Labrys Smith College 2019

Page 1

LABRYS SPRING 2019 VOLUME XVII

LABRYS Volume XVII

Spring 2019. Labrys was founded in 2001 by Tammis Day, Margot Atwell, and Rose Ellen Epstein. It is currently Smith’s only student-run publication of art and creative writing. Our mission is to share uncensored work produced by our students with the greater community.

Editor in Chief Mayrose Beatty Vice President Addie Model Art & Design Direction Adela Goldsmith Treasurer Emma Paradies

Contents “Thirsting” - Kat Mullins “Ghost Writer” - Ella Perkins “Salt” - Laurel Kruger “Cannibal” - Cressida Blake Roe “Only Her Shadow Noticed” - Claire Haug “Domesticity” - Kat Mullins “Witch Sisters” - Courtney Arnold “Bach” - Ariella Heise “Morning Light” - Claire Eberman “Untitled” - Chloe-Rose Crouch “self-portrait” - Mary McGing “Evolution” - Ariel Hirschhorn “my grandmother’s legacy” - Erin Sulla “Savoir” - Cressida Blake Roe “Terra Mater” - Erin Sulla “Ode to My Aunts” - Kat Mullins “Where I Am From” - Alex Caba “Ukiah” - Ariella Heise “Family Property” - Ariel Hirschhorn

9 10 11 12 14 15 16 17 18 21 22 23 24 26 27 31 32 33 34

“The Transplant” - Sage Theune “70 degrees and sunny in November” - Emma Paradies Untitled - Stella Plenk “Melt” - Laurel Kruger “pearl” - Erin Sulla Untitled - Stella Plenk “The Bonds that Run Centuries Deep” - Emily Luong “Queen of a Lonely Heart” - Julia Xu “Eyes of the Tiger” - Ella Perkins “A Transfer” - Trinity Rollins “At the Center” - Claire Haug “Lazarus” - Amadea Bartle “Untitled” - Ariella Heise Cover: “At the Center of All Things There Lies a Single Red Sun” - Claire Haug

35 38 39 40 42 44 45 56 57 58 59 60 63

Letter from the Editor: Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos; the materials must, in WKH ÀUVW SODFH EH DIIRUGHG LW FDQ JLYH IRUP WR GDUN VKDSHOHVV substances but cannot bring into being the substance itself. — Mary Shelley, )UDQNHQVWHLQ (1818) This year’s edition of Labrys is the best kind of ‘chaos.’ It is the culmination of a year collecting these ‘materials’ to bring a full ‘form’ ‘into being.’ It is not a literal Creature made of sewn-together body parts—for better or worse—but it is our own (hopefully happier) creation. Individually, each poem, short story, and piece of art is far from being a ‘dark, shapeless substance’: each is remarkable and viscerally emotional on its own. My hope is that you see the connections between works DQG WKH LQWHQWLRQ EHKLQG WKHLU XQLÀFDWLRQ DV \RX UHDG Thank you to every artist and author for sharing and trusting us with your creations this year. Thank you to everyone who helped to edit this edition, and to the Labrys board for helping with the chaos and for your LQVSLULQJ LGHDV DQG VXSSRUW LQ P\ ÀUVW \HDU DV HGLWRU A special thank you to Adela Goldsmith, our art editor, for your invaluable support and incredible layout designing; I hope you are proud of this culmination of your hard work. 7KDQN \RX WR RXU UHDGHUV , KRSH WKDW \RX ÀQG WKLV &UHDWXUH as chaotically beautiful as I do. Your readership is what truly brings it to life. Mayrose Beatty ‘20

Thirsting

Kat Mullins ‘ 20 I have been thirsting for years Licking shower mist off the corners of the mirror :KR LV WKDW VKH LQ P\ UHÁHFWLRQ ORRNLQJ VR FOHDQ I, Her, and no even breaks Nothing like the snap of a carrot stick I was nursing on the bougainvillea Like honey suckle and getting pricked Sucking on my blood like I would drag your heart Out from her chest and swallow it into my own I taste lungs and pollen She, Her, looking through the bottom of the glass And straight into my wine sodden eyes drooping Better now to be awake and watch you leave When I dream you stay and stay and Stay the night what could one night hurt I have already lost my kidney to you and my Everything melting down the side of a candle :KDW WKH ÀUH WDNHV IURP P\ KHDG LW PHOWV WR \RXU KLSV You, Her, making fuck me eyes and staring through me Throwing plates against the wall walking through The rubble of my house, the only house I’ve ever known, Like your blood is nothing and its rivers don’t haunt me Who is the ghost I, Me, begging for a drink Drowning in the mirror with so many (\HV EXUQLQJ RXW RI P\ UHÁHFWLRQ One for every false prophet That said forever and meant Nothing is certain except the way the sun looks On your bare back when I watch you sleeping Except the heat on my back in the early morning Accept the heat and drink, and drink, 9

Ghost Writer

(OOD 3HUNLQV ¶

10

Salt

Laurel Kruger ‘22 You spit at my feet Then knelt And dried them with your hair You spread your cloak across the mud in my path But when I walked across You berated me For I had ruined your cloak You paid me in salt And like a good soldier I climbed your garden wall while you slept $QG SRXUHG P\ VDODU\ LQWR \RXU ÁRZHUEHGV

11

CANNIBAL

&UHVVLGD %ODNH 5RH ¶ Wait Because even though I’m not ready for you That doesn’t mean I can Bear to watch your back— A softness disturbed by the points Of shoulder blades— Disappear from my vision ––Two eyes, a world–– Tunneled into my carnivore’s face My anchored head cannot swivel On the plinth of my neck Weighted, draggled by my jowls I’m sorry my words I’m sorry my face Can’t keep you here This affectation of apology Baits you with weakness; can it Bring you between my open jaws? 7HHWK VXQNHQ LQWR \RXU OHDWKHU ÁHVK Tongue dried on your blood Be my ghost and remind me of matter Wait 12

Additionally, you may ask, what was the price of agreement? A simple word, Yes, far easier to form, than No—a hard knock against the hard palate—it pressures, it hurts. Yes sounds so much simpler, so soft, sibilant, sliding out through the gaps between teeth; lips barely parted for articulation. Withholding the word meant withholding the breath; how long can a woman survive without air? How long must we persist without Breathing, before the heaving of lungs can resume without the danger of syllables?

13

Only Her Shadow Noticed Claire Haug ‘20

14

Domesticity Kat Mullins ‘20

3XVK \RXU ÀQJHUV DJDLQVW WKH LQVLGH RI P\ FKHHNV Tongue to palm and the taste of metal. If you pull hard enough you will catch my lungs. 7KH\ FRPH RXW à DSSLQJ ZHWO\ DJDLQVW WKH FHUDPLF WLOHV 'Hà DWHG VDFV WZLWFKLQJ OLNH HOHFWURFXWHG ÀVK The caulking between the tiles used to be white Before the meal making silt, the coffee grounds, 5\H à RZHU DQG PRODVVHV EHGGHG GRZQ LQ WKH VKDOORZ JXOOLHV Now our kitchen counter is a city plan from space. The blocks allocated neatly by the asphalt highways. I am renaming this counter in honor of its architect. I will call her: Aesthetically Minimalist God And lovingly wipe her down with a new sponge and 409. Only the best for my home town. Every night you ask what’s for dinner. I unhinge my jaw and use the salad tongs To extract my lower left molars, Wipe my chin with a damp towel And place the teeth in the corner of a tile. Look, honey, look at what I built today, But you are hungry. Not the right eye, I ask, I need the right eye so when I slip out of bed At three a.m. and press my sweating head against The cool white counter I can see the shadowy skyline Of my city with the faint halo of microwave light. The fridge hums; a storm is brewing in the freezer. 7KH ÀUVW FKXUFK KDV EHHQ HUHFWHG 7KH FUXVWHG Root of my tooth pierces the stale air. You say you’ll save the eye for later, Lean for a kiss and eat my tongue instead. 15

