Montage 2021 by Emmanuel Montage

Table of Contents Welcome to Montage

I don’t have to smile

By Julia Lhotellier (psychology major, writing minor) Sunday at Church

Sunday after Church

By Natalie Hayes (biology major, english minor) Idk

8 By Travis Brave Heart (history major, writing minor)

I never understood

By W. Isaiah Garnett (english education major) Lost Summer

By Kyle Garrett (creative writing instructor) i am from red clay and backroads.

By Allison Sarna (english education alum, 2020) Imperfections

By Julia Lhotellier Oriental Eyes

By Natalie Hayes Muffled Connections

By Blakely Tolbert Busy Bees

By Travis Brave Heart A Return to Normalcy

By Amari Thomas (criminal justice major, music minor) a choice

21 By Chris Maxwell (EC’s campus pastor and poet laureate)

Let it happen

By Zuzanna Malinowska (business admin, graphic design) The Reflection

By Julia Lhotellier My thesis is in pieces

By Aungeleigha Haylock (comm digital media prod. major) We’re Savages?

By Travis Brave Heart Death before Calvary: A Pro-Life Poem

By Deven Perez (Christian ministries major, graphic design) May 11, 2016

By Logan Reese (business administration major) The Hurt Child in the Man: Stories of those who endured the

Residential Schools of North America By Travis Brave Heart begin

41 By Chris Maxwell

2020 editors: Travis Brave Heart and Todd Maas Faculty sponsors: Kyle Garrett and Nathan Gilmour Cover Design: Natalia Quintero Rodriguez (business admin -- CIS)

Montage is produced by the Emmanuel College English Department 1

WELCOME TO MONTAGE Montage is the literary magazine of Emmanuel College. Published each Spring, the magazine celebrates creativity and publishes a selection of art from the EC community. Montage accepts submissions year-round in the categories of poetry, narrative (fiction and nonfiction), and visual art / photography. Submit by emailing montageec@ec.edu. Visit ecmontage.org for online content, past issues, and this year’s visual art selections. To join our staff, sign up for the one-hour EN 210 Literary Magazine Workshop, offered Fall and Spring each year.

I don’t have to smile Julia Lhotellier “You need to smile more.” He says.

If I could touch These words.

I would inflict them With so much pain. Each time these

Words are thrown at me I want to tear all Timeless smiles

Away from my lips. I want to form them Into torture whips. Instead, I sit there and turn my head.

Women are hysterical.

I don’t want to gift them With that stereotype. “I said to smile.” Shut up, shut up. He thinks he’s so clever.

A warrior saving the world. I’ve seen that face before. … 3

Last time

I smiled at a man.

He thought it was an invitation. Permission to dominate. I smiled to greet him Give him the respect He deserved

As a human. His mind misunderstood. He thought.

I wanted him To come find me

When the room was empty. “You should kiss me.” Why? I don’t like you. “Because,

I like you,

And I deserve

Some compensation.” Each time

My rejection Seemed to give him more Permission. … 4

“Come on.” “Just smile for me.”

Sunday At Church Natalie Hayes When my feet would swing above the floor, Sundays were for church.

My legs would dangle over the edge of the pew Until my white kitten heels would slip off.

When the music rose, I was a ballet dancer, Twirling in the melody.

Be reverent, be your best for God,

My mother’s scolding whispers sliced Through the arcing chorus. Be your best for God. And so,

I spin faster, arms awhirl, To show God the wonder of the way I could make the colors Of my hemmed dress blur together.

Sunday After Church Natalie Hayes Eyes squinted, water rushing over the toes, I scan the creek bed for prizes to be won. There, my eyes lock on the fanned-out tail of a crawdad.

A sideways glance my twin,

he hasn’t seen my bounty yet. I creep forward, slowly sinking each foot a step closer at a time. I am a lioness, shoulders hunched, fingers dip into the cool—

just then, the blaring of truck horn calls us back to the house. A picture of warmth and a promise of Adobo.

I race up the gravel path

barefoot, in time to claim the real prize: a warm chunk of babinka I sink my teeth into the

golden flesh of my new target, still a wild lioness.

Idk Travis Brave Heart I don’t know why but every time I try to write about this, I trip over my words

But love isn’t a smooth ride so why should this be Love can be many things

But mostly love is letters on a window Broken into a million pieces

Leaving you wondering what glue, tape or tool is needed to see it put back together Looking for each piece and a place to put it Driving you crazy with infatuation to see the finished product Until one-piece cuts you

Pushing you away to put a bandage on so you don’t feel the pain of it again Love is dark chocolate

It might not taste as sweet as milk chocolate It might be bitter But deep down we know it is good for your heart Love is a concrete basement Cold to the feet at first

And always unfinished Love is a paper towel Often overlooked

But is always noticed when needed Love is a scar You don’t feel it anymore But remember the pain 8

Love is a puzzle Confusing

Even enraging if you can’t find the pieces Love is something simple Turned complex

By those who feel it

I never understood W. Isaiah Garnett “I never understood the slow pulls she took at the sliding door.

