Southwinds_Spring_2023 by Missouri S&T Library and Learning Resources

IH

PermaRed.(AndreasEllinas)

About Southwinds

South11·i11ds is published annually in the spring semester and distributed free tothe Missouri S&Tcommunity. The club Southwinds, which produces the magazine, is arecognized student organization and open to all students. Each fall, Soutlncinds invites submissions from S&T students, faculty, staff, and alumni. Poetry, stories, photographs, and original artwork should be submitted to southwinds.mst.edu or swinds@umsystem.edu.

Sourh,vinds wishes to thank the Dean and the Leadership Council ofthe Dean, CollegeofArts, Sciences, and Business, the Missouri S&T StudentActivity Finance Board, the DepartmentofEnglish and Technical Communication, Leann Light, Jesse Singleton, and Bea Bonebrake at the S&T Printing and Mail Services.

Mathew Goldbergis Southwinds' faculty advisor. He teaches creative writing, American literature, and composition.

EnglishandTechnicalCommunication

The Department ofEnglish and Technical Communication at Missouri S&T offers undergraduate and graduate degree programs in English, English education, and technicalcommunication. These programs are based on a wide range ofcourses taught by experienced, accomplished faculty in the following areas: American, British, and world literatures, creative writing, rhetoric andcomposition, technical \-vriting, and linguistics. Check out our \-vebsite english.mst.edu or our Facebook page facebook.com/ EnglishTechComDepartmentMST

MISSOURI S&-1'

Trashion Show

Title Page Placements

Let's Go Girls!

Movin' On, Things Left Behind

Bee Not Afraid

Writing Center: Luchador

Tori Busse and Dr. Karen Head

Tori Busse

Tori

Dandelion Crown

Brooke Tiedt

Myfavoritethingtodoispickthedandelionsthat growunderthebleachersbehindmyschool.Noonequestionsn1easIwalkthewrongdirectionleavingclass,thebell ringingsharplybehind1ne.Thatwouldrequiresomeoneto noticeme.Sincen1ycarnevercomesthroughthepick-up lane,noonehasareasontokno,vmyname.

Theonlypeoplewhovisittheseovergrownfields arethesoccertea111andsometi1nesagymclass.Lastyear, though,someonebroketheiranklebysteppinginaholein thedirt.Boththoseactivitiesquicklydiedafterthat.Boththe soccerteam,assun1ingtheyhadenoughmemberstoplay,and thegymclassesweresubjecttothemustyindoors.Theholes stillremained,andsodidI.

I'vealwaysfeltlikeawildthingthere.Thebleachersarerusting,coveredindirtandothermysteriousthings. Weedsgrowrampant,andIalwayshavetocheckforticks afterIfinallygohome.Butalways,withoutquestion,the dandelionsarehere.

Ilearnedthehardwaythatpeoplepreferbouquets ofprettyflowers.Realflov.-ers.Flowersthataren'twilted orwild,butgrownsolelyforthepurposeofbeingcutand soakedinwater.Noonewantsweeds.Theyweren'tnotprettyenoughorgoodenough.Weedsdon'tbelong,andthey're certainlynotsomethingoneshouldgoflauntingaroundas treasure.

Sittingunderneaththebleachers,Ipinchthestems asclosetothegroundasIcanwithmynails.Ilinethemup nexttoeachotherinthegrassuntilIhaveenoughtomake myselfacrow.

Theseflowersareforme.Iexistforthemthesame waytheyexistforme.Ihavemyownminiaturejungle.Iam itsqueen,andtheyaremytreasure.Inthislittleworld,no onecantakethatawayfromme.

EverytimebeforeIputonmycrown,Imakesure tonoticeeverylittlethingaboutmysurroundings.Imeasure theheightofthegrasstotheloweststepofthebleachers. Thetipsofgreenalmostreachedthemetal.Itrytopickout everycolorofflowerinmyfield.Thereisyellow,ofcourse, butalsobitsofpurpleandpinkandred.Ishademyeyesto catchthepositionofthesun.UsuallyiCssneakingtowardthe horizon,theshadowsstretchingliketheywerelyingdownfor anap.Andalways,Ilookupatthesky.Blue,brilliantlyblue. There'snotasinglecloudinsight.ThesearethedaysIcan clearlyimaginethatthisplaceistheonlyplaceonEarth,and Iamtheonlyoneinit.

