MOSAIC MAGAZINE
2017-2018
Mosaic’s editorial staff would like to thank the Department of English in the College of Arts and Sciences at The Ohio State University for its generous support of Mosaic and this publication. More information about the Department of English is available at english.osu.edu.
Dear Reader, Thank you for supporting Mosaic Magazine’s 41st edition. Since 1977, our magazine has represented the creative minds of The Ohio State University. The 2017-2018 publication brings together a diverse group of undergraduate artists and writers, representing a multitude of voices, passions, and stories. We would like to congratulate all of the students whose work has been accepted in this year’s edition. Throughout the year, Mosaic has hosted a myriad of poetry readings, art workshops, and our signature Professor and Protégé event. This year, along with the production of our high quality magazine, Mosaic has dedicated itself towards revitalizing and evolving the magazine. This year is the premiere of our new logo, which we feel represents a new direction for the publication. We would like to thank the members of our editorial board, art staff, layout staff, and literature staff for their enthusiasm, creativity, and consistent devotion to Mosaic. In addition, we would like to express our gratitude to the English Department and UniPrint. Without them, the success of Mosaic’s events and the high quality of this publication would not have been possible. We would also like to thank our advisor, Pablo Tanguay, for his support and guidance in all of Mosaic’s endeavors this year. Most importantly, this publication would not be possible without you--our readers, writers, and artists. Mosaic’s mission is to provide a platform for talented undergraduates to publish, share, and improve their work. Thank you for continuing to submit your work and supporting your fellow artists in The Ohio State undergraduate community by reading Mosaic. We hope that you enjoy this year’s edition of Mosaic and encourage you to get involved next year by joining a staff, submitting your work, or attending our events. For more information about our organization, please email us at mosaic.magazine.osu@gmail.com or visit our website http://org.osu.edu/mosaicmagazine/
Sincerely, Austin Dunn and Katie Shipman The Editors-in-Chief Mosaic Magazine 2017-2018
Table of Contents Colorado Lemon
Nicole Chain
2nd
LIT
From the Dock In Time
Abigail Rice
7
Rose Tyler
8
The Neighborhood
Avery McGrail
The Bridge
Matt Mayberry
Days of Wine and Roses (1) Varun Sharma
Days of Wine and Roses (2) Varun Sharma
she won’t remember
3rd
LIT
Jess Wong
Peach Garden
Oliver Kamer
he smiles
Sara Gryboski
Portrait of Nathan
Blume
1st
ART
Scenic
9 10 11 12 13 14 16
Natalie Steigmann-Gall
17
Avery McGrail
18
Uncertain Circumstances
6
Natalie Steigmann-Gall
20
Avery McGrail
22
Tyrant
Ruksana Kabealo
An Apology to the Present Rose Tyler
3rd
ART
Evolution
Megan Hardie
The Tongue is a Powerful Weapon 1st
LIT
Arson
Bri Long
27
2nd
Amnesia
Natalie Orr
Untitled
Natalie Steigmann-Gall
waning vision
Sara Gryboski
Summer
Mi Row
For Sale
Titless
29 30 31 32 33
Oliver Urdaneta
34
Megan Hardie
Molecular Genetics
28
J.L. Lacar
Birds and Bees
25 26
Bri Long
24
Megan Hardie
Breather ART
23
Ruksana Kabealo
35 36
Colorado Lemon Nicole Chain | Art
136
From the Dock
2nd
LIT
Abigail Rice | Poetry
Rescued, dripping from the Bay. Clean. Twenty-five lives later— Saved? Twenty-five lies. Stop! There goes God. What was your biggest regret? Waves sieve through sinewy hearts. I’ve heard when your hands leave the rail, you’re free— Falling, searching, from one Golden Gate to the next.