Pulls of those menthol lights. Slow pulls like rain drops on a windshield

Slow like summer sunsets

Slow like sips of cold water after a hard day of labor. I never understood his silence

sturdy as an honest alibi impenetrable as his belief

heavy as canned goods in plastic bags

A silence only broken by the sound of loose gravel

which declared his arrival every afternoon

I never understood why

he never sang along with James Cleveland every Saturday morning or why her Bible

was so tattered and torn Or the honesty and intensity

of their arguments.

what they were fighting for and fighting against or fighting with

I never understood. So much I didn’t understand then. I get it now.”

Lost summer

Kyle Garrett That time of the evening when the air

heavy with blue makes high pop-flies clean disappear – fast as summer. See a ball-field in the last moments before dusk, ever-crouching, ducks out

tonight – the pines beyond the outfield fence no more than shadows.

Brickdust, chalklines, bluegrass aflood, lit – dreamscaped in hyper-relief beneath

midnight blue. Aluminum bleachers glow clear as the moon. A summer phase

away. A dirty slide. A Mars cloud of ghost dust floats sideways

aways.

(Passes breezily through fence.) The ump – gaunt, distant, unbending as winter bones – uppercuts a third strike strides

to the home dugout cooler for a paper-cone sip all in one motion, even before the batter unfreezes. Out. Gone. Change it up.

i am from red clay and backroads.

Winner of the EC Montage 2020 Poetry prize Allison Sarna streets of dirt and gravel, turn-at-the-red-mailbox driveways calves and chicks and piglets growing “just old enough” across the black ocean of asphalt. i am from steeples and pulpits

singing every verse, piano and organ burst forth from the loins of grace and the womb of mercy “praise Him,” they say but, i wait my mother, tourniquet and cinder-block chicken pot pie and biscuits and (unconditional love) diagnosis

amoxicillin withered into promethazine, and methotrexate chemo.

tired eyes, salt-and-pepper straw, in bed by 7 healing,

managing. my father, dark roast and devotion

10:55 sermon, 3:00 prayer meeting, service at 5:00 serving others

withered into going to bed with the door unlocked “he’ll be home later”

knees scraped to the bone

from the force of the hands holding me in a kneel.

listening to the chorus of souls, chanting

“what he does is more important than you” put up or shut up my y chromosome longs to really meet its donor howling at the moon, sleeping on the doormat waiting for the “click” of the open and close even if it comes too late

i am from clenched fists. flushed cheeks, furrowed brows “How dare you say that?” and “You can’t hide it from me.” stay in the lines

repeat the words written on the script

by the ones who created me without my asking. two things:

1. we will always love you

2. you can always come home

Imperfections Julia Lhotellier The classroom opened me up to so many possibilities.

There were pictures, numbers, and letters on the wall. I wanted to know them all. Her eyes looked right through me as if she thought she knew me. “I loved your sister,

and you look just like her.”

Her hug applied so much pressure. I tried harder but She thought I’d be smarter. Her smile drowned

as my lisp slipped through those lips. “Oh no,

we need to fix this.”

Oriental Eyes

Natalie Hayes In the mirror, I see

Oriental eyes, and kayumanggi skin. I look to check,

but the slant of my features hasn’t gotten any steeper, And the olive hue

of my skin hasn’t gotten any deeper.

Yet, the gaze of the

pandemic-riddled world falls sharper on them. I think back to the day at the lake,

At a waterfront diner, standing in line, Waiting to order

a sandwich and fries,

When a man walks up to me, Looks into my eyes,

says, Didn’t you read the sign? Dogs eat outside.

Now, in the articles I read

Case after case, the violence escalates against people like me.

I could bathe in milk,

trying to turn kape into alabaster, Or tape my upper lids open, trying to make them round instead of almond,

but what would that do, 16

to stop the hate

that quarantine has incubated? Through these slanted eyes, I can clearly see:

Hate is a virus, too.

Muffled Connections Blakely Tolbert

Glass shatters on the ground Fragments of the whole

Skid across the floor in different directions Broken. Like my group of friends, when the virus Broke through our lives

Faces half covered distort the message. Unclear. Different opinions, different extremes

Hermits and Butterflies, where do I fit in?

Missing pieces scattered unsure of where to go He says, she says, what do I say? I say I am a shard of glass Sliding across the floor to another corner of the room Apart. Away from friendships I never thought would shatter Closer to my brother who

I’ve known my whole life. Unexpected.

