Fall 2015 Art & Scope | FALL 2015 1
Art & Scope
Noun:
A Student-Association funded club that is dedicated to the promotion of education and involvement in the creative arts. We are proudly in charge of publishing the biannual student magazine that we present to you now as Art & Scope.
Sonnet XXIX When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eye I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. William Shakespeare
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Members Krystal “Krust” LaDuc Editor in Chief Copy Editor
Emily Snyder Managing Editor Copy Editor
Mairéad Farinacci Treasurer Copy Editor
Kayla Barnes Secretary Copy Editor
Caroline Fenton Public Relations Copy Editor
Meghan Gude Public Relations Copy Editor
Lauren Caliendo Layout Editor
Caitlin Conway Copy Editor
Madeline Dreimiller Copy Editor
Catherine Felton Copy Editor
Samantha Filkins Copy Editor
Lauren Milana Copy Editor
Haley Miller Copy Editor
Jillian Moczara Copy Editor
Samantha Sierra Copy Editor
Paige Welch
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 3
6 Emerald Isle Krystal LaDuc 8 Home Kayla Barnes Height of April, the Cruelest Month Cheyenne Dorsagno 9 Rain Emma Lance Rain Sonnet Mairéad Farinacci 10 The Rocky Shore Ashley Warner 11 Seashell Katherine Fiorenza 12 Moderation Paige Welch 13 Free Kathryn Fernandez El Salvaje Marissa Hogan 14 Delta, Flight 411 Krystal LaDuc St. Lawerance Empire Emily Snyder 15 Boldt Castle Emily Snyder Down in Africa Kathryn Fernandez 16 For The Time You Made Me Feel Adam Woods 17 Splatter Paradise Ashley Warner Lone Krystal LaDuc 18 Summer Solstice Emily Snyder Dandelion Dreams Daniele Freeman 19 ACK City Grace Carney 20 City of Two Seanna Pratt Saturated Skyline Ashley Warner Owl Ashely Warner 21 Discovery Kayla Barnes Begging with Sad Eyes Haley Miller 22 Making Waves Emily Snyder Summer Vignettes Caroline Fenton 23 Smiles Kayla Barnes New Vision Emily Snyder
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24 For You Caitlin Conway 25 Untitled Ashley Warner 26 Avocados Tess Schultz Peachy Tess Schultz 27 Beauitful Moo-Quet Kayla Barnes Life is Ruff Kayla Barnes
28 Life in Color Ben Lasky 30 Carnberry Vodka Rebecca Pollard 31 We Are Golden Ben Lasky 32 Cam Courtney Fitzgerald 35 Layers of Life Aliana Manteria 36 04.15.15 Jillian Moczara Stay Young Joseph Perry 37 Room Without Reservation Mairéad Farinacci missed deadline Caroline Fenton Rising Republic Krystal LaDuc 38 All Around Me Ben Lasky 39 Roadmaps Emily Snyder 40 Seven Points On Falling in Love With a Writer Adam Woods
Table of Contents 42 I Had A Dream About You Seanna Pratt 43 I Will Wait Ben Lasky 44 Jeff’s backyard Dakota Inman 46 Woman Meghan Gude When I Knew You Were the One: Love Haiku Emily Snyder 47 Celesital Kiss Meghan Gude Haiku 59 Krystal LaDuc Haiku 58 Krystal LaDuc Instinct Sarah Kaplan 48 Janeese and Guinevere Sarah Kaplan The Sickness Adam Woods 49 Traces Sarah Kaplan Haiku 40 Krystal LaDuc Insomnia Daniele Freeman 50 Peace & Love Marissa Hogan Word Vomit Kathryn Fernandez Clichés Caroline Fenton 51 Our Chapter Mairéad Farinacci Please Don’t Leave Sarah Kaplan 52 Save the Earth for Me Ben Lasky Child of Divorce Sarah Heikkinen 53 Thrown Away Patrick Boody Memory Mairéad Farinacci Raucous Christian Capitula 54 Lack Paige Welchv
56 Nebula Sarah Kaplan 58 Pretending to Be Human Paige Welch 59 Catfish Ashley Warner 60 Interstellar Paige Welch 61 Fractal Bits Sarah Kaplan 62 Haiku 7 Jillian Moczara Haiku 12 Seanna Pratt Untitled Caroline Fenton Elements Sarah Kaplan 63 Warm Hall to a Cold Door Haley Miller My False Shepard Abbie Kitcher 64 True Love and Other Things We Wish Were Real Adam Woods 65 Spacebound Marissa Hogan 66 Dear Forgiveness Seanna Pratt untitled 9.15.15 Sarah Heikkinen
67 Boney Bones Gianna Gironda 68 Congrats, kid Vanessa Baer & Gianna Gironda Enthusiasm Vanessa Baer 69 Hand To God’s Freya Fink
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Emerald Isle Krystal LaDuc
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Home
Kayla Barnes
Height of April, the Cruelest Month The efflorescent flame, burning red at the trumpeting ignition. Cascading ash, grey and burnt, lacking all distinguishable qualities. Further from the undead, inviolate flower. Lipping an insurgency of phantasms and lack thereof, forgotten and achieved. Grey matter coloring into corona cup, stigma vulnerable to honeyed looting, scaping into perianth tubes. Twenty daffodil petals unwinding like the muscling mass until the sparking shocks dissolve, until the tunneled vision widens, in to and out of, myselfexistenceworld. Clear night, put it out on a bottle cap and dreamy wake passage to the dreamless sleep. Cheyenne Dorsagno
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Rain Sonnet I find peace with the rain An open window with wet breeze I recognize that it gives me ease down Berry Lane My grief is washed away I can do what I please With my pen and paper I wish to level up to the storm The weathers wrath Where something tranquil in my heart was born Out into the abyss my heart in nature’s bath Heavy droplets reach my pages Tumbling down they act as glue This peace keeps together my thoughts and life through its stages Past these clearing up of sequences I am drawn to the blue The healing of my soul through the gray skies of weather We can stir up the scenery of halcyon atmosphere together MairÊad Farinacci
Rain
Emma Lance
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The Rocky Shore Ashley Warner
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Seashell I reach for the shore Only to be pulled back in Stepped on by many Scratched, slowly breaking until I am nothing but shattered pieces Katherine Fiorenza
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 11
