Thorn 2020 by Rosemont College

thorn

Rosemont's Literary and Art Magazine Faculty Advisor Professor Katherine Ann Baker

Executive Board

President Deaynna Koskulitz Vice President Holly Polanki Secretary Ashira Frager Treasurer Amanda D'Orsi Editorial Board Managing Editor Deaynna Koskulitz

General Editor Holly Polanki

General Editor Ashira Frager

General Editor Amanda D'Orsi

Prose Editor Caitlin Friel

Prose Editor Casandra Antzoulatos

Poetry Editor Volunteer Editor Melisandra Paulson Krystal Johnson

Volunteer Editor Annette Kempf 1

Mary Grace Murray

Invincible

Melisandra Paulson

I want to wear a crown of thorns without bleeding, to walk over hot coals unburnt. I want to pass through the valley of the shadow of death and come out with sunshine woven in my hair. I want to be an angel, the kind with four faces: only one of them human but all of them wild. I want to blind anyone who dares to look at me. I want eyes as scorching as deserts that havenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t seen rain in years. I want to take this grit and roughness forced under my skin and turn it into a shimmering pearl. I want my suffering to mean more than itself, to do more than rock me softly and sing me into nightmare-filled sleep.

Redemption Ellie Mumma

The Long Winter A Mack L. C.

With each sun that passes, I will try to catch it When finally my pleas can be heard I will call out “Sun warm me for my hands are ice Sun warm me for I am over the night’s breeze Sun warm me for I am ready for tomorrow Sun warm me as you do for those who rise today Sun warm me as you did once Sun warm me for I remember what it felt like Sun warm me” Then gone will be the long chill And heat will drip from every windowsill

Casandra Antzoulatos 6

Hippo Campus Ashira Frager

The beat of the bass is reverberating in my chest, the pounding drums thundering up my legs. I press the vibrations of his voice into the valves of my heart and cry out with my fellows. My blood is filled with iridescent bubbles, cleansing with steady heat the insides of limbs. The face of the brass boy is a cracked mirror. He smooths down the sharp edges of his reflective melody. I try carrying them away in my handbag

Hindsight

Amanda D’Orsi

“What do you want?” came the florist’s defensive greeting. “Well good morning to you, Drew!” “I said, what do you want?” Roy chuckled. His fingers fiddled around with some leaves on the plant next to the cash register. “That’s no way to treat your regulars. Why don’t you ask me what I’m thinking of buying?” “Because I want you out of my sight,” they said. “Ah, but I love it here.” He inhaled, gesturing his arm around the little florist shop, “the flowers smell lovely all the time. You take a deep breath and all that freshness and fragrance fills you right up.” “Roy, you hurt me, do you understand? I know your life is just games and parties to you, but you took things too far last week. You’re so used to special treatment from everyone -- but I refuse to play into that. I’m going to treat you like the selfish jerk you are.” The man leaned his elbows against the counter, pretending he didn’t hear. “And it's peaceful, too. Not too many people inside, so it’s quiet. But enough foot traffic past that open window where it doesn’t feel isolated.” “Why did you come back here?” Drew sounded desperate. Roy’s flashy grin faltered. “I… I had to apologize.” They laughed bitterly. “You? Come to apologize? I must be dreaming. You’ve never felt remorse a day in your life!” Roy opened his mouth, but they continued. “You haven’t changed in all this time. You’re nothing but an arrogant, cowardly --” The little bell above the door tinkled as it let in a family with a few energetic children. “...Hello, welcome to One Hundred Blossoms Florist Shop.” Drew was using their friendly customer-service voice, but it sounded even more strained than usual. The children laughed and chatted and pounded their little sneakers against the tile floor. The woman bustled up to the counter apologizing profusely for their behavior. With many words left in his clamped mouth, Roy took a step to the side so that she could talk to the florist. A pot on the floor surprised him; he went tumbling backwards with a shout. The woman made a

