Fall 2022 Issue

T he N or T hwes T P assage

Western Oregon University’s Student-Run Art and Literature Magazine

Fall 2022

Friend Quinlan Wedge

T he N or T hwes T P assage

Editor in Chief Quinlan Wedge Editorial Board

Jude Bokovoy Mikayla Coleman Ian Kincaid Abby Schrunk Mnemosyne McKay

Western Oregon University’s Student-Run Art and Literature Magazine Fall 2022 Issue Website wou.edu/northwestpassage

© 2022 Northwest Passage. All rights reserved. All materials and content within this publication are property of the Northwest Passage, for the duration of first publishing rights, a six month period, after which time all content submitted by the individual contributor reverts back to the author. All materials and content printed here may not be copied, reproduced, or distributed. Any other usage must follow the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercialNoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Hello everyone, and welcome to the Fall 2022 edition of the Northwest Passage! This is my first term as the new Editor-In-Chief, and let me just say, it was tough, but I am so glad to have this opportunity.

I was amazed to see the extraordinary amount of pieces submitted for consideration this term! We had an incredible 86 submissions this term, more than double the amount last Fall. 38 pieces were accepted after a very tough voting process, and in order to fit more pieces than usual, I included multiple on most pages. While the smaller size required for this might not be preferable, I hope you agree it is a reasonable sacrifice in order to share more valuable art and writing.

I am so honored to get to see work that so many members of the WOU community put their hearts into. Art and writing can be so personal and so important to the creator, so please know that I am grateful to all who entered their work.

Thank you to my editorial board and my friends for providing me with support and advice, and thank you to all who sent in work and to all who pick up a copy to support fellow creators. Without you all, none of this would be possible.

-Quinlan Wedge

uide

1. Submit work as an attachment via email to northwestpassage@mail.wou.edu.

2. All WOU students, faculty, and alumni are invited to submit their work.

3. We accept: art of any medium, photography, poetry, short stories, scripts, screenplays, creative essays, spoken-word, lyrics, music compositions, and recordings.

4. Submissions should include a title and be submitted without a name; this helps our editorial board maintain impartialty during the voting process.

5. A maximum of five submissions per creator will be published per issue, but additional submis sions may be considered for future issues.

6. Due to space constraints, all written work has a word limit of approximately 1,700 words.

7. Art must be in digital format; please take high quality photos of artwork for best printing result.

8. Music and spoken-word is published in our digital album once a year, during spring term.

Winter 2023 deadline: February 17th

L e TT er from T he e di T or s ubmissio N g

L i N es

Definitions of Love

Sharon Mann

‘Romance-’ my mother tells me at a young age, ‘is when a man and woman know that they belong together, that they need each other’, I tell her with a sour look on my face that maybe love just isn’t for me.

‘A kiss-’ the boy in the neighborhood says, ‘is nothing special unless you make it, that actions only have value if you give it to them’, I tell him to go home and that my kisses aren’t for sale.

‘Heart-’ my grandmother smiles at me, ‘is what we were born with and are meant to be used, for without heart what makes us human?’ I tell her that I think maybe something is wrong with mine.

‘Passion-’ the girl who holds me at night whispers in my ear, ‘is a wildfire, always hungry and starving for more’, I tell her that one day maybe I can be passionate too, but not today.

‘Love-’ my heart’s possessor shows me, ‘is what people give to each other to remind them that they aren’t alone in this world and that there is always someone to help us fight our battles with’, I hold him closer and tell him how I like his version the best.

Divine Femininity

Haley Hass

Backrooms

Abberant

Carrie Visuano

Jeneba Diane King

Yannie Alvarez

Featured Student: Smit

Invisible Fire

Diseased are the days where I reside in my invisible fire.

My friend, the devil, extinguish these lies. For they have poisoned my voice. The voice which whispers the flames meant for me to suffer.

I greet the end with a charred tongue. My remains which cause me to wonder: Will my rebirth forgive my sinful deed?

Dug by the clergy from my past life whom I will never meet.

DespairI dread the smell of my own corpse.

For when my invisible fire burns, the flames which lick mimic the venom of my deceptionsleaving the lover lashed.

