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KIOSK FIF TY C OM M E MOR AT I V E I S SU E OF ST U DE N T A RT & L I T E R AT U R E

In this historic 50th edition of Kiosk we hope to commemorate 25 years of student art & literature by juxtaposing the old with the new. We will be exploring the idea of progress through works that show growth, process, and the passage of time. For the first time, we will be sharing these works through the University Daily Kansan for anyone and everyone to enjoy.

You can also check out past issues of Kiosk from the Spencer Library or visit cargocollective.com/kioskmag. Follow Kiosk magazine at facebook.com/kukiosk to get the latest news about upcoming issues and calls for submissions.

LI T ERAT U RE STAF F

DESIGN STA FF

Joel Bonner

Ali Fisher

Chloe Hough

Sydney Goldstein

Sara Pyle

Keene Niemack

Sydney Rayl

Brenna Paxton Anthony Schmiedeler Voranouth Supadulya

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F O E TABL NT ENTS CO 5

WATER – CHRISTINA FOUNTAIN

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WE’RE GONNA MISS US WHEN WE’RE GONE – MARK HENNESSEY

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MAX MIKULECKY

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PORTUGUESE WATERDOGS – TREY CONRAD

11-16

BEST FRIENDS – SYDNEY SHEPERD

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BELWHERE 1, 2, 3 – JOHN DILLINGHAM

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THOMAS – TREY CONRAD

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HOUSING CONCEPT 2 – JIAYUMA MONACO

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CLEARANCED – ELLA WEBER

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TREEPOD – DENISE DIPIAZZO

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PEELING – BECKY BICKEL

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CATHARSIS – RACHEL SCRIBNER

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HOW TO BAKE COOKIES WITHOUT YOUR MOM – BRENNA MURRAY

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EXPECTATIONS FOR YOUR DAUGHTER – CARRIE BEAL

25-26, 29 25-26 30 33-34

CALEB NEWBERG KASEY STERTZ HEARTS ON FIRE (INSPIRE) – JOHN REYNOLDS PAPES – ROBERT JAMAL GAMBY

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DRAWN ROADS I & II – KATIE WHITEMAN

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JEREMIAH – WESTO JONES

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THE UNIFORM BECOMES THE SKIN – MAX MCFARLAND

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THE END – ALEX BRACCIANO

37, 38

MIKE GUNNOE

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SELF PORTRAIT – ROSS FINOCCHIARO

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HOT TODDY / THE HIGH FIVE – CHLOE SEIM

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IDENTITY CRISIS 1, 2 – BETHANY HUGHES

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WHAT GRANDMA GAVE ME – BECKY BICKEL

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WESTON JONES

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Oil on Canvas |

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WAT E R C H R I S T I N A F O U N TA I N

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WE’RE GONNA MISS US WHEN WE’RE GONE

is apostrophe to sex as is our fist-fight, our rock song, our inebriation, as our sex is apostrophe to god, as god is apostrophe to god—we are alone in a room remembering the home bed in the motel tub that any bed is apostrophe to the home bed the home is apostrophe to the family, the family is apostrophe to its members, its members apostrophe to that word, the word apostrophe to the thing itself— remembering your words this word is missing your hand on our body like the meniscus of tub water drawn lightly down our body as the tub drains, down the crooks of our arms, tickle down our haunches in the motel tub, down past the small of our back, down through the under-cathedral of our toes, away from our asking again w/ each breath the drain takes the water that rushes away from us down the motel drain to come back please, please, please baby come back please come back please—

Photography | 2014

& when for long no one has touched us for a time our jamming ourselves into a small tub

MOTEL MAX MIKULECKY

Mark Hennessey

Mark Hennessey Kiosk 36

All t hose slack jawed mothe r fucke rs quiet at last.

The clo sta wns cle y ar to me a mo s do st the fre aks .

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2014

P O R T U G U E S E WAT E R D O G S TREY CONRAD

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BEST FRIENDS Sydney Sheperd

I hate fourth grade. It’s way worse than third grade. My class is loud with lots of rowdy kids and my teacher Mrs. Holt has fake eyebrows that are always crooked. I also have way more homework than I did in third grade. Mom says it’s because they are trying to challenge me because now I’m in the gifted program. My older brother Jordan says it’s because Mrs. Holt hates kids and wants lots of papers to grade because she has nothing better to do. Jordan is a sixth grader and says that he knows a fifth grader that was in Mrs. Holt’s class last year and that’s where he heard why she’s so mean, so I don’t know who to believe.

But there is one good thing about being in Mrs. Holt’s fourth grade class; my new best friend Lily is in the same class. Lily and I became best

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DORA TREY CONRAD

UNKNOWN

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friends after I decided to sit next to her. I was going to sit by my old best friend, Madelyn Donaldson, but when I went to sit by her, she grabbed another girl’s arm and pulled her into the desk I was about to sit at. When I couldn’t sit

by Madelyn, I started to look for another desk.

“You can sit here, Jane,” said a girl with orange hair that looked like straight fire falling down past her shoulders. She also had round glasses that framed bright blue eyes that made me a little jealous because mine were just boring, old green. I felt like I had seen her before, but I wasn’t really sure. There were lots of kids in our school, though, and this was my first year in the gifted program, so I guess it made sense that I didn’t know her.

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B E LW H E R E 2 JOHN DILLINGHAM

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“Thanks,” I said hesitantly. I set my backpack down and plopped into my new seat like my dad into his favorite chair after he gets home from a “long day at work.” I pulled out my new pencil case that had kittens all over it and set it on the table next to me, trying to not look at the girl who had invited me to sit next to her.

I couldn’t wait to show my new pencil case to Madelyn because she and I both loved kittens.

“That’s a pretty case,” the girl said. I looked at her eyes and smiled a little. For some reason I thought about how if Madelyn had seen this girl’s eyes, she would say something mean to make the girl feel bad even though she would only say it because she was jealous.

“Thanks,” I said again. I pulled out the new mechanical pencils that I had begged my mom to get for me and looked at the whiteboard while Mrs. Holt waited for us to get settled. She was waiting to pass out what she said would be “a fun, get-to-know-your-neighbor” activity.