noise in surprise as well, but there was only a small puff of air from Drew. He landed in a pile of leaves, petals, and soil from the overturned plant. “Here, let me help -- o-oh…” Roy heard her stutter a moment as she turned to him. He was used to that, though. The man waved away the hand he assumed she had reached out. “Thank you, I’m fine, really.” The children, excited by the commotion, gathered around Roy. As he expected, their reactions were less subtle than their mother’s. They whispered loudly in awe. “Mommy!” “Yes, honey, now don’t --.” “But his eyes, mommy!” “Look!” “Listen --” “He’s blind!” One of them blurted. The mother frantically hushed her children. Roy cracked a smile. He stood from the mess, brushing himself. “Sorry to disturb you all.” He gave a light wave before wandering through the shop. He did his best to tune out the customer’s loud conversation as he passed by the different displays. By now he knew where everything was, and he breathed in the pleasant smells as he passed each one. This first shelf held hyacinths. He took in a sweet breath. Then there was the row of gardenias. Next came the huge display of roses. They filled the air with a welcoming fragrance. He had learned that the carnations were next, although they didn’t have much of a scent. He passed by peonies and lilies. Daisies and orchids. Lavender and sunflowers. Some of them smelled sharply to him, others seemed faded. The man soon found himself at the front of the shop, at the large window facing the street. Even though they were filled with hanging plants on the inside and sturdy potted ones outside, there was plenty of warm sunlight filtering through onto his skin. He paused for a moment in the heat. He heard hesitant steps from behind him. By the sound of the shoes, it was one of the little children. Roy turned to them, then turned back to the window. He knew his just-slightly-off gaze would freak them out. He reached up, twisting his fingers through the thin vines of the hanging plants. “H-hello mister.” It was a young girl. “Hey there.” There was a pause. The other shop window was open, and

a cool breeze rustled everything in the room. Roy liked the sound. He wondered if he’d ever be back in here after today. “You look sad.” “I am sad.” She said knowingly, “You’re sad because you’re blind.” Roy laughed. “Nah, I don’t mind that at all, actually.” He accidentally snapped some leaves off the stem. He heard the near-silent flutters as they hit the ground. He simply continued playing with the greenery. He figured his response confused the child, because she went silent for a moment. He heard her pick up the leaves at his feet. “...but you can’t see the flowers.” The man wanted to give her his whole beautiful speech on how he could see the flowers, just not in the same way as her, but there came a horrified call from the woman. “Maisie! Maisie do not bother that man! Come here!” There was a huff and a stomp before she bounded over to her mother. “I wasn’t bothering him!” “It’s time to go. Thank you for all your help.” The children’s chatter passed Roy, went underneath the jingling bell, and dulled out the window. The shop became quiet once more. It wasn’t silent; nothing was ever silent. Roy could hear the plants swaying in the breeze. There were people walking by outside. Drew scribbled something down on their big pad of paper. Flowerpots thumped on the back table as they rearranged things. They finally spoke. “Are you just going to stand there all day?” Thump. “Do you have something you wanted to say to me?” Roy could tell they had their back to him. “...I did.” Thump. “Then let’s hear it.” “What happened to you wanting me out of your sight?” Thump. “What happened to you being a decent human being and apologizing?” He shoved his fists in his pockets. “Well if you’re going to be like this, maybe I don’t want to anymore.” Thump. Thump. THUMP. “Okay, then.” Drew’s words trembled. “In that case, I think you should go. I think you should leave and never come back and don’t call me. I want you to take your carelessness and selfishness and

put someone else’s life in danger.” “Drew, you know I didn’t mean t--” “But you did.” Their voice shook violently now. “Get. Out.” Roy stood in the center of the shop for a moment. He knew he could stay and argue. His communication skills were unparalleled, he could certainly argue his side for a long time. But something kept his mouth shut. Something made him turn and begin walking to the door, past the displays. Past the hyacinths, the gardenias, the roses, the carnations. Past the peonies, the lilies, the daisies. Past the orchids and the lavender. Past the sunflowers. He stepped into the sunlight, but it didn’t feel as warm. His hand rested on the doorknob. “Goodbye, Drew.” The apology hung in his throat. But the words never made it to his lips. The bell rang and the door swung shut. Roy was lost in the chaos of the city street.