Fragile are the days where my invisible fire leaves the lover intact.

I exist to confess the rivalry which walks the burnt path.

Yet, as the soil descends on my tongue, a new path is established, one which my fire cannot burn.

A Room Dim At Noon

A hidden affection, buried beneath my meek footprints, imitating a room dim at noon. You taunt my forbidden truth, as you flitter along, entangled with another by a string that wraps your heart with hers.

The same string which binds my tongueforcing me to speak a pretty lie.

Muted, I have silences buried, I weep as they surface.

Welcoming the soil falling on my head, I become the dirt coating your roots. She remains your sun that hides when it rains. When your sun sets, I am there as your mute moon.

Bright in a sky of darkness, there to dream of your pale blue eyes looking at me the way I so desperately look at you.

His Thin Apology

Once a Boom Town

Aspen Petersen

My long legs bend at a grotesque angle as the man (tortured with taut skin, too big of bones) spits a thin apology.

The bruises that decorate my porcelain, abstractly give the illusion of a throbbing pulse Against the carpeted stairs, I cut paper dolls into the shape that grief will take Their hands, I so selfishly admire, will forever remain interlocked

‘They will become our children,’ I sneerbecoming aware that I no longer feel my throat bobbing with forgiveness,

‘I will dress them in bleeding rubies and name them forgettable names and raise them in a forgettable place with forgettable values

Maybe one day they’ll crunch like glass.’

His tongue lifted, attempting a rebuttal

Rainbow Road

Lillian Axelson

She was on the beanbag across from him, failing at Mario Kart but succeeding in working up her nerves. “Jackson?”

“Yeah?” He didn’t look up from the screen.

“If I were to ask you on a date what would you say?”

“No.”

“No? Just like that?” She drove off the edge. “Yup.”

She gulped. “Is it ‘cause I’m not Sigourney Weaver level hot?”

“No, but like objectively speaking, you’re hot.” He won the race.

“Maybe ‘cause I’m not Sam Carter smart?”

“Trish, you’re top of our class.” The next race started, rainbow road. “Would you say yes if I was as funny as Jennifer Garner?”

“I think you’re funny, but that wouldn’t make me say yes.”

“Oh...” It wasn’t disappointment.

He paused the game and looked at her. “Trish, I wouldn’t say yes not because you’re not great, but because I’m gay. So I’m flattered-”

“I wouldn’t say yes if you asked me out either.” She stared at him, face red. “Oh?”

“Yep.”

“...Weaver huh?”

A pillow hit his face.

Conversations with You

Kaylin (a lover, loved)

Do you think we can be forgiven?

Do you think that we can be made completely and utterly undone, unraveled to the point where we can’t tell our hatred from our longing? Where you can’t even seem to comprehend the infinite forms of love you freely give to your father, your lover, your friends— but not yourself, no, never yourself?

Because I am begging you, my love, for an ounce of what you see in me, for an inkling of what you like to read in my lovesick words, my smile, the way I talk about something — someone, I love.

How I choose, again and again and again , to give that same power to someone I don’t. For we may be forgiven, but we are given nothing more.

You’re missing a piece here, something important that should be noted —

You tend to define worthiness as if it’s something hard to attain, my dear; And you mention, time after time after time, that it’s something you need to earn.

As if worthiness is something you ought to seek, and not something that’s been living inside you since day one, Something inherently yours, ever present and effervescent from the start. Come here, dear — let me whisper my praise, my adoration, my love , all and only for you.

For you are holy, lovely and beautiful in one fell swoop. I pray, my love, that you may see your worth someday soon.

Stressed Roses

Yannie Alvarez

We Have Enough

Melody Barrett

We Have Enough

In fact, We have Plenty an Overabundance, of Food, of Water, of Life Giving Sustenance. It is only out of Fear that We Fight for More than we Need It is out of Fear that We Stockpile letting Grain become Rancid instead of Feeding You letting Water become Polluted instead of Allowing You to Drink Fear is the Killer Of Other And Ourselves

I Want A Life A World Without Fear

River of Tears

Haley Hass

Running from the Rain

McKinzie McBride

Have you ever watched the light inside a person fade? The darkness has been there as long as I can remember, Yet I’ve always found ways to feed the flames and keep the light from dimming into complete nothingness.