“How was your summer,” the girl asked politely.

I smiled even more this time and told her the same thing I had planned to tell Madelyn. Oh, well. I could tell Madelyn, too. She just wouldn’t be the first to know about my awesome summer.

“Really fun. I got to go to my grandpa’s house a lot and he has a pool so my cousins and I all got to swim a whole bunch,” I said. It was the best summer ever even though I hadn’t seen Madelyn since a couple weeks after school let out. I had tried to call her to invite her over

for a sleepover and then swimming at my grandparents’ house, but every time my mom asked hers if Madelyn could come over, Mrs. Donaldson said Madelyn “wasn’t going to be able to make it.”

“That sounds super fun,” the girls said with a little smile, too. She got out her pencil case that had cartoon characters from boy cartoons on it and she pulled out her regular pencils. Secretly, I felt good because mine were mechanical and hers were the regular yellow ones. The girl didn’t say anything else, which I thought was weird because Madelyn would have totally talked about her summer, too, and then probably told me about how her vacation she takes every year to Cancun was the “best one yet,” so I just looked back to the front of the classroom as Mrs. Holt passed out the papers for our activity.

I wrote my name at the top of my paper and waited for Mrs. Holt to tell us what to do like a good student would do. After everyone got into their seats and got out their pencils, Mrs. Holt told us that we would have to find a partner for the activity and that we were supposed to try and pick someone we didn’t know.

“If you know everyone, then you need to pick someone you haven’t seen all summer,” Mrs. Holt said.

I looked at Madelyn as soon as I could. We had always been partners last year in Miss Carr’s class and since I hadn’t seen her all summer, I knew we would be perfect partners. When I looked back at her, Madelyn looked at me with

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s d n u o s e h s I think . a r b e z d e r like a sca a mean face and grabbed the hand of the girl that was sitting next to her. Madelyn whispered to the girl and they giggled. The other girl’s laugh didn’t sound right. It reminded me of the animal channel on T.V. and the noise a scared zebra would make because a mama lion was chasing it. I frowned because whispering and laughing was the same thing Madelyn and I used to do to other girls that she liked to make fun of. Mrs. Holt shushed them and kept telling us about the activity. I waited for Mrs. Holt to get done with the directions and turned to face the blue-eyed girl. Then I had an idea.

“You wanna be my partner,” I asked her. She smiled and got real excited.

“Really,” the girl said like I do when Mom tells me I can pick out a special snack at the store for being good that week.

“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know you, so we should be partners.” She sort of frowned, but she nodded and picked up her pencil to write my name on her paper where it said “Partner’s name” and wrote “Jane Barber.”

“How do you know my name,” I asked her. I didn’t know if she was new, but I knew I hadn’t actually met her before. She shrugged and said she had seen me on the playground before with Madelyn. I guess that could happen. Pretty much everyone knows Madelyn Donaldson.

I guess since I was her best friend since kindergarten, they would know me, too.

“Oh,” I said sort of confused. “Then what’s your name,” I asked. Maybe I did know her, but I just forgot her name.

This time she looked confused and told me her name was Lily Daniels. I wrote it on my paper.

Lily looked weird, like her face couldn’t decide between sad and another feeling. Even though I had just met Lily, I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t want to be nosey because my brother Jordan says that being nosey is a lot like being curious and curiosity kills cats, so I just started asking Lily the questions on our worksheet instead. It turned out that both of our favorite colors were baby blue and our favorite animals were ties between puppies and kittens. By the end of the worksheet, we both learned that we were a lot alike and couldn’t stop laughing. The funniest part was that we didn’t even know what was so funny. After Mrs. Holt collected our worksheets, she told the class that she was going to start passing out our math workbooks and that we needed to sit and talk quietly while she made sure we all “got our books stowed away correctly.” After I wrote my number—three because my last name starts with a B—on the inside cover, I closed my math workbook and got my reading book out.

Reading is my favorite thing to do in school when we have extra time. My mom says that I’m so smart because of all the reading I do and she says that I am smarter than her, but I don’t think so because I can’t even cook or type that fast. Just when I was about to open my mystery book, Lily said my name and then something real quiet after it.

“What’d you say, Lily,” I asked her in my whisper-voice because Mrs. Holt shushed us.

“I said ‘thanks for being my partner,’” she repeated, also in her whisper-voice.

I was a little surprised because nobody had ever thanked me for being their partner before. It was probably because I was always partners with Madelyn because Madelyn pretty much always made me be her partner. I smiled at Lily and was about to say “you’re welcome,” when she wiggled her finger at me to lean closer.

“If you weren’t my partner, then I might have had to be with Zoey, and she’s kinda mean,” Lily said in an even more quiet whisper. I asked her who Zoey was and she pointed at the girl sitting next to Madelyn.

“Zoey is the girl with the laugh that sounds like a wild animal,” Lily said. “I know a boy that says she sounds like a bird from the jungle, but I think she sounds like a scared zebra,” Lily said with a giggle. My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe she had just said that.

“You think that girl sounds like I zebra, too,” I asked Lily, totally forgetting my whisper-voice.

She nodded and I almost fell out of my chair because I was laughing so hard. Mrs. Holt had to get up from her desk and come stand by us to get us to stop laughing and even then we would still giggle a little whenever she walked away and wasn’t looking. After the third time Mrs. Holt had to walk by us—because Lily was telling me that we should sit together at lunch— she took five minutes off our recess time, so we quieted down and held our giggles in as tight as we could. The rest of the morning was a lot like that. Lily and I would talk quietly and then we would find out that we liked something else that was the same, so we would smile and giggle until Mrs. Holt said she would take ten minutes of recess time away. I didn’t really care because I don’t really like outside recesses and because everything Lily and I talked about was just so funny. Not very long after Lily and I got in trouble, it was time for lunch, so we all lined up in alphabetical order to go to the cafeteria.

Lily was only two people behind me, so every time we turned a corner, I would look back at

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“Are you gonna come sit with Zoey and me, or are you gonna sit with Potato-Pants,” she asked like the answer was the most obvious one in the whole history of the world. “I want to tell you all about my trip to Cancun.”