Witch Sisters

Courtney Arnold ‘20 I told you there was an angel in your room. I sat across from him, the candle in my hand lighting the space between us, wax drooling off into my palm from WKH ÁDPH·V GDQFLQJ WRQJXH DV LW WULHG to gasp for any air it could get. 7KH FRORUV UHÁHFWHG RII KLV ZLQJV DV \RX dipped your red brush into blue to make the plum lips of your acrylic mother. When you charcoal-sketched the cigarette into her hand, he pulled one out of his white robe pocket, and lit it with the light from his halo. When you worked yourself to a sweat stippling in the cheekbone’s shadow, he exhaled, and a breeze bustled through the window, followed by the smell of summer FHGDU ÀUHV DQG WZR QRWH FULFNHW melodies. When you reached for your water to drink, he pushed it closer to you so that you wouldn’t accidentally sip from your paint water. When he touched the glass, its contents turned to wine. 16

I told you his name was Thomas. Without looking over, you corrected me-- his name was Paul. Thomas was his middle name.

Bach

Ariella Heise ‘22

17

Morning Light Clare Eberman ‘20

The world was cold and dark, and for just a moment everything was still. The thrumming within her blood calmed. Her muscles relaxed and her mind quieted. The dawn was a mere moment away, but for now she basked in the fading starlight of the wintery night that shone down on her. The skylight had not been her idea, but after spending nearly two weeks in the cabin it had grown on her. Waking up with the rising sun, once a begrudging task, was now a welcome daily ritual. The sunlight trickled through casting the room into an orange hue. If Jade were to describe the feeling of warmth, it would be in that moment when the room burned brightly. Within seconds the sun would crest over the mountain, hitting just the right angle to spill over the window sill DQG GLUHFWO\ LQWR KHU H\HV 6KH WUHDVXUHG WKHVH ÀQDO TXLHW PRPHQWV EHIRUH WKH GD\ RIÀFLDOO\ EHJDQ 7KH\ DIIRUGHG KHU time to catalogue the day ahead, the necessary tasks to keep up the cabin and keep herself warm and the indulgent tasks to keep her grounded and happy. Her mother had suggested the month long stay in the family’s cabin; she thought it would help her daughter regain a sense of normalcy. Jade’s mother ZDV D ÀUP EHOLHYHU LQ WKH KHDOLQJ SRZHU RI QDWXUH -DGH ZDV D skeptic, but willing to try almost anything to feel whole again. Jade snuggled down in the bed, tucking the multiple quilts stacked on the bed tightly around her body. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the cold mountain air that seeped WKURXJK DQ\ FUDFN LW FRXOG ÀQG LQ WKH ZDOOV 7KH FDELQ ZDV D meager sight to behold. One room with four outside walls, limited insulation. A makeshift bathroom was shoved into one corner, consisting of a composting toilet, a basin, and a converted horse troth that served as the bath and the shower. 18

A wooden folding shade was the only privacy provided. A wood burning stove, on the wall with the front door, served as the main source of warmth within the cabin. An ice box and a few cabinets completed the kitchen. In the corner opposite of the bed, there was a large bay-window that looked out over the mountainous landscape. A simple desk with a dusty typewriter sat in front of it. While the cabin was lacking in most creature comforts, it did have a large supply of books. Books were her father’s favorite possessions; he hoarded them refusing to ever part with one. He was not a materialistic man, he had minimal things and the most limited wardrobe Jade had ever seen, but books were his guilty pleasure. The only book he was allowed to have as a child was the Bible and when he reached adulthood, he scavenged for the knowledge he felt had been kept from him. In college, he could be found asleep in the library with books stacked in a ring around him. That’s how he met Jade’s mother; she worked in the library on weekends to help supplement the cost of schooling. She kicked him out of the library on multiple ocFDVLRQV ,W ZDV DURXQG WKH ÀIWK WLPH VKH GLG WKLV KLP VLWWLQJ RQ the stone steps with her hovering over him, that he mustered XS WKH FRXUDJH WR DVN KHU RXW 2I FRXUVH WKHLU ÀUVW GDWH ZDV DW a bookstore. This was Jade’s favorite bedtime story as a child, she giggled at the idea of her hippy mother throwing her giant of a father out of a building. In her childish mind, her mother SK\VLFDOO\ à XQJ KLP IURP WKH VWHSV RI WKH EXLOGLQJ 6KH ZRXOG EXUVW LQWR ÀWV RI ODXJKWHU HYHU\ WLPH VKH LPDJLQHG WKLV KDOWLQJ the bedtime rituals until her father was able to calm her down. Bookshelves that her father painstakingly built lined WKH ZDOOV RI WKH FDELQ +LV ERRNV ÀOOHG HYHU\ VSDFH 6RPH RI the shelves were two books deep, a practice that Jade detested DV LW PDGH LW LPSRVVLEOH WR ÀQG WKH ERRN VKH ZDQWHG +HU IDWKHU did not believe in organization, he preferred a more organic approach to shelving his books. 19

:KHQ KH Ă€QLVKHG D ERRN KH VLPSO\ SODFHG LW LQ DQ\ RSHQ VSDFH KH FRXOG Ă€QG RQ WKH VKHOYHV 2QH VXPPHU ZKHQ she was in high school, Jade undertook the task of organizing the cabin’s books. She pulled each and every one from the shelf and carefully categorized them by genre and then by author. By the next summer all of her hard work was completely undone by her father’s inability to put a book back where he found it. Jade fumed when she saw what he had done. He wasn’t even conscientious of what he was doing, making it impossible for Jade to stay mad at him. Books both old and new, paperback and hardback, broken spines, with missing pages, torn pages, or with mangled covers were welcome within his library. He did not discriminate against an ugly or damaged book, though he would become mad if someone damaged one of his books further. Jade gazed out at the shelves and smiled. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had done enough crying over the past six months to last a lifetime. She allowed herself to sit with her sadness and welcome it back like an old friend, but she would not let it have her tears. She feared that if she started, she may never be able to stop. She knew he wouldn’t want that. He never could stand to see her cry. She brushed one rouge tear from her cheek and pushed herself up in bed. The cabin smelled like her father and the books that VXUURXQGHG KHU IHOW OLNH D Ă€QDO ZDUP KXJ IURP KLP 7KH FDELQ was an extension of his being and Jade was comforted to know that her father’s presence was all around her. The sunlight SRXUHG LQ Ă€OOLQJ WKH VPDOO URRP DQG -DGH¡V EULJKW EOXH H\HV with the morning light.