OnlyafterlookingforeverylittledetaildoIputon mydandelioncrown.That'sthemomentIbecomequeenof mysmallrefuge.Noonelooksforme,noonewatchesme, nooneseesthelittlethingsIknowaboutmyself,andno onepointsoutlittleflawsIwasn'tawareof.Butthat'sokay, becausehere,whentheworldismine,Iamdeterminedto cherisheverylastinchofit.Iknowthatinsomeway,italso seeseverypartofme.OnthedayswhenIsitunderneath thesebleachers,dirtunderneathmynails,grassdigginginto myskin,anddandelionsaroundmyheadlikeahalo,thatis allIneed.

Butterfly (Kassandra Hayes)

Sunset (Xavier Ross)

Orange is the ColorofJoy

Agnes Vojta

Theliliesinthefield donottoilnorspintheyworkthealchemy ofblooming,distill sunlight,water,andair intoanorangemiracle. Inditchesandfencerows theyflowerwithabandon, throatsopenwide.Assummer fades,theliliestire. Willpowercannothalt thewiltingofleaves. Theliliesretreat totheirroots,feed onsugarstores,dream ofblossoms,emerge infierceindependence nextyear.Soitisdecreed.

Donut Days

LibbyRing

Irememberwhatitwaslike,allthoseyearsago.Thebarnwasashiny dullredwithwhitewindowoutlines.Thesmellofsweetoatslingered intheairalongwiththescentoffreshhay.Imissedthisfeelingofthe country.IcouldfeelthesunshineonmyskinandIcouldbreatheinthe woodsysmellaroundme,butthemostimportantthingImissedwerethe horses.IremembermyhorseKrispyKreme,whowasnamedafterthose sweetsavorydonutsthatpeoplewouldpickupanytimeandday.He wasatalltanquarterhorsewithbigbrowneyesandsturdylegs.Itrusted himwithmylifewhenridingandIstillmisshimtothisday.Thatwas 20yearsago,butitseemsasifIwasjusthere,ridingwithmysisand muckingoutstallsallday,justtogetintoawaterfightwiththehoseafter. LookingbacknowIshouldhavespentmoretimewithK.rispy,seeingthat hiseyesweregettingfoggyandhisbackwasdroopingmoreeveryday, butItoldmyselfthathewouldbeokay.I'lljuststayawayonemoreday todoschoolworkorhangoutwithfriends.Iknewschoolwasimportant becauseIwouldn'thavebeenabletomovetothecityandworkmy dreamjob,butInevermeanttoneglectmyfirstbelovedanimal.Lifejust hadotherplansforme.

Nowdrivingbacktothebarn;tothecountryside,makesmefeelasifI couldspreadmywingsandflyofftosomedistantlandandneverreturn. AlthoughnowIhaveahusbandwholovesmeandtwindaughterstoput throughhighschoolsoI'mcertaintheywouldmissme.Lookingatthis barnthememoriesofyouthjustcomefloodingbackintomymindlike adangerousrapid.Thebarnwashandeddowntotheowner'sdaughter whoisonlyafewyearsolderthanme,butsheandherhusbandwere preparedtotakeontheresponsibility.Myoneregretwouldbenotgiving mydaughterstheirveryownhorses,becauseoncethatbondbetweena girlandtheirhorseforms,allyouwanttodoisbreath,eat,andsleepin thepresenceofthesegorgeousmammals.Thereissomethingaboutbeing backherethatputsmymindatease.Inolongerfeelthestressofmyjob ortheworriesaboutthefuture,becauseallIseerightnowarerolling fieldsanddifferentcoloredhorsesgrazingonthebrightgreengrass.I knownowthatthisismyhappyplaceawayfromthestressfulbustling city.

In the Trees (Kassandra Hayes)

Orchids 1 (Cindy Wilson)

Orchids 2 (Cindy Wilson)

Passersby

Nathan Hart

TheplacewasnothinglikehowAlexrememberedit.Theold townwasnowashellofitsformerself,silentanddevoidof life.Memoriesofthepast,ofhischildhood,floatedtothe surfaceofhismindashesteppedoutofthecarontothegravel streets.Followingtheimagesinhismind,thesceneryaround himchanged.Feetcrunchingwitheverystep,helooked around.