I didn’t understand why she was being so nice to me all of the sudden, but I really wanted to sit with Madelyn because I wanted to tell her about my summer. It didn’t feel right not sitting with Lily even though I had promised her I would, but I could always sit with her tomorrow and I sat by her in class, so it wouldn’t be too bad if I just sat with Madelyn for one day.

“What a baby,” Madelyn said. “It’s just a little food. She’s acting like I poured boiling-hot water on her or something.”

“Mads, that was really funny,” Zebra-LaughZoey said. I looked at Madelyn confused and tried to ignore her new friend that kept giggling her wild animal giggle.

“The funniest part was how the food got on her clothes,” Madelyn said. “I just wanted to knock

2013

“Hi, Jane,” she said in a really high voice and walked past me. She stopped when I didn’t follow right after her.

L a r ge Fo r m a t P h o to g raph y |

“Oops. Sorry,” Madelyn said. She walked around the bits of mashed potatoes and chicken patty on the floor. I guess she thought it was an accident because she looked at me like she didn’t do anything wrong.

Then I looked at Lily who had started to cry because of her spilled lunch. Her cries got louder and louder and more and more kids started to look at all three of us. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to stay and make Lily feel better, or go with Madelyn and not have the whole lunch room looking at me. When I saw the angry look on Mrs. Holt’s face and how she was hurrying over to help Lily, I decided that I should go with Madelyn. Lily would have be okay because Mrs. Holt would make her feel better and I would finally get to talk to Madelyn.

I just hoped Lily knew it was an accident that Madelyn had bumped her and that I would ask her if she was okay after lunch or recess.

As we sat down at the lunch table, the whole room watched Mrs. Holt try to calm Lily down.

When she finally got Lily quiet, Mrs. Holt put her arm over Lily and walked her out of the cafeteria. I guessed she was probably going to the nurse’s office to get some new clothes or call her mom for clean ones, but all I could think about was how Lily kept sniffing her nose and hiccoughing when she walked out.

B E LW H E R E 1 JOHN DILLINGHAM

her and make a silly face and she would laugh.

The third time we turned the corner, though, I saw Madelyn right behind her give me a dirty look, so I stopped and waited until we got our lunches until I looked back again. That’s when I saw Lily carrying her tray out of the kitchen and Madelyn walking right behind her. I was just about to ask Lily if we should sit with Madelyn, when Madelyn walked up behind her and bumped her arm and made her spill her food all over the front of her pants.

her lunch down so she couldn’t eat. I can’t believe it spilled all over her.” I couldn’t believe Madelyn. It wasn’t an accident after all. She had knocked down Lily’s tray to make fun of her in front of the whole lunchroom. I stuck my fork in my mashed potatoes and moved it around a little. All of the sudden, I wasn’t really hungry anymore.

I wanted to tell Madelyn that I didn’t think it was okay that she had done that to Lily especially since it was on purpose. Lily was nice and we liked lots of the same things that Madelyn and I liked. All I knew was that she was acting mean I didn’t get how Madelyn couldn’t just be nice like she used to be. But I didn’t want to start a fight with her so instead of talking about Lily, I tried to think of something else to talk about and I had just the question.

“Mads? Why are you calling Madelyn ‘Mads,’” I asked Zebra-Girl. “Mads” sounded silly to me.

“Because that’s my new name,” Madelyn said before Zoey answered. “I think Madelyn is a little kid’s name, and I’m going to start acting like a mature kid. Mature is cool, so now my name is Mads.” I raised one eyebrow at her like my dad taught me this summer and opened my milk carton when she didn’t say anything else.

“How was your summer,” I asked “Mads.” She shrugged and made a face that looked like she wouldn’t care about anything even if a bunch of monkeys ran into the room and shaved her head.

“My summer was boring, but my trip to Cancun

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was super cool,” she said with a little bit more excitement. I didn’t want to listen to her talk about Cancun because it was going to be the same as all her other trips. She would tell me how she went swimming with dolphins or got to hike with her parents in a jungle or ate at a cool restaurant with “real Mexican tacos.”

“Your summer was boring,” I asked. I wanted to listen to a story I hadn’t already heard lots of times. “Why was it so boring?”

“Mads, your summer wasn’t that boring. After your parents got divorced, you came to my house a lot,” Zoey said. “After your dad moved out, you got to come spend the night at my house tons of times because your mom asked my mom for you to come stay with us. That wasn’t boring; that was fun.” I felt like my eyes were going to fall out of my head. Madelyn’s parents had gotten a divorce?

“Zoey! I told you not to tell anyone,” Madelyn said angrily. She looked at me and her cheeks turned a little pink. I didn’t really know what to say, so I said the first thing that I could think of.

“I’m sorry,” I said. It felt like the right thing to say even though I didn’t really know why. I didn’t know very many kids with divorced parents, but the ones who did have them were always talking about how their parents fought a lot and then made them choose just one parent to live with. That sounded awful because I hate it when my parents fight and I loved them both so much that I didn’t think I could ever choose one to love more.

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“Just go away, Jane,” she said in a high voice.

She sniffed a little and I knew she was trying not to cry.

“Why? What did I do,” I asked. I wasn’t the one who knocked her tray down. Why was she so angry? She threw her feet down to slow the swing to a stop. When she finally was stopped, she looked at me with tears running down her face.

“I thought you were different this year, but you’re just the same as last year,” she said and swiped at her tears. “I thought we were gonna be friends, but it turns out, you are just the same as Mean-Madelyn.” I was really confused.

What did Lily mean by “same as last year”?

I had never even me Lily before today.

“What’re you talking about, Lily,” I asked. “I didn’t know you before this year. And Madelyn isn’t that bad. She can actually be really nice.

Her knocking down your tray was just an

“I’m sorry,” I said.

I thought about how that was the second time I had said that today. Madelyn was going through a rough time, but I especially felt bad because I knew how mean Madelyn could get when she was having a rough time. That’s why I was friends with her in the first place.