Moderation This relationship reminds me Of when I didn’t understand how it was possible To overwater a plant because my young mind thought “Water makes them grow and gives them life and those are both good things.” But you had to teach me That it is a wonderful thing Before the roots are flooded and there is no more soil to live in. You know I guess you could have tried to say something But I must have talked over you And the trickling of the liquid that I was still pouring out of that watering can. I didn’t stop ‘till that container was empty And the pot where our love was held was full to the brim. The dirt could no longer absorb It only could Be a still force as it’s host rotted Right within its core. The thing about gardening Is that sometimes you don’t even know you failed at it, Once the plant has seeded and sprouted, ‘Till the plants are barren at the end of august when it is too late to grow anything else. I didn’t notice that the potted metaphor for this thing between us Had started to die after my lack of understanding Except when the leaves drooped and browned I turned around to ask you about it, “What should I do, what did I do?” You are the expert after all. But you were gone. I had overwatered this living thing, Did not understand how I could have mistreated it by loving it so much. Nature cannot depend all on me When its creations can produce their own sugars and Appear thick and tameless in the wild. I can only aid its ingrained need to grow. I could not depend all on you, I had flooded your roots again. Paige Welch
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Free
Kathryn Fernandez
El Salvaje
Marissa Hogan
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Delta, Flight 411 If you want to feel permanent, why do you keep flying over oceans you’re just afraid of falling in to? why do you keep crossing borders with nothing but pens as shovels digging through soil older than origins of your name? If you want to feel permanent, why do you keep floating through terminals alone searching for meaning in strangers who still sit down to drink coffee? If you want to feel permanent, why do you keep flying at all? I want to feel permanent, so I left you shoulders defeated at security an ache so shattering we felt it in each other’s hearts I left with cracking ribs in attempts to remember how to breathe I want to feel permanent, so I left to sketch a map of narrow two-lane roads where ocean meets the emerald isle where concaves settle along sides of my smile where concaves settle along edges of my eyes I left to riddle, paint myself a map that stretches,
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St. Lawerance Empire
Emily Snyder
Boldt Castle Emily Snyder
unfolds across the surface of this world the way your body collapses around mine I want to feel permanent, so I left knowing I was meant to run back to you at baggage claims and parking signs knowing you were meant to run your eyes and hands over recreated landscapes knowing you were meant to rediscover me I left you because you make me permanent If you want to feel permanent, why did you come home? I came home because you are permanent you are permanence you are home You will always be my home. Kyrstal LaDuc
Down in Africa Kathryn Fernandez
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For The Time You Made Me Feel running down the street of your childhood neighborhood baseball cap backwards, laughing to your friends as the sun flickers its the middle of june and you have nothing better to do than sprint down sunset sidewalks in ripped up converse with the grass stained shoelaces they whipped in the wind because you forgot to double knot them again but you don’t really notice because you’re focused you are determined you don’t really have a destination in mind yet and you don’t really care if you get there before sunset its 6:48 on a tuesday night and you can’t remember the last time you cried when you drink the first apple cider, some time in late september its the first sign you get that things are okay the world’s not melting its not freezing either but everything smells like safety nothing is standing still but it doesn’t feel chaotic either its 11 am on Sunday morning and the flannel brushes against your cheek. looking out your window, you can see a tall, blue-ish white street light flooding the unplowed road just enough to see the fresh snow but not enough to see how deep it is touching your fingertips to the glass makes you shiver and you watch as flakes begin to pile on your windowsill even the smallest of breaths could break the silence or ruin the picture but it’s 2 am on a thursday, so you sit on your bed and wait for the wind to whisper you to sleep youre sitting straight up in your bed your lights are off and only the glow of your laptop and the small pieces of sunbeam piercing through your window assure you that the ghosts have left your room you haven’t slept yet, and by now it only makes sense to power through
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you’ll feel like utter shit in four hours or so but you’ll have fun pretending to be an early riser maybe you’ll make french press coffee, since you never have time for it anymore you feel tired, and in need of a shower the clock on your bedside table blinks the numbers 5:34, and youre already reaching for aspirin you struggle out of bed, cross out the next day in may on your calendar, and walk out. Adam Woods
Splatter Paradise Lone
Ashely Warner
Krystal LaDuc
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 17
Summer Solstice You are a shell of a man and I can’t stand to think about you Which may explain why I find you occupying my thoughts when I’m lying in bed I’d rather write about this world than live in it I’d rather not remember the night I let you have me on your cold mattress on the ground Would a bedframe have eased the pain? Would me being better have made you stay? My bark but your bite caused us this bitter end My expression of uneasy feelings and Your description of fucking other girls Our untimely reunion just a pathetic déjà vu of everything we hated about each other My expression of uneasy feelings and Your description of fucking other girls but
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Dandelion Dreams Daniele Freeman
ACK City
Grace Carney Trees in the winter are experts of letting go Leaves and branches and It’s the first day of summer but I’m slowly learning how to, too my heartache drifting away a dedication to n.k. Emily Snyder
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City of Two I could be the faded bus ticket in your back pocket. Or your last sip of whiskey before going to sleep. I want to be a city you have never heard of, the coldest room in your next apartment. I could be the flickering street light you never want to go out, or the back alley cat you always want to smother.