Vibrantgreengrassblanketedtheground,disturbedonlyby thedirtpathsthathadwornitdownfromthestepsofcountless feet.Overtherebythebroken-downwallthathadnever beenfixed,heandhisfriendshadplayedkickball,laughing togetherwhenoneofthemtripped,cheeringtogetherwhen theballrocketedintothedistance.Thebaronthecornerhad beenhisfather'sfavoriteplacetohangout.Hewasn'tamean alcoholiclikesomeothersAlexhadknown.Infact,hewas akindandgentleman,hejustenjoyedtheatmosphereofthe place.Stoppinginthemiddleofthestreet,Alexpausedand listened.Hecouldalmosthearthemusicdriftingthroughthe streetsfromthatbar.Itwasalwaysaconstantinthetown.No matterwhattimeitwas,someonewouldbeperforming.That house,theonewiththeblackroofandgaudygreenwalls,that hadbeenhisownhouse,hissafeplace,hishavenduringhis childhood.Hismotherwouldcallfromthefrontporchwhen dinnerwasready,andhewouldalwayscomerunning.

But then thememories faded. Old storefronts returnedtowhat they'dbecome. Green grass witheredanddriedup again. Sturdywoodrotted, and smokefilled the fresh air. Rows ofarmoredtrucksstoodlike gargoyles,watching thetown with piercing eyes. The buildingsbecame dilapidated, left in disrepair for solongthat many roofshad collapsedinon themselves.Artillery shell craters dottedthelandscape, like soresin thisonce-peaceful village. The music was replaced withthe hummingof engines, the shoutingofsoldiersin training. That oldwall wasno more, long sincerundown by tanks intheir haste toget tothe next strategic point. Not even his refuge was spared from the passage of time. Not muchofit was left, and what was still standing was almost unrecognizable tohim, save for that faded green paint.

"Hey!" barked a harshvoice from behindAlex, "What areyou doing there?"

"Nothing,"hereplied, his voice catching in his throat, "I was just leaving."

TheCeremony

NoahHayes

Theceremonyseemedlikemuchtomeat first, but asI preparedforit, my stomachbegantoget excited with anticipation.Youcouldhearthedrums playingoutsideasthe peoplewerealsogettingexcitedtodance. Silas'younglady helpers puttribal paint onmychest andruffed up my bushy hair, oneofthem blushedonceshelookedatme. Theyputa whitepawonmychest, andputthehair ofthehyenaonmy backtoresembletruequalitiesofmyself: Humorous, Witty, Protecting, Cunning, Coordinating, andBrutalwheninbattle. Silasknewme almosttoowell. Seraprobablytoldhimmy loveofhyenas and my dislikeforlionssincetheyjust look prettyanddonothingbutmateandfightotherlions.

Withtherollingoftongues andtheloudcriesofjoy, I exitthe huttowalkout beforeallthetribespeopletoseethemalready dancingandenjoying themselves. Young couples dancedwith oneanotherinharmony,as didthelittlekidsrunningaround beingfriendly. Butoncetheysawme, theybegantoquiet downand movetooneside oftheareato make a pathbetween meandwhere I believedSerawouldcomeout.Afteracouple ofseconds, shefinally came outofherhut and blew every singlethoughtofbeauty Iknew before out ofthe water.

Her hair was looseandbushylike mine. Shehad atan, furred tunic on thatexposed herindented stomachandtoned shouldersand arms. Shehadtribal paint on her cheeks, her beautiful nose, andforehead. She carried the hide ofalioness onherwaist and walkedbarefootonthedirtroad,justlike me. Shehadearrings thathad clawson themand shewore her feathered headdress. Shehada pawright aboveherchest that matched mine, buther animalwasa lionessratherthana hyena, for she wastruly the queenofAfricatonight.

Aftertheycheered heron, silencesoonfollowedasAisha broughtout thewiseman andhisstaff. Hegavea coughbefore lookingat meand Sera. Soon, our makeup peoplewalkedus downthe aisle andtowardsthewiseman, neverhaveI ever wantedto kiss Sera morethanwhen I saw hereyesupclose, theshearhappinessthatburnedin hereyesthatday absolutely searedmy soul inthebestway possible.

"Sincethisisnotawedding, I willnotmake thespeechlong" he saidwithafriendly smile, "butsinceour belovedprincess hasfoundherselfasuitoroutofawarriorweallknowand love, this ceremony hadtohappen"

The wiseman coughed once more before closinghiseyes andbreathingindeeply. "The spirits ofyou twoarestrong, andwhetherour neighborsgods, ourdistant-whiteboned gods, orYeshua's father, thetrueGod, has broughtyou two together, thiswasapairing thatwasmeantto happen"hesaid confidently. "Mayyoubothbe happyintheinevitable future, andenjoylifetogether, inhopesofbeingoneoneday" I lookedatherandfoughtsometearsofexcitement,asshelet hersfall.