Whenever Madelyn wasn’t happy, she liked to make other people feel sadder than her. I didn’t want her to hate me and make fun of me like she did to lots of other girls, so I sucked up to her and made sure I didn’t make her mad because then she would never stop telling me how stupid I was.

“Really. I am sorry,” I said. Then the whistle blew and we had to go in. Lily didn’t talk to me for

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Lily thanked her and walked past me to go to the swings because she told me this morning that they were favorite thing to do during recess.

When I smiled at her to show that I was happy she was better, she gave me a dirty look. My stomach felt weird like it had at lunch with my potatoes, so I stared at my feet until Mrs. Holt said it was okay for me to go play. Then I took off toward the swing sets because I wanted to see what was wrong with Lily and why she was made at me. It wasn’t like I bumped her tray

“Are you mad at me,” I asked her.

“You did, too. You knew me last year. I just look different this year. I got prettier glasses. My last ones were a lot bigger and older and you and Madelyn would make fun of me for them,” she said. All of a sudden, I remembered. That’s why Lily had looked so familiar. Lily had longer hair this year and you could actually see her face now that she had smaller glasses. For some reason it was really hard for me to talk so I just stared at my shoes until I could be brave enough to speak again. It took a minute, but I finally squeezed some words out.

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“No, Dear. You go play. You’ve had enough of a rough time as it is,” Mrs. Holt said.

“Wow, Lily. You’re really high. How’re you doing that,” I asked her. Lily stayed quiet and swung her legs harder to get higher even though it looked like she would fly away if she did get any higher. I waited, but she never answered me.

After a minute, I decided to speak again.

s ’ t a h T why I was s d n e fri r e h h wit e h t n i t s r i f . e c a pl

accident.” That last part was a lie, but Lily didn’t need to know that. If I could get her to feel better, maybe she, Madelyn and I could all make up and be friends.

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I nodded and then the lunch bell rang and we dumped our trays to line up for recess. When we got outside, Mrs. Holt called mine and some other kids’ names to tell us that we all had to stand in line for five minutes while the rest of the kids got to go free. While the other kids ran around, I stood on a Time Dot to “serve my time,” as Mrs. Holt liked to say. When Mrs. Holt told us we had one minute left, I heard the door next to the playground open and I looked up to see Lily. She was wearing blue swishy shorts like the ones boys wear when they play basketball and she walked up to Mrs. Holt. She asked if she had to “serve her time.”

and made her spill her lunch. When I got to the swings, Lily was already going really fast and higher than I had ever seen.

THOMAS TREY CONRAD

“It doesn’t matter,” Madelyn said a little more quietly than her normal Madelyn-voice. “I get to see my dad on the weekends and we do lots of stuff then. His new apartment is really cool.

I get my own bathroom to myself just like a mature kid would.”

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the rest of the day, so I just did my work and waited to go home.

The next day, Lily still wouldn’t talk to me. The good news was that Madelyn was back to her old self and didn’t make mean faces at me when I looked at her, but she did whenever Lily looked over. Madelyn and Zoey also liked to giggle whenever Lily raised her hand to answer a question. I knew what they were saying because I used to be the one Madelyn made those jokes with. The morning went by quick with all of Madelyn and Zoey’s giggling, and even though I hadn’t eaten breakfast, I wasn’t hungry when we lined up for lunch.

I sat with Madelyn again even though I wanted to sit next to Lily and try and get her

to talk to me. For the whole lunch, “Mads” and Zoey made fun of Lily’s glasses and red hair.

I thought it was silly because I liked her red hair and glasses, so I didn’t say anything even though they tried to get me to laugh with them.

Then, when they got tired of that, they made fun of other boys and girls.

When it was finally time to go to recess, we lined up and walked outside. Today Mrs. Holt was “feeling generous,” so she let everyone go at the same time. Lily ran toward the swings and so did I so I could try to get her to talk to me.

“Lily,” I said when I caught up to her, “please don’t be mad.” She turned around and looked really mad, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking behind me.

“Go away. All three of you,” she said.

I turned around to see Madelyn and Zoey whispering to each other as they walked toward Lily and me. Madelyn said something that made Zoey laugh so hard, she almost fell on the ground.

“Fine. We’ll go away. You’re no fun to tease today anyway,” Madelyn said.” Come on, Jane.”

She turned to walk away and was about to whisper something to Zoey when I said something I didn’t know was going to come out of my mouth.

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“No, Madelyn,” I said. “I’m not going with you.

I’m going to sit and talk with my new, cool best friend, Lily.” I sat on the swing beside Lily and started to pump my legs. Madelyn looked at me like I had snakes for hair and her face got a little red.

“You think she’s cool,” she asked me.

I looked at Lily who was also looking at me like I had snakes for hair. I scratched my head just to make sure I wasn’t wrong and then smiled and nodded. Madelyn started to growl or something and made a huffy noise that sort of scared me but only because I had never heard a person make that noise before.

“Fine. But just so you know, you’re both the biggest losers at this school,” Madelyn said in a high-pitched voice. That was her really angry voice. I shrugged and so did Lily. Madelyn’s face got redder and she smiled in a way that didn’t look even a little happy. She whispered to Zoey and Zoey started to laugh her silly laugh again.

“See you tomorrow, Potato-Pants,” they both said together. They laughed while they walked away. I looked at Lily who frowned at their nickname for her and I could see her trying not to cry.

“At least she doesn’t laugh like a zebra,” I yelled at them.

Lily fell out of her swing she laughed so hard.

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HOUSING CONCEPT 2 J I AY U M A M O N A C O

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Theresa Kelsay Kiosk 47

Leather | 2011

TREEPOD DENISE DIPIAZZO

CLEARANCED

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The tower of babel Glowed yellow Clearance tape wrapped around Upward above Into the fluorescent clouds And tiled ceilings Constructed from stickers Marked down Peeling Caution, a warning Buy me soon, lustrous hues erected Leaning left Teetering in the wind Let in from the automatic doors Enter, no do not enter caution tape sculptures built and disfigured dispersed and devalued announcing the sale screaming half off, we’re better than God everything must go before it collapses and breaks and floods acid, staining the shelves bright yellow pleading please buy me now

AUSTIN PULLIAM

E l l a We b e r

Photography | 2014

1008 WEST 13TH L O R I N O VA K

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PEELING Becky Bickel

For as long as I remember I’ve been on these walls. The fleshy things have come and gone.