7
In Time Rose Tyler | Poetry
In time, in time, in time, the love of worlds dissolves and disappears. It takes with it the fervent and the lost and those who fear involuntary consumption. Because, though it steals with stealth unparalleled, it also strikes at subtlety and makes it presence known through the aggregated moments that collect like snow on a lone, decaying log or rain in flooding lakes. Achingly alive only after their passing, we sit to half-remember what it is that constitutes a life— the pauses, the remarks, the steps that end before we, and the world, have even acknowledged that they came. And what a richness befalls the moment where pen scratches paper and we move to press ourselves up against the world, listen to its heartbeat, shiver from its tenderness. Meanwhile, time waits, a predator of all good things, it takes the bad in kind but seems to wrench with cold, dry hands those things dearest to us and for all we knew, the moments that composed us slinked away into the darkness. Soon we are all that is left. You are all that is left. But time’s merciless rule has rendered you a shadow and rendered me the same.
8
The Neighborhood Aver y McGrail | Art
9
The Bridge Matt Mayberry | Poetry
When the cars streak across the bridge over the river there is a vibrant doppler to their way, and their lights are like paper cuts in the soft skin of the sky. From the hollow of this bank (for I am underneath another bridge) I hear the joint wish of traffic once and again funneled over the water, where the shimmer of that stream mingles with the other’s curdled rips. And on these nights, given enough cars, enough droplets, all my faces lose their terror. Those of all I know and wish to know, my nevers and evers and severs, they bunch up into a latex wad, these rubbers of the soul that stretch just so or heap together, each a barrier between itself and the bared maw of earth’s indifferent organ. And on these nights, when I am most alone, I look for the mirror that will show me my stranger, bewildered and aghast in that great shudder, when the bridge groans and the wind sears my eyes and the cars keep coming.
10
Days of Wine...
11
... and Roses Varun Sharma | Art
12
she won’t remember: (a cento) Jess Wong | Poetry
the faint torch, my hair a wildfire, her hands dark red, building a tripwire, my voice cracking like bones. I wanted her, her clumsy alabaster hands along my spine every morning. some days, our mouths would open like little knots of bread. I wanted her, black bloodshot eyes, miniature moons. I wanted, sandpaper heart reconstructed with honeysuckle. I started to cry, thinking of the repeated image: a barn on fire, a grave in the dirt.
13
3rd
LIT
Peach Garden Olivia Kamer | Poetry
October 28th Last night I had a dream all my plants were weeping and all my faucets were running and all the dead insects I had ever murdered were shaking in their petal-thin brittle dark graves May 16th Earth, a web of complex strings Crissings and crossings Misses and losses Lives strung up like dew beads In a spider’s web, In a cat’s cradle complexity Grandma’s filigree night table Under a microscope Under the microscope of the eye Under the microscope of the brain It moves and shakes like, A plucked guitar string Dust trembles, dust collects In dew The strings move in and out Forward and back Through and under But still, Connected A string of pearls on Paper-mâché skin The dance bees do On their way to do The work of the earth The weaving and plucking and Interconnecting Of gossamer strings and things 14
July 19th Wake up with sweat like dew Pearls beading my brow and soft spots I dreamt of wild affection in a peach garden being drunk like honey and a thousand blue floods December 28th Where a garden once bloomed Now lies pressed dirt Boot tracks in circles Where I pace Wondering where I have gone And am I coming back
15
And Light moves gently through a flower’s skin vein by paper thin vein That’s how I’d like to be loved Soft as a petal Soft as forgiveness
he smiles Sara Gryboski | Poetry
he smiles lazy, like the rolling amarillo waves of heat in a forgotten southern summer; quiet, like watching a crisp daybreak break its yolk over watery depths; peaceful, like an ally cat yawning his way into a winter’s nap; beautiful, like his heartbeat under my calloused finger tips