Saturated Skyline
Seanna Pratt
Ashley Warner
Owl
Ashley Warner
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Discovery Kayla Barnes
Begging with Sad Eyes
Haley Miller
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Summer Vignettes 7:13 AM at Jones Beach Wind sprays white foam past the cresting wave My brother crashes with it, board beneath him It’s too early to be on the beach But my brother has class in an hour And he needed a lifeguard 2:06 PM at a Neighbor’s House The kids I babysit are all asleep We spent the whole morning outside In the sprinkler and at the park The 7 year old asked me what a “whore” was And I told her a whore was a bad word 11:27 PM on the Nautical Mile Another forty-something year-old man Asks me what I’m doing later While I sat at the Hostess Station With a pile of menus in front of me I laughed and looked away
Making Waves Emily Snyder
2:14 AM in Someone’s Basement We’re all good and drunk Someone turns on High School Musical I hear shouts of protest But no one moves to turn it off We’re all in this one together 7:26 AM beneath a Statue of the Blessed Virgin I’m so hungover I can almost feel the rays Of colored light pushing through stained glass windows There’s no music at this mass It’s too early for music What a blessing Caroline Fenton
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Smiles
Kayla Barnes
New Vision
Emily Snyder
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For You If it turned out that my life Was crumbling to ruin, you, And only you, would be the person Into whose arms I would run. You’ve eased me into life, With the same delicacy as a child, Getting into a pool that is much too cold For her fragile, sensitive skin. Years past, while riding a bicycle With you holding on to the seat, I Felt safe without my training wheels. One foot up, one down. Keeping rhythm, I learned, was all I had to do. Keep pushing hard, and the bike would glide. I was doing it! And when I looked over my wobbling shoulder, I saw you standing curbside, a few pedals away. Your voice still echoes through this ruin of my life, “Look, you’re doing fine without me.” And for you, I’ll sure try to do just that. Caitlin Conway
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Untitled
Ashley Warner
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Avocados Tess Schultz
Peachy
Tess Schultz
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Beauitful Moo-Quet Kayla Barnes
Life is Ruff Kayla Barnes
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Life in Color Ben Lasky
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Cranberry Vodka He was the man who compared his women to font. A nice Cambria type for everyday life, But Bradley Hand Bold in bed. Cambria isn’t as unoriginal as Arial, Bradley Hand isn’t as freaky as Bodoni Ornaments. He was the man who liked Carmel lattes, And Cranberry vodkas. But refused to drink either with a straw, Because he was a MAN. He was the man who discouraged drinks on a Saturday night, But offered you mushrooms on a Wednesday. “They’re natural! I’m not suggesting we make a habit of it… I’d like to see you hallucinating. But don’t look in the mirror.” He was the man who carried a handkerchief in his back left pocket, Stripes of red, blue, yellow, and green. He used it to dry off the rain-covered bench on our first date, Whadda-freak. He was the man who preferred cards to board games, Trains to busses and Books to magazines. Who, when described in every sense other than physicality, Could easily be mistaken for a man in his late 70’s. (Creepy old men are never cute). He was the man who became a professional over-thinker, Lost in the labyrinth he made in his own head. Every morning he began by clawing at his own walls, Every night he added cement to his already solid structures. And men say that women are complicated. Whadda-joke. Rebecca Pollard
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We Are Golden Ben Lasky
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Cam I twisted around in front of the mirror so I could see my backside. I puffed out my bottom lip and nodded. Not bad. Actually, I looked really good. The way Yoongi’s sweatshirt fit around my shoulders was a little loose, but then, I was a bit smaller than him. His jeans were a tad bit too long, wadding up at my ankles. Still, I loved the way it felt. It felt way more natural than the skirt I’d been wearing all day. The thought of the tiny piece of fabric sent a shiver down my spine. Last week I’d felt great in it. I’d skipped around, letting the breeze play with it and I had tugged it back down like Marilyn Monroe. I’d giggled and twirled and sat with my legs crossed. Last week I had loved that skirt. But that was last week. This week was totally different. Today I wore the skirt, because Yoongi mentioned that he really liked it. But the urge to sit with my legs spread wide haunted me all through the movie. And every time it flipped up even the slightest bit, I clamped it back down, feeling way too exposed. I spent the whole day with my fingers clipped to the edges of the skirt, keeping it pinned to my thighs. Refocusing on my reflection, I smiled softly as I tucked my hands into the pockets of the jeans and shifted my weight to one foot. This was better. Last week dressing like this would’ve sucked, but today, this is just what I needed. I watched my eyebrows knit together as I chewed my bottom lip. Maybe I should change before Yoongi comes back. He gets grumpy when I sneak food off his plate; I don’t want to think about what he’ll do if he sees me wearing his clothes without permission. I turned to shuck off the sweatshirt when I notice his favorite beanie resting on the nightstand by his pillows. My fingers twitch and I can’t help myself. Yoongi was probably still in the shower. I had time for just a quick look. I snatched the beanie off of the table and flew back to the mirror. I took some time trying to find the perfect adjustment to fit my short dark pixie cut under the black hat. When I was satisfied with the placement I took a step back. A smile snaked its way onto my face. Wow; I couldn’t believe how good I felt. It’s amazing what the right clothes can do for your self-esteem. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so comfortable in my own skin. Well, I guess I was pretty comfortable last week. But there are some days where I just wish I’d been born with a Y chromosome. I needed to remember this moment. I wanted to be able to look back at this and see how confident I was capable of feeling. I grabbed my phone from the edge of Yoongi’s bed. Back at the mirror, I held up the device and pulled up my camera app. The image was blurry for a second, and then it adjusted itself. My thumb was over the white button when the knob turned and the door swung open.