Amanda D'Orsi

Deaynna Koskulitz

Analisa Yoder

Internal, Eternal Flame Krystal Johnson

Wonderful, awe-inspiring spread of warmth. Passion ignited and endless. Like a spark, like a spark, like a burning inferno roaring too loudly in the ears. Hot and deadly but much too good to run away from. Wanting, and raving mad over your light. Like stupid, ignorant insects drawn to a porch light in the midsummer of youth. Needy, and feeling so needed. The burn of a torch or like thoughts in your brain. Warm to the fingertips, Warm on the tongue. Like too many warm stings down the throat, Like too many warm stings to the eyes from billowing smoke. Hot like the mid-July sunâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s melting popsicles. The heat of surrounding fires. Body heat closer to forever burning Forever closer to scorching, Forever closer to feelings being flayed open on the soul. Closer to just . . . Being your light

Patchwork Beauty

-b.

Who I am and things about me never come up in natural dialogue, only forced conversations Words laced in things that you lose in translation, but sound and look beautiful. That’s how I knew I was meant to be seamstress. I sew questions and answers into the fabric of our conversations without you even knowing My words are the invisible stitch that you don’t mind showing. My life has grown into something poetic and useful like clothing that is family heirloom. My clothes are a lot more open these days that means that more parts of me are on display. That means hips and thighs that get draped in cloth but aren’t hips that move like a genies. I’m still all the hips and thighs that they rave about but that isn’t the only thing you crave about me. I’m mind body and soul. I’m black girl magic and black girl tragedy. I’m a combination of comedic timing as well as dramatic pauses. My world is emotionally blocked I mean color blocked. In my world empty words and broken promises all live in the same dull colored room. I’m kind of like that really bad landlord that gives you that cramped oneperson studio but due to the economy it is a two-person loft with charm. Uncomfortable and too small to grow. I did that on purpose because I don’t want to give those feelings enough room for me to live in because then I feel as though I’m forced to stay. I’m obliged to stay I was raised in a good household that when someone offers you a seat you sit because being uncomfortable is better than offending them.

I don’t want to award the worst things about my life the luxury of my manners. Because then they are seeded in the luxury of my soul and they can’t afford that. It’s all too pricey it’s like a brownstone and they just graduated from college in a degree they designed themselves. So the market for jobs is slim. Spaces in my soul, are slim packed with emotions too raw for you that you sometimes have to shield your eyes from. Too real that if you lose focus you start to blend your reality with the fantasy of me. My soul is like Quilt work: all too intricate but the worse thing parts of me want me to think it is like patchwork that needs constant repair.

Songs from the Island

Casandra Antzoulatos

Cerulean waves spill over the redfish, Carrying it to the sea- the place it belongs. Lavish treasures hide below the surface of the sand. Sarongs laced with gold billow in the dancing wind. Island dreams, faces smiling in the moonbeams. Finned creatures scooped into his experienced hands, Gleams of sunshine- it coats his tongue. Strands of hair stick to their dewy skin. Hung in the trees nearby, In their chain of shells, clinking like bells. Twilight brings a tranquil calm. Smells of crackling fire- where they cooked dinner. Palms pressed together, Ginger curls lay against golden skin. A better partner does not exist, they possess a perfect kiss. They were made to love.

Siren’s Call

Isabel Acosta

Broken seashells in the sand glimmered like glass as the sky poured hues of orange and yellow over the shore. The air was thick, humid, but surprisingly light to my lungs while the salty scent drifted towards my nose. The seagulls created art across the sky with their odd formations that almost created a scene from a movie. I sat down to feel the wet sand beneath my fingers that was kissed by the morning tide. The ocean and all her glory stood swaying in perfect motion to the Earth’s lullaby, and she too glimmered under the rays of the rising sun. The earth was so quiet, but so loud at the same time. Every sound from the waves crashing against one another to the wind’s perfect whistle combined and created a white noise that made my heart feel at peace. I stood up to touch the ocean, and her warm hug engulfed my body with serenity and love. Shells tickled the bottoms of my feet, and I could feel small fish caress my legs every so often as they swam through their glorious home. As the sky began to shift from orange to pink, I looked out across the ocean. There was so much space to conquer here. Beneath this surface were baby whales following their mother, learning of their new home, dolphins that hold their breath for fifteen minutes allowing the water to glaze over their grey bodies, turtles freshly hatched from the eggs of their mother glide into the warm abyss, and every other creature that resided within the salt filled bath of endless possibilities. Laughter filled my mind as I noticed how the still serene ocean contained so much chaos within her walls. She is the mother to all of these creatures, and she holds so many beautiful aspects inside her blissful waves. This was a place of happiness, but it wasn’t at the same time. My eyes opened from their shut stage as I noticed her glimmering waves were haunted by dark black oil and garbage from the humans. The baby whales underneath her skin cry out for their mother who had just been captured and used for her beauty. The dolphins learn to hold their breath longer so they don't have to come in contact with the humans of this world. And the turtles, they fight through the chilling pain of a plastic ring that holds their necks like a child with candy in their hands.