They’ve loved and lost and I’ve remained on the walls trying to reach out to them.

I’m not sure how long its been since my birth. Eighty years if I had to guess. I’m starting to chip.

Parts of me I can see just below. My old pieces are swept up and thrown in the trash bin.

This morning one of them pushed a pencil to my perfect pigment, scratching me off, onto the floor.

I tried not to show my pain.

It’s lovely they said but too old. They put colored papers next to me, and then brought in large cans.

Before I can object sharp things begin scratching, scraping and scathing me all around the room.

It looks different from below; it is colder and soon all of me has been swept up, I am taken to a place I’ve never seen.

Bright blue illuminates me from above.

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Lat e

nov e mbe r Mickey Cesar Kiosk 30

The mirror stand

there –

mounted mahogan y, eteen-twenty, chip s, clipped photographs from nin

the odd mothball and mold aroma steam heat corners. c urling our mem or ies yellow at the Lipsti ck flakes form decades, cat-haired lo ck ed in wax: and here we stand again.

Again, dim in the sheen of streaks

backlit by venetian blinds and bri ttle lace cur tains , of age: light bent slightly by the w eight You and I watched weddings, attended funerals, danced black and white an d bathed each other in tenderness and spite

to stand

toweling dry before your mother’s mirror.

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Acrylic yarn and

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JEEHYUN HOKE

LONELINESS METAPHOR

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HOW TO BAKE COOKIES WITHOUT

Graphite on paper | 2014 2014

would run off the bus and into her arms, the scent of sugar wafting into your nose from her hair and through the open front door. Before an exam she would sit you down with a cookie to build up your spirits. When your school-girl crushes didn’t work out in your favor she would sweep into the room with her sugary scent and wrap you up in it until your tears could come no more. Realize where you are and that the room is filled with the thick scent of burnt food. You knew you shouldn’t have tried to bake them without her, you never could. Jump when you hear your boyfriend’s voice through the apartment calling out to you, searching for the source of the smoke. Let him hold you. Tell him your tears are from the smoke, your frustration at burning the cookies you wanted to surprise him with. Allow yourself to hide your face in his shirt when you hear him say, “I know. I miss her too.”

Don’t struggle when he carries you to the bedroom you share, keep still when he tucks you in and shuts off the light. Allow yourself to remember how you could hear her smile, even over the phone and how her eyes always reflected your own excitement when you hadn’t seen each other for any amount of time, whether that be a month or just a day. Remember how you’ve never wanted anything more than to be just like her. Don’t open your eyes when the door opens and he comes in. The smell will be hers, but don’t move until you hear him leave again.

Not until he is gone should you open your eyes, taking in the plate next to you on the bed. Take a bite of the treat that could have only been made by your mother and allow yourself to feel her warm arms around you. You will try again tomorrow – tomorrow you will be stronger.

Oil on canvas |

Rummage under the bed until you find the box you took from home after your dad couldn’t stand having it around anymore. Search through the bottles of old perfume, newspaper clippings announcing a wedding, anniversaries, and a birth; through the jewelry you always put on when you wanted to play dress-up until you reach the stack of index cards near the bottom. Grandmother’s cinnamon rolls, Aunt Catherine’s fruit salad, those don’t matter to you. Search through until you find the recipe you haven’t made by yourself a single time, the one that hasn’t passed your lips since the funeral. Text your boyfriend - remind him to pick up milk on his way home. You’ve never been able to eat these cookies without milk. Run your fingers along the tattered card and trace the neat cursive writing; so familiar from years of letters and notes in your lunch box. You know the recipe by heart: 2 cups flour, white and brown sugar, an egg, chocolate chips, butter that had been softened on the counter but not melted, she would tell you, that changes how soft the cookies will come out sweetie. You know every step but having the card in your sight will help you pretend your mother is still there. Go through the motions you had watched her do hundreds of times; crack the egg, whisk it in with the sugar, gently fold in the chocolate chips – saving a few for the chef. Place the balls of dough on a lined sheet, we won’t have to clean it later sweetie, isn’t that smart? The pan is in the oven and the cookies have started baking before you realize that you’re lying on the floor, curled in on yourself, crying into the card clenched in your hands. Remember that she made a batch of cookies on the first day of school every year. You

E X P E C TAT I O N S F O R YO U R DA U G H T E R CARRIE BEALL

Brenna Murray

C AT H A R S I S RACHEL SCRIBNER

YOUR MOM

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F IR S T ME MO R Y Kelsey Murrell Kiosk 44

The mother and daughter make the first ell oN memory the mother will dw wheN she thinks she has failed on a Sunday afternoon. The mother reaches down, grabs stubby little fingers and pulls her to her feet, knowing she’ll fall again, trying hard to sit back, watch and let it happen. She knows it’s the best way for her daughter to learn.

The daughter falls down again and the moth er picks her up, and

2014 Oil on canvas |

AERIE RACHEL SCRIBNER

she knows that’s what mothers are here to do, and she shows her she can try again.

The mother and daughter make the first memory the daughter in the will keep with her forever kitchen of the first house on a Saturday afternoon. The mother wipes the flour from her hands on the apron as the daughter, kneeling on a chair, makes carefully round balls of dough. The mother turns the radio up, pulls the daughter from the chair by her hands, spins her in cir cles, and surrounds herself with what she loves most.