"Now letthedancingcontinue!"Heshoutedbefore hugging usbothandleaving the area.

Everyonearoundusscreamedwithhappinessastheybegan todanceandjumpfor joy,soonthough, theybegantopair up anddancewith their ownlovers. Serabegantovibe with themusicandbegantoswayherhipsinamethodicalway, letting her waistbeadssound offagainst herbody.No longer controllingmyself, I soongrabbed herandkissedheragain. Shekissedmebackandsmiledandshetouchedhernosewith mme.

"I loveyou"shesaid happily.

"I loveyou too" I said, now letting my tears fallaswebegan to smileanddancethe nightaway.

I feltathome, dancing under theeyesoflove tothesoundof musicthatresonated withmy heartandsoul. Theloveofmy life was before me,feelingthe same way and justasstrongly. No complicated mess, nodoubtsorfears, I finallyfelt ok knowingmyfuturewife -my true wife - was rightin front of me, dancingthenightaway, under thebrightstarsofAfrica.

Yosemite (Kassandra Hayes)

Dayofthe(Red)Dead LibbyRing

WhenyouthinkofaholidayyoumaythinkofEaster, Thanksgiving,orChristmas,butwhatifItoldyouthat therewasgoingtobeanewnationalholiday?Idon't thinkyouwouldbepreparedforthisholidaywhichis specificallyforthegamingcommunity.Getreadyfor theNationalRedDeadRedemptionDay.Onthisspecial daygamersacrossAmericamakeitapointtositdown anddustofftheircowboyhatsforthebigday.Imaginea wholedayofplayingRedDeadRedemptionwithfriends. ItwouldbetotalchaosinthetownofValentine.Bullets wouldbeflyingeverywhere,horseswouldberunning rampant,andduetosomanyplayersonline,Rockstar Gameswouldhavetomakeanewonlineupdate.That wouldbeamiracle.GamersacrossAmericawouldhop ontheirchairs,couches,orbeanbagsandsimplyplay RedDeadagain,forawholeday.Itisnostalgicand putsyouinthefeelswhenridingintoSaintDeniswith afullposse.Don'tgetmestartedonhowmanyposse feudstherewouldbethatday,butitwouldbeadayto remember.Imaginerandomlygettingshotbyaplayer called"JackedMonkey420"andthencallingupyour friendtocometoyouraid.Thatiswhenyourfriends showuptoteachtherandomplayeralesson.National RedDeaddaywouldbringbackwhatitfeltliketoplay withfriendsin2016whereyouwouldspendhoursonthe gameshootingeachotherwithfriendlyfire.Thiswould bethedaytoletgoofalltroublesinlifeandreflecton whatitwaslikewhenthegamefirstcameout.Itwould belegendary.

Surrounded (KassandraHayes)

A Peaceful Home (Landon Royster)

Creation Through Subtraction

Agnes Vojta

In the Economist,

I read aboutthe cells in the leaves, the mesophylls thatcapture sunlight andair, wisely arranged veins run through the tree, the xylem draws water up from the roots; thephloemsends sugars to the tips ofthe furthestbranches. Come, marvel at the patterns, the miraculous order: how followingtherules of physics creates a livingbeing. I sit bytheriver watchthe leaves quiverin the wind, murmur as ifin prayer. The spirit understands the archaic language. Between greening and letting go, the trees put on a show as chlorophyll breaks down, leaves the other colors visible. Creation through subtraction.

WalkingTrail (SamGeorge)

HomewithNature(LandonRoyster)

FallStroll(KassandraHayes)

Home Sweet Home

ConnorZinnicker

Susanwalkedupthe old, wornoutstairs tothefirstfloorof hergrandparents house. Thesoundsbrought herbacktoa youngerversion ofherself, anxioustosee hergrandmother andgrandfather. Sherememberssneaking up and hugging hergrandmotherinthekitchen, anoldradio playing news, sports, orwhateverwas on the station atthe time. She would then walkdownthehallway towards theTVroomwhere hergrandfathersatin his usualreclineratthefar endofthe TV room. As Susanwould walk, she wouldnoticetheliving roomto her left, thestairwellto her right, thenthe closetand bathroomthe further she traveled. Instantlyhergrandfather gotupto hugandgreether. Theoverwhelming feelings remembering all ofthis was toomuch.