16
Portrait of Nathan Natalie Steigmann-Gall | Art
17
18
19
Blume Avery McGrail | Art
20
21
Natalie Steigmann-Gall | Art
1st
Uncertain Circumstances
ART
Scenic Avery McGrail | Art
22
Tyrant Ruksana Kabealo | Poetry
he buried the cat in the backyard the tabby with the missing ear it wouldn’t stop running away so he drowned it explorer no more it rots beneath the earth my sister, perpetual daydreamer, creator of a childhood’s worth of escape grew out of girlhood one day taught never to raise his hand to a woman he raised a fire extinguisher instead twenty-six stitches and the boundless desperation of an infected wound we buried her last August astronaut grounded he has a plan for all of us volition unchanging as the fear of loss uncertainty obfuscates the mourning someday I too will be perceived to wander crushed before the earth even covers me beneath the pall the mind of a sailor buried under the tide
23
An Apology to the Present Rose Tyler | Poetry
A dissonance exists between my persisting illusions and truth’s unhappy setting. Uninhibited and full, the mind prefers to breathe, living unbridledly with ghosts than to let the present moment’s cold pervade and ruthlessly extinguish all that once composed its brief and subtle joy. In their collision, I find myself to be both criminal and victim, as I have both constructed and fell prey to the mind’s unwarranted mirages that fetter one to bankruptcy of action. While there may be freedom in reversal, to me, there is only disarray and disrepair, and to be constricted once again is to be chained to an inevitable solitude that comes not without appeal. For the mind ambles alone with only frequent interruptions to remind it of its place. Truth bears little in opposition to memory’s impression, and for that, I beg the present to forgive.
24
Megan Hardie | Art
25
3rd
Evolution
ART
The Tongue is a Powerful Weapon Megan Hardie | Art
26
Bri Long | Poetry
the last good decision I made was between Saturday and Sunday underneath navy hands pulling cotton over a rash of silver stars where blond-hair and brown-eyes recited holy texts outside a gas station and coughed every time he said “God� where the air was unsure of its proportions reigniting road flares with every brush of skin to mouth where lighting one up instead of stamping one out got me thinking: the last good decision I made was letting this burn.
27 32
1st
Arson
LIT
Breather after “So Long, Lonesome” by Explosions in the Sky
Bri Long | Poetry
on an empty highway my right foot plays the organ and it sounds better if i press harder my fingers take the tune every tap against the wheel shaking the leftover ash from seven years of piano lessons into my lap driving i become the cause for road flares conducting both the interstate crash and the bent guardrail because my bones make great boomerangs because i thrive in orbits and repeated words and i know the end of new noise creates a gorgeous caesura— i drive on no sleep and no brake composing an overture in which ninety miles an hour is the recurring theme in a musical called “going home” and there’s no switching sets
28
Natalie Orr | Art
3629
ART
2nd
Amnesia
Untitled Natalie Steigmann-Gall | Art
30
waning vision Sara Gryboski | Poetry
I think I look at the moon to see it it’s still there, to remind myself of my own heartbeat. It whispers to me, singing heavenly sighs. The man on the moon sees the earth the sky the stars. So I think I look at the moon to remind myself he sees me too
31
Summer Mi Row | Poetry
dance with me so my feet, like feathers swim gently down to the ground then whisper a lullaby to keep me awake in pitch blackness, thinking of you. light comes and I yearn the last breath we held as one that deceived me. You said, wait for summer’s end and maybe even then. I promise I have tried but
you.
my lips molding to yours, my fingers braiding in yours, my body colliding with yours. these bones are ringing with sweet intoxication you coveted fruit, I taste and go numb. your patience is a toy I like to tease I am yours every time.