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SAM ROH

postcards

Oil on canvas | 2014

SOPHIC RACHEL SCRIBNER

Oil on canvas |

2014

DIAPHANOUS RACHEL SCRIBNER

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Photography | 2011-2014

4 5 0 D AY S CALEB NEWBERG

Photography | 2013

HOME IS WHERE A L L PAT H S M E E T KASEY STERTZ

Photography | 2013

B E N E AT H T H E S U R FA C E KASEY STERTZ

Photography | 2013

I N E V I TA B L E D E C AY KASEY STERTZ

U NT IT L E D

Dan Thompson Kiosk 38

Photography | 2013

TIME TRAILS KASEY STERTZ

Photography | 2013

SKIN TRAILS KASEY STERTZ

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KING SPID ER Ian Cook

Kiosk 36 Digital |

UNKNOWN

UNTITLED

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Bury the bones in your garden oots e future r beneath th tomatoes, spina ch or r o n r co f o rs. the lukewarm inne and don’ t toss away You can plant those too.

Now, you try this one, cut down ‘til you feel bone then go all the way back to the tail. t in the pan You can’t wait to get the res

you’ll look out over your ripening gifts atic beast and remember the green aqu e death r o f e b uggling r st d an g strainin bing to you. and finally succum You’ll remember the chill you got as the wind blew ov er the hills trees. the and through

nd smile.

You’ll remember a

BURY T HE BONES Joseph Kelly Kiosk 31 Kiosk 36

Then in summer some night you can’t sleep,

Digital |

ds

UNKNOWN

so they could simply grow.

UNTITLED

to sizzle and pop to a healthy tan, but first we have to plant.

Bury our hands into plowed ground and make these gut grow.

The first spring wi ll bring struggle for the fresh green y stalks, but they will feel the firm caressing hands that fed them and pulled out all the wee

Pen

|

2014

UNTITLED CALEB NEWBERG

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Digital Collage | 2013

HEARTS ON FIRE (INSPIRE) JOHN REYNOLDS

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w e i v r e t n I n A . s m a i l l i w w i th s h g u o burr George

Gurley

y Nelson Photo b Kiosk 3

Lyon

es e s r e t n The pai g n i h t e om s s d r o c e h l i and re t n tu s i x e t o n d i d t tha . t i d e v er

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PA P E S ROBERT JAMAL GAMBY

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CARTOGRAPHY OF BEING Sarah Pyle Kiosk 46

1/3 of all the worlds languages rely on cardinal directions that means they don’t have words for “left an d “right ” they say things like “there is a caterpillar on my southeast leg” they know at all times which way is north, south, east, west their position in the word

is inherent to their existence i wish i was so sure of where exactly I am and where I am going

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PENCIL D a r v i n Wa l l i s Kiosk 33

I WRITE IN PENCIL BECAUSE I MAKE

FAR TOO MAN Y MISTAKES. I’VE WRITTEN MOST OF MY RELATIONSHIPS IN

THEY ARE EASY TO ERASE

BUT, WITH YOU, I’VE ALWAYS WRITTEN

Ink Pen |

2013

IN PEN.

D R AW N R OA D S I & I I K AT I E W H I T E M A N

Inkjet Print | 2013

ROAD G | LAKING, KS MAX MIKULECKY

PENCIL, IF I DON’T CARE

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I. More than eight Years out of college Past his prime to go to war He left Queens abandoned the throne

c r o sss d a o r Leah Rothschild Kiosk 26

Europe by foot or by car The old man

Needed to brush up on His Hebrew In a place called J-usalem they met The craziest thing he ever Did was marry my mother Ignoring the time the

Place age

stage religion

Citizenship education II. “Dad do I have a good chance at getting into NYU’s grad program beca use you’re an alumni...”

A homebody Spaghetti and rice and still A buddha-like belly, Protruding from a polo Worn in cords

Digital | 2013

JEREMIAH WESTON JONES

“...And every time they call I don’t donat e money.”

III. Grades weren’t good Enough neither was the wife Something like Bring home the bacon

Bring home a Jew

THE SKIN

M A R YA N N S T E N Z E L

BECOMES

untitled

THE UNIFORM

Screenprint with marker | Kiosk 42

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M a x M c Fa r l a n d When first I saw the man same feeling you get in a dream~

you are shaking hands with someone, and there are all of your family members

standing around as though this stranger is family too, a dear one you have always known him

your

self  screaming this stranger, a family member, grinning shaking your hand

his eyes burning

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phone alarm repeating

yard sale II

the family member is real

BUCKY DONE GUN

you are away in the ground drowning in pillow

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THE

Alex Bracciano Digital Image | 2012, 2013

FORDF100 | BUICK | 73 CORVETTE MIKE GUNNOE

END

I started telling her that I loved her more often. Instead of just goodbye or see you, I tried to make her feel that she had lived a good life. Possibly the most revered, holy, sacred, honored words in the English language.

Overly so, I’d say. The words that bad poets and romantics and modern day bards praise and scorn in varying degrees as they work to mold the unknown of life into already tired caricatures. I was never overly affectionate.

“I love you,” I said.

I hugged her, and she smiled, her robe bundled tight against her skinnier-than-I-remembered form, grey hair tousled. Her eyes were sharp and clear, though. I opened the front door.

Snow already dotted the driveway I had shoveled hours earlier. Slow and steady. It was getting dark out, and she turned on the porch light for me.

“Same time next week?” she asked.

“Only if you’re up for it,” I said. “You don’t have to cook. I can always bring something by.”

“Nonsense,” she said.

I left.

“ A re they j u st w o l rth t s o “ Ma n y t h i n go ” , ? s ” e i r m t h e me I a s k e d , wea rs a i d

I was at dinner with Jen when it happened.

Eggplant and Lamb Stew at some Middle Eastern place. Authentic enough. It was our fourth date and I had just started to feel like it might work out. She had this laugh that was always inclusive, like everyone was in on the joke. We met at a flea market of all places.

I spilled my coffee on her display of vintage bottle caps, and offered to buy the whole thing out of embarrassment. She said it was cute and I said she was cute. She joined me as I got another cup of coffee and we talked. I asked her what kind of gal keeps and sells vintage bottle caps, and she told me it was her dad’s old stock.

“Are they worth anything?” I asked, warming my hands on my Styrofoam cup.

“Mostly just the memories,” she said. She was shorter than me by a good half foot, even in muddy boots. The cold didn’t seem to bother her.

“Then why sell them?” I asked.

“I don’t need them anymore,” she said, looking out at the slowly shuffling group of bargain hunters herding around various stalls and knick-knack stands. “Maybe someone out there could put them to better use.”