20

Untitled

&KORH 5RVH &URXFK ¶ -

21

self-portrait

0DU\ 0F*LQJ Âś

22

Evolution

Ariel Hirschhorn ‘22 I want to live everything backwards DQG , PHDQ ,·G JHW P\ QRVH SLHUFHG ZKHQ ,·P HLJKW\ ÀYH barely speaking out a mealy mash of garble till the nose piercing fell out and gabber would turn into words, crudely fashioned, like Adam’s form and I’d learn to count the endless cathedrals: broken down glass and ironwork sticking out like a skeleton assembled without directions I’m learning the names of things I forgot into extinction an orange un-rots on the countertop , JURZ WHQ ÀQJHUV DQG XQJURZ WKHP The world sips and boils down a cosmic broth licking what’s left of yesterday’s teeth I’m a baby with a graduate degree I’m a fetus with the entire contents of the Internet I’m cells of every galaxy I’m a few atoms of God

23

my grandmother’s legacy (ULQ 6XOOD ¶

go ahead, call your friend a bitch i’m ten and i can say it too BITCH it feels nice rolling off my tongue but when i’m twelve the boys can say it too so i bow my head and shut my mouth JUDQGPD VDLG LW ÀUVW VR LW PXVW EH ULJKW go ahead, call your friend fat L·P ÀIWHHQ DQG WKDW ZRUG GRHVQ·W DIIHFW PH FAT i weigh 90 pounds EXW L FDQ·W ÀW LQWR P\ PRWKHU·V ZHGGLQJ GUHVV did you call her fat once did it feel nice when it rolled off your tongue JUDQGPD VDLG LW ÀUVW VR LW PXVW EH ULJKW tell me the story of how you two met i’ve heard it before you both went to the same college mary and joseph, the perfect couple straight out of the bible, isn’t that sweet

24

go ahead, yell at my mother now i can yell at her too you raised three daughters rich hippie unemployed guess which one is mine now take another sip this isn’t communion wine (i won’t tell) it’s 1981 and my mother is vomiting in a frat house someone takes her home it’s 2018 and my grandmother pours another glass i want to go home go ahead, say what you want i’m twenty-one and i’m turning into you i am my mother i am my grandmother i am whatever you call me now i know: i am a woman and i am a bitch JUDQGPD VDLG LW ÀUVW VR LW PXVW EH ULJKW

25

SAVIOUR

&UHVVLGD %ODNH 5RH Âś at the altar you break me OLNH ZDIHUV Ă HVK VSOLW DQG FRQVXPHG D VDFULĂ€FH not of want but of need. slow regret and despair as I rise, dripping red, from the chalice of your mockery. the bitter draught of poison VWDLQV WKH SXULW\ RI YLUJLQ VDFULĂ€FHV open your mouth: digest me. taste the old wine just poured from the new skins. at this Eucharist, we lie about whose body, whose blood drips across the tongue and teeth of the late-coming worshipper. o saviour, saviour, forgive us when we have sinned, for we know what it is we are doing.

26

Terra Mater

(ULQ 6XOOD ¶

27

28

29

30

Ode to My Aunts Kat Mullins ‘20

Oh, The Big Knuckled Women Whose breasts drag from their collar bones Whose bones ache and creek like rocking chairs Praise be to ever brewing coffee pots To margarine butter and near death experiences Raise high an aged and barren womb That is tired of bringing forth fruit and so Pits the peaches and packs them in cans For next year’s fresh bread mornings May there always be a footstool for your bunioned feet A kid to do your dishes and then disappear Glory be to the crow’s feet at the corners of your eyes That watched baby’s progress from cradle to grave May we not strive for eternal youth but quick descent :LWK JUDFH DQG ÁDEE\ QHFNV DQG VDOW DQG SHSSHU KDLU Hallowed are the mothers who wept At the death of their mothers and brothers and children The gutted and hitched breath of an aching chest From too many cigarettes Blessed are the thin-lipped loud-mouthed aunts Whose sharp words cut card decks and banish platitudes With the shaking out of their dusty rug tongues, teeth white and fake And old tales of dead dogs sitting around kitchen tables Pray to aunt Marian and Muriel To grandma Katherine and Cheryl When your white shirt is stained beyond repair Pray for low electric bills and that your jelly will set May the ladies of dust and baby lotion heed our prayer Ah, Ah, Amen 31

Where I Am From $OH[ &DED ¶

Where I am from, there are no stoplights But there are mountains and women who Assume I am a boy because my ears don’t sparkle Where I am from it is as hot as death At noon and as cold as dying at night But man, the tamales Where I am from the people are so kind Maybe as compensation for how violent their church sermons become Where I am from I have to say zee instead of zed And there are castles whose names I can still pronounce but could never spell Where I am from the land feels so kind But I do no trust the people that grow from it Where I am from it is devastatingly green With giant plants the world doesn’t need Where I am from time doesn’t feel quite right Where I am from they say I am not quite right Eventually, maybe, I will stop wondering Where I am from

32

Ukiah

Ariella Heise ‘22

33

Family Property Ariel Hirschhorn ‘22

DUMPED! Tumbled out through an open window sitting ass-backward on the shifty grass that asks too many questions. A truck lets out a low rumble: the remnants of yesterday's supper (hot corn meal) chewed and grinded up into a viscous soup. I’m gonna be a debutante cascade that old wooden staircase each rickety step’s gonna make my ankles quake so I’ll snap my heels off and eat them I’ll melt down the salad fork into a silver pendant that hangs hot around my breasts swinging rhythmically like my father's footsteps I’m gonna need a new dress, though all I have is spit-shine and closed teeth that grit brightly under the desert sand I return to the open window, FXUWDLQV ÁXWWHULQJ OLNH two lips under breath I’ll sew my dress outta those 34

The Transplant 6DJH 7KHXQH Âś

7KH ÀUVW WLPH , WRRN \RXU IRUP , ZHQW WR WKH SDUN \RXU parents brought you to when you were young. I sat on your favorite bench and picked the dandelions that grew below it, brushing their small and velvety petals against the whorls of \RXU ÀQJHUWLSV WKH ZD\ \RX GLG ZKHQ \RX ZHUH VPDOO <RXU hands are beautiful, you know. Out of all the people I’ve beFRPH \RX KDYH P\ IDYRULWH SDLU <RXU ÀQJHUV HVSHFLDOO\³ORQJ DQG GHOLFDWH ÀQJHUV DV GDUN DV WKH ULFK VRLO \RX WDPS GRZQ around your potted plants. It’s a shame how you use those ÀQJHUV VXIIRFDWLQJ WKHP LQ PHPEUDQH WKLQ JORYHV WKDW EDUHO\ GXOO WKH VHQVDWLRQ RI à XLGV DQG ZDVWH DV \RX WRLO DZD\ IRU WKH sick, the bloodied, the ones with the cracked skulls and bileUDZ WKURDWV , UHPHPEHU ORRNLQJ DW \RXU ÀQJHUV WLQWHG VRIW pollen yellow, and thinking: when these hands are truly mine, I’ll give them a better fate. The mothers down the hill began to stare up with wary eyes and I remembered the way you hold yourself: still, deliberate—the kind of posture not welcome from a childless man at a playground. I knew the possibilities that lay within a paranoid 911 call and although they were tempting, I was not yet ready to have you face them. I pocketed the dandelion and left. You don’t know this, of course, but your parents still live in the same house, three blocks away from that park. The denim collar of your jacket brushed against the body’s neck as I walked. Your clothes were easy to recreate, much easier than many of those before you. Take the girl who always wore expensive silk dresses; I dissolved away from your world and practiced for days before I got all the details right, all the lace and petticoats. But with your simple clothes, it was almost instant, like a magician pulling a scarf from a hat (although you 35

