink 58 Justin Taylor watchiwa choudo naini ga juuyou 63, 64 ka mitsukeyou toshite itu Tania Lopez Genius Mad Science Magazine Cover 77 Tania Lopez Commander 78 He ebbs, In seahorse multitudes- Tight-walk of Iron & paper, Gemini angel. On the table Lies One molecule away From speed, Broken in half now When it wasn’t Before. I study His cheesecloth heart, Soaked bandages Of endless round table Discussions, Scavenged paper for his Diamond ideas, & bologna sandwiches. Cayla Cave The Lover’s Linocut linocut print, 2015 Best in 2D Design & Mixed Media, CCD Juried Student Art Exhibition 2016 2 Xiao Xiao Kerrigan watercolor, 2015 3 Is that insecurity Cracks over time Like a coconut You don’t know what to do with, Until it is open- With its tart milk, & the equal joy & loss In breaking something. 4 5 It was oddly strategic the way it happened. She would call me right before in manic rage. I would drop what I was doing and sprint down the block. My record timing is a minute and thirty seconds but it didn’t matter because I was always too late. I would find her huddled in a corner of her room, clutching the damage to her chest. There was always a strange and quiet calm in the room that served as a reminder that the storm had passed and I was only there to clean up the wreckage. I would take her arm, clean it, give a silent thanks that another one passed without needing stitches, and hold her until she recaged whatever had been let loose in her beautiful mind. It was ritualistic except that I would never know when it would happen again. It could be days, a week if I was lucky, and that was the scary part. Yet here we were and it had been a month. I stole a glance at her and saw that she had managed to get green paint up to her elbows. Despite being on the top floor of the empty parking garage, the air was placid, hanging there in the July humidity, leaving no interference between the spray paint and the concrete wall. So how she still littered herself in color was beyond me. The paint made the criss crossing of scars stand out, silver and sharp. She took a step back and squinted up at what we had done so far. She was filling in the owl I had outlined for her while I added details to feathers where she painted, using my hands to smear the paint while it was still wet to add the texture. This was one of the largest murals we had done. She put her paint can down, signaling a break. I sat down and rubbed my neck, smearing the green I had on my fingertips across the base of my hairline. Claire laughed as I realized what I just done, the tinkling of her giggle echoing off of the walls. 6 “Ahhh, how am I going to even know if I’ve washed all of it off later?” I chuckled. “Here, let me see.” She took a paper towel (standard to our supplies) and pressed it to my neck and began to laugh even harder as it just spread the dark green around. I reached around and wiped my fingers down her face, leaving streaks of green down her cheek like war paint, a battle being exactly what I started. It was a massacre of shirts, faces, and arms with aerosol emerald and no survivors. With a truce we collapsed breathless, her happy shrieks echoing in my ears and even louder in her bottomless eyes. “We look like aliens from a poorly funded foreign film.” I pointed to the top of my head. “We’re missing the tinfoil.” “What are the chances we have that in our supply bag?” While she moved towards a yellow and pink gym bag from the 70’s that she knighted as our supply bag, I surveyed our mess, the thought of being more careful playing tug of war with Claire’s laughter. “Do you think we’ll ever get caught?” She shrugged, at me or the lack of tin foil, I’m not sure, and sat down next to me. “They would have to know that you and I exist first.” She was right. She and I were quiet kids. We had good grades, were in the marching band, had a quiet group of friends and floated in the gray area that was a safe haven for all of the average kids with average lives. Only, she was a bright blue beacon in that gray area for anyone who knew her well to know she was anything 7 but average: with the way her laugh bubbled up inside of her, the way her smile stretched slowly across her face, and how her eyes held crystals even when they were red rimmed and swollen. Her smile crept its way across her small face then, pleased with the poetic quality of what she had just said. I had a suspicion that the poetic essence of this was her favorite part. It was just two kids who never get in trouble or serve as any nuisance at all, giving their small suburban surroundings a graffiti problem. She looked down at her paint-covered arms and started to trace her scars like a slightly morbid connect-the-dots. She ceased abruptly the moment she saw me watching and tried to cover up the moment by removing the physical evidence of it, pulling her arms to her chest. The similarity of the movement brought me to her room and the way her eyes clouded over like oncoming rain let me know she had gone to the same place. “So....” I began. “How are you?” She looked up at me with a grin, shaking the thoughts off of her with a shiver. “I’m fine, really.” She patted my knee. “I just…” I swallowed. “Just wanted to make sure. It’s been a while...and...” She just stared at me, eyebrows raised expectantly, until I finally trailed off. “I mean, is the painting helping?” “Yes, Sam. It’s helping. I’m good.” I caught her face growing darker before she stood up and pretended to give the owl her full attention. I stayed on the ground and pulled my knees in. My thought process was that if I retracted my physical being enough, my words would come with me and take up less of the oxygen. 8 “I just worry about you,” I said softly. “I told you the painting was helping, Sam. I really don’t think we need to talk about it.” “All right.” I retreated, white flag waving in the way I occupied myself with a frayed shoelace. It felt so much like eternity before either of us moved that even the stifling air seemed to jump with surprise when she stirred. She walked over and pulled my arms from around my knees and curled into my open lap. I folded around her and she laid her head on my bicep. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into my arm. “Thank you for worrying, Sam.” “I see you, Claire, never forget that.” “I won’t, I promise.” “Cross your heart?” I felt her smile against my arm.