Familiar like an old favorite t-shirt that still fits Time apart from friends, time together with family Re-routing myself in this limited space

My metaphorical mask is off, while I strap a real one on I have self diagnosed Time to work on me

Forced to be alone makes me independent Learning more about myself

Down-time leads to introspection Gluing my pieces together

Busy bees

Travis Brave Heart The calm collective collaboration of a hummingbird

lying on a rose petal recovering it’s never resting heartbeat.

The subtle silent sleeping of a snow hare

living life between hops. The wonderful wavy wandering of a sea turtle’s mind

while riding a current. Sometimes the busiest beings need a rest.

A Return to Normalcy Amari Thomas

We thought it would be a great idea. A businessman to run the country. What could go wrong? He’s right you know.

It could’ve been stopped in China.

And it could’ve been stopped in the United StaNevermind.

A Zoom call here,

A cry for humanity there,

We loved the time at home.

Until it revealed the underlying racism and bigotry this country was founded upon. But just paint the street yellow and they’ll shut up. ...I mean Black Lives Matter!

Put your knee on my neck so I’ll know my place. Beneath you, forever.

Or until my lungs collapse. I don’t mind.

Being honest,

You’ve done it for the past 400 years, Why stop now?

And where’s your mask? Wear it just under your nose So we know which side you’re on. A Return to Normalcy.

Is that really what we want?

a choice

Chris Maxwell

yes, the sadness abounds. feelings of loss, of defeat,

of depression, of abandonment, of pain, of numbness

remain around us and within us. emotions and thoughts and moods. but can we choose, even slightly, to shift our focus,

noticing the good also around us and within us? with good intention, can we pay attention to the contention that all things actually do work out,

in some way,

at some time, for good?

Let it happen

Zuzanna Malinowska I’m in jail. My body is trapped between the four walls and my soul is fighting the rails

with a desperate need to travel,

with a strong will to see the world and enrich my life, with a desire to explore all of the places I’ve never been and places I’ve never known

but I’m trapped in lockdown, trapped in the house,

and trapped in my own body. Something is trying to get out, and all I hear is a whisper in the wind saying, “let it happen, let it happen”

It's always around, this whisper, my constant companion covering my shadow

always fighting inside but I’m trying to stay tough,

nothing is nearly as loud as the voice saying “let it happen, let it happen” Everyone is panicked, everyone is in lockdown,

it is hard to distinguish lies from truth, facts from fiction, reality from imagination the whole society is engrossed in fear while I can’t fight it much longer. But do I really want to know what happens next, if I let it happen? I'm in the blurry borderline. I close my eyes, I can’t fight it much longer, something is trying to get out, and it's never been closer.

My body stays here, trapped between the four walls but my soul, my soul is getting out, it leaves the jailed body, I let it happen. My soul is on a journey, my soul is ascending, my mind is drifting away,

my body is left far behind and suddenly I'm out in space, I'm full of anxiety but I let it happen, I’m worried but at the same time extremely excited. My soul is exploring the unknown parts of the universe and the galaxies,

I’m surrounded by an astonishing mixture of dust, stars, and planets, everything is dreamily bright and vivid, I feel pure bliss.

The views are more amazing and fascinating that one can ever imagine. I am surrounded by a beautiful, endless mystery,

a countless number of stars and magnificent sights, distorted shapes and halos of light,

all around me, all in colors so vibrant that I can feel them.

Everything is appealing to the eyes, the eyes of my unstoppable soul. I am travelling at the speed of light through the endless loops of freedom.

It consumes me and I am stretching too far, I am out of control, but I let it happen.

Nothing can stop me, nothing can keep pace with me, only the loud voice saying “let it happen, let it happen” My soul is away, and I feel complete,

deep frustration is replaced with heavenly peace. I’m like a shooting start, flying through the sky,

dangerously far away in outer space but I am truly free. 23

I am racing fast but the time is moving slow, I am floating around in ecstasy,

I am cheerfully cut from the gritty reality. My soul has left my body, yet I know my body is jumping around and dancing, yet I can feel my skin is covered with goosebumps, yet I can feel my head is spinning fast, yet I can feel my cheeks getting wet, tears unapologetically pouring down,

yet I can taste the mint flavor in my smiling mouth, yet I can smell the cool air of the night,

yet I can feel my heart is like a butterfly, and I know that my ears are enjoying the sound of let it happen. I am sad and happy, I am experiencing paranoia and euphoria,

I feel free but I am unimpeachably trapped, I have a delighted soul,

my spirit’s wants are being satisfied,

but my body’s desires can only face the bitter reality. Silence is visibly filling the four walls,

but there is screaming and fighting inside my body. I feel calm, but there is a lawless chaos inside me. I feel pure joy,

but I am still greatly disappointed. I am accepting the situation,

but I am going insane because I am trapped in my body,

in the house, on Earth.