Nowitwasonlyhergrandfather. Shestill loved himand was always anxious tosee him, ofcourse. Buttherewas thisobviouselephantinthe room, a gapingholeinthe household, thatmade the visitnot as exciting.Ayear prior, her grandmotherhadsuccumbedtolungcancerandpassedaway inthe TV room, righton her favoritechair. Susannonetheless loved visiting hergrandfather, evenifhe didn't do much. She loved spendingtime with him; she loved every momentshe spent inthe house. Thecreaking ofthestairs, gazing intothe rooms her mother and her siblings slept in, the constant sound ofthe television in hergrandparent's room, itfilledherwith nostalgia.

Nowasanadult, she hadboughtthe housefrom theprevious owners. It wasmostlyasecondhouseto holdonto for nostalgicreasons, somethingtoshow her kidswhenthetime was right; whereshe took her firststeps, where shefirstspoke, whereshe hadmanysignificantmoments in her life. She and herhusband wouldtoil tomakethe house look atleast somewhat likeitdid when shewasa child.

The Rock

Reece Schmelz

Today'stheday everyone prays to theRock. Notlike the Rock asinDwayne"TheRock"Johnson, but anactual, literal, rock. We'renotsureexactly whyor when we started praying totherock, butevery year onthe second weekend ofSeptember we gatheraroundand praytoit. Supposedly thisistogivepower to theRock, andwiththispower, it willbring usfortune. I don'tnecessarilybuy it, butthe holidayitselfis fun. Wehaverock-themed eatsandcandy throughoutthe weekend, suchasPopRocks orrockyroad ice cream, and even listento rockmusic. It's definitely not my favoriteholiday, it would never topChristmas for me, but it's enjoyable enough andsome places even give offwork for the weekend. Therearesome specialprayersthatpeople havewrittenthatare saidto be official, but thereisn'treally anyreligiousorder for the Rock thatcanconfirmordeny it, somostpeoplejust improvise. TheRockitselfis behind some pretty tightsecurityin London, butthereare plenty of mock-Rocksthroughouttheworld thatpeople gatheraround to prayto. My favoritepartoftheholidayis probably when myfriendsand I come together to watchsomeRockmovies. Noneofthem areactuallyany good, butsomeareso bad thatthey are good. Oneday it'ssaidthat the Rock will gain sentienceandbeable totelepathically speak withall humans atonce, butIdon'tbuyintothattheory.As coolasit would be for an all-powerfulstone to speak toall ofusat once, it doesn'tseem thatrealistic.

MysteryFalls (LandonRoyster)

Hobby\Vriting(ParkerBuckson)

Writing a Sonnet

MadisonJolly

Waitingfor hoursforsomeinspiration, I cannot makeanyideasstick.

AllthatIfeelrightnowis frustration, myheartislike a timebomb; tick, tick, tick.

To put pen to paper isfar too hard, mystrive for perfectionbarsmy progress, everythingI thinkofImust discard. Nothingintheworldcanhelp my distress.

Perhapsitwouldbebetter tonot start, myamateur mindwillneversucceed. Butwithout failure there canbe noart. I look atthe paper where the inkbleeds.

At mydesk, staringatthemoonlessnight, I restart my mind andbegintowrite.

PaintMeAway

Brooke Tiedt

I'vetriedoneverylabel, butI can'tsettle for a single, definingshade. Seattle is abeautifulemerald hue; Chicago ispaintedbythewind. I've made my home inHouston, Space City. The night revealsan everexpandinguniverse, no shortage ofwonder. It'salways changing, shifting, growing. Ihaven'tfelt like I've been growmgmyears.

Iplungethepaintbrushintothe shimmering liquid. With every stroke, myskintakes on anethereal glow. Thefumesmake my head spin, but I don't stop. I'veneverbeenable toreachthe stars, butmaybe Ican become one.

Trashion Show

Placements

This year's Trashion showproved tobeatremendous success! Six teams went head-to-head,showcasing anexceptionallevelofingenuityandinventiveness. Thecompetition, asits name suggests, challenges participants tocreateaweinspiringdesignsusing 90% reused andrecycledmaterials.Anesteemed panelofjudgescarefullyevaluated theentries, whileaPeople's ChoiceAward providedanopportunity foreveryonetovote fortheir favorite. Overall, this eventwasanexceptionalcelebrationofsustainabilityandcreativity.