Cans, bags, paper, and more pollution covers the ocean, masking her in a thin film of guilt. What did we do to our ocean? The broken seashells have cut my feet as I begin to run across them. The sand clutches hidden items that do not belong within its mighty hold. The air begins to thicken, as the smoke from factories begins to grey the orange sky, and the white noise becomes a siren that deafens my ears. It becomes harder to breathe through the pollution that drowns my body, and the ocean waves to me but not for comfort. She is drowning as well, and her arms are flailing for help. Why do we do this to our oceans? All the creatures within her scream for a break, but we are the ones that need to stop shutting our eyes and dreaming of perfection. We are the ones that need to realize what we have done to our ocean and her children. Because to us, she is just a part of our world, but to them, she is their only world.

Samantha DeFrancisco

Rest by the Light Megan Flynn

Deaynna Koskulitz

I Stand Tall

Caitlin Friel

I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. It presses down upon me like great boulders, Pulling me ever closer to the cold soil. My knees buckle, giving out under their toil. Then I remember. I hold a powerful history in my veins. A spirit of revolt rumbles in my chest, Raging against my ribs as if they were chains. Irish ancestors watch with the rage of the oppressed. When I go to the sea, the wind and water, Cold, pull at my heart. A seafaring bloodline Thrums in my soul. It welcomes a lost daughter And proud Viking ancestors straighten my spine. On those days when surrender is calling, I feel my back, bent low under the weight. Then I remember my family, watching. I shoulder my burden without debate. I am born of countless generations, of Wrath and ruin, of peace and joy. Their boistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;rous call Reminds me that they look on from above. Like them, I refuse to be cowed. I stand tall.

Wonton Rain

Ashira Frager

There was a sun shower in the Chinese store. Droplets turned golden mixing into noodle soups. Earthy petrichor and underneath it the smell of roast pork and crackling Peking duck.

Casandra Antzoulatos 23

The Mental Health “Care” Marlo Allen

Confession. Vulnerability. Getting Closer to yourself. The hardest part of the journey. But how do you feel when you get comfortable with being vulnerable and there is no one around to listen? Can’t hear well enough without Experience Can’t understand with comfort without Knowledge Can’t sympathize unless the heart is in the Speech, in the soul, Not in the paycheck. Why is there a price of life and living? When will I be “sick enough” for you to ease up? Before or after I’m dead Or when I’ve taken it myself? The body count will continue to grow and pile Unless help becomes less a Luxury, And more a Necessity.

Forgotten Megan Flynn

An Excerpt From “Softball: It’s More Than a Game”

Samantha DeFrancisco

“The best teachers coach their students, and the best coaches are great teachers.” Miss Reuter was my kindergarten teacher, my middle school field hockey coach for three years, and my high school softball coach for four years. Her actual coaching name is Coach Weist, but she will forever be Miss Reuter in my book. She is one of the most loving and inspiring people out there. She has taught me so much from my ABC’s at five years old to how to be the confident, team player I am today. Miss Reuter didn’t start out as a coach, though. She played the game her whole life, went on to play in college and even be inducted into the Glouster County Hall of Fame. She then began umpiring softball games with her parents and sisters. That is when she realized what she had to offer to young female athletes, like me. She wanted to teach us about our character and our confidence, she wanted us to be competitive, but most of all she wanted us to be one team and one family. My freshman through sophomore year, Miss Reuter was the Colts’ cool, relatable assistant coach. She was also our favorite coach. She was the coach we would go to for help in and out of softball. She was like our mom, anything we needed from a Band-Aid to life advice, she had. We had the relationship with her that we couldn’t have with our old man head coach. Finally, my senior season, it was announced that she was the new head coach and from that moment on, I knew that it was going to be the best season yet. In past seasons with our old head coach, JV and Varsity would hardly interact. The only thing that we had in common was the name on the front of our shirts. Varsity wouldn’t talk to JV, we wouldn’t practice with JV, we wouldn’t even sit with JV on the bus. In the back of my head I always knew it was wrong, how would we ever get better as an organization? We wouldn’t. With Miss Reuter, that changed. The Cumberland Regional High School Softball program had changed.