I have experienced the voice saying “let it happen” and I can’t erase it,

the outer space travel, the soul-enriching feelings, the breathtaking places,

the feelings I’ve never known before,

all of it ending up as a few drops of ink under my skin because I don’t want to erase it. It is hard to distinguish reality from imagination.

I hear the rays of sun emerging, it must be morning,

and in the background, I can see the voice saying “let it happen let it happen…”

The Reflection

Julia Lhotellier Yesterday, I looked in the mirror. I saw the ugliness I had created. The ugliness infused,

with all these expectations. I began to sink, down

to that child’s old routine.

I named everything I had to change. Expecting it to all fall in place. This game fed on my soul.

Distracting me from the hurt that was old. Then something caught my eye. The reflection was not alive. Why am I letting it control me? Why do I stop at what I see?

What did any of this bring me? I’m tired of this endless game for perfection. I don’t like what I see,

But this mirror is only a reflection. And I am me.

My thesis is in pieces

Aungeleigha Haylock My thesis is in pieces Torn apart by reason

My tears become libations Speaking

Of ill teachings Whispering

In dark evenings I sit at this shrine Drenched in more than I can take While they act so divine I’m very familiar

How could I not be? They’re apart of me

I’ve practiced these since my youth They are my truths My thesis It is my proof However No matter how it’s written or why Lies cannot stand in the light The real truth is: I could never follow suit

I could never follow through But would swear to stand until the end with you I mean well

But don’t we all? Arrogance always precedes the fall. 27

We’re Savages?

Inspired by events and experiences of Indigenous People Travis Brave Heart I learned the language

While mine was stripped From the tongues of my ancestors Who just wanted to speak easy I let my hair grow

Listening to stories Of those who dropped tears While their identity was taken from them I listen to songs of my culture Beautifully worded and proudly made But still face the ignorant chants

Of those who never listened to one I reap the words of people Telling me to go back to my land When the land they stand on

Was never theirs to begin with I listen to the complaints Of people who get harassed For wanting to be a Brave for a day

But can’t handle the words of one hour Try living a life as me I watch the crowd

Fix their worded bayonets Waiting for the chance 28

To shout the blade into me I watch faces turn to boredom When listening to my story But how can one be expected

To put 500 years of genocide into 5 minutes I watch the discomfort Of someone listening to a harsh history Try being stolen from home

To get the Indian beaten out of you I watch my people be Harassed and hated

Attacked physically and verbally Stereotyped and profiled

To the point that these acts Are nothing new But yet we’re called savages

Death before Calvary: A Pro-Life Poem By Deven Perez

An angel came into my house and woke me up from my sleep And he told me that I was pregnant, and then I began to weep Because This was so unexpected, and I was always a virgin

And now he’s saying I’m pregnant and now I carry this burden The challenges ahead aren’t worth it I don’t even deserve it

My life would be so easy if I decide to abort it Cause my boyfriend thinks I cheated, my momma thinks I’m a whore I tell them that I’m a virgin, but everybody ignores

And my story sounds so stupid. “This is the son of God!” A virgin who is pregnant? Man, I look like a fraud! Now everyone knows I’m pregnant now they all want to stone me

I give them an explanation but they don’t believe my story God, why did I get pregnant? God! I never asked for this

And the worst part about this is what will happen after this: I have to go run away and hide him from King Herod To save my son from death! Man my baby can’t bear it

And then he’ll be born in a manger, all in a chicken coop That smells like swine and filth, and bugs and chicken poop And 33 years later, I’ll have to watch him die,

My innocent little baby! Watching him bleed and cry

To die for guilty people, to save them from condemnation But yet they don’t deserve it, but he’ll die for a generation 30

And my baby won’t do nothing. He’ll bare up the pain To die for those who hate him! My baby will die in vain!!! And his friends are gonna betray him! Why would they do that to him? And even his closest friend Will Claim that he never knew him And he’ll wrongfully get punished! Lashes all on his back 39 lashes of barb wire, 12 stabs to the back!

And I have a choice to save him, save him from all the wounds

And transgressions he’ll face in life. So I’ll kill him inside the wound And I do this because I love him, but people will just assume That I’m evil for killing Jesus, but I can’t let him resume When I know what he’s going to face! As a mother this really hurts me So killing him as a tadpole, I only consider this mercy I’m saving him from the cross, arrested and in a cell

I don’t care about the millions who suffer and go to hell I care about my son, cause no one else deserves him You’ll keep on living in sin, you’re never going to serve him His death will be in vain, you’re only going to hurt him

Tortured and killed to death, and everybody will scorn him So by doing this I support him. I got to abort him

My feelings of frustration aren't justified by a poem So I’ll kill him inside the womb and save him from the brutality I hate that I have to do this, but this is my sad reality

I do this because I love him, I know you will all get mad at me But this is an act of mercy...