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I jumped and dropped my phone. “Yoongi! Shit, you scared me.”
Yoongi was already dressed in his dark, shredded skinnies and white T-shirt, but his bleached blond hair was still dripping from the shower onto his exposed collarbones. He had a hand towel to his head, rustling out the dampness. Seeing me, he paused. His eyebrows furrowed and I felt my heart drop to my stomach. “What are you doing?” He asked. His voice was casual, confused. I scoured my mind for a plausible explanation. The truth was I didn’t even know what I was doing myself. I tried to play off the situation. “I’m just messing around.” Fake laugh. “Why don’t you try on my clothes? Come on it’ll be fun!” Even faker laugh. Yoongi eyed me carefully. His eyes were so dark I could see myself in them. I looked so scared. “What’s going on?” My breath started to come more quickly but I forced my face to remain neutral. “What do you mean?” He looked me up and down again, mouth slightly open the way it was when he was thinking about something seriously. The weight on my chest was becoming unbearable and I pinched back the tears that were threatening to fill my eyes. “Cam…” I swallowed; it felt like a brick. I didn’t want him to ask. Please don’t ask me. “Are you a girl?” The dam behind my eyes broke and the flood was released. Thankfully, I’m actually a pretty quiet crier, so I didn’t sob obscenely and was able to keep whatever dignity I still had. He didn’t rush over. He didn’t comfort me. Instead he stood where he was, stone faced like a statue and repeated his question.
“Cam, are you a girl? Or are you… a boy?”
I choked. “I…” I didn’t want to look at him, but I had to. “I don’t know.” His jaw clenched and another piece of my heart broke off. I tried to explain. “I guess I’m kind of both. Some days I wake up and I feel like a girl and some days I feel like a boy. Sometimes I even feel like both. I’m genderfluid. I can’t control it, and I can’t change how I feel. I just… please don’t hate me, Yoongi.” The scariest thing was the silence. Silence could sometimes be deafeningly loud, and at that moment, it was screaming. Yoongi grated his teeth as his eyes traveled over me in his clothes. Please say something. Oh, God he hates me. I shouldn’t have gone through his clothes. No, no, no. I felt myself beginning to cave in. If Yoongi hated me then…. God, I
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couldn’t even picture my life without him. All the things we’ve shared and all the time we spent together would just disappear. The thought alone would’ve brought me to my knees had Yoongi not moved. My heart froze and for a second I hoped.
But no. He moved back to his bedroom door and held it open. “Go.”
My mind shattered. How could this be happening? Never in a million years could I have seen this. This had to be a dream. I couldn’t, “What?” I croaked.
“Just go.” He dropped his eyes to the floor, his voice sounding so much deeper than usual.
“Yoongi,” My voice was heavily saturated and I might have even hiccupped before I whispered, “please.” Yoongi looked directly into my eyes this time. His jaw set and his knuckles were white on the door. “Get out.”
So I left. Courtney Fitzgerald
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Layers of Life Aliana Manteria
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04.14.15 Today I climbed the roof. l looked below myself and saw students. They weren’t quite ants
in school attire but I still felt larger than life. Laughing watching the wind catch my words and carry them off for someone else’s ears. Cherry tobacco films my eyes and hides me from the eyes of Today I climbed on the roof and didn’t think about jumping.
gods.
Jillian Moczara
Stay Young Joseph Perry
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Room Without Reservation They bought what they wanted, they painted the temporary surface Inhale base coat, exhale relief They’re compressed, two walls shrink in distance Their space is small and yet to be explored They want to make it out, but there are contracts to be broken Chains becoming too heavy, a key buried for centuries Destruction in the hands of decades to come Learning how to break, destroy, burn down, build again They will buy what they want but there’s not enough cash for neutrality They will buy what they want but they can’t afford rent on a room that is shrinking Mairéad Farinacci
missed deadline
Rising Republic
Krystal LaDuc
you are who I think of when I talk to God & if I am quiet I can hear my watch in the drawer counting the seconds for me as though I don’t count them myself you were there on the day I stole a boat in Central Park you spread your thumb from your forefinger and said we live this close to death every second brings us closer and farther at the same time like knots untying into threads and tangling up again we live this close to death we live Caroline Fenton
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 37
All Around Me Ben Lasky
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Roadmaps I’ll never forget the first time we kissed, Or the first time she hit me—she never missed. With glass shattering I made my first wish: That next time I touched her she would not flinch. But she’d make it right with a naked hug. Her apologies were my favorite drug. She’d kiss my neck and touch my hollow chest. I swear I saw God every time she undressed. She’d let me touch her, the scars on her veins. Told me her roadmaps got rid of the pain. I wanted to fix her, to be the one. “And do what,” she’d ask, “take away all my fun?”