and I both know the secret behind that). I don’t think your jacket suits you, but it is a part of you, so I wore it happily in its awkwardness. The day was overcast and cool, of course. You never would’ve gone to the park in the heat. The house you grew up in is pretty, but as I approached it, the sickness that settled in your belly startled me like the sting of a papercut. Your mother was moving inside, washing dishes from the brunch she made of berry salad and goat cheese omelet. When she passed the window above the sink and spotted her son standing on the sidewalk, she dropped the china and barely heard it shatter. She ran outside to embrace you, her thin arms tight and inescapable, her heart pounding furiously against your chest. Your father was at the same IT job he’s had since you were three, so it was just the two of us. I sat at the table while she hurried to make you scrambled eggs, the meal she always assumed was your favorite. They’ve since replaced the old table, the one you used to peel the paint from when they weren’t looking. It was when your father discovered the barky patch of gray plaguing the sunny blue of the table leg that things got truly bad—but you know that, of course. If you’re curious, you consumed exactly 1073 calories in the week following his initial outburst. But she fed you that day because I had returned you to her and she was antsy for absolution. She was a good cook, but on your picky tongue, the eggs felt slimy and bland, reminiscent of the mornings before therapy where it was the only thing you were allowed to eat. Still, I smiled and praised the food as I ate. When I met her eyes, they were pink and shining. “You seem wonderful,” she said, hurrying to sit down on the other side of the table. You wouldn’t be surprised if I told you that the word really lingering on her breath was normal. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” I put down the fork on the clean plate and folded your hands the way she’d made you when you felt the urge to grab, 36

WR Ă€GGOH WR SLFN ´,W ZDV VSXU RI WKH PRPHQW Âľ , VDLG LQ \RXU deep and even voice. “I passed by Callaway Park and couldn’t help but miss you two. I’ve been thinking lately about everything you did for me, and how I didn’t appreciate it at the time.â€? “That’s great,â€? your mother said, the lines by her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “That’s really great. We’ve missed you too, Elijah, and we only ever wanted the best for you. I’m glad \RX Ă€QDOO\ VHH WKDW Âľ She reached her hand across the table and grasped yours. I resisted your muscles’ instinct to recoil and instead savored the deceptive warmth of her pale hand covering yours. I could feel her eagerness to reclaim you thrumming through WKH OLQHV RI KHU SDOPV 7KH SROOHQ RQ \RXU Ă€QJHUV KDG UXEEHG off by then. “Dad will be home in a few hours,â€? she said. “Won’t you stay and let him see you? He’ll be so excited.â€? , SUHVVHG \RXU Ă€QJHUV LQWR WKH YDUQLVKHG WRS RI WKH new table. At that very moment, you were working, trying to preserve the pulse of an eleven-year-old girl struck by a car while playing hooky. The sweat on your face shined cyan unGHU WKH Ă XRUHVFHQW OLJKWV RI WKH KRVSLWDO \RXU VFUXEV VPHDUHG with blood. Your feet hurt and you were so, so tired. You were losing her. They always told you that you were too sensitive for the ceaseless work of warding off death, but you weren’t thinking of them as you grabbed the paddles off the wall and pressed them to her tiny chest. Her body convulsed beneath your taut knuckles. Your mother had hung daisies in the window of the kitchen. The room smelled of berries and rosemary. I cradled my head in my hands and beamed. “Of course I will, Mom.â€?

37

70 degrees and sunny in november (PPD 3DUDGLHV ¶ -

my mother’s eyes traced the water as it played tag with an island, closer than it was twenty years ago to touching tree roots and winning the game. she said “if i knew the world would be like this, i would never have had children.” her hand was tenderly brushing eraser scraps from my face. she said “we ruined the oceans.” L FRXOGQ·W ÀW P\ PRXWK DURXQG the words yes, you did even if they were true. she shook her head and said “always thought when you were twenty i would get to stop worrying about you.” i watch the boats, their sails staining the water with color like a mid-summer night sky and think we wouldn't have such bright sunsets, which my mother told me at twelve, LI LW ZHUHQ W IRU WKH SROOXWLRQ in a dream my mother tells me is this what you want, honey? being alive? she says L WKRXJKW L NQHZ ZKDW LW PHDQW to have a child. i am braver and more open-mouthed in dreams, but i can still only say you're my mother. you're my mother tapping out an insistent beat on the inside of my teeth, mother mother. you should know what you want by now. 38

in the dream, my mother tells me i didn’t mean to scare you and my mind wraps its arms around the world, ending when i’m thirty, drowning in excess and polluted water. there used to be relief in death, in that sentence. now i only feel cheated. i’ve never told her that. there’s duct tape RYHU P\ OLSV KDQGV FURVVHG ÀQJHUV NQRWWHG on top of that. daughter protecting mother from the inconvenience of my feelings. (you should know what you want by now.)

Untitled

6WHOOD 3OHQN Âś 39

Melt

Laurel Kruger ‘22 7KLV LV D ERQĂ€UH IRU WKH GHDG DQG IRU WKH XQGHDG WRR For those who watched their lives crack and groan and crash into the sea :KR ZDWFKHG WKHLU OLYHV ZDVK DZD\ LQ D Ă DVK RI OLJKW D QHJDtive held up to the sun which had to be ruined in order to be seen Who died like a photograph of a long-gone summer, golden and frozen and slipped between the pages of a lost book Who died like spoiled food, disposed-of and forgotten Who died like termites upon fumigation Who died like czars, stiffened bodies adored by the masses Who died like wet cardboard Who died like seasons Who died like once-great glaciers Who watched those glaciers melt. Those who live in glass houses should throw no stones, but those who live in ice should all be pyromaniacs. Why not? Our ice houses are already destined for far-away rivers anyway The wolves may threaten to blow your house in And they could, with persistence But wolves never have that kind of patience, to melt those ice walls so gradually with their breaths After a while, they will disappear into the woods Leaving you and your sinking castle behind 7KLV LV D ERQĂ€UH IRU WKRVH ZROYHV Who tried their bests, for a little while 40

7KLV LV D ERQÀUH IRU DOO WKH OLWHUDWXUH WKDW RIIHQGV XV For lies and slander And for truth, too Throw it all on And bring out the bellows For in the end, everything either burns or melts anyway 7KLV LV D ERQÀUH LQ PHPRULDP RI WKH JODFLHU WKDW RQFH VWRRG on this spot, where the tourists swarmed and trod and took pictures whose negatives were then burned away by sweet sunlight In memoriam of the iceberg that once sunk the Titanic and which is now just a spot of calm sea In memoriam of our cathedrals and palaces of ice, where now stands large puddles wheremosquitos breed I sit writing this with a new pen. I habitually chew on my writing utensils when anxious, but this one is so new that it is not yet bite-marked with all my fears. $QG , ORRN DW WKH ERQÀUH EHIRUH PH $QG DGG DQRWKHU SLHFH RI ÀUHZRRG 7KLV RQH FRDWHG ZLWK YDUQLVK ZKLFK PDNHV WKH ÀUH FUDFNOH DQG spark and release toxins into the atmosphere. And the water running off my melting walls mingles with the ash Until my feet are deep in black sludge Until my eyes water from smoke Until my house is gone And until my pen is dented between my molars. 41