…This is death before Calvary

May 11, 2016 Logan Reese

The lobby of Summit Ministries was bustling with activity, much of it caused by several of the 10 Carles kids that were here. There was also Tyler (my brother), Carlton, Jessica and her 3 siblings, and

myself. That made for 16 kids all staying under the same roof. Our only adult supervision consisted of two moms, Mama Shellie (the Carles

mom of 10 kids) and Mama Betsy (Jessica’s mom). Shellie wasn’t just any mom, though. She was my second mom and one of my biggest

inspirations. Carlton and I approached Shellie, who was precariously balancing 2-year-old Judah on her hip in the middle of the busy lobby. “Do you mind if Carlton, Tyler, and I go on a hike?” I asked her, knowing she’d probably be fine with it. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she

responded, “but the girls have to go with you to make sure you guys don’t do anything stupid.” That was fair. We’d only been in Colorado for a few days and Shellie was already cognizant of our dangerous

tendencies. The mountains towering around Manitou Springs offered too many opportunities for young daredevils like ourselves to take

unnecessary risks. As the oldest kid on the trip I was supposed to be the responsible one, but at 17 my need for adrenaline often outweighed my common sense. Phoebe was two years younger, but she was the natural mom of the group, constantly yelling at Carlton and I for climbing

every rock and tree we came across. Shellie knew her and Jessica would keep us in line, so I understood why she required them to join us. Carlton and I walked past the worn-out leather couches to the foosball table that was situated in the back corner of the lobby. “Pheebs, Jessica, wanna go for a hike?” I asked. “Sure,” was the

unenthusiastic response shot back in our direction. “I wanna go!” little Jav piped up. Third oldest in the Carles family but the oldest boy, Javi was 12 but hardly weighed 70 pounds soaking wet. Despite his small stature, he was anxious to keep up with the older boys. “Alright, Javi can come. Let’s go girls.” We walked out of the old

hotel-turned-summer camp and into the dry warmth of May in 32

Colorado. The day was perfect, sunlight glowing off the black asphalt and just enough clouds to give the sky some character. Our gang of 6 walked down the hilly street towards downtown Manitou Springs. It was a quaint town, built into the side of the mountains right at the base of the famous Pike’s Peak trail. On clear days like that one you could see Pikes Peak in the distance, towering over the surrounding

mountains that made up a tiny portion of the Rockies. As we got to the bottom of the hill the road split in two, downtown to the right and

mountains to the left. “Umm, Jessica and I actually want to go window shopping in town,” Phoebe said, her dark hair bouncing in time to the rhythm of her footsteps. “Alright, fine with me,” I said, shooting a wry smile at the girls. “You better not do anything stupid,” Phoebe added, glaring at me with her green eyes. “We won’t,” Carlton chimed, glancing at me and grinning.

So, we parted ways, the girls going right and the boys heading left. We wound our way around colorful apartments laced with flower

filled windowsills until we reached a dirt road blocked off to vehicles. We took a left onto the reddish trail, which was dotted with rocks. We had hiked Red Mountain many times by now and knew the way well. However, a little way in I wanted to switch it up. There was a sharp bend approaching as the trail lazily made its way around a hill that towered a couple hundred feet in front of us. “I’m going to take a

shortcut,” I said, eyeing the hill we were approaching. The base was

made up of jagged rocks, steep enough that they weren’t too hard to climb up but very difficult to climb down once you started. “Logan, do not do that!” Tyler cried; his 14-year-old vocal chords urging me to stay on the trail. “It’ll be fun, I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” I said, heading

towards the base of the rocky hill. “Don’t be stupid, you’re gonna get in trouble,” Carlton said. I was surprised to hear that coming from him.

He was usually my partner in crime. I disregarded their concerns and began climbing the rocks as soon as I reached them. By now I’d climbed rock faces like this dozens of times. My hands and feet swiftly worked together to find a footing and constantly maintain three points of

contact. The one thing I remembered being told when I did real rock 33

climbing was to always keep three points of contact. That way if

something breaks loose or you slip, you still have two points of contact to keep yourself from tumbling to your death. I quickly got about 15 feet up and turned around to see little Jav following me up the rocks. “JAV, NO!” I yelled, “Do not go this way!” Despite Carlton and Tyler

trying to persuade him not to follow me, Javi kept on chasing me up the mountain. “Well, you guys can be stupid, but Carlton and I are taking the long way around.” That was the Tyler I knew and loved. Sensible

and more mature than me, despite being two and half years younger. I finally gave up on convincing Javi to turn around and muttered a prayer that he wouldn’t kill himself.

