Montage Fall 2020 Zine by Montage at Quinnipiac University

Montage

The Best of the 2010s

The Best of the 2010s An Editor’s Celebration of the Last 10 Years

Montage.

Literary & Arts Journal Fall Zine 2020 || Volume 4

Montage Staff Editor-in-Chief

Assistant Editor

Public Relations

Secretary

Journal Design

Advisors

Joelle Gray

Rebecca Gatz Joelle Gray

About Montage

Tamara Anderson Glenna Gobeil

Treasurer

Katherine Iorio

Austin Davoren, Campus Life Ken Cormier, English

Montage is Quinnipiac University’s student-run literary and arts journal. Our purpose is to celebrate the students who create art in any and every form. We promote the growth of writers and artists on campus and provide an outlet for those who wish to share their work. We seek art that pushes boundaries, is unique, and is inspiring. For student creators, we host a series of literary- and arts-centered events, such as open mics and faculty workshops. We produce two publications a year that are filled with student-made work. These help encourage the creative energy at Quinnipiac University that Montage hopes to foster for future generations.

A Note from the Editor 2020 has been one hell of a year—anyone can attest to that. We at Montage wanted to find something to celebrate, and what better to celebrate than our upcoming 40th edition! In order to do this, I wanted us to take a look back through the last ten years of spring journals and pick some pieces to share (again) with the world that show off the true essence of Montage. We have learned and grown as a community, and nowhere is it clearer than in the art and writing that we share here with you all. I hope in these pages, you find your own inspiration. Bask in the art of the students who are long gone from Quinnipiac, but who are forever a part of the Montage community. Let yourself experience the joy that this year has been missing. Thank you for coming on this journey with us. 40 years is a huge milestone, and we can’t wait to share that with you in the spring. For now, though, please sit back and enjoy some of our favorite pieces from the last ten years! With love, Joelle Gray

Table of Contents 8

Acoustic Fire

Vol. 34

untitled

Vol. 36

Goblin Garden

Vol. 38

Mystic Sun

Vol. 30

In The Midst of April Showers

Vol. 31

Reach

Vol. 37

Last Words

Vol. 33

Puddle Jumpers

Shannon Durkin

Carly Timpson

Rosie Persiani, Editor-in-Chief 2019

Jonathan Grado

William Vessio

Samantha Bashaw

Kelsey Brown

Ian Addison

Vol. 39

I Went and It Was No Fun At All

Vol. 34

The Calling Stars

Vol. 35

Montreal in Color

Vol. 39

Love

Vol. 32

Heaven’s Fire

Vol. 31

#metoo

Frosted Intricacies

Vol. 30

Lighthouse Kristen Riello, Co-editor-in-Chief 2017

Tanner Celestin, Editor-in-Chief 2015

Leah LeDrew

Sophie Frank

Farah Salam

Dan Callahan

Anonymous Vol. 37

Kay Walker

Vol. 33

Acoustic Fire Shannon Durkin 8

Untitled

Carly Timpson You’ve got troubles in your mind, And pain coursing through your veins. Anxiety is the beat of your heart, And fear is the power in your brain. Life tests you with one thing after the other, But I’ve got a hand for you to hold And you’ve got a heart that makes me want to sing. I’ll dance around and stomp on the demons That creep in your shadow. I’ll hold you tight So the pain can trickle out of your eyes. I’ll have you laughing so loud You’ll scare off anyone trying to make you sad. I’ll kiss your least favorite spots And you’ll feel your heart exploding To make room for all my love. I’ll love you until your very last breath And pray that it’s not a sigh of relief.

Goblin Garden

Rosie Persiani, Editor-in-Chief 2019 I have allowed flames to lick the back of my teeth. Leaving messages for the goblins running up and down my throat. With quick feet and grabby hands They memorize these messages trapping them into my lungs. They hold the smoke until I try to kiss you. When our lips touch, I feel every nerve in my body combust into flames Destroying me from the inside out. These goblins want me to fall apart They are hoping that you won’t care to piece me back together. They’ll run quicker up and down my throat Until I choke on the air that I can’t process. My legs give out as theirs grow more. I wonder if you’ll ever catch me. Hold me close, Don’t let me fall. I don’t want to become pieces again Childlike sitting on the floor Putting my veins back together Aligning me with the end of time. Ignore those goblins, ignore my failing breath, pay attention To my fingertips As they trace the letters of my secrets on the back of your arms. I have hollowed out my veins so my body will always be a place to hide secrets. My veins swollen with the time trying to stay inside my body. Find the flowers growing out of my feet reminding me that beauty is present to matter where I go. I will bury my bottles, razor blades, my rage. Instead you can find a garden of rose buds, sonnets, and water.