From day one, Miss Reuter explained, “things are going to be different around here. A good different. We are going to be one team. We are going to learn from each other, practice with each other, and support each other. We are going to build a program.” And we did. Varsity and JV not only practiced together, but the Cumberland Regional Softball team was finally together as one. It started out with us just cheering here and there together. That soon led to all-out karaoke bus rides where everyone, and I mean everyone, sang. The playlist ranged from High School Musical to Carrie Underwood. My best karaoke experience was when Miss Reuter sang with me to Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats.” From our hourlong, karaoke- filled bus ride before our first win at Triton, I knew that we were finally one team. My all-time favorite high school memory was the Delsea game. Delsea was our rival for years. We never beat Delsea, like ever. Before the game I remember Miss Reuter saying, “it’s just another game. Everyone do their thing and we got this.” I’m not entirely sure that we all believed it, but that’s what we did. We all contributed in some way, shape, or form. If you bobbled a ball, someone was there to back you up. If you didn’t get a hit, you at least moved the runner. If you weren’t in the starting nine, you were screaming as loud as you could to cheer your teammates on and to distract Delsea. The final score was six to two. We didn’t have voices. We had finally done it. We played as a team and we beat Delsea. So many talented players have gone through the Cumberland Softball program, but none of them could ever say that they beat Delsea. But we could. We did. We beat Delsea. Out of everything that happened in my four years of high school, nothing will ever compare to that moment. It didn’t bother me for one second that I had gone 0-3 that game, we played as a team and won, that is what mattered to me. The stats weren’t important, it was the memories that I shared with my teammates that I will remember forever. I wish I had five more minutes back in that Cumberland Colts uniform. Miss Reuter always tells me that “five more minutes wouldn’t be enough.” However, I know that when May rolls around, I’ll be back at Cumberland cheering on my old teammates, sharing laughs, and having karaoke battles with them. Until then, I will use the lessons she taught me and the confidence she gave me and put that on the field here at Rosemont.

Analisa Yoder

Najah Coon

Tell Me

Anonymous

Oh, sweet Cupid Master and Surveyor of our feeble hearts. Grant me eyes so that I may see. Grant me access into your all-knowing. Rain your voice down from the Heavens and tell me. Tell me, oh gracious Cupid Bring her heavenly light down on me. Bring her close So that I may reach out and grasp her Hold onto her and never let go. Hear my name upon her lips in a whisper As she flies above me into momentary bliss. Tell me, tell me. Give me the first syllable. Then the next. Then the next. Then the next until I have a name. 30

A name. I need a name I want a name. I will search with joyous desperation My heart screaming for its other half. Tell me her name Oh Generous Cupid. Grant me Eternal happiness with but a letter. Look upon me in my loneliness And grant me a Reprieve. Surely she’s lonely Too. Maybe she needs this Too. Maybe she needs me. Perhaps she’s looking for My name. Perhaps she’s praying Praying for my name. My syllable. My body. Tell me Merciful Cupid. Tell me she is looking For me too. Tell me that she cares For me too. Tell me that…that she knows I exist. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Please. 31

You Would Think That My Inner Monologue Would Be More Consistent Than My Speech, but You’d Be Wrong Amanda D’Orsi

wide awake at witching hour unwilling to move or mourn just waiting to be paper-torn wide awake at witching hour still waiting for my sunflower

She’s running from backs in the distance, And I, from edelwood trees. I’ve already caught myself some nights Coughing up those autumn leaves, And looking out to the sea. I’m reaching fingers clumsily Through knotted things like threads and strings, And yards of yearning yarn in rings Wrapped round my ribs in agony: Cat’s cradle across my chest cavity. A bridge held up by cables; A bridge shifting -- unstable. -- You must wait -- -- Too much weight -- I hear the cables as they break With every careful step you take -- I cannot cross the widening gap -- Snap. Snap. Snap.