32
For Sale J.L. Lacar | Art
33
Titless Oliver Urdaneta | Art
34
Birds and Bees Megan Hardie | Poetry
In twenty years, my daughter Is playing in the mid-June wildflowers Instead of a fenced garden I have planted for her I know the petals’ kisses I see the queen’s lace, the honeysuckle I have felt, the silken touch of newborn days Among the upturned palms of spring, I see little bodies race about, bright, Fast and dicing the air with sharp purpose My hands twitch, flesh tightens At the familiar hum, random darting They circle her, wait for her supple arms to open I know the sting of bees The jolt of pain, of shock, betrayal, and I have felt the distant rumble of November storms Always swelling, rising, purpling Sometimes constricting, suffocating Occasionally stealing another life for their own They extinguish themselves in one brief display Of spite, ripping out organs and flesh, and fade Leaving a prick upon innocent skin, and die I take my daughter’s hand, lead her From the bees and storms she can avoid And wish with people I could do the same
35
Molecular Genetics Ruksana Kabealo Poetry I am fifty percent of that man, genetically And when I say I am fifty percent of that man, genetically It goes beyond the abstract notion of genetics I usually have Some method of counting out my individual chromosomes with tweezers Sorting them into equal sized piles “These are from your mother These are from your father” I wish it was that easy I’d take a chainsaw to my chest Carve every bit of him out of me And burn it People love to tell me how much I look like him And I've got to admit, we share a lot of features I've got his ski-slope nose, his dark-brown eyes When I look in the mirror I can see him looking back at me When I smile, I smile with his mouth The same mouth that kept me quiet Warned me not to tell He could lose his job for this Go to jail And that wasn't what I wanted Was it? I have his sense of humor The things that make him laugh make me laugh Terrible things nobody should laugh at My mother used to say "You've got your dad's head on your shoulders" I just hope I didn't get the part of his head That thinks it can get away with anything It’s vile, really The thing about growing up is You don’t realize what happened until later As a kid you don’t know any different That’s just the way things are
36
The thing about growing up with abuse is It shows up in weird ways later I can’t wear skirts anymore can’t be alone in dark rooms, can’t leave my door unlocked at night I want to hurt myself Because in a way, it'd be hurting him I know you’re not supposed to cut off your nose to spite your face But what if it's not mine? What if it's his? Because we look so similar, It scares me I look in the mirror I want to see what pain looks like in his eyes I want to know what fear would look like on his face I want to know what it would have looked like if I had tried to fight back I want to go back Give myself a second chance To do things over To tell someone sooner To fight Instead of just succumbing quietly Keeping my mouth shut Keeping my eyes closed Afraid of his body Ashamed of my body But I can't And I'm angry And I want to hurt myself The only thing that stops me, is that sometimes on a good day when I look in the mirror, I see my mom.
37
Meet the Artists Nicole Chain: I’m a third-year majoring in psychology and minoring in English. “Colorado Lemon” is one of many lemon photos I captured in Rocky Mountain National Park. By photographing a mundane object (a lemon) out of context, I hope to challenge expectations of what is “normal.” I’m currently working to synthesize my lemon photos into an essay which will essentially ask, “What is your lemon?” Megan Hardie: I am a writer and artist attracted to the synergy of individuals with other entities, their circumstances, and themselves. Fascinated by interpreting and depicting such interactions, my fictional oeuvre is more advanced than my poetry, but I appreciate the abstract expression rendered by a poem’s structure. Consequently, my poetry often incorporates allegory and imagery to textually capture the myriad qualities of human experience. Alternatively, my visual art preserves instantaneous, transient beauty in a format that may not otherwise be replicated by writing. My modes are most often hand-drawn pencil or ink illustrations fixated on realism and precision. Occasionally, I’ll take blurry photographs of a vandalized dumpster behind my favorite coffee shop, and I find the image so personally relevant I submit it to a magazine, and it’s published. Who knew anyone could relate to a dumpster? Ruksana Kabealo is a maniac with a dream. What that dream is? She has no idea. But she’s figuring it out. Olivia Kamer is a third year Dietetics student completely unsure of what her future holds. Since she first learned how to write and read, she has used writing as a way to express thoughts, images, and ideas that she struggles to express verbally. It’s the medium through which she expresses her most authentic self. JL Lacar is a third-year in New Media & Communication Technology and is the Managing Editor for Design at The Lantern. “For Sale” is inspired by a doodle in my high school math notebook, now updated and reworked into a digital illustration. Bri Long is currently a sophomore studying Creative Writing and Professional Writing. When she has to step away from the laptop, she enjoys reading ridiculously long novels, trying new restaurants, and visiting her cats back home in Salem, Ohio. Matthew Mayberry: I am a senior English major. My favorite poets are Philip Larkin and Ross Gay. I’m a hockey fan. I take a lot of walks. The third lobotomy really hurt. Avery McGrail is a senior in the Bachelor of Fine Art Program, with a focus in Painting and Drawing, from Delaware, Ohio. Her work centers around my memories and creating space based on these distorted, fragmented periods of childhood. She work with collage and paint in conjunction, to build small imaginative worlds that reflect her fragmented whimsical memories of being a child.