She’d watch the rain fall and I’d watch her face, Her dark eyes scanning, mine stuck in one place. One day I woke up alone in my bed. No note on my desk, just dreams in my head. For months I was empty; she was all I could see, And I hoped her roadmaps would lead her back to me. Now I can realize how wrong we both were. She needed herself: I couldn’t fix her. And she needed love but just from her own. Love starts from within— we both should have known. And now when it rains I still think of her, But she’s just a flashback, our love just a blur. Emily Snyder
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Seven Points On Falling in Love With a Writer One: Just because they say you are beautiful, Doesn’t make it true. After all, their job is to find beauty in everything like “that pencil was shaved to a magnificent point” and “the snail moved courageously and gracefully from twig to leaf ” And then to make it sound like they actually believe it. Two: They will probably write about you. At first, the “when i first met you” then the “i could never live without you” poem and finally the “i hate you, you ruined me” poem And the worst part about it Is that they will all be more detailed than how you remember it. Three: Every word they say is hand picked with care. Each sentence will make you despise them I and fall deeper in love with them all at once. They will speak until your eyes glaze over and their words are all you taste the next morning. Sometimes like wine. Others like hangover. Four: You will always be a work in progress They will try to edit you Reword, Reread, Revise Send out, Publish to, Blog about Backspace Exit without saving And are you sure you want to delete? They will steal lines off the curves of your body and the ridges of your scars And they will never cite you.
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Five: They will remember the less important details Your bright yellow sundress that you wore on your birthday which is probably in june or july or august its definitely coming up in the next 12 months They will remember the smell of your house but not the house number or that you can’t park in the street overnight And they will remember how you didn’t understand their meaning when they said they loved you, but didn’t really like you. Six: They will either always be direct or they will speak in code Hope you know how to spell because every text message will be investigated for proper punctuation and artistic flair The music you listen to in the car will be ever under attack no matter what it is because its “still not as thought-provoking as bon iver” You will say “snob”, they will say “poetic license” Seven: One day they will have no words. They will have used all their adjectives And their fingers will shake when attempting to type They will leave you and move to a newer more manageable subject But god will they give you something to write about. Adam Woods
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I Had A Dream About You after Richard Siken
It was raining, and I was all out of cigarettes, all the way across town to buy me some. You didn’t have any money so but they had just outlawed pens, so you used the ink from your fingertips. It bled thick with the rain water in the gutter before they could say a word about the damn mess. about the downpour, how there wasn’t a dry shoe in town, the waterlogged smokes held but then your voice turned to moonlight. Suddenly we were walking on your street, it was dark, and I could only find you when you laughed, the sound illuminated the whole damn town, until the sun crept between the houses. When I heard the church bells, it reminded me of the walls in your bedroom, how the sound shook us awake like two way tape. We were lying in your bed and I turned to look at you, I blinked and I was on a bridge back home, standing over the river. I blinked and the river turned to glass. and the river turned to whiskey. I wanted to drown in it. Seanna Pratt
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you ran
you used your nervous hands to write the neatest, I owe you,
and then you got swept away
You tried to tell me you tried to tell me
between your teeth,
and I chased you
and pressed our mouths together
but then you were gone.
I cried
I Will Wait
Ben Lasky
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 43
Jeff’s backyard I used to hate Jeff Hoffmeister’s backyard Tony and I were invited over Jeff’s house to play football most of our elementary school winter days, We were small, short, & we batted 8th and 9th in the batting order in Little League every year We sucked, We sucked together, Every year Jeff, Steve Salamone, Harry Sardella, and Kyle Cresente didn’t suck Tony and I never once didn’t want to play We had to play Playing football in Jeff’s backyard was among the most important things to being eleven years old; There was the basketball court on Soule Road, peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, uncom-fortable jokes about my twin sister, walks home from school, zipper up Shaq’s, Boy Scout meetings, and Jeff’s backyard. It was a big yard, the biggest in our neighborhood Tony and I walked by it every day, to & from it It was always there It is still there Jeff doesn’t live there anymore His dad doesn’t either …………………………………….. Tony wouldn’t be tackled by the boys—he would tell on them if they did They didn’t tackle him I don’t blame them
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The four of them used to play a game with me: Give the ball to Dakota Stand on the right side of the field opposite of Jeff’s dog, Honeybear If Dakota runs toward you, tackle him as hard as you can and stuff his face in the snow If Dakota runs in the middle of the field, chase him towards Honeybear (who would be cur-rently on her hind legs, teeth flaunted, spit melting the snow) If Dakota gets past you and scores, hit him and stuff his face in the snow If Dakota runs home, laugh at him in class in front of Maggie or Bridey I usually ran right into the boys Tony stood there uncertain of what to do After a while, they figured out how to lure me toward Honeybear I cried twice I told Mom that she bit me once hoping they’d have to get rid of the dog Honeybear never bit me, I felt her teeth every time Sometimes, I went down as I caught the ball I let the snow into my jacket They’d rip my hat off My ears, numb I liked it better that way …………………………………….. Last April, Jeff’s name came up in the papers, $100,000 worth of alleged drug money in his car Steve and Kyle both live at home, both dropped out of community college Harry played Division III Lacrosse, but I don’t think he does anymore Tony goes to a four-year school that his parents are paying for him to go to I’m well; I’m here And yet I’m not sure I ever left Jeff’s backyard ddi Dakota Inman
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When I Knew You Were the One: Love in Haiku “Hey” at a party. Then I threw up on your shoes. You still took me home.
