PLUM
2020 Spring
PLUM
A Literature & Art Magazine @ STAB
To everyone who’s seeking consolation in art in this difficult period of time: “The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.” – Pablo Picasso
Editors: Hewson Duffy, Bella Li Layout Designer: Bella Li Contributors: Alex Liu, Amanda Mcvey, Bella Li, Ellie Powell, Gardiner Spencer, Hollan Biss, Judy Gao, Jay Liu (20’), Lily Wiley, Martin Yao, Maddie Kwasnick, Sam Sidders
M
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Amanda Mcvey
Death by Dormitory _ Goodbye to All That
Ellie Powell
Dear “Fred”, I spent a summer bending walls to my will, pounding myself over the head with texts of lost love and limitations. I ticked boxes, and met new people, and cried to the man I lived with for all the things I could not control. All the for reasons beyond my mindful measure, I didn’t deserve you. every night, its honeying melody wafting through thin walls, and beneath my sheets. It sang, Come to bed, and look beyond the cutting rocks of the Blue Ridge Mountains. These tall brick walls will relieve you from your duties within their furrows. So I let the words seep through to still-wet wounds as my body lunged into autumn, reaping a sickle through my personal harvest of tragedies and successes. I dwelled on beaded failures no longer than it
And when I breathed in the tart September air, I no longer exhaled that soft prayer for a second chance. I had found religion in holding his hand during fraught tours in July. But as I reread every letter, he seemed to grow further and further away, until it began to seem as if no one had ever loved me at all. I said nothing of it, clutching the secret to my chest in righteousness and dignity, my soul addled with all the fear of a découpage-lover. At last, I gave my heart permission to ache when a singer spoke to me in scream. If I should betray myself to you, would you love me? He did. Anyways, I hope you had a good Wednesday. Mine was lousy. “Mary”
Oak
>>>> If the tree produces acorns, it's an oak. Lobed leaves are leaves that have rounded or pointed knobs extending out from the center line. While a few oaks do not have lobes, all of the leaves are generally symmetrical around a clear median line. Oak trees have small, scaly bark. Source:wikihow
PHOTOGRAPH BY MADDIE KWASNICK
Oak
COLLA
AGES
Amanda Mcvey
Amanda Mcvey
Fall into the moon¬
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Alex Liu
LOOP
Bella Li
rotates the machine wings of the fan intruding into the parallels carved by time rotates blending whispers into nerve endings the never-ending loop gradually permeates the walls alive and dead pigeons plow into again and again greek statues are sublimated into gas, never perish, ceaselessly, we breathe in, breathe out over centuries we stride forward triumphantly without knowing that we have been shackled to the route from the beginning
The Eagle
Lily Wiley
The eagle chief with eyes of steel And feathers of bronze coated tips And talons sharp enough to feel The fearful prey of which he grips The ruthless shrill cry he emits Which pierces through the stagnant air A fearsome face that he acquits He bears a murderous cold stare I peer into his sunken eye And find a glimpse of misery What lies behind the gruesome cry Is but a touch of sympathy He’ll never show his weakened soul His dignity is steadfast still It hides behind those eyes of coal And manifests in every kill But yet the eagle prince shall rise Above hatred and saddened heart And shake the earth with mighty cries Whose wings will rip the sky apart
>>>>>
Those Lights That You Don’t See
LIGHT COLO
OR IS LIGHT
WINTER IN, S
UMMER OUT
THE B
BENZ
THREE LIGHTS
YELLOW PAINT & YELLOW LIGHT
WE MAKE WATER
I GOT YOU
TOP PAID
Poem For Walter
Maddie Kwasnick
This poem is for Walter, who was chased out of his country across three borders by the outstretched claws of corruption; who is so grateful for the grandparents that raised him that he chose working in a factory over high school education; so grateful for them that he left his home at seventeen to send money from a foreign land. He remembers long days at the river and the rolling mountains that surrounded his village. He remembers childhood dreams of being a famous soccer player, a Hollywood artist, a detective. He remembers the look in his grandfather’s eyes when he could not give him his daily allowance of twelve lempiras, because fixing shoes does not make as much money as extortion and bribery. This poem is for Walter, because he only had two options: become another gearwheel in the destructive machine of the Honduran government or leave. He thought the US would be a beautiful paradise. He did not expect to run from place to place to survive in the land of opportunity. He did not expect to wonder if he was going to eat. He did not expect to leave his mother’s house in LA after two weeks,