Natalie Orr: My name is Natalie Orr; however, I would consider my art name to be “Nat.” I taught myself how to paint in April of 2013 and became completely enamored with it. My focus is on euphoric explosions of color, a combination of abstraction and realism, and a strong sense of feminine allure. Amnesia is the largest oil painting I’ve made up to date measuring 4 feet by 5 feet. My goal for it was to entice viewers so much with all of the different hues and lines to where they lose themselves for a second,...a sense of beautiful irrefutable amnesia. Abigail Rice is a third-year with majors in English and journalism and a minor in human rights. Her main focus is creative nonfiction but she has grown increasingly interested in poetry, particularly in lyric poetry. Her poem is dedicated to survivors of suicide attempts. Mi Row is a poet, musician, foodie, and budding social activist studying Chinese and Public Affairs. Her piece, “Summer,” is a free form poem that explores the emptiness caused by a loss of love and warmth in the dead of summer. Varun Sharma: I make things, and most of the time it is bad, but sometimes something comes out good. Life is full of color, and I’ve been trying to depict it true. Preserve a feeling and not the memory. Interesting how brave I have become when I had nothing. Just believe in you Natalie Steigmann-Gall is a second year at Ohio State double majoring in art and sociology. She is getting her BFA in painting and drawing. Her work is largely figurative and relies primarily on color and texture. She has six cats. Rose Tyler is a first-year student at Ohio State majoring in psychology and French. She has been writing stories and poems since she was little, and she is, at the moment, working on a larger novel-length project. Her poems published here explore the nature of time, memory, and forgetting, as they challenge us to examine what it means to be an individual moving constantly and impatiently forward in time. Oliver Urdaneta: A current undergraduate at The Ohio State University, scheduled to graduate in May of 2018. Working on a Bachelors of Fine Arts, specializing in Art and Technology. Titless is a double-sided screen printed poster capturing thoughts and emotions after top surgery and the constant war that trans people deal with. Jess Wong is a junior double majoring in English (Creative Writing) and Political Science. She has previously been published in Mosaic Magazine.
EDITORS IN CHIEF Austin Dunn Katie Shipman
TREASURER Kylie White
LITERATURE STAFF Zoe Farkas Tessa Flatium Joseph Glandorf Joanna Goldstein Emily Henderson Kaitlyn Hurd Gabby Kennedy Kendall Lindstrom Editor Darian McCoy Katrina McGowan Hannah Nelson Landon Porter Rachel Stewart Rachel Tuskes Ciru Wainaina Editor Kylie White Ava Zirgaitis
ART STAFF Andreea Costinescu Caroline Creed Izzy DeSantis Editor Eryn Henderson Kaitlyn Hurd Gabby Okhuysen Alejandra Timmins Editor
LAYOUT STAFF Andreea Costinescu Zoe Farkas Tessa Flatium Emily Gaglione Editor Laura Lenhart Hannah Nelson Katie Snider Laura Lenhart Bobby Lowery Editor
Special Thanks to our Advisor, Pablo Tanguay
Get involved with Mosaic Magazine! Apply for a staff or editorial position, come to our poetry readings, participate in a workshop, attend Professor & ProtĂŠgĂŠ, or submit your work for publication! mosaic.magazine.osu@gmail.com