I forget there are ghosts who live in my phone Their names and their smiles buried deep in my files None of them willing to leave me alone Green lights in my peripheral vision Each decision does nothing to make them fade; Each decision aided and swayed with a purple light; Many midnights made bright with the yellow glows Of cheap plastic cosmos. If I close my eyes I can nearly hear the Voice that calls you as it calls me clearly; It speaks into the darkness of the night, saying only: â&#x20AC;&#x153;You are the lightâ&#x20AC;?

Overgrown Megan Flynn

Starvation

Melisandra Paulson

Old scars splitting open. Acid digesting the lining of my stomach where ulcers bloom like roses until I shrink to an X-ray. Frostbitten limbs, then organs flickering out one by one like the lights in an abandoned building. The valves that keep my heart beating like an awkward drum solo are the last thing my body consumes.

Casandra Antzoulatos 34

Coffee Shop, Scene 1

Kylie Mountain

Natalie walked through the basement door, sighing tiredly. “Whoever invented SAT prep had a screwed-up sense of humor.” Brand glanced up momentarily from the notebook he was scribbling in. “Rough day?” “The worst. And I feel like I haven’t slept in a week.” Most people would have expressed some sympathy; Brand looked down at his notebook, made another notation, and took a sip from the half-full coffee mug beside him. Natalie’s gaze drifted longingly from the mug to the coffeepot in the corner of the room. “Don’t suppose I could grab a cup of that?” She gestured halfheartedly to the carafe, not holding out much hope. When it came to his expensive gourmet coffee, Brand didn’t share. Band practices in his basement studio were strictly Bring Your Own Caffeine. “Go ahead.” Nat just stared at him for a moment, certain she’d heard him wrong. “Seriously?” “Sure. Knock yourself out.” Perplexed but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Nat went over to the coffeepot and grabbed a spare mug. Picking up the carafe, she was about to pour herself a cup when a voice from the doorway ordered, “Don’t drink that.” Nat turned, and saw Margo outlined in the light from the stairs. She gestured to the carafe still in Natalie’s hand. “You don’t want that, trust me.” “Actually, I kind of do. I had about three hours of sleep last night, Margo.” “Then get one of my green teas from the fridge. That coffee’s Death Wish, I can smell it from here.” She came the rest of the way in, glaring chidingly at her brother, who stared back, unrepentant. Briskly crossing the room, she removed the coffeepot from Natalie’s grip, set it back down on the stand, and reached down to the shelf under the table, producing a bag of coffee beans with a big skull and crossbones on the front. “One cup of this and you’d be bouncing off the ceiling—and driving Helen insane when she

gets here, which I’m guessing was the point.” She eyed Brand again; he shrugged. “Maybe.” “If you have to make her crazy, could you leave the rest of us out of it?” Nat was still looking doubtfully at the bag, then at Brand. “You’re not exactly bouncing off the ceiling.” Another shrug. “The advantages of tolerance.” Margo rubbed her forehead like she was getting a headache. “That stuff is going to give you a heart attack. That’s the third cup I’ve seen you drink today, and I don’t even want to know how much you have at work.” Brand just rolled his eyes. “Speaking of work, remind me to take my backpack tomorrow. I have homework I need to start on during my lunch break.” He made a face. “There aren’t enough hours in the day at the moment.” “Why don’t you cut back on your work hours?” They all jumped at the sound of Kevin’s voice; no one had seen him come in. Brand sighed. “We’re already short staffed. I’m taking as few as I can as it is.” Nat raised an eyebrow, perversely impressed. She didn’t know how Brand had time to sleep under normal circumstances, between their band, his cross-country running, his full load of advanced classes, and working at his after-school job at a local upscale coffee shop. If even he couldn’t wedge everything in, the situation must be bad. Kev grinned sheepishly. “Maybe this is stupid, but… any chance I could pick up some of those shifts? I’m pretty broke right now, and no one’s hiring.” Brand leaned back in his chair. “To quote the Magic 8-Ball: Outlook not so good. Maggie’s… picky about her hires. She likes to see some passion for the coffee.” Kevin held up his Starbucks cup in answer, but Brand just snorted. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, whatever ungodly mix of chemicals and corn syrup is in there, it’s not coffee.” Kev shrugged and took a sip. “Tastes enough like it for me.” Brand sighed again. “Spoken like someone who’s never had the real stuff.” “What, this?” Margo held up the bag of Death Wish. “It’s like drinking caffeine pills.” “Give me that.” Her brother swiped the bag from her hand and stood up to put it back on the shelf. Natalie sighed, gazing longingly at