I can’t shelter my light from the rain any longer.

I watch each drop, each day, each tear, drown away what’s left of my hope.

Hope for a feeling other than misery and sorrow. Emptiness. Hate. How do I protect my light?

Noah Kahan

Interstellar Love

McKinzie McBride

Your body

Like the nights sky

Captivating, compelling, and wondrous I admire the constellations found painted across your skin

While I trace my fingers between each star I realize..

I’m surrounded by the magic of the universe Without even leaving my bed

Sweet Divinity

Delaina Soboloski

Yannie Alvarez

Two Left Feet

Lillian Axelson

John has two left feet, not in the dancing sort of sense, but in the literal sense. I might’ve said it could’ve been in the dancing sense as well if I hadn’t seen him on the floor at our bosses wedding, he could put anyone to shame. I probably never even would’ve known if it weren’t for the fact I noticed his two left shoes, I just thought he was a bit of a klutz.

I asked him one day during our break if there were any problems with having two left feet, maybe something to do with pressure or arthritis. John told me the only issue he has is when he’s not paying attention his feet’ll walk him right into a wall and through the first door he winds up next to.

John took a sip of his coffee. “Guess it’s not so much a problem as just something that happens. Wasn’t really too noticeable when I was growing up, y’know? I’d wake up to use the bathroom and end up in my brother’s room. Maybe I’d walk into the wrong class at school. But, y’know, getting out into the big wide world sure upped the ante a bit.”

“Yeah? How so?” I asked.

“Last week I was so caught up in the report I was reading I walked right in on a meeting. Wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been trying to get back to my desk.” He gave a chuckle. “Sounds like a pain.”

“...I guess it’s a bit annoying to buy two pairs of shoes to get two left ones, but it’s not all bad.” John was smiling now.

I didn’t get it, how could winding up in random spots and spending extra money be a good thing. “What’s good about it?”

He turned to me with a spark in his eyes. “Back in college I got all caught up reading on my way to class, wound up in the school’s dance studio. Interrupted their partner dance period. Teacher, eccentric woman, asked if I wanted to join, said her TA could be my partner. Told her ‘can’t dance ma’am, I’ve got two left feet’. She told me ‘that’s a stupid saying for people who don’t wanna give it a go’. ”

“She really make you dance?” I asked.

“Sure did, dragged her TA over and everything. Lucky I stuck around though because that TA and I got hitched a few years back,” John said, raising up the rings to prove the point. “Should’ve seen the look on the teacher’s face though when she found out I really do have two left feet.”

I watched John fiddle with his ring, a fond look on his face. “Not all bad then?”

“Never bad, just a bit of an adventure sometimes.”

Stanley “Sockeye” Dollarhyde

Jessica Johnson

Sunflower

Randy

You say I’m your Sunshine, I say you’re my Whole Life, You’re the Sunflower to my Hickory, Growing tall together, both Livin’ Carefree.

Desert Blues

Randy

Fightin’ against my ol’ tumbleweed soul, How many times through this barroom door?

I’m tired of doing this anymore, These desert blues have got to go, Break the wagon wheel, I know what I know, I’m wearing concrete boots now, livin’ better with a saguaro soul.

Heavy Rain

Jeneba Diane King

Today was a good day to remember an umbrella. Even though the day started pretty nice, the weather had taken a sharp downturn in the last hour, just as the news this morning had predicted. The sky was so thick with clouds it looked like midnight, and the eerily quiet streets didn’t help much. I guess no one wanted to be out in this rain. Couldn’t blame them really, I didn’t want to be out either. I just wanted to get home as quickly as possible.

I sighed, adjusting my umbrella to better cover my backpack. I might be able to recover from a good soaking, but my laptop wouldn’t, and there was no way I’d be able to afford a new one if it broke.

As I continued down the sidewalk, I found the streets weren’t quite as empty as I thought.

Next to a streetlamp, under the awning of a closed store, there stood a melancholy-looking man. He wore a scarf and sweater, with a messenger bag hanging off his right shoulder. He was leaning against the store window, but he didn’t seem to be much taller than me.