pearl

(ULQ 6XOOD ¶ america’s heartland, the amber waves of grain visit her in lemmon, south dakota with two m’s and step up and see the attractions ZRUOG·V ODUJHVW SHWULÀHG ZRRG SDUN nothing else to see except my great grandmother, barefoot in a long skirt and “home on the range” is where you have to suck it up because building a house is the easy part when you have four babies to feed america’s heartland, the breadbasket is empty visit her in lemmon, south dakota with two m’s and step up and see the attractions the dust bowl is coming to town nothing else to see except my great grandmother, who doesn’t complain even though she is choking on dust and locusts weave themselves into her sunday best but “home on the range” is where you have to suck it up because starving is the easy part when you have four babies to feed america’s heartland, the rolling black hills visit her in rapid city, south dakota and step up and see the attractions marvel at mount rushmore nothing else to see except my great grandmother, boiling beets ninety years old VKH VZDWV PRWKV DQG GRHV QRW ÁLQFK because “home on the range” is where you have to suck it up and dying is the easy part when you’re alone 42

step up and see the attractions IHDWXULQJ D SLRQHHU ZRPDQ DQG KHU Á\VZDWWHU cooking her own last supper WUDGLQJ LQ VWDUV IRU WKH ÁLFNHULQJ OLJKWV RI D QXUVLQJ KRPH maybe someday she will be barefoot in a long skirt but for now there is nothing else to see H[FHSW WKH ZRUOG·V ODUJHVW SHWULÀHG ZRRG SDUN in lemmon, south dakota with two m’s next door to my great grandmother’s grave

43

Untitled

6WHOOD 3OHQN ¶ -

44

The Bonds that Run Centuries Deep Emily Luong ‘20

I don’t remember the details of my escape from Saigon. But I do remember the motorboat my aunt, uncle, cousin, and I squeezed into. I remember the engine sputtering out in the middle of the South China Sea. I remember a hunger so consuming that I nearly forgot who I was and why I’d left in the Ă€UVW SODFH , UHPHPEHU ZH VKRXOG¡YH GLHG , ZDV QLQH \HDUV ROG The world wouldn’t have lost much. It wouldn’t have so much as blinked an eye for war refugees with nothing to WKHLU QDPHV $ 8 6 1DY\ VKLS VSRWWHG XV Ă RDWLQJ LQ WKH RFHDQ and took us to a camp in the Philippines. We were allowed to see another day. Then we were on our way to America. The land of the free and the home of the brave, they said. I endured sleepless nights learning English, studying hard to get a degree, working multiple jobs to save up for a house, picking up the pieces of a shattered heart. But I’d do it again and again, for her, for Ellie. Because while the world wouldn’t have lost much that day, it wouldn’t have met that bright little spark. It wouldn’t have met the future. ~ The supermarket on Sunday morning is more hectic WKDQ WKH PDOO RQ %ODFN )ULGD\ 5XVW\ VKRSSLQJ FDUWV Ă€OOHG ZLWK groceries are abandoned in any free space available. Shoppers scramble over one another to sink their hands into weathered ZRRGHQ FRQWDLQHUV Ă€OOHG ZLWK JLQJHU %LWV RI PHDW DQG ERQH VSODWWHU RYHU FULPVRQ VWDLQHG DSURQV DV EXWFKHUV IXOĂ€OO WKH UHTXHVWV RI VKRSSHUV Ă€JKWLQJ IRU VSRWV LQ IURQW RI VPXGJHG JODVV FDVHV 7KH EX]] RI PDQ\ VSRNHQ GLDOHFWV Ă€OOV WKH PDUNHW Ă€OOV P\ HDUV ZLWK D FRPIRUWLQJ ZKLWH QRLVH It’s with my daughter in this beautiful chaos where I Ă€QG P\VHOI DW SHDFH 45

The night before the trip into the city, I planned out all the meals for the upcoming week in detail, dreaming of a fridge bursting with color from all the vegetables, fresh meats, and sauce jars that would line its shelves. As I read the grocery list scrawled on the back of an envelope, I taste the rich, hearty Ă DYRUV RI QRRGOH VRXSV ULFH SRUULGJHV DQG VWLU IU\V RQ P\ tongue. I navigate the cart between narrow aisles and around trampled napa cabbage leaves to the seafood section. Ellie follows behind me with her head down, lost to the distant world behind her phone screen. We pass live lobsters, crabs, snails, IURJV DQG HHOV FUDPPHG LQWR VPDOO 6W\URIRDP ER[HV Ă€OOHG ZLWK murky brown water. When we reach the shrimp display, I rummage through our cart for a plastic produce bag that I can use as a glove to sort through the pile. I glance up at Ellie for a moment and let out a long breath. She’s shoved both her phone and hands into her jacket pockets. Her back presses up against the metal of the cart. Her eyes warily glance around the market. “Ellie, I’m going to pick the best ones for you,â€? I say cheerfully in Cantonese as I put my right hand through a bag. I VRUW WKURXJK WKH SLOH IRU WKH ODUJHVW SLHFHV WR Ă DYRU VRXS EURWK and fry with noodles. “Ma, you know I won’t eat any of it,â€? Ellie says from EHKLQG PH KHU Ă XHQW (QJOLVK VOLFLQJ WKURXJK WKH KXP RI shoppers’ voices. My gloved hand halts before resuming. I hear this almost every day. Each time is still a punch in the stomach. %DE\ SOHDVH OHW PH IHHG \RX /HW 0D WDNH FDUH RI \RX just once. “Oh, I know, I know. That’s okay, that’s alright. This is just for me,â€? I say, this time in English. It’s always just for PH , Ă€QLVK P\ VRUWLQJ LQ VLOHQFH DQG DVN DQ HPSOR\HH WR ZHLJK my selection. While watching him place the pile onto a slippery scale, I notice a blur of movement to my right. Behind the FRXQWHU DQ HPSOR\HH WULHV WR FDWFK D Ă€VK VZLPPLQJ DORQH LQ 46

D FORXG\ WDQN (YHU\ WLPH KLV QHW JUD]HV LWV WDLO WKH Ă€VK GDUWV LQ the opposite direction. Ellie stares and stares at the poor creature and leaves her place by the cart to get a better look. Her hands venture from the safety of her pockets as if she can somehow reach out and snatch the net from the employee’s grasp. I can’t bring myself to tell her that crossing each ends of the tank won’t save WKH Ă€VK I place the bag of shrimp in the cart and follow Ellie’s JD]H WR WKH WDQN ´7KDW Ă€VK UHDOO\ GRHVQ¡W ZDQW WR EH FDXJKW Âľ , VD\ KDOI KHDUWHGO\ 7RJHWKHU ZH ZDWFK DV WKH PDQ Ă€QDOO\ FRUQHUV WKH Ă€VK :LWK IDVW UHĂ H[HV KH VFRRSV LW LQWR WKH QHW 7KH Ă€VK WKUDVKHV DV LW HPHUJHV IURP WKH ZDWHU 7KH PDQ WKURZV LW onto a cutting board that probably hasn’t been deep-cleaned in years. Ellie turns away. I reach out to place my hand on her shoulder, but she VOLSV OLNH D Ă€VK RXW RI P\ JUDVS 6KH PRYHV WRZDUGV WKH GU\ goods section, away from the heavy, wet thud of the knife. ~ $IWHU D ORQJ GD\ LQ WKH RIĂ€FH , VWHS LQWR WKH NLWFKHQ DQG Ă LS RQ WKH OLJKWV $ ZRRGHQ LVODQG DSSHDUV LQ LWV \HOORZ stained, knife-marked glory. Cutting boards, woks, soy sauce ERWWOHV DQG SODVWLF WRIX FRQWDLQHUV Ă€OOHG ZLWK ODGOHV VSDWXODV and chopsticks of various sizes spill over every inch of the surrounding counter space. The sharp aromas of scallions, tamarind, and ginger from the night before circle around the room before nestling into their chosen corners. A lucky cat PLQLDWXUH Ă€JXULQH WKDW (OOLH QDPHG 6DJZD ZKHQ VKH ZDV Ă€YH sits on top of the microwave. My kitchen waits for me, ready to create the comforting dinner I’ve been dreaming about the entire day. I pull out ingredients, beef bones, steak, rice noodles, star anise, RQLRQV DQG Ă€VK VDXFH WR QDPH D IHZ IRU P\ PRWKHU¡V SKÓŁ Two hours later, I’m a sweaty, greasy, happy mess. I lean over the two gallon pot to ladle the broth into a bowl. It glides over 47