the pot of coffee for a moment before going to the mini-fridge and fishing out a bottle of tea. “Should’ve stopped at Burger King. They have good coffee.” Brand flopped back into his chair and banged his forehead down on the desk. “You guys are killing me.” Nat just grinned. “I’m incorrigible. Sue me.” Kev, meanwhile, had wandered over to the desk and picked up Brand’s mug. Ignoring the glare he was getting from Brand, he inhaled deeply, then frowned. “This actually tastes decent?” Brand sat up and removed the mug from Kev’s hand, then took a deep swallow and sighed contentedly. “About as good as it gets. Strong as all get out. Not bitter, not burnt—just power.” Seeing Kev’s skepticism, he admitted with a wry half smile, “Not to everybody’s taste, though—a lot of coffee people like something with more flavor. Lily, the other barista at the shop—she’s nuts for the floral notes. Everyone’s got their thing.” Kev raised an eyebrow. “So is the Starbucks a ‘thing?’” Brand just groaned. “The Starbucks is not a ‘thing’, it’s a plague.” Then he paused. As if something had occurred to him, he turned an appraising look on Kev. “What?” Brand sighed again. “Tell you what. Come down to the shop around 3 and we’ll see. Impress me and I might talk to Maggie about the job. Deal?” Kev wasn’t sure what ‘impress me’ meant, and wasn’t sure he wanted to, but his discretionary income was currently nil; any chance at a job was better than none. “Deal.” “Just don’t bring that cup. Maggie’s deathly allergic to gross chain coffee.”

Paths of Fire

Annette Kempf

The sky is full of eyes. Cast your gaze heavenward, Search beyond invisible gates of pearl— Night inherits from faded day Dusk—remnants of sun, pinions of red, A scarlet and gilded raiment for the mighty shoulders of mountains. Cling to the highest peak and know This is our only headstone. Earth to space, From one grave to another, Find in deep darkness the crypt of stars. Dead light, dim— Streams of flickering gold, The swan song of an old flame, Fated, fervent, bursting into dust, Listen to the dying words of a long-departed star. And who is your master? Is the sky endless space? Tell me, what is this dwelling of ours, Swollen with flame and vast, pinpoint start, A delve into black, where you plunge like us, Pilgrims of the deep, Limbless and blazing, through pathways of fire? We have crept along our threads like spiders, Abyss above and beneath, All hell up and down, Earth to space, From one grave to another, So, tell me why We scurry over cosmic thumbprints And cast our gaze downward from the burning eyes of God?

Insecure

Marlo Allen

It recognizes my thumbprint

To unlock the key to Self-deprivation. I wish it were more simple. Loving yourself. It’s harder to undo the damage because you can’t put bandaids over stab wounds. Why, why why why why why why why don’t I? how how how how how how can I obtain? It be easier to choose the features you want and toss the ones you despise. I could cut them away and deal with the pain of recovery. But my mind will still say, “Trick or Treat?” and choose Trick. You could still hold onto the tedious fight of Self-Love But why why why why why can’t it just happen like the flicker of a lightbulb of knowledge and Epiphany. The hare rushed in the race and fell asleep, but maybe he just wanted the chance to feel Validation faster than Patience? No one would openly choose the Tortoise. Can I just have one minute of Serenity? Of inner Peace? Or maybe two minutes… Or 525,600… Or 200,000,000 minutes of the PEACE that seems so easy to have and even harder to get? Self-Love is at the finish line. Taking the first step Is difficult. And tedious. And retched… but I like the end of the book than where I began. Middle feels too long.