We made it to the top of the steep rocks that covered the first 30 feet of the incline. The rocks faded into leaf covered dirt that could be walked on instead of climbed. I was thankful Javi had survived the

climb, figuring that the tough part was behind us and we could simply walk to the other side from here. “Stay close to me,” I told him, “I don’t need you getting lost.” As we started walking up the remainder of the hill, I noticed a sign on one of the wispy oak trees that populated the

area. “No trespassing. Private property.” That’s weird. I had imagined this was part of the public property along with the winding trail that was somewhere off to our distant left. As we got further up, I noticed something in the distance to our right. I couldn’t make anything out besides an orange blob. As we got closer, I began to realize that the

orange blob was actually two orange blobs and they were moving. “Oh shit,” I murmured, hoping little jav hadn’t heard my choice of language. Attached to the orange blobs were heads, legs, and arms that held hunting rifles. “Javi, those are hunters, we need to get the hell out of

their line of site.” Javi’s big, brown eyes glanced at the hunters before looking up at me in terror. “Are we gonna die?” He asked. “No, let’s just get going and make it over to the trail.” We hunched over and began to jog to the left as we continued up the hill. Since the trail wrapped

around this mini-mountain, I figured we would find our way back to it if we went in that direction. We mounted the crest of the hill, hoping that the hunters couldn’t see us. As we came to where the trail 34

should’ve been, I was shocked to see it 200 feet beneath us. We quickly hurried to the edge of the drop off, but it didn’t take long to realize

there was no way down. We climbed down as far as we could, which resulted in us precariously resting on gravel that was situated at a 90-degree angle. We’re screwed, I thought. “Logan, how are we going to get down?” My foot knocked some gravel loose and I worryingly

watched it slide off the edge and tumble 200 feet down the face. “We’ll find a way.” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince him or trying to convince myself. Down below I could see Tyler and Carlton standing on the trail,

gazing up at us. They had hiked past where we were to a spot of the trail off to our right. As I watched them, they suddenly starting

sprinting back in the direction of town. I couldn’t make out their faces, but from here it looked like something had spooked them. “Where are

they going?” Javi asked. I shrugged and dug my fingers further into the small weed that seemed to be the only thing keeping me in place. A

vibration started coming from my right pocket, so I reached across my body with my left hand to pull out my phone. “It’s Tyler,” I said.

“Hello?” I stared down at where they had been running, but they seemed to have stopped. “LOGAN!” His breathless voice was laced with fear. “Logan! Oh my God!” “What? What!?” I stammered as my heart skipped a beat. “Logan! Do not go to your right!” he stuttered, trying to catch his breathe. “Why? What’s wrong?” Now my heart was really

racing, and I could tell Javi was about to lose it. He crouched against the steep gravel, both of his hands clinging to a small tree growing in the side of the mountain. “What is it?” I repeated. Tyler’s fear wrenched voice struggled to put words together. “Logan, there, there’s a, a bear!” “A BEAR!?!” I shouldn’t have said it out loud. Javi’s face

contorted into a look of pure fear as tears began to well up in his eyes.

“Jav, I’m sure it’s far away, we’ll be fine.” Now I was focused, we had to find a way out of here. “Where’s the bear?” I asked. “um, like 30 feet to

your fight,” Tyler responded. Well, I knew which way we weren’t going. Right was a bear, behind us were armed hunters who could mistake us for an animal and accidentally shoot us, so that meant we were going 35

left. “Tyler, can we get down if we go to the left?” My voice sounded more hopeful than I felt, but that didn’t help Javi. “Well, it’s pretty steep for awhile but maybe if you go way to the left you can climb down.” That was our only choice. “Jav, we gotta go this way, just follow me.” He nodded, too scared to produce words. I started shimmying to my left, moving from handhold to handhold so I didn’t slip off the

gravel and plunge to my death. We made a fair amount of progress, but the cliff was only gradually getting shorter. There was still a 150 foot drop off only one misstep away. My phone was vibrating again. I ensured I had a solid footing

and dug into my pocket. Phoebe. Oh boy, that wasn’t the name I wanted to see on my screen right now. “LOGANNN!!!” I didn’t even have a chance to say hello. “Yes, Phoebe, what’s up?” I responded casually.

“YOU NEED TO GET OFF THAT MOUNTAIN OR I’M GOING TO TELL MOM!” Those snitches! Tyler and Carlton had ratted us out. Just what I needed when I was trying to get Javi and I off this mountain

alive. “Phoebe, everything is fine. Just calm down.” She didn’t seem too eager to calm down. “If Javi dies, you’re going to die!” Well, I knew that

already. I had already decided that if Javi fell off this cliff I was jumping after him. I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt of having his death on my hands. Plus, his dad would kill me anyway (unless Phoebe beat him too it). So, it was either both of us getting off this mountain or neither of us. “Phoebe, I gotta go I’ll talk to you later.” “I’m going to kill you, you idiot!” She hung up the phone before I could respond.