As I got closer, I noticed he didn’t have an umbrella. Rotten luck, I thought. That must’ve been why he was standing there. Caught in such a downpour, looking so… I don’t know, sad? Lost?

It got to me.

“Stuck?” I asked, closing the distance between us. He seemed startled, like he was shaken out of a trance. He looked over at me, smiling a little crookedly.

“Yeah, I knew it was gonna rain, but I didn’t think it’d be like this. Thought I could make it without an umbrella but, uh… here we are,” he gestured lazily to the rain pounding on the dark streets. Standing right next to him, I could see it’d already soaked through his sweater.

He was lucky he seemed to have the kind of hair that dried off quickly. I nodded lightly, pausing for a second.

He didn’t have a jacket…

I held out my umbrella to him. He looked at me quizzically. “Take it,” I said, holding it closer.

“I- huh? But…?” He stammered.

“I don’t have much farther to go anyway, and I’ve got a hoodie. I’m way better off than you right now.”

He hesitated a little longer, but eventually reached out and took it from me.

“We haven’t met before, have we?” I shook my head. “Then… why?”

I pointed to his soaked-through sweater. “You’ve got no coat.”

The padding of raindrops on the plastic awning covered the silence that hung suspended between us before He laughed.

It was a warm, comforting laugh that bubbled up and out like cider, driving out the cold and damp of the afternoon, and any melancholy that seemed to hang on him slipped away like a burbling stream.

He smiled at me again, “How very chivalrous of you.”

I wanted to say something, anything, to keep this… thing going. I wanted so badly to keep this moment of warmth and joy in my mundane life, but….

The words just wouldn’t come.

I smirked. I nodded. I put up my hood, and walked to the bus stop. I didn’t even glance back.

As the bus pulled away, I tossed myself and my bag down in an empty seat. I glanced inside to check on my laptop. Dry. Settling down, I turned to stare out the window. The raindrops raced across the glass, shimmering with the passing streetlights. Sometimes I imagined they were like people with places to be. I would wonder what they were in such a rush for. Must be something important…

Rolling to a stop at an intersection, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. The droplets of rain that fell from my face and hug on my hair and eyelashes shimmered just like those slipping down the window. A sudden wave of frustration flooded me.

What was I thinking?! Why would I just give up my umbrella like that? I don’t even know who he is! And why didn’t I get to know him? He seemed nice enough. I could’ve talked to him at least! I could’ve stayed, even for just a second! I should’ve stayed! Should’ve talked with him! I mean, come on, why am I like this? Upset at my lack of friends but throwing away opportunities left and right! New neighbor in my apartment complex? Avoid them like the plague. Nice classmates who seem pretty chill? Never talk to them. Cute guy who seems really sweet and I totally could have hit it off with? Run away and never look back! God, I’m such a-

The bus lurched forward, jolting me back to reality. I let out a heavy sigh. I shouldn’t be overthinking this sort of stuff.

My breath hung on the window. I absently started doodling in the fog, resetting each image and starting a new one. A smiley face. A frown. A frog. A heart. An umbrella… I added raindrops. A figure. And another. My mind drifted back to him.

What should I have said? Something funny, I guess. Then he’d laugh again, that sweet, bubbling laugh. And we’d talk for a bit. We’d happen to be going the same way, so we’d walk together to the bus stop, sharing the umbrella and talking all the way. Then we’d get there and we’d exchange

numbers. And he’d walk away with my umbrella, but I wouldn’t be worried, because I’d see him again, and he’d give it back to me then.

But I wouldn’t, would I?

I’ll never get my umbrella back. I’ll never see him again. Why didn’t I talk to him? Am I scared of people? What happened to me? Why would I be scared? I mean, I might’ve liked him. We might’ve been friends. I do this so often, I didn’t even give him a chance. Why am I like this? What happened? Where did I go wrong? What’s wrong with me? What is wrong with me?! What is-

The bus stops.

I’m, again, pulled abruptly out of my downward spiral. Good.