Watch the ripples as your chest expands to each drop. Do not let time fill you and take its hold. It will only weigh you down. My eyes have seen sunrises that have not yet occurred. I have seen the past get so entangled in bodies floating among the clouds. They float and drip their goals in each raindrop, To fill my soul with dreams once forgotten. I will tell them to use my body as a sanctuary because it has never been a home to me. Fill my cracks and scars And I will make us whole again.

Mystic Sun

Jonathan Grado

In The Midst of April Showers William Vessio

She said she did not know a place to start — this was in the midst of April showers — So I twisted the sinews of my heart And made for her a flower My love —I said— take this and know only that my heart is for you — every thread She held it forth as if to show me — It looks like a lily — was all she said.

Reach

Samantha Bashaw 14

Last Words Kelsey Brown

My tongue is a draw-bridge That keeps trapped the words I never got to say to you

“It is with great sadness that I write to inform you…” Let’s pretend it’s hide and seek Come out, come out wherever you are

“…made a lasting impression” I thought I heard your voice in the ocean’s song, Your gentle melody riding the waves

“all we could talk about was the future” I found you in my mind’s tornado, Making friends with the cobwebs in the corners

“…admired by his peers” When I felt you slipping through my fingers like sand, I called in the search party

“extending our thoughts and prayers…” 15

So here is what I never got to say: I was a little mad at you the day you crushed my stress ball

“in an automobile accident” And I was more mad the morning You flipped your car without calling me to say goodbye

“in the wake of this tragic event” May you rest in the sweetest of peace, While I start picking up my own pieces.

Puddle Jumpers Ian Addison

I Went and It Was No Fun At All Tanner Celestin, Editor-in-Chief 2015

How to pack for an experience of a lifetime! You must leave room for maps—the kind with brand new creases like a baby’s finger bent around a dad-sized pinky. Leave your bathing suits in your childhood closet along with your piles of glitter paint. You must like fuzzy hats, you must spit out fluff from your scarf when it gets in your mouth. Find hands for six pairs of new mittens. Stuff them in your pockets like you don’t need to point when you ask the people where to go. What a life! It’s an airplane after hugging your dad goodbye. Pack a phone with bad reception. You won’t hear him crying when he says he misses you already. Drag your suitcase like you know how all of this goes. My dad mails me flash drives with nine-minute videos of my dog swimming in our pool. I keep a state flag pinned above my bed. I dream of bears and it’s the best I’ve got. I shove maps stained with highlighters into a box. My dog doesn’t know my voice over the phone when I talk about new people. My dad never answers the house phone. I fly six hours to live in a new house. My dad built a sandcasle but I couldn’t take it with me. I pet the people’s dogs on the street and they look at me like what when I call them all Ben. This time I walk patterns in the snow until my lawn says HI DAD. My dad says HI back when I send him pictures in wet socks.

Do you want to come with me? The people wear black and talk in harsh accents. I can’t understand but I feel what they mean. If you come with me we can talk and talk nicely. Let’s think about our ears as left shoes and our mouths as the right ones. The people have eyes like we don’t like you and that’s okay but I’m still sad. Come with me and press your hand between my shoulder blades and forward down their streets. I wear earmuffs when it’s cold and it’s always cold here. The people think I can’t hear but I feel it in their eyes like we can see you’re strange. Please come with me so I can see my house from the way you talk about winter.

The Calling Stars Leah LeDrew

Montreal in Color Sophie Frank

Love

Farah Salam I realized that I had fallen in love when my pen wrote words heavy with love. Each word was sodden with emotion, dripping with fear and uncertainty. Each letter intertwined with another, forming horizontal cascades along paper. I hated you at that moment, because you were the cause. My writing was no longer apathetic, which I believed to be deep. Instead, my pieces were sappy, gushing with unwanted emotion and a lack of control. Every letter beat in tune with my heart, erratic, rushed, and crazy. Nothing made sense. From that moment on, my words were i ncoherent, simply stating emotions without context. These stupid, ugly words no longer held the emotion I wished it could, because these feelings were more intense than what I could muster. I longed to talk to you, because that’s where my words made sense, absorbed by you, no longer caressed carelessly by paper. Every day I waited for those moments, because I could see you and no longer have to resort to words to feel your beauty. The day you left, the words became heavier, as if on purpose. I began to whittle down the words, unable to carry their weight. They became smaller, disgustingly concise, and scientific. It was because of you I stopped writing, and started to love. I didn’t know which was worse.

Heaven’s Fire Dan Callahan

#metoo

Anonymous A million women marched, stomped up and down the streets demanded to be heard to take down the elites. They came in hoards, in groups, and made their message clear refusing to be mute, they held each other near. These strangers became friends, they showed each other love and solidarity. That’s how they rose above abuse, neglect, despair. They will not let them win, the men who forced their way right underneath their skin. Right now, the power still lies with the men who rape but just five it time they’ll hope for an escape. But if society does not go through reform the systems that allowed abuse to be the norm will not just go away.

Frosted Intricacies Kay Walker

Lighthouse

Kristen Riello, Co-editor-in-Chief 2017