Poema Para Walter
Maddie Kwasnick
Este poema es para Walter, quien fue perseguido de su país a través de tres fronteras por las garras extendidas de corrupción; quien era tan agradecido por sus abuelos quien le criaron que eligió trabajo en una fábrica en vez de una educación de colegio; tan agradecido por ellos que se fue de casa a los diecisiete años para enviarles dinero desde una tierra extranjera. Él recuerda días largos en el río Y las montañas ondulantes que rodearon su pueblito. Recuerda sueños de su niñez de ser futbolista famoso, artista de Hollywood, detective. Recuerda la mirada en los ojos de su abuelo cuando no podía darle la mesada diaria de doce lempiras porque arreglar los zapatos no gana tanto dinero como extorsión y soborno. Este poema es para Walter, porque solo tuvo dos opciones: convertirse en otra rueda en la máquina destructiva del gobierno hondureño o salir. Él pensó que los Estados Unidos sería un paraíso hermoso. No anticipó correr de un lugar a otro para sobrevivir en la tierra de oportunidad. No anticipó preguntarse si iba a comer. No anticipó irse de la casa de su madre en LA después de dos semanas,
because the woman who left him at age seven wanted to mother him after twelve years of disappearance. This poem is for Walter, because once he saw the American dream within his reach, he never stopped working for it; because he has a wife and three children now, and his own business; because he still sends money to his grandparents seventeen years later. His cousin chose the alternative: a life in Honduras, where he could see the faces of his family everyday. A life that killed him at age twenty, because the hospitals could not save him from a work-induced stroke. This poem is for the man whose divided heart lies 2660 kilometers apart with the question of whether the two halves will ever meet. He has given one half to his children and the country he is raising them in, while the other half lies with his grandparents and his homeland. He dreams about the day when they unite, but his grandparents are growing old. His voice needs to be heard, because you have to live his life to fully understand it; because nobody wants to leave their family, even for a beautiful paradise; because waking up to this reality everyday is not a choice.
because the woman who left him at age seven wanted to mother him after twelve years of disappearance. Este poema es para Walter, porque cuando vio el sueño americano al alcance, nunca paró de trabajar para lograrlo; porque tiene una esposa y tres hijos ahora y su propia empresa; porque todavía les envía dinero a sus abuelos diecisiete años más tarde. Su primo eligió la alternativa: una vida en Honduras, donde podía ver las caras de su familia cada día. Una vida que lo mató a los veinte años, porque los hospitales no podían salvarlo de una apoplejía inducida por trabajo tan duro. Este poema es para el hombre cuyo corazón dividido está 2660 kilómetros aparte con la pregunta de si las dos mitades se juntarán. Él ha dado una mitad a sus hijos y el país en que está criando a ellos, mientras que la otra mitad está con sus abuelos y su patria. Él imagina el día cuando se unirán, pero sus abuelos se están poniendo más viejos. Su voz necesita ser oída, porque tienes que vivir su vida para entenderla completamente; porque nadie quiere dejar a su familia, aun por un paraíso hermoso; porque despertarse a esta realidad cada día no es una elección.
This poem is for everyone whose only option was to leave, because they are the greatest example of strength and resilience; because they know more than anyone what it takes to make a better life for yourself and the people you love; because, though violence and corruption demanded they run from their country, they still have the heart to call it home.
Este poema es para todos cuyos única opción fue salir, porque ellos son el mejor ejemplo de fuerza y resistencia; porque saben más que cualquiera lo que se requiere para hacer una vida mejor para ti mismo y las personas que quieres; porque, a pesar de la violencia y la corrupción que exigieron que corrieron de su país, todavía lo consideran un hogar.