I paused for a breath of air and took in the incredible view. This would be a beautiful place to die, at least. I couldn’t quite see the town, but the rolling hills melted into the high plains off in the distance. The cloud speckled sky felt closer than usual from this vantage point. I

loved being high up. It gave me a sense of power and freedom that just couldn’t be felt from the ground. However, for once I wanted to be safely on the ground, more for Javi’s sake than my own.

I regained my focus and remembered the mission: move to the

left until we could climb down. Suddenly I came to a dip in the gravel. It was like a ditch in the already steep face we’d been traversing.

Without overthinking it I hastily shuffled over the gap and grabbed a

shrub on the far side. I looked back at little Jav. Oh God, can he make it? “Logan, I don’t think I can get across the gap.” His voice was trembling more than ever. “Jav, you got this.” “No, Logan, we’re gonna die. I can’t make it.” He started crying, letting out the sobs that had

been welling up for awhile now. “JAVI! Look at me!” His right hand wiped away a tear as his left hand clung to the last piece of shrubbery before the gap. “Javi, we’re going to be fine. I need you to trust me.” I

reached my left hand in his direction. “Just come to me Jav, I promise I’ll catch you.” He brushed away another tear and sniffled. “Okay.” He took a deep breath and scurried in my direction. The gravel in the

semi-vertical ditch collapsed under the weight of his small frame, but he made it to my outstretched hand. I grabbed him with my left hand, but doing so caused me to lose my balance. I frantically reached out

with my right hand, scraping the gravelly dirt in desperate need of a hand hold. An 18-inch tall tree came to our rescue as I desperately

grabbed its slim trunk. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Yeah,” he muttered. The crying had stopped but he was still shaky. I turned and looked at

the small shrub that had saved our life. It appeared flimsy but was well rooted. Thank God.

The Hurt Child in the Man: Stories of those who endured the Residential Schools of North America Travis Brave Heart After a long and fun day of spending time with my grandfather,

my dad had come to pick me up. Standing at the doorway, he motioned for me to wish my grandfather a goodnight and to get moving. Putting my shoes on, I quickly rushed and gave him a hug.

“Hanhepi waste,” I said in the middle of the hug. But it wasn’t only followed by silence. When I was walking out, he finally replied but only in English.

Reaching the door, I joined my dad. We quickly walked so we could get out of the cold and into the warm car.

“Dad, how come grandpa never speaks Lakota to me?” I asked. “He went to a boarding school as a kid, and that wasn’t the

place to speak Lakota. Let me explain.” **

{In the perspective of Grandpa} “Wake up! Wake up! You have to get your morning chores done!” A woman yelled into a room of young boys. Jumping down my bunkmate was barely awake; he wasn’t an

early riser. In his state of consciousness, he said his good mornings in Lakota to me. Quickly he realized what he had done, and his eyes

opened wide. Holding his own mouth while watching the woman step closer to him. “You know what happens when you use that language here,”

she said. But before she can end her sentence, she had a switch pulled out from her sleeve.

Bending him over the bed, she started whipping his behind in

front of everybody. She didn’t stop until he promised not to speak

Lakota again. Afterwards she looked at everyone with the switch in the air. Making a statement.

“Are you okay?” I asked him. 38

“I’m okay. Just get dressed,” he said, wiping his tears away.

Trying to hide his pain. **

{Continued perspective of Grandpa} The noise of pencils on paper and buzzing of lights filled the dull silence of the classroom. We were all working on our English words. Spelling and using them in sentences.

“Okay students, time to end class. Billie can you end us with prayer?” the teacher asked.

I agreed and started praying. I prayed for the faculty. I prayed

for the students. I prayed for the lunch that we were soon to eat. But at the end of my prayer I uttered the words, “Mitakuye oyasin.”

When I raised my head, the teacher was before me. The anger

fueled her hand and gave fire to her eyes. “You know that isn’t your faith anymore. So why do you keep

praying with it?” She said while placing my hands flat on the desk.

Before I can answer her rhetorical question. She had smacked

the top of my hand with the sharp end of a ruler.

She asked another question while continuously smacking my left hand, “Now who do you pray to?” “Jesus Christ,” I blurted out in pain.

“Good, the first hand was to punish you. The second hand is so

you will remember,” she said before starting in on my right.

The ending bell rang, and I walked out of the classroom with purple hands that I was unable to use. **

{Continued perspective of Grandpa}

The cloudy day was gloomy and seemed to be full of darkness. No matter, we were sent to do our chores. But during the chores, we were stopped and asked to come to the courtyard. When we arrived, the priest was there. Ready to speak to us.

“Children I am sorry to tell you this. But while he was in the hole last night, one of your fellow students died,” he said, in a loud voice. 39

After hearing this, we wanted to burst into tears. We all know who was in the hole. We all know he was in there for more than a week.