Firstplace and People's Choice: Let's Go Girls!

Hanna Condrey

AutumnWatson

HaleyGarrison (model)

Secondplace: The Gaffers Guild: Movin' On,Things

LeftBehind

Elliot Sutalski (model)

Conner McFarlan

EdwardFleishman

AustinKoch

Trevor (Thomas) Stefanski

JohnHeuer

Thirdplace: BeeNotAfraid

RosaleeBrown (model

ElainePohlsander

Alsoparticipating...

Rocket Design Team: Married to theTeam

HollyJarvis (model)

JayKamdar

Nicholas Graham

WritingCenterTeam:

Phillip Bode(model)

TeagueMcElroy

SammyKraus

KeillynJohnson

CindyWilson

BrookeTiedt

Miles Diekemper

Pyro Maniacs

Gunnar Wurst

KateJohnson

Alexander Baylor

Gaffer'sGuild:Movin'On,ThingsLeftBehind(ToriBusse)

WritingCenter:Luchador(ToriBusse)

Pyromaniacs(ToriBusse)

Winter

Light in the Dark

ZacharyLovelady

For a long, longtime, starsthroughouttheuniversehavejust beenslowly, oneby one, blinkingout, as suddenly asaflipof aswitch.

Weknewthe sunthatsupportedourplanetwouldgo dark, oneday, ashadhappened tosomany other solar systems already, butwecouldn'thavepossibly beenpreparedfor itto happensosoon; no oneeverwas. Thereweren't evacuation plansinplace,thereweren'temergency systemsready to supportwhoever gotleft behind. Billionswereleft tofend for themselves on adarkplanet,whilethosewho had starships of their owngotout ofthere. Things descended into chaos.

Afew monthslater, for thefirsttimeanyonehadeverseen, astarreturned. Our suncameback, asthoughthrough a miracle, or anactofsome god. Itbroughthopewith it, and notjust here, butto people everywhere, on acosmicscale. Itcertainly wasn'taninstantaneous return tonormalcy; a lotofdamagewascaused thattook years ofwork andeffort to mend. Nothingwilleverbequite thesame, here, butit's certainly a better fate than thealternative.

Sonow,every year,wecelebrate. Inthe months leadingup tothe anniversary ofthesun'sreturn, many havestarteda traditionof keepingtheir ownlightsturnedoff, in honor of those who werelostinthattimeofdarkness, both figurative andliteral. Othershavelesspopular methods of observing thispractice- simply drawingtheircurtainsto avoid letting sunlightinto their home, shiftingtheir schedules so they might operate solely atnight, andother thingsofthatnature, which haven'treallycaughtonatalargescale.

On the anniversary itself, grand celebrations are held. Lights areturnedon, curtainsare opened, andbrightly colored decorations linethe streets. Familiesgather and simply do whateversounds likethe most funway to spendtheday; after all, the sunsupports almostany activity I can think of, either directly or indirectly. Simply being isenough to celebratewhatthe sundoes for us, butwhowouldn'ttakean opportunity like this to go outanddo whatever makes them happy?

There's stillalingering ,:rnrrythat this couldhappenagain, but fornow, people are much more focused onthathope. Hope thatthingsare changing for the better, thatstars have stopped vanishing, thattheuniverseis asaferplacethanitwas. Here's hoping that, eventually, the ideaofstars disappearing and planets falling into disarraysoundslike nothing morethan a myth, a legend. Isthatthecase, yet,reader?

Someday, I hope, someonewill be able toanswerthat witha confident "Yes!"

A Cold Night (AndreasEllinas)

I Do Not Tire ofthe Miracle ofSnow

Agnes Vojta

The streetsare empty, thetown aphotographin blackandwhite. Theworldslowsdown on snowdays.

All soundsaremuffled, except for thesqueaking undermy feetas I walk home from work.

Streets, lawns, and roofs are coveredindiscriminately. Thebushesbowlow under theirload.

This will not last. Thesqueaking willtum toslushing, andblack patcheswillappear on the pavement.

Missouriwinters teach aboutimpermanence, andmiracles don'tlast.

Ekphrastic

An ekphrastic poemis avivid description of ascene or, more commonly, a workofart. Throughthe imaginativeact ofnarrating andreflecting onthe "action" ofa painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify and expand its meaning.

Kira Courtois, AlexandriaPinkston, and Toni Martellaro alternate between written and visual works.

Changing ofthe Seasons

Kira Courtois

distanthonking cries, blackwings onthe horizoncolderwinds follow.