Golden Hour

Krystal Johnson

When souls dance across sunset beams When lights are reflected off the sea of dreams. When brown eyes are shining with freckles of gold When hands are collided, and truths we uphold. When violence rests, hearts and souls are delivered. When marks of yore no longer make us shiver. When hearts race and bodies meet Between boundaries and star dust and heaven sweet. When serotonin and love is the balance of choice Where ecstasy stops the mindâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s meddling voice When the sun is blessed, and perfect anew. This time is adorned in yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s revenue. Being like your stars Being like your brightest sun.

Following Two Moons Megan Flynn 40

Fire and Ice Ellie Mumma

Grandma & Grandpa’s

Isabel Acosta

“I’ll be back mom, I’m going to go get something to eat.” I grabbed my cell phone as I began walking down the street of the new town that I would call home. Windshaw was a very small town in the middle of Arizona, and I instantly became captivated. The sun beamed on my skin as the hot summer air coursed through my body. Every restaurant I walked by didn’t seem to catch my attention, but as I walked a little further, I spotted an old run down building named, “Grandma’s and Grandpa’s.” The building looked closed, but I decided to cross the street to see if anyone was inside. To my surprise, a small building held about seven people inside. “Hello,” an older woman with a warm smile greeted me as I walked in, “We don’t get a lot of customers as young as you in here often.” I took a look around and noticed that the woman was right. “Are you new in town?” The gray haired lady asked, and I nodded at the woman’s question. “Well come on, darling, I’ll take you to a table.” The woman guided me to a small table by a window, and I sat down shy and nervous at my obvious non-local appearance. “What’s your name?” I asked looking up at the gray haired woman. “You can call me Grandma.” I smiled as she handed me a menu. “I’m Rachel.” I stated as I began looking at the menu. I ordered my meal of tomato soup and grilled cheese, and Grandma walked to the back of the building. I took a look at my surroundings again. Everyone looked so happy, and everything felt right. There was a couple eating ice cream as they laughed to their own

conversation, and behind them was an older man who was reading a newspaper. I was released from my thoughts as Grandma came back with my food, which was very quick. “So if you’re Grandma, where is Grandpa?” I asked, stirring my soup. “Oh, he already lived his time on the earth. He’s up above watching what he created in this world.” She gazed out the window, as if reminiscing on the memories with her love. “I’m sorry I asked.” I lowered my head, feeling bad. “Oh no, Honey. You’re completely fine! He and I created this home together. We wanted people to have a place where they could feel safe, loved, and comfortable. We never wanted any of the money from this. All we wanted was to make a family with our customers. He and I had an amazing 60 years together, yet we never had any children of our own. I guess you can say that is why we wanted to create our own family with this building.” A small smile grew on her face as her eyes focused on the world around her. My eyes teared up as I looked at the elderly woman. This was her home, the only last remains of her husband. I understand why people come here now, for the love it gives. To Grandma we weren’t just customers, we were family as well. She walked away as I began to eat my meal and when I finished my food, I walked up to Grandma and asked her how much I owed her. “Remember what I said? We didn’t want the money, only the love. You owe me nothing, Honey. You never will. As long as I put a smile on your face, that is enough payment for me.” I felt her sincerity with every word as I gave her a hug and promised to come see her again. She gave me a nod, and I walked out the building. My heart was happy but not complete, so I decided to turn around to go back inside the building. I looked inside to make sure Grandma wasn’t around, and then I walked over to the booth with my dishes. I slipped a 20 under the bowl and wrote, “For all the love a Grandma gives” on it. I then walked out of the building, heading home and already thinking about going to see Grandma again tomorrow.

“How was lunch?” My mother asked sipping coffee from a red mug. “It was nice. I really like it here.” I answered sitting down at the table. “Oh yeah? Did you make any new friends while you were out?” She raised her eyebrows looking up from her phone. “Just one, but I know there will be more.” I smiled as I looked at my mother and walked upstairs with a happy heart and full stomach.

Najah Coon

Samantha DeFrancisco 45

thorn

Rosemont's Literary and Art Magazine

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