the white noodles and raw slices of steak with a ripple, transIRUPLQJ WKH SLQN SLHFHV LQWR D OLJKW WDQ ,¡P MXVW Ă€QLVKLQJ sprinkling basil leaves, bean sprouts, scallions, and onions on top when the front door opens and sock-covered feet pad into the kitchen. I turn to give Ellie a big smile and wipe my hands on a dishtowel, “Hi baby, how was swim practice?â€? (OOLH GURSV KHU EDFNSDFN DQG VZLP GXIĂ H RQ WKH Ă RRU “Hard. Coach made us do sprints the whole time to prep for the meet,â€? she says. Ellie’s nose wrinkles at the sight of the pot. “Did you really have to make that when I just did the laundry last night? Now all my clothes are gonna smell weird,â€? she says. I notice the greasy McDonalds bag that she dumps on the breakfast table. I put the second bowl back into the cabinet. Ellie collapses into a chair and draws the McDonalds closer to her. She unwraps the burger and eats half of it in one bite. Ketchup smears the corner of her mouth, but Ellie wipes it away with the back of her hand before I can give her a napkin. A nasty part of me wants to hurl that bag into the trash where it belongs and slam down a bowl of noodles right in front of her. Why is it so hard for you to just try? Why are you so ashamed of me? But my only child, my sweet girl, is hungry and needs to eat. She’s already so small, so thin, so exhausted. I let her keep going. I can imagine chunks of hamburger hitting the bottom of her stomach like rocks. I bring my bowl over to the table and settle down in the seat across from her. Ellie ignores me as I heap glistening QRRGOHV EHHI DQG YHJHWDEOHV RQWR D VRXS VSRRQ 7KH Ă€UVW ELWH LV KHDYHQ :DUPWK Ă RZV WKURXJKRXW P\ ERG\ EXW , EDUHO\ IHHO it this time. After a few more bites, I can’t stand the silence. I get up to turn on the wireless speaker I got as a Christmas gift. I think I’m following the instructions in the booklet, but I hear Ellie push back her chair and come over. She snatches my phone out of my hands, presses a few buttons on it, and slaps it 48

back into my palm as 80s pop music begins to play. “Get with the times, Ma. It’s not that hard,â€? Ellie says. “Look, you were born here with all this stuff. I wasn’t,â€? I say. Ellie shakes her head. We return to the table. We’re within an arm’s length of each other, but Ellie’s in a place where I can’t reach her. How can I be a mother to you? ~ I’m just so tired. My joints ache. My hair begins to show streaks of gray. Headaches more often turn into migraines. Recently, I was diagnosed with high blood pressure. I don’t recognize myself anymore. Advice is nothing more than pleas to stop and rest, but what does that mean? How can you tell a mother to ‘stop and rest’? Ellie still has a few years left before she’s off to college. She’s not done yet and neither am I. Trapped underneath my calloused skin and aching bones, the words he said to me that night at the hospital bounce off the walls of my body. YRX DUHQ¡W FDSDEOH RI UDLVLQJ KHU E\ \RXUVHOI <RX ZHUHQ¡W HYHQ FDSDEOH RI JLYLQJ PH D VRQ The image of his outstretched hand for the engagement ring is branded behind my eyelids. I stare at the framed photo of Ellie and me next to my work computer, forgetting that my colleague, Christina, sits in the chair in front of my desk. “You need to be harder on her, Michelle.â€? “I know.â€? “My sons—â€? “Yes, yes, yes, your sons are happy to come home from college and eat your food, your sons wouldn’t dare speak to you in English, your sons love to join you overseas for the New Year to see your parents. I could go on and on and on,â€? I snap. Christina is silent. I rub my face. “I’m sorry, and I’m QRW Âľ , VD\ WKURXJK P\ Ă€QJHUV (YHU\ RQFH LQ D ZKLOH 49

Christina likes to not-so-subtly remind me that she lived like an American in Saigon’s wealthy, tourist-friendly neighborhood while I sold sweet red bean soup on the congested streets across the city. Christina’s good company until she’s not. She leans forward, “If your daughter’s going to live under your roof, she has to respect you and do what you ask her to do. That means being grateful for the food on the table when the children where you came from are starving.â€? Well, at least I ZDV QDWXUDOL]HG Ă€UVW , FRQWHPSODWH smacking that smirk off Christina’s face when I have one of those aha moments that almost makes me want to smack myself for not thinking of it earlier. I straighten in my chair and turn my attention back to the computer screen. “Thanks Christina, I’ll just be getting back to work now. I have a report due by the end of today,â€? I say. “You know, I could talk to her—â€? “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.â€? “Are you sure? I can—â€? “Please shut the door on your way out.â€? ~ Ellie presses the doorbell button as if it’s a hot stove DQG Ă€GGOHV ZLWK VWUDQGV RI KHU GDUN KDLU 6KH VWDUHV DW KHU sneakers, the front steps, and the bushes lining the house. 3OHDVH ORRN DW PH <RX NQRZ ,¡P KHUH ULJKW" I carefully brought up the idea of making the mere half-hour drive over here a few days ago, but she wasn’t having it. She said she had a party to go to with her friends during that time. So I did what I had to. I got her to hop into the car under the pretense that we’d go see a movie. Maybe not my proudest parenting moment. A few moments later, the wooden door creaks open to reveal a petite woman in her late sixties. Mai, my aunt and Ellie’s adoptive grandmother, gives us a big smile and drags us into her home. Ellie doesn’t get the chance to take off her shoes before Mai pinches her cheeks. “How’s school? Are you 50

getting enough sleep? Drinking enough water? What has your mother done to you, hm? Look at all the weight you’ve lost! You’re not leaving the house until you’re full.â€? She squeezes Ellie’s cheeks some more until they’re bright red and places her hands in her own wrinkly ones. “Thank you, but I’m not that hungry,â€? Ellie mumbles in Cantonese. She drags out each word in long syllables until the next one takes its place, as if she’s afraid that if she stops LQ WKH PLGGOH RI WKH VHQWHQFH VKH¡G IRUJHW KRZ WR Ă€QLVK LW %XW she doesn’t forget. She can’t forget. Each of its six ascending and descending tones make up the fabric of who she is. Mai leads us up the stairs of the split-entry house and into the living room. Ellie walks towards one of the couches and takes out her phone. Mai frowns at her fascination with ‘Twitting’ and ushers me into her kitchen. Dishes laden with stir-fried Chinese broccoli, chow mein, tofu, and spring rolls cover the entire surface of the breakfast table. The steam from the plates nearly blurs the view of the kitchen in a delicious-smelling cloud. Mai leans RYHU D EXEEOLQJ SRW RQ WKH VWRYH WR Ă€VK RXW GXPSOLQJV ZLWK KHU chopsticks. Then she opens the oven right as it dings to reveal a huge tray of roast pork slices, their golden brown skins still sizzling in the oil that drips off the fat. I rush over to help her with the tray that looks nearly half her height in length, but she smacks my hands away. “I’m not that old yet,â€? Mai jokes as she manages to pull it out and Ă€QG MXVW HQRXJK VSDFH RQ WKH WDEOH WR SXW LW GRZQ “Thank you so much for dinner, but you didn’t have to make all of this. Ellie’s food preferences haven’t changed since the last time I brought her over. How many years ago was that? Four?â€? I ask. Mai snorts and wipes her sweating face and oily hands with a paper towel. ´,W¡V EHHQ Ă€YH $QG GRQ¡W ZRUU\ 6LQFH \RXU XQFOH GLHG and your cousin moved to New York City, I haven’t cooked for others in a long time. I’m sure Ellie will listen,â€? she says. I 51