Solacein WaterloggedWoods

Reeds and trees stand tall

On landabove murky depths

Safety for thebirds

Flying away (Alexandria Pinkston)

ToniMartellaro

Entropy

ColbyMarbury

Walking through theroadsof the small Louisiana town wheremy grandparentslived, I amremindedof theconcept ofentropy. Asachild, thetrips wemadecoming over here tovisit themevokedsomewhat ofasense of wonderin me. Seeing the differentlifestyles of this isolatedcommunity prompted metolearntoappreciatenewexperiencesand people. And ofcourse, thehouses, thefleamarketmy grandfatherran, andthevarious other townbuildings radiated arusticcharmthat drew myinterest.

Now, however, I seethis place inadifferentlight.Aused tire, brokendowntruck, empty dirt lot, oranyother piece of random trash orwasteisnot scarceontheroads. The housesthatwere once, albeitsmall,visions of a differentway oflivingnow seemlikenomorethandecrepithovelswith rottenfencesanddirty walls. Those thatarestill occupied havearbitrary furniture thrownallovertheporch and front yard. The abandonedonesseem like they were never much in the first place, already reclaimed by the weeds. Wise people, or people pretending to bewise, saythatwhenwe die our bodieswillreturnto nature. Thattheywillreturn to the grass and thetrees. This town reminds me of the sentiment's falsehood. When we die, we will return that which we are like. Reclaimed bythe weeds, absorbed bythe mushrooms, and feasteduponbythe bottom feeders, thecreaturesthatroll aroundinthe mud.

What Once Was

ZacharyLovelady

James wanderedtheremainsofsomethingthat,:vas, atsome point, a home. Itwasalmostimpossibletobelieve, seeing thestateofit, and harderstill tobelieve itoncebelonged to his family. Here, a hallway atsome point, though the rottingfloorboardsand collapsed door frames mighttryto convinceyouotherwise. Here, a bedroomthatbelongtohis sibling, thecrackedwallsandshatteredwindowsrenderingit uninhabitable. Theoldliving roomwasmostlyin-tact, despite thepeelingwallpaper, cracked chimney, and old furniture that simply hadn't endured thetestof time. He knewthese.

He wassurprised to find thestairsup tothe second floor still standing, further surprisedthatthey couldsti11 support his climb. Taking cautious stepsacross the decayingfloor, he made his way to hisownoldbedroom.As he openedthe door, theonly thingtoslow itssudden fall wasJames's reflexes. Of coursethe hinges weren'tenoughto support itanymore.

James'soldbed satexactly as he had lastleft it,waiting for his return, though he didn't want to find out whether it could still hold his weight. Toys that hadn'tseen use in years even before he left. Shelves holdingsome of his youngerself's favorite booksandsmall collections. Alarge opening inthe ceilinglet agentle ray ofsunlightin. Thismight have been a good spot fora skylight, once.

Hemade his way back outside. As he passed, henoticed some small patches ofmossand various plantsseemed to have crept their way into this shell, thriving in places where windows and openings in thewalls let the sun shinethrough. James stopped atthe front porch, and satdown to restawhile. After all, he didn't have anywhere elsetobe in a hurry.

This washome.

Spring

Orchids4 (CindyWilson)

Orchids3 (CindyWilson)

AWater's Crown

Brooke Tiedt

Thevoid along theedgeofthebeachwasformed bytears. Halfway downthecoast,betweenthe greedyrivermouthsand thedivergingdeltas, there'sa circle asperfectasany hand-heldinstrument canmeasure. Itsdiameterismarked, at highandlowtide,bythesurf; onehalfisalwaysdry sand, the otheramouthfortheoceanto constantlyfallinto.

Allthisplaceusedto beadesert. Thewaterlay beneaththe surface, broughtupbydustytools, only to becontaminated bythebloodyhandsandlipsthatsoughtit. Each smallpool onlyprovided an oasis fordaysata time before creatures largerthreatenedmoredeathif they couldnot lay claimtothat quicklyfleetingwater. Theirhandscouldnotdig;theirtongues couldonlytake.

Itwasthewingedcreaturesof theair. Notallof them castlong shadows along theground, thelengthofawhisperedprayer, buttheonesthatdidgrewincheslongeratthetrembling and stenchofrisingfear. Itwastheirbreaththatwithered, theirvoicethatshook, andtheirteeththattore, before a deep crimson tongue broke thewater'sclouding surface. And yet, despitetheirreignsofterror, someofthoseprayerswere not toanotherfordeliverance, but tothosedragonsthemselves, as the blood of their brothersclung deeplyto those scales. Each dragonlaiditsclaim, divided itsterritory, untiltheycreated theirown crownsofbonesandsinew.