Dinner was going well. I told her more about my supposed career. I wanted to work with computers, but so far I had only managed to scrape by as an Electronics and Microwave Guru (their title, not mine) at a local chain store. It’s surprising how often the two categories overlap. Jen was in graduate school at Colorado State studying biology.

“I wanted to know how things work,” she said.

“How the smallest, most unknown bits of our self come to determine who we are.” She slurped her stew. “You said you were partway through your bachelor’s? Why’d you take a break?”

My cell phone vibrated, but I didn’t pick up. It rang again.

“Things came up,” I said, ignoring it. “I’m hoping to start up again next fall.” I couldn’t tear my glance away from my bowl. My phone rang again.

“Could you excuse me for a moment?” I said.

“Where were you?” my brother Edgar asked, frustrated. He weaved his way through the waiting room chairs, steadier than I would have expected at this time of night. He was the type of guy that had friends so that he didn’t have to drink alone.

“I was busy,” I said.

The room was nearly empty. An older gentleman had fallen asleep in a corner, hands clasped over his belly. The walls were painted a light shade of blue, no doubt with calm in mind. A faint scent of antiseptic brought the whole situation into focus.

Reaching me, he paused. He didn’t even smell like smoke. That was new. He was a few years older than me, and had both Dad’s curly mop of hair and his bulk. A friend told me that we looked alike, but I never saw it. He opened his arms gave me a firm hug. I patted him on the back.

“Are you wearing cologne?” he asked, tepping back.

“I said I was busy.”

He gave me a wry smile which quickly faded.

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a e b o t y TR bet ter son

choosers, I guess. It was still nice to be alone, together.

Conversation meandered. We walked. She went into detail about her ongoing graduate projects, her experiments, and a little about her family. I told her about the time my brother decided to try and hitchhike down to Denver to see this metal band when he was sixteen. He made it there, but couldn’t make it back. He’d called home asking for a ride. Dad was furious.

He went, alone, to go and pick him up. While we were waiting for the two to come back, Mom and I sat in the living room watching late night TV (a rare privilege). Mom asked me if I knew what my brother was up to, and I said yes. “You were a good brother, Danny, not telling me,” Mom said. “Next time try to be a better son.”

“Our doctor advised us to put her in a retirement home,” I said. “Or a hospice.

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“You never did tell me how your mom’s doing,” Jen said.

Date number five. We were on our way to a small hiking park with a tiny lake adjacent to the east of town. The weather was, hopefully, starting to warm up and today might be the warmest we’d seen in a long while. I wanted to make it up to Jen after wrapping early last time. She’d offered to come with me to the hospital, but I didn’t want to put her in that position. Not the ideal situation to meet the family. When I dropped her off, she made me promise to keep her in the loop on my mom’s situation and to get together next week. So far, I was one for two on that deal.

“It’s not a huge issue,” I said, pulling into an empty spot. The parking lot was about threequarters full. People were eager to make the most of the break in the weather. “She hasn’t been a hundred percent for a few years now.”

We made sure our backpacks were ready. Not that either of us were extreme hikers, but Jen was big on outdoorsiness and being prepared for anything. She had packed water bottles, a blanket, even a map and compass. I thought that might be bit overkill. I had brought along a bag of pretzels and a couple of sodas.

“Even more reason to be concerned, don’t you think?” she asked.

We decided to work our way around the lake.

More of a pond, really. Lakes should be bigger, grand, wide and complex. Beggars can’t be

JESSICA MOLINA

Dr. Fishburn agreed.

“Ed, Dan, I know it’s a lot to ask of you two,” he said, pulling a few flyers from a drawer and placing them before us on his oak-paneled desk, “but we need to start thinking of the future. Of next time.”

His office hadn’t changed in the few years that we’d begun to frequent it. The books were the same, the framed certificates. His computer and his telephone had changed, and that was about it. Dr. Terry Fishburn was our parents’ physician for a good thirty years. He’d been there for our births. He was there when Dad died to a heart attack a decade back.

We should have seen that one coming, given the way he took care of himself. With Mom we didn’t need that sort of foresight. Slow and steady.

He gave us a moment to look through the pamphlets, and even recommended a few.

“We’ll think about it,” I said.

“Don’t wait too long,” Dr. Fishburn said.

Sketchbook Assemblages

“She collapsed again,” he said. “Probably blacked out, not just a fall.”

We sat down and waited. He told me how he had stopped by Mom’s place to pick up his high school yearbook. An old buddy of his had just gotten back into town and he wanted to relive some of their “lightning years.” When she didn’t answer the door, he let himself in.

“She was on the floor in the kitchen,” he said.

“It was a miracle that she didn’t hit her head or anything.”

“She’s fine?” I asked.

“She’s having episodes again, so not really,” he said. “The doc thinks all she did was bruise her hip or something, but man, it coulda been worse. Hell, it was a miracle I was there at all.”

“I don’t think she can be alone anymore,” I said. My brother sighed.

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UNTITLED UNCREDITED

ELIZABETH BADDELEY

Or tried. I appreciated the effort. The house smelled like chicken fried steak and biscuits.

He smelled like cigarettes.

“I even helped with the cooking,” he said.

“I hope you’re not smoking around Mom,” I said. “Thought you were quitting.”

“Course not,” he said, irritated. “Lot of stress right now, you know.” He leaned into the living room. “Grub’s on.”

Mom walked in slowly on her crutches. She looked lively. Hair, makeup, a nice dress. Her eyes were still bright, but they winced every once in a while.

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” I said, helping her take a seat.

“It’s no trouble,” she said. “Honestly, I feel catered to. You even brought dessert.”

I had brought along carrot cake. Mom had insisted on a home cooked meal, even if it meant delegating a few duties to my brother.

He normally made do with instant meals and sandwiches. She said that if I really needed to help, we should bring along something sweet.

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TEA

O T T ” , N A R E W H I “ MEET Or hire a live in nurse. That sort of thing.

Assisted dying.”

We climbed steadily, the light dancing in the water on our left. Someone in the parks department found this a perfect spot for a bench.