Woman
Meghan Gude
First time at my place, Tried to wow you by cooking. You paid for takeout.
We tried something new. My knee hit your nose, broke it. Still called the next day.
Hair ties everywhere, But I still seem to lose them. Keep one on your wrist.
You came home early. You found me dancing naked. You came and joined me.
I left the seat up. You fell straight in the water. You didn’t get mad.
I asked where you’ll be In the next five years or so. “Wherever you are.” Emily Snyder
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Celesital Kiss Meghan Gude
Haiku 59
Instinct
Come back and melt me with your touch and each glance, I’ll be love in your hands. Krystal LaDuc
I am the moth and you are the flame. I’ve nearly bitten my tongue in half, so hard I tasted blood. I think I bruise like a peach but, with swollen lips, I kiss you again.
Haiku 58
Sarah Kaplan
A handshake shook a world alive inside my soul. You, love, woke me up Krystal LaDuc
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 47
The Sickness “You are a toxic person” I guess I have to agree I have this sort of disease that people only tend to notice after they start coughing with me But before that its more of a strength I ignite fires in wickless candles Bring hail storms down in deserts I am what makes your Portland skies cry Bring a fucking umbrella next time So when you catch pneumonia you know who to blame I will do everything I can to make you feel okay again There is no vaccine for this but cold coffee and lipstick stains make good medicine I wish I could say I’d kiss it better but I think I’d only kiss it worse I have been sick for centuries But I’ll try to nurse you back to health
Janeese and Guinevere Sarah Kaplan
Eventually your sickness will pass as you stand up and walk away you will feel better with every step Sometimes infections are better cared for by yourself But I gave you my last bandage Adam Woods
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Traces
Haiku 40
I pulled a shard from my ribs the other day. It wasn’t metal, or glass. It was human. You wedged it in my chest the first time you looked at me with those dusty eyes. I carried you around, everywhere, until I got tired of only having a piece.
Solitude never felt so crowded with such an audience of ghosts. Krystal LaDuc
Sarah Kaplan
Insomnia
Daniele Freeman
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 49
Clichés Rise and Shine You sang every morning I tried to block out the sound of your voice With a blanket
Peace & Love Marissa Hogan
For crying out loud Something usually shouted from a reddened face Followed by FirstNameMiddleName This one meant business What’s cookin’ good lookin’? Meant we were cooking breakfast on Sunday Before church And I got to flip the pancakes My heart skipped a beat It’s not that it skipped one My heart stopped beating altogether When she told me yours did You took my breath away But you did when I walked into The hospital room where a machine Did your breathing for you The eyes are the windows to the soul The priest told me your soul had already left By the time I came to say goodbye It still hurt that your eyes didn’t recognize mine It still hurts that your eyes are mine
Word Vomit
Grin and bear it And I do And we all do
Kathryn Fernandez Caroline Fenton
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Our Chapter If people were pages in a book You’d be page seventy-three I would talk to you at that one party You’d be leaving home soon I would wish you luck If people were pages in a book We’d be pressed between pages one-twenty-four and one-twenty-five It’s the winter time but the warmth of my whiskey gave me the confidence to approach you I would notice you changed but lean into you anyway Your breath of IPA stiffens our pages If people were pages in a book We’d be dog-eared and people would be wondering of our next chapter Tucked away third shelf from the top on the second level of the Book Revue Mairéad Farinacci
Please Don’t Leave
Sarah Kaplan
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 51
Save the Earth for Me Ben Lasky
Child of Divorce child of divorce, raised to think that every thing that was once good will spoil and crumble and fall to pieces. love will die, people will lie to you, covering up problems with confetti lies and hopeless pride. daughter of demise, chasing love and lust into dark, endless corners, hoping that the good stays good, but wishing all the same that it will rot away into a familiar corpse of disappointment. child of divorce, shackled by the twelve year old chains forged by a duo not meant to do. break away, child so open and so closed, crumble and fall to pieces. 1.7.14 11:26pm
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Sarah Heikkinen
Thrown Away The juxtaposition of suffering and satin had never been as striking. Round of your face enhancing every contour. Intertwined and made taut in loosened sheetsa solitary venture. Observed observance, at the least, an anomaly had been acknowledged. A face stricken by hopelessness, a mind forever jarred. Beauty made incarnate, subtly intensified projection of a woman behind an achromous veil. Undiscovered, and for now, without voice. Patrick Boody
Memory A name forgotten Deep into the minds of old From painful disease MairĂŠad Farinacci
Raucous
Christian Capitula
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 53
Lack “You haven’t even tried anything yet how could you know?” As I fall asleep I think about someone kissing me I think about his face getting closer to mine ‘Till there is no space between him and my breath Even in my dreams I dodge these faceless lips. There is a hand slipping up my shirt, A body pushing against mine. My entire being tightens into a ball of hardened clay. These are only thoughts yet I know that they are only reminding me That my body purges out passion like waste. “You are so prude” I don’t know what this even means. How could you hate me for not wanting this? It’s either too much sex Or not enough. Why does it anger you when I say that there is nothing I want less than something inside of me? I want to understand your frustration So that I can explain the complicated difference Between the heart and the genitals. “It’s not natural.” Nothing hurts more than this. Honestly you do not understand how much this kills me. I have spent most of my life Feeling unwanted Like there will never be a place where I really belong. I have tricked myself into believing That I am the government secret that they have been hiding
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When you say this to me It is like I broke out of evolution. I will never contribute to the gene pool. Do you want these useless genes? See what they have created See the pitiful needy creature That they built so mindlessly. Cut me open and suck them out with an eye dropper If you feel as if they are needed To further the human race. I admitted already that I would have not survived If circumstances were different. Say that I am unnatural. Say this so I feel like an emotionless mechanical. Say these ignorant words So I feel like I shouldn’t exist. So I look broken, Like a crooked stitch on a mass produced product Marked down to $3.99. Save 50% on humanity And get a goddamn plant instead. These limbs are not stems These feet, not roots I feel all the anger that you feel too. all emotions are accounted for I just do not feel some things the same way you do. It should be easier to understand. “Asexuality isn’t real” Paige Welch