Itwas those thatresistedthecallof thebeaststhat were able to bring thefirst onedown. Their victory was not without sacrifice, one morelosttothosestainedjaws. Butitwas their tearsthatfellupontheground and causedtheground to shake.

Thesurfacesplit, alinetothe east andwestcreatinga deep shift, the northjuttinguptocreate a cliff, theothersinkingfar enoughthatasourceofwater wasrevealed. Thewater bubbled tothesurface, floodingacrossthe desertsand asfar as onecouldsee.Thetorchesof thosefaroff, notyet arrivedwho wouldfightonthedragon'sbehalf, wereblinked out. Those standing ontheclifftopstared down inawe. Ground opened up asthey watched on, swallowing thedragon's bones andthe bearerof tears.

Now,justat sunrise, watching carefully and stillas onecan be,lighttwinkles inthedepthsofthe void. Even morerare, a motion from within castsashadow over thoselights, before the sun moves to bring its light tothe rest of theworld.

Only onedragon'sboneshaveever beendevoured. The green of the ground whispers itsstoriesin thewind, echoedin the leaves of the trees. Waves of thewater, crashingagainst the sandandpouring into the void, have their own shout. Even the rocks, covered in moss, their harshplainbroken up nowby flowers, haveasilent voicein arealmthatwecan't hear.

Some people whisper that the dragon never died; itknows who itsbetrayers were and all their generations, andwill burst once more fromthedarkplacesthatbirthed itto seekits revenge. Thequieter whispers, butthatwhichholdmorehope, is that thebearer of tears does notremain fallen, but that the waters thatflow down intothat depth provide a place forhim, his crown of waterandof life, untilhefights his way back out to watchtheotherdragons fallandgather those generations who hold their breathin anxious waiting.

Early Blooms (KassandraHayes)

Celebrating theThaw

Agnes Vojta

Palepink, the moon sinkstoward the horizon. Mistsare rising. Fieldsdreamofspring.

Inshallowpools, thepeepersshrillthe air. Steps crunchthe grass. The frogsfall silent -all

butone: defiant, hekeepssinging a seriesofmelodious notes, audacioussoloistwho won't contain hisjoie devivre.

Dunes (Nate Opperman)

Blossoms(KassandraHayes)

Tell MeWhen

CelesteBlakely

TodayIaskednobodyinparticular

IfwhenIdieIwillbecomeastar

Nobodyansweredme

Iwalkalongthetrees,pickupacornhusks; LookatatreestumpandimaginethemossIknowwillgrowthere. Iseetheemptyspacesonthegroundwheretheflowersliveanddie

IfindthespotinmyheartwhereIliketohide AndwonderwherehaveIgone?

AsIkeepwalking,Iseetheravens Somanyofthem,swirlingandflyingbackandforth; Awhirlwindblackpaintspattering Againsthuesofpinkandgoldandviolet

Iaskthem

Cananyonepleasetellme Whenwillitbespring?

Nobodyknows,itseems

Butthentheyanswerme: Always, Always, Always, How beautiful Theysing.

Interested injoining the staffofor contributing your work to Southwinds? Contact Professor Goldb rg at goldbergmr@mst. edu, or check us out onlin at sites.mst.edu/southwinds to view pre ious issues or submit 'our work.

Southwinds_Spring_2023

IH

About Southwinds

EnglishandTechnicalCommunication

Table ofContents

Trashion Show

Table ofContents

Summer

Dandelion Crown

Orange is the ColorofJoy

Donut Days

LibbyRing

Passersby

TheCeremony

NoahHayes

Dayofthe(Red)Dead LibbyRing

Creation Through Subtraction

Agnes Vojta

Home Sweet Home

The Rock

MysteryFalls (LandonRoyster)

Writing a Sonnet

MadisonJolly

PaintMeAway

Trashion Show

Placements

Winter

Light in the Dark

I Do Not Tire ofthe Miracle ofSnow

Ekphrastic

Changing ofthe Seasons

Solacein WaterloggedWoods

Entropy

What Once Was

Spring

AWater's Crown

Celebrating theThaw

Agnes Vojta

Tell MeWhen