“Please follow me and we will conduct his funeral services,” the priest said. He began walking, and we all followed. With each step, the clouds grew darker. I tried to calm myself before the tears could run down my cheeks. Thinking only good thoughts of him and the journey he just

made. But when we got to the cemetery. There was already a hole dug and inside was a small casket. We all stood around the gaping hole. Careful not to step on

other graves, ones fresh enough that the grass hasn’t grown over the

dirt. The priest started praying and we all listened. Then he sang songs that I think are from the holy book in his hands. But if we didn’t sing along, we were given a stiff backhand to the back of our head. After the songs ended. We were ordered back to our chores. Given no time to mourn.

With our slow walk away. They filled the hole with dirt. But with each shovel load, thunder began barreling in. It was deep and seemed to come with no lightning. I knew they wouldn’t let me pray so I only thought in my head.

They took him away from home, like us. They stripped him of

his name. Stripped him of his clothes for theirs. Cut off his hair. They never let him go back home, so please accept him home up there with you. **

{Perspective of myself} “Geez so they really did all of that stuff?” I asked. “Yeah, but don’t ask him about it. Only listen if he chooses to

tell a story about it,” my dad replied. But after a short pause he added. “It wasn’t just those times. He had to live like that until he was supposed to finish high school.”

begin

so little to know

Chris Maxwell

about cause and effect,

no fans

in the stands.

about consequences in

families, individuals, nations, the world.

rare road trips

the world

any time to anywhere.

has changed.

hospital visits,

but questions, yes, many,

no warnings, really.

only to stare toward my wife

swirling in a climate of conflict,

from a distance

protests, debates, division.

through-the-windows world.

i’ve already used the word

in this

“changed” bad news and more bad news.

but, during a pandemic,

so few clues

i could, i guess,

for news and numbers.

because that word “changed”

to reveal reasons

select it again and again is the word that,

cancelled flights.

like an artistic image,

engagements.

of this year.

cancelled speaking

displays the days

deaths and more deaths. near deaths and long term,

take aways and give aways

taste and smell and memories.

are attempts to adjust

breathe,

is, and will be, nearby.

or temporary, results.

exhausted, struggling to

questions, questions, questions.

during days of delays,

to whatever has been,

masks and distance and zoom.

why glance back at

meals to go.

i planned them

sitting apart in a room.

goals for the year?

knowing nothing

many things changed.

might bear.

as i, and as we,

but, as i do, i look

wake ourselves

as i read of expectations

even with faces covered

of what these months

anyway, shaking my head not converting to results.

but, new news waits

with expectations, in masks,

even with hearts afraid to now, sitting on the couch

believe anew,

glancing out the window

still unknown,

of another december,

even with long term effects

toward another new year,

i must, and we must,

i wait. i pray. i ponder.

trust again,

how and when,

together, even from a distance,

wondering why and what,

hope again,

during this

for good and better stories

working-while-waiting

on the pages of tomorrow.

season of sadness, though at peace,

maybe we can write them,

answers to all my questions.

maybe we can craft a few,

knowing it’s best to not know

just waiting.

just working. just wondering. i’ll plan, i’ll schedule, i’ll guess

those stories.

from a view i will have,

from a view you will have, maybe we can.

by choices, through decisions, maybe we can.

again for a year new,

so begin.

so near,

in the stands,

the jitters of fear

on the planes,

months and days and weeks

cannot be allowed jurisdiction. things changed.

whether or not allowed

at the place, just begin.

with attitudes, with smiles, 42

with care, with love, let’s begin.

spending time with a friend. praying a prayer.

sitting in the silence, a new story,

not needing

a new me,

walking in the cold,

a new year,

to force a conversation.

a new us.

just working

let’s begin.

to cover a bald head.

begin now,

i don’t know if it will snow.

and an introduction,

the great conjunction of

approaching a closing

jupiter and saturn.

begin now

at christmas.

nearing a conclusion

and an opening,

i don’t know how well i’ll see

i do know i’ll miss a few folks

to respond to changes

i do know i’ll reflect on

with an assurance,

previous pages of this life

almost unexplainable

novel.

but like a promise

but glancing out the window

we believe and hold,

to see trees without leaves,

seeing such hope

i pursue a positive future,

and peculiar,

in a year of questions.

and this as a time to begin,

not only objects

entering an entrance

of changes

and refusing

choosing to bring

luggage from these pages

to these tattered

and leaving plenty of space

and battered pages.

for flurries of faith to fall

noticing a smile.

enjoying the truth of

but subjects good news

hearing a song.

to carry too much of pain,

this way,

so much good amid the hurt, 43

so much assurance in the

through-the-windows world,

to begin, again,

sitting on the couch

knowing, really knowing,

of a different december,

doubt,

wonder awaits

as i glance in this

and smile,

i rest.