hope she’s right. Mai gives in and lets me help her bring the food to the dining room. Ellie watches over her phone screen as we set the plates down on the newspaper-lined table. She rises from the couch and hesitates between the living and dining rooms. She studies each dish on the table. Mai turns her head to look at Ellie before scooping jasmine rice out of the twenty-cup rice cooker. “Come over here to eat, don’t be shy,” she says in a voice that doesn’t allow for any negotiation. Ellie drags her feet over to a seat and plops herself down. Mai and I join her. When Mai starts scooping tofu into her bowl, I grab two pieces of roast pork and pop them into my mouth. The tender, juicy meat and rich fat melt on my tongue before WKH\·UH VRDNHG XS E\ WKH FULVS\ VNLQ 7RJHWKHU WKH\ ÁRDW GRZQ to my stomach as light as feathers. I try to focus on my food, but I keep glancing at Ellie in the hopes she’ll start eating with us. “Ellie, please don’t be rude, eat,” I say quietly in English so Mai doesn’t understand. If not for me, at least do it for her. Five minutes into our meal, Ellie reaches for her chopsticks. She struggles to pick up a dumpling in her trembling grip, but she manages to take a small bite before it falls into her rice bowl. She picks up the dumpling and drops it a few times until it’s gone. The pizza place down the street is my backup plan. I wait for her to spit it all out in her napkin, to demand for the pastas, meatloaves, and casseroles that I can’t properly replicate, even after long nights poring over online recipes and videos. But Ellie doesn’t. Her throat bobs as she swallows the last of the dumpling. Ellie’s crying. Tears fall down her cheeks as she tries to swallow a piece of Chinese broccoli. “I don’t belong here,” she whispers in her broken Cantonese. I put down my chopsticks. 52

Mai, not one to be sentimental, sets down her bowl. “Yes you do. Yes you do.â€? she says with the bluntness I have grown to love over the years. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve DOZD\V DGPLUHG WKH XQDSRORJHWLF FRQĂ€GHQW ZD\ VKH KROGV herself. It was a trait she had to develop in order to compete against her eleven siblings for their parents’ attention. “Ellie,â€? Mai says. She looks up at her. “Your mother’s great grandparents moved from a rice farm in China to Saigon wanting a better life. They taught your grandmother to work for no one but herself, so she got up before sunrise every day to sell food on the street. After the war, she told your mother it was time that she make better life for herself in America,â€? Mai says. Ellie knows this story, but it’s as if she’s hearing it for WKH Ă€UVW WLPH +HU GHHS EURZQ H\HV IRFXV VWHDGLO\ RQ 0DL DV she speaks. Her body leans closer with every second. She’s listening. 0DL Ă€QLVKHV DQG JODQFHV DW PH ZDLWLQJ , WDNH D GHHS breath and reach for Ellie’s hand. While her face is not as chubby, and her hair is no longer in those pigtails with sunĂ RZHU EDUUHWWHV VKH¡V P\ OLWWOH JLUO DQG DOZD\V ZLOO EH “It doesn’t matter where you were born, what language you speak, what food you eat because you’ve already continued that tradition for us. You make everything worth it in the end,â€? I say through my own tears. Mai nods and folds her hands on the table. Being rescued from the open ocean was only just the EHJLQQLQJ RI D OLIH RI VDFULĂ€FH IRU 0DL <HDUV RI ZDQGHULQJ around American supermarkets lost, working long hours in factories, and worrying over having enough food to feed her family hadn’t been kind to her. But she persisted. Laugh lines decades in the making map her face as she smiles at Ellie. In the presence of this strong woman, I know that Ellie will persist too. Mai gets up and marches into the kitchen. Returning 53

with a scrap of paper and a pen, she writes three Chinese characters across the surface and presses it into Ellie’s hands so she’ll never forget the intricate lines and shapes. Her name. Ellie doesn’t let go of the paper for the rest of the night. ~ We begin to talk to each other again. We talk about the classes she’s taking, her choices for college, her dreams of becoming an immigration lawyer, and her wish to visit her ELRORJLFDO JUDQGPRWKHU IRU WKH ÀUVW WLPH “How about this, we’ll go to Vietnam as your graduation present,” I told her last night, “I bet your grandmother would love to see the real face behind all those embarrassing pictures I’ve sent her over the years.” Ellie groaned and rested her head lightly on my shoulder as we watched a movie for a Friday night in. “I hope you didn’t send the ones you took on my birthday last year. The ones of me with my face covered in FDNH µ , FKRVH QRW WR WHOO KHU WKDW WKH\ ZHUH WKH ÀUVW SLFWXUHV WR go in the pile. 6RPHWLPHV , ZDQW WR ÀQG WKH PXOWLPLOOLRQ GROODU KRPH he’s probably living in. With a wife who gave him all the sons he could possibly want to continue the precious family name. Forgetting that he, too, came to this country with nothing but the clothes on his back and a head full of dreams. I’d bang on his front door and tell him about the smart, kind, and beautiful young woman I’ve raised. I’d tell him that I did it all without his goddamn useless help, that no amount of heartache from my early years in America could take away the mind, body, and soul I have given her. I’d tell him that he may have given her life, but I gave her a life. Then I’d turn around and walk away from him, never once looking back at the face that looks nothing like my daughter’s. , WKLQN DERXW WKLV DV WKH ODWH -DQXDU\ DLU ÀQGV LWV ZD\ through an opening in my coat. Balancing a paper grocery bag with ingredients for today’s lunch against my left hip, I unlock 54

the front door and hurry inside. I’m about to call out to Ellie to let her know I’m home when I hear the clinking of a ladle against stainless steel. I tiptoe down the hall and turn the corner. Ellie bends over the stove warming up the leftover phӣ I stored in the freezer a few weeks back. She glances at the burner to make sure the heat setting is right and swirls the broth around in slow circles. On the island behind her is the ceramic bowl I bought for her when she was born. It had been sitting in the back of the cabinet for so long that I forgot it existed. Decorated around the rim is a blue silhouette of a dragon, her Chinese zodiac. When the broth’s surface is just starting to break ZLWK EXEEOHV (OOLH ÀOOV KHU GUDJRQ ERZO ZLWK ULFH QRRGOHV DQG toppings before adding the soup. The beef is slightly overdone, the noodles could’ve been boiled just a little bit more, and there should’ve been more color with a larger variety of vegetables, but it’s her creation and hers alone. Ellie inhales, drawing the dancing steam from the piping hot broth into her nose.