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 55
Nebula
Sarah Kaplan
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Art & Scope | FALL 2015 57
Pretending To Be Human I honestly think that I am an alien. Banished from my home planet to take notes on human beings. Because I sit on the sidelines and observe, Feeling my brain straining under the weight of understanding. And sure I talk a lot, And what I say is loud, But it sounds like a language that isn’t real. If I was from Earth, Then I could look at its creatures and say “yes I am one of those. See,” I tell myself “I love like that My body is more or less that general shape, If not a little longer.” But deep within my heart, If that’s what it really is or of it’s just my species version of an organ that let’s me live, I know that I do not love like any of these people. Because if I did, Surely one of them would love me back. And surely, I would love myself. It’s a shallow thing, To hope to be desired. But on the lined white surface of my frontal lobe, Where I have been writing all that I have learned by watching, It is the one thing I least understand. It is starred, Underlined, Bolded so I can remember to review. there is constant transmission from what I think is the mother ship, But is most likely just my id, That I am strange, I am not one of them, So I should stop trying to make a home in this body, To fit in with the neighborhood because it will be useless. They will never believe that I am one of them. They will always wonder what’s underneath this plaster mold of skin. I like to learn about the universe,
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Because maybe on the star map I will see my true home. Then I remember that I was banished, So I could pretend to be made from human flesh and human bones, Ligaments stitched to muscles so I could follow my experiments around. These parts will not bring me to someplace outside of this atmosphere, A place where I feel‌ Like I was made to live there. Paige Welch
Catfish
Ashley Warner
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 59
Interstellar There are worm holes inside of us all. It is these that pulls us in directions Where things start not making sense. Once the prospect of an entire universe Is revealed Everything is trivial. The only thing that is real is the restlessness inside. Limbs are magnetic Attracted to the negative charge Of questions that are unanswered. Like the ruthless wind that batters the world And shapes it into aerodynamic piles of excess earth, The human need to discover, To understand, Whips us until we head into the mouth of the internal time lapse, Drifting without thought into the center of complexity. No mind is one track No corner of anything is discovered. Senses are as limited as life. But what does this all mean? We fold into ourselves Knowing that existence is unanswerable. No one wants to feel meaningless. There needs to be a purpose for all of us. Because otherwise we are only small units of something bigger, But we used to think we were everything, That the universe revolved around us. The further you go away from planet earth, The quieter it is. We thought that maybe We were the noise, the importance. Silence is only locking in secrets held inside. It waits for us to break it, To fall into black holes. Paige Welch
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Fractal Bits
Sarah Kaplan
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 61
Haiku 7
Elements
Sarah Kaplan
The sun peeks through the gap in your teeth, the solar system in your lungs. Jillian Moczara
Haiku 12 there is something so modest about the shape of a mouth while dreaming Seanna Pratt
Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit I sing of blue hands and the human soul unwelcome snow drawing winter into April stretched smile across an insincere face tell yourself it’s commonplace You know that you could come pick me up Take me out, drink from a red cup Leave your memory at the bottom or just pretend you’ve forgotten Muse, tell me the cause: Can there be such anger in an absent God? But I’m making my own myth unconcerned with what’s tragic Because this ocean’s not stagnant my life is not static I can feel this moment as I live it only faded, forty years from now but not desolate not lonely The song lingers on and you hum along Perhaps one day even this will be pleasurable to look back on Caroline Fenton
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My False Shepard I’ll stop pounding my fists on your chest When my veins are no longer diluted with rose water And you stop choking me with your rosary Maybe I’ll wash your sins off me In the Garden of Eden I’ll let the serpent bite me And fill my veins with venom instead Maybe then I’ll spite you enough To baptize myself into a new religion And worship another false prophet Maybe I’ll let you kiss me behind a bible And sit with another in the pews I just need a distraction Because you ushered in the end of times My false Shepard
Warm Hall to a Cold Door
Abbie Kitchner
Haley Miller
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 63
True Love and Other Things We Wish Were Real There is no way to talk about true love and not be cliche True love is the most important thing And yet, it does not exist Like capitalism and me sounding smart when talking to girls True love is wonderful in theory However in the real world it simply does not work Love is too finite for it to ever meet its expectations You can argue this fact all you want Tell me how your grandparents met in kindergarden And how you and your partner are only going through a rough patch Everything on this planet has an expiration date And love is not exempt. Our love lasted 547 days Charles Bukowski said to “find what you love and let it kill you” And I don’t want to pretend like it did But I bet if love were real it would have You certainly felt real anyway Love does that sometimes, It has a smell and a taste and a feeling That makes you believe it’s here when it’s not Sort of like God and ghosts Love was new packs of cigarettes and coffee It tasted like fall and sometimes cherries But when I wake up and turn on the light Sit up sweating in bed in the early morning I see no ghosts And I see no love. Adam Woods
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Spacebound Marissa Hogan
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 65
Dear Forgiveness I saved a seat for you this morning. You never showed up. You were off hiding in the darkest place you could find — that dusty pantry, the basement staircase. I made a place for you in this damned apartment, in this small sleeping town. I need you when the voices are louder than the slamming porch doors, and when they are quiet, locked up in car trunks to deal with in the morning. I cleared out a drawer for you, bought you a brand new toothbrush. Dear Forgiveness, stop staring at your hands, please, come inside. Seanna Pratt
untitled, 9.15.15 some people change like seasons one day — hot one day — cold others stay constant like the sun like the moon and i ask myself why i bother with the summers the springs the winters the falls when i have suns and moons stars that shine constant in their lustre here to stay for M I L L I O N S and mill ions Sarah Heikkinen
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of years.