I check the little screen that scrolls along with each stop. This is me. I stand, grab my bag, and get off the bus. I watch it drive off, window doodles and tumbling thoughts disappearing with it into the fog of rain. It looks like it’s lightened up a bit.

I turn away and start the short walk home, rain catching on my eyelashes still and dampening my hoody. I think about my bland apartment. The simple furniture, the quiet solitude of it all. Nothing to look forward to but a frozen dinner and endless Netflix scrolling. And homework. Far too much homework. I sigh. I really need to get some friends. And probably a therapist. Or maybe a cat?

As I approach my building, I look up from my feet and see the street isn’t as empty as I thought. Walking towards the same building as me from the opposite direction, I see a figure. Unlike me, they have an umbrella. A… a rather familiar-looking one, actually. Impossible, I think. I mean, what are the odds of that anyway?

We stop at the entrance, and he’s directly in front of me, holding my umbrella. It’s definitely mine, which means it’s definitely him. We look at each other in shocked silence.

“Well,” he smiles, “I guess we could’ve walked together, huh?” He laughs that bubbling laugh and the chill of the rain melts off me, the incessant pounding lifting from my shoulders, and I realize he’s holding the umbrella over us both.

He opens the door, making way for me to walk in. “How very chivalrous of you.” I smile despite myself as I step in.

“I’ve got to pay you back somehow,” he beams. Following me, he closes the umbrella and hands it back, and I have never been so glad to have remembered it.

Experimental Eyes

Mikayla Coleman

Octopus

Jessica Johnson

Where And How Do You Think It Will Be Like? You Can’t Do This, Can You?

Ticking Time Bomb

Lucas Montpart

This everyday feel brought upon me like darts, It’s a nightmare in a daydream, An overwhelming ordeal, just like A ticking time bomb, counting down, Denotation to go off in a few minutes, Once it does, it will impact the radius All around me, a scream like blow, Everything seems to come out, All at once like flowing water, Flood of fire, smoke tears, This everyday feel.

Hitting Bottom

Rob Moody

Alphabet Poem

Lucas Montpart

Answers that will go unanswered, Bold actions, Consequences Diabolical grief, Elevated beyond relief. Falling out being the result. Go home, I thought.

Home, the place I started dreading, so I stay for some kind of benefit. Just to feel like dirt the whole time.

Killjoy on the horizon, Low self-esteem everywhere it goes, Might as well let it talk but No one else will stop it, Opening up the floor for Prosperous (or pompous) talking.

Questions arise, they want Rain with glass to Shower us into the soil. The fate of dinosaurs will be Us, Days of a Violent extinction, it predicts. With nothing to inhabit the planet, Xenogenic forces may examine us, Yet could only speculate, and then, Zing away with just a vague idea.

(Guess I’m going home)

Spite

Lucas Montpart

Your existence is a hollow grave, Waiting for a body to inhabit, Your body temperature is low, Sleep it off in this wooden casket, Warmed by soil filled with worms.

The last thing you will see, The dark night sky, Jupiter, far from bright, You recall seeing it, The stars, the void you call it, In a car falling in space, Do you feel nothing When you see it?

For this feeling will be Forever more in your death.

Love Transcends

Quinlan Wedge

If you’re walking by, I hope you don’t mind

If you see an old face I’m sure there’ll be a time that we’re both Stuck in line Just trying to mind our own space In that line Just trying to hide your face And stay out of sight

It just seems so silly to think of these Made up scenes The possibilities of where where we both Could be Just trying to mind our own space In that line Just trying to hide your face And stay out of sight…

So just in case we see each other standing by Let’s just stay safe and be Strangers just this time By now we find just how hard it is to walk by

If You Walk

By Andres Avila

It’s just a scene that I think I’m scared to see And in no doubt do I think That you’d agree I wanna give you all of the space That you need Even if it is your face I’d like to see

So just in case we see each other standing by Let’s just stay safe and be Strangers just this time By now we find just how hard it is to say hi So If you walk by I’ll try not to call your name I won’t even mind if you do the same But if we really meet again, would you say hi?

A “hey, hello” from my old friend, wouldn’t it be nice?

Moop

Mikayla Coleman

Thanks for reading!

Fall 2022