I plopped down onto it unceremoniously. I needed to exercise more. Jen handed me a water bottle and sat down right next to me. It was a decently large bench.

“And?” she said.

I took a long drink, and thought about it. “I might move back home,” I said. “It’s not like my apartment is anything worth hanging on to.” I handed her back the water bottle and she dropped it into the bag. I stood up. “She needs

someone right about now. It’s more important, right?”

“Let’s keep moving,” I said. “Get some life into these bones.” Jen stayed seated, looking out over the lake.

“I want to meet her,” she said.

Edgar and I set the table while Jen and my mom talked in the living room. It was his shift to stay with her. Mom had only been out of the hospital a few days, and we were still debating our options. She hated hospitals. He’d managed to squeeze into an old button down shirt, and by the looks of it he had combed his hair.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” she said. She started coughing. “Excuse me.” She coughed. “That, might be more of a problem.” She laughed. It felt a little morbid.

I doled out the food. It tasted alright, I’ll give him credit. Under my mother’s dutiful gaze, even the inept could achieve normality.

“Jen told me you were hoping to start up with school again in the fall,” my mother said. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thatta boy Danny,” Edgar said, chomping into a biscuit. “Don’t take after your old brother here.”

“I don’t know if that’ll work out anymore,” I said. I cut my steak into smaller and smaller pieces. “After your thing, I thought I might help out around here more.”

“What, like live here?” my mother asked. “And you can call it what it was Dan. I blacked out.

It’s happened before.” She turned to Jen. “All this medication they’ve got me on can’t help.”

“I don’t think this is polite dinner conversation,” I said.

“It’s alright Dan,” Jen said.

“It’s not alright,” I said, frustrated. I gently put my fork and knife down. “Can we just take a moment and be responsible, sensible people.

I’m not asking for much.”

Conversation dropped. The clinking of silverware on dish ceased.

Edgar coughed awkwardly. “Not sure what you’re really asking for, Dan.” “For honesty,” I said. I gathered myself. “Mom. You’re dying.”

“Really?” she asked, her tone dry. “When did that happen?”

The car ride back to Jen’s apartment was quiet.

I kept flicking between radio stations. The streetlights whizzed by. Jen reached over and turned off the radio.

“So the food was… edible,” she said.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “She’s never been so gung-ho about the whole….” I had trouble finding the words.

“The whole death thing?”

“Yeah.”

Three more turns until her street.

“She was nice,” Jen said, staring out the window.

“She is,” I said. “I just don’t get it. I want to be there for her. I want her to feel safe, and happy, and like she’s not alone. I don’t want her to go alone.”

Two more turns until her street.

“Dan, you can’t put your life on hold.”

“It’s only for a bit.”

“And then what? Once she’s gone, back to normal?”

One more.

“Sure, back to normal.”

I pulled into her parking lot. It wasn’t the nicest place, but it was better than some.

You could tell by the types of cars. It ran the gamut. Working class, rust buckets, a couple luxury autos. A little representation of all the people who by choice or necessity were crammed together and stacked on top of each other. A clean slice of Americana. Life, condensed. I turned to her.

She squeezed my hand and let it go.

Intaglio Print | 2013

SELF PORTRAIT ROSS FINOCCHIARO

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HOT TODDY Chloe Seim

Silver Gelatin Print | 2013

IDENTITY CRISIS 2 BETHANY HUGHES

Tonight I’ve been very sick. I’ve found this new drink. It is very good and supposed to heal what ails, but I’m not meant to do this type of thing, so shush shush.

IDENTITY CRISIS 1 BETHANY HUGHES

THE HIGH FIVE Chloe Seim On a Friday night at four o’ five in the morning, I shift and shake with my laptop in an intimate dance, because it desires not to balance on my knees. I am not sober nor am I wishing I were sober. I search the nonverbal meaning of a high five, especially when repeated throughout a single occasion, and determine whether I should feel regret or not. I’ve known this guy for a year and a half, but he’d never high fived me before. Six times tonight. Six! I think maybe I should’ve followed the signs better, that I’ve really missed out on something. I’d probably be much happier right now if I were at his place rubbing his lovely hairy naked back.

But I’ll never know.

The Online agrees the high fives are a sign, but it’s four o’ five in the morning and too late now.

Silver Gelatin Print | 2013

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bare skin hose precious finger oom those tired bone ver mine until they hat I h left to ake , and take , and t nd I need vto give . S eld me close TO WHA hose precious finger oom those tired bon ver mine until they hat I have left to ta ake , and take , and ta nd I need vto give . and-me-down skin o p r i s t i n e skin Sof e l d m e c l o s e Soft t h r e e close Soft threa lo

ave Kiosk 34

that held me close s that wove love . es over and can find o take , and ake oft threadbare skin rs that wove love . nes over and can find ake , and ake W H AT

GRANDMA G AV E

Kiosk 50 C o t t o n Ya r n | 2 0 1 3 |

DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER COLIN LEDBETTER

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Soft threadbare skin that held me close those precious fingers that wove love.

Loom those tired bones over and over mine until they can find what I have left to take, and take, and take, and take And I need to give.

Hand-me-down skin to pristine skin and fingers too callow to reach the loom.

ft threadbare skin t eadbare skin that he dbare skin that ME

Tricia Dalaba

T R E E O F D E AT H MICHELLE REYNOLDS Pen and Ink | 2014

GUEST ROOM Photography | 2011 | Kiosk 45

MAX MIKULECKY

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Please join us to celebrate the release of this historic issue on Friday May 9th, 2014 at the Jackpot Saloon and Music Hall from 6:009:00pm. There will be live readings of featured literature and selected art on display, plus a chance to check out several issues of Kiosk from the past!

k the The staff of Kiosk 50 would like to than Department of English and the Department of Architecture, Design, and Planning at the University of Kansas, KU Student Senate, the University Daily Kansan, and the Spencer Museum of Art

for supporting this special issue of Kiosk.

Additional thanks to Andrea Herstowski, Jackpot Music Hall, and everyone who submitted work to this issue of Kiosk.

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