Art & Scope is proud presents the 1st annual High School installment
Everness
from Arlington High School
Boney Boys You have the body I never will have With your collarbone sticking out for me to trace the line from neck to chest I can count your ribs when you take off your flannel I can see your abdominal muscles and run my thumb over them And watch you shiver as my cold grazes your warm Nothing with you was dirty When my shirt came off, you could see the hills of fat and my bra cutting into my back As apologies started to pour out of my mouth, you silenced me Because all we are is bones joined by skin You kissed my lips, my neck, and my chest Our breaths mingled under the comforter I tried to pull you closer, push you into my heart to make it feel full But with boney boys comes boney hearts With nothing but air and emptiness inside It was never enough Gianna Gironda
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 67
Congrats, kid
Enthusiasm
Congrats, kid I’m so proud of you Looks like you’re all grown up
I made a deal with the devil He gave me a soul made of fire, bright and overwhelming and warm Laced seeds through the brain and a jungle has come to fruition It’s easy to get lost in there; it’s where I found myself Put fireworks in my veins; they are constantly rippling Gunpowder coats the tip of my tongue, ready to fire I reside in a hurricane of reckless optimism I am a bomb, made to self-destruct
Congrats, kid So what are your plans? Do you even have a clue? Congrats, kid Now go get a job Remember your debt is due Congrats, kid You found yourself a girl And swept her off her feet Congrats, kid Married in May, got a baby on the way But now you’ve got another mouth to feed Congrats, kid Your wife left ya broke and your son won’t speak your name Congrats, kid You’re all alone And you’re the only one to blame Vanessa Baer & Gianna Gironda
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Vanessa Baer
Hand To God’s New York City, January 1930 “Did you know,” he whispers, voice clogged with smoke and cheap wine, “that I have touched God?” The brunette on his hip looks at him, her features tangled in confusion. “How d’you mean, honey?” And oh, her voice is like it. Dripping and golden, sparkling like the glass in her hand. Curling upwards like the cigarette held tight between ruby painted lips. A porcelain dolly in a clip joint. “How d’you mean, honey?” Ah, yes. “I’ve been in the apple since ’27 workin’ on the state building. The top…” he slurs his word, drawing the syllables out like taffy. “The top. On a clear night you go up there and lie on your back and you can touch the stars…” He looks into his whiskey, turning the glass, starring into it like it has all the answers, dreaming of the feel of the wind over his chapped skin and the moon hanging, heavy and swollen, just above his fingertips. He can still see the burning embers of his smoke, floating in the breeze, high over the streets of the city. Far below, the streets are alive and there are lights and voices and jazz climbing up to him through the air. At the top though, he was alone. Breathing in cold air and dreaming of flapping his arms like wings and soaring into the stars. He’d embrace the moon and the planets. He’d lindy across the Milky Way and make his way to God and together they’d sing praises to the universe. There is a haze over the city, the lights and smog from the people, wafting off of their bodies in an aura black and cold.
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 69
It covers all those grimy little stars and fills the lungs of those in the ground. But he was high enough in the state building that the blackness could not reach him. He was breathing in moonlight and drinking the rays of sun like champagne. And now. Now his building is complete. His wielding and hammering services are no longer required. He can no longer press his lips against God’s or sing to the moon in all her glory or raise a flask to those grimy little stars. He misses the stars most. They always twinkled and danced before him, welcoming him like a long lost friend. Now his nights are spent in clip joints, smoking damp cigs and drinking whiskey that has had all the taste of sunlight drawn out of it. The dolls come to him, eyes ringed in black and lips painted like the blood moon. They pull off his jacket and urge him to sit, making talk in smoky voices. Their words never reach him. He tries to tell them about the moon and the smell of un-blackened air. In turn, they do not hear him. They both have their agendas, and their agendas do not match. And now he is alone, his money gone and his glass as barren as his soul. The women leave him. The world recedes into a muted blur. He dreams of the moons and those grimy little stars and his hand on God’s Freya Fink
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Special Thanks to... Barry Haney & The SUNY Oneonta Print Shop for always doing such great work! Kathy Spitzhoff, for being our wonderful Advisor Members of Art & Scope, for being the best ever! Submitters, for being so unbelieveabley talented! Oh, and YOU! For all your support!
Cover Art Face Mapping Ben Lasky
Art & Scope | FALL 2015 71
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