55

Queen of a Lonely Heart -XOLD ;X ¶

56

Eyes of the Tiger (OOD 3HUNLQV ¶

57

A Transfer

7ULQLW\ 5ROOLQV ¶ *OLWWHU EHWZHHQ WKH ÁRRUERDUGV Reminds me what I thought It would be, what it could (have) be(en), Now the water runs, pastel pink Off my hair, still running red down my Legs and I’m the embodiment Of the wrong kind of femininity I live in a wing of the clocktower, It’s gilded, burning cold to the touch But surfaced in gold Sometimes I forget and Run my hand along its side before Pulling back, it hasn’t stopped hurting

58

At The Center

Claire Haug ‘20

59

Lazarus

Amadea Bartle ‘20 Sometimes when we played knights, I would be the king and Richard would have to swear fealty to me. It would be behind the stables—in summer, long afternoons passed us by without interruption. I stood on the low stone wall, the barrier between our kingdom and Father’s, Richard kneeling, still kingly. I covered Richard’s shoulders ZLWK JUDVV KLV KDLU ZLWK PRVV DQG Ă RZHUV VPHDUHG GLUW GRZQ the front of his tunic. Mother would punish me. ´7KHUH $ NQLJKW Âľ , VDLG XVLQJ P\ Ă€QJHUV WR EUXVK loose dirt from around Richard’s eyes. Richard never lifted a Ă€QJHUÂłQRW WR KHOS PH QRW WR VWRS PH Richard smiled gleefully and tipped his head back to get a better look at me. “King Geoffrey,â€? he said. The words slotted themselves between my ribs, pounded out a rhythm the same as my heart. Geoff-rey. Geoff-rey. Geoff-rey. I held a broken, fallen branch in my hand; tapped Richard shoulders one, two; and then the top of his head just to see a quicksilver smile. “I knight thee Richard—as a protector of the realm and as a guardian of the king.â€? I didn’t know the real words and I barely knew what was meant by the words I did say. “I knight thee, Richard.â€? I crown thee Richard. I love thee Richard. Richard’s name sounded better as a heartbeat. When it was over my arms hung by my sides, useless, EUDQFK LQ P\ FORVHG Ă€VW 5LFKDUG DQG , ZRXOG KROG RXU EUHDWK in awe of the sacrilegious act we had committed and then he clasped his arms around my middle, spinning me in endless circles. “I’ve caught the king! I’ve caught the king!â€? 60

“Treachery! Treason!” I squealed, knowing these words from our father’s paranoia. “You’ll never get away!” And we would laugh and laugh until Richard’s arms tired. Mother didn’t like our game. ‘Fanciful’, she called it. ‘Blasphemous’, she said. I heard her one night: “Richard, you cannot entertain this, this fantasy of your brother’s. Your brother is promised to the church. If he is lucky, he will be the archbishop to place the crown on your head.” “Mama, please. He knows.” I could imagine her face pinching. “Have you told him?” “No, but he knows.” That night Richard sat in the chair by my bed until I fell asleep. “If I were king right now I’d make them let you stay,” I thought I heard him say. “I’m promised to the church. One can’t break a promise to God,” I responded. “I can. I’m ordained by God.” “Not yet.” Before I went away, Richard argued my case to Father. “Please let him stay. What will you do if something happens to me?” “What on earth would happen to you?” Father asked, startled from his reading. “What if I died, Papa? What if I died and you no longer had an heir?” Father’s palm thwacked against the side of Richard’s face, his expression taught and furious. “Do not say anything more on the matter. I forbid it.” Father thought Richard immortal. Until he died, I did, too. Father worried that I would kill Richard I know this now. Father worried I resented my elder brother, worried I 61

wanted to take what was his; depose him, like Father did his. 6HOĂ€VKO\ , ORFNHG DOO WKH GRRUV WR P\ FKDPEHUV RQ WKH north side of the room and the west— even the one to the corridor connecting Richard’s rooms and mine. I was punishing him. I wanted to sulk until he missed me. I wanted to sit in the dark until he spoke to me through the door to tell me he would try again with Father—that I could stay; that Richard wanted me to stay. ,Q WKH HQG , FUDFNHG Ă€UVW Ă HHLQJ P\ URRP LQ WKH middle of the night four days before my departure. The moon illuminated the woodcarvings on the walls, manufacturing pockets of shadow every which way I looked. I made it to Richard’s room in tears. “Please don’t cry Geoff. Please.â€? Richard used both his hands to try and scrub the tears off my cheeks, catch them before they left my eyes. My face felt hot and swollen, Richard’s breath the only cool relief behind the thick drapery that surrounded the bed. Richard’s eyes were hazy with worry and his mouth stood half-open in horror. “Shh. Shh. Geoff. Geoffrey. Please.â€? “I can’t go, I can’t go. I’ll die before I’ll go,â€? I sobbed. Richard held me until I could feel an uncomfortable itchiness in my eyes, on my face, until my sobs turned to angry screams to slow, painful hiccups. I lay at the foot of the bed, my head spinning, twirling backwards. Tears had dried halfheartedly on my neck and shirt. When I opened my eyes, VWDUWOHG WR Ă€QG WKDW D ZRUOG VWLOO H[LVWHG VHSDUDWH IURP WKH GDUNQHVV , KDG EULHĂ \ LQKDELWHG 5LFKDUG FDPH WR NQHHO QH[W WR me. My snot covered the left side of his collar and shoulder. I reached up to wipe it away. “Geoff. Geoffrey, listen to me.â€? He swatted at my KDQG ´, ZLOO Ă€QG D ZD\ WR EULQJ \RX EDFN KHUH , VZHDU Âľ )LQgers dislodged strands of sweaty hair from my forehead and I went again to try and clean Richard’s shirt with the heel of my palm. It didn’t work; it would stain. 62

Richard rested the bridge of his nose against my temple, breathing in deeply. “Here. With me. I promise. As long as I live.” Those words tucked themselves away in my chest and I turned them over and over again as I was ripped from normalcy. Richard became king; Richard always kept his promises. And then they killed Richard.

Untitled

Ariella Heise ‘22

63

LABRYS SPRING 2019 VOLUME XVII

Turn static files into dynamic content formats.

Create a flipbook

Articles inside

A Transfer” - Trinity Rollins

0
page 59

Lazarus” - Amadea Bartle

4min
pages 61-63

pearl” - Erin Sulla

1min
pages 43-44

The Bonds that Run Centuries Deep” - Emily Luong

16min
pages 46-56

Melt” - Laurel Kruger

1min
pages 41-42

Paradies Untitled - Stella Plenk

0
page 40

Family Property” - Ariel Hirschhorn

0
page 35

Where I Am From” - Alex Caba

0
page 33

70 degrees and sunny in November” - Emma

1min
page 39

Savoir” - Cressida Blake Roe

0
page 27

The Transplant” - Sage Theune

4min
pages 36-38

Ode to My Aunts” - Kat Mullins

1min
page 32

Thirsting” - Kat Mullins

1min
page 10

Domesticity” - Kat Mullins

1min
page 16

Cannibal” - Cressida Blake Roe

0
pages 13-14

Bach” - Ariella Heise

0
page 18

Evolution” - Ariel Hirschhorn

0
page 24

Witch Sisters” - Courtney Arnold

0
page 17

Morning Light” - Claire Eberman

4min
pages 19-21

Salt” - Laurel Kruger

0
page 12
Issuu converts static files into: digital portfolios, online yearbooks, online catalogs, digital photo albums and more. Sign up and create your flipbook.