Editorial Board Chief Editor: Dave Hartwig Editorial Staff: Eva English Charish Halliburton Terry Kindig Sara Strasser Layout by Dave Hartwig
Spring 2014 Contest Winners Cover Art Contest Winner: “Dandelion Wine” - Jessica Monet Liner Fiction Contest Winner: “Save Now?” - Jasmine Townsend Poetry Contest Winner: “Invocations” - Dannielle Laws
Mission Statement The Mill is a literary journal that publishes poetry, short prose, and art by University of Toledo students in an attempt to strengthen ties and voices in the literary community at the university. It is edited and produced once per academic semester. We consider all submissions for the writing contest and publication. Two pieces are awarded top honors in this publication—one poetry and one prose. All submissions were evaluated based on established criteria. The Mill editorial staff made the final decision on the contest winner. For more information regarding the editorial board, past issues, or general inquiries, find us at our website, themillmag.weebly.com, or email: themillmagazine@gmail.com.
After initial publication via print, all copyright reverts back to the author/artist.
Table of Contents
4
Anna Barnes Safely Above
5
The Stability of a Typical Coffee River
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The Technicalities of an Unstable Wanderer
7
Vitriolage
8
Paris Black Bisexual
9
Orange
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Kevin Briar The Witch's Lullaby (Part Two)
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Brenda Castellani Lake Erie Two Thousand and Seven
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The Middle
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Rebecca Haidet Both Knew (The One Night Stand Poem)
15
Dannielle Laws Invocations *
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Jasmine Townsend Save Now? *
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Contest Winner
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Anna Barnes Safely Above People take turns floating down, down, down Like pieces of debris, All the way to the ground. They called their wives and kids first But they're all at school and work So there is no one to say goodbye to, leaving this world. Jumpers more alone than anyone could imagine As bystanders watch all the lives that are taken. A decision to jump and a life is gone, An idea of mass destruction earlier on. It seems to take years for bodies to hit the ground But it happens seconds later, A horrible sound. In the air, they remember their lives, Or maybe they just pretend to fly. But each prepares because their lives are used up. Five minutes ago: behind desks and safely above.
5
Anna Barnes The Stability of a Typical Coffee River The coffee river flowed on With icy little sugar cubes floating atop And cream mixed into it, lightening its face. People soon passed over its shaking bridge Going from one side of their mundane Friday lives to the other. The coffee river was sad for them Because the people didn't see that they had something So much better than sugar cubes and cream Within them. But I was sad for the coffee river Because as I passed over it day after day, I saw that it was never the same: There was no peace in its life without constant change; No stability to hold on to. And so it was bitter, Hiding in a cheap costume of cream and sugar.
6
Anna Barnes The Technicalities of an Unstable Wanderer Avidly drinking warm cherry Pepsi, I think of my river composed of coffee: How it heightens with the melting snow, How it’s the only one here who will ever know All my secrets; I’m in love With the entire world, but maybe not us. I float away again Saturday night Not with you, but with music I hold tight. People taught us all the wrong things: Never make mistakes or risk everything Just for a dream you had as a kid… So I guess we’ll become how our parents did. But there was so much more I once hoped to be: A teacher, a scientist; I wanted to sing. When I was little my mother scorned me Because it’s unstable to want to try everything. So let’s stay calm and drive too fast Until we don’t have money left for gas. Unlike our parents, we’ll come alive; They’re just miles away waiting to die. Take me downtown to all the places you love So we can forget what our parents did to us. Promise we won’t make the mistakes they did… They’ve turned us into perfectionists.
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Anna Barnes Vitriolage In the beginning we danced. On a blank, unused slate And I held your hand because I was blind to the imperfections Obviously marking your face. It took time, But I slowly began to realize Something you had been hiding: A monster inside. I guess it was just my fate. For me to wake up one day and decide, Foolish, that I would follow you down That path With no going back. Sure, your smile faded As I was no longer enough No one was. For you to wake up one day Decided and ready; The only thing you could do To gain more control over me... Fast forward to later that day: This moment. Now. And out of nowhere I'm melting, screaming, Burning to the ground. And the whole town is there watching, but No one Around To help. With an undamaged eye, I watch from the ground as you leave - it hurts to breathe! Laying in puddles broken, But with growing solace Because that was the last piece You will ever take from me.
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Paris Black Bisexual They say the first step to acceptance is denial, I’d deny my way to my grave if I had to. Sitting in the middle of sermon, “It’s an unforgivable sin, an abomination.” Subliminal message. Minister speaking in tongues, looking in my direction. I make peripheral eye contact with her, watching as she licks her lips. Thoughts of when she licked mines; speaking of tongues. “God says come as you are”. But, thou is not permitted to be attracted to the opposite sex, better yet, no sex. Misperception from the Devil, “don’t let him tempt thee” Pastor’s deliverance. “Just pray about it or for someone, the truth shall set thee free.” Eyes closed, my sweaty palms clinched with my head bowed. “Dear God, forgive me for I can not confess who I am.”
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Paris Black Orange The silence that Orange screams, calm like the sweet ocean that moistens my skin. Orange kisses from Him that renovates my thoughts, sing soft accords in my ears, and touches my heart that bleeds orange slow like molasses. My eyes blood shot orange from all the memories, of when life seemed important with you close to me. I was nothing more than my imperfections, awaiting your arrival to share your flawless and amorous Orange. Burning Orange that sets my mind on fire, smoking. Orange pulls me to the left, Following a path that has no ending, my eyes closed seeing nothing but pitch dark orange. Opening my eyes to bright orange and what feels like a new beginning.
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Kevin Briar The Witch's Lullaby (Part 2) What is cold will one day warm, what is short is long. What exists is in your head-what is gone is gone. What is lost will soon come back, what is two is one. What is hurt will one day heal-what is gone is gone. What is ugly will be loved, what is weak is strong. What is wanted will be feared-what is gone is gone. What is broken will be fixed-the mute will sing their songs. What is cherished will be missed-what is gone is gone.
11
Brenda Castellani Lake Erie Two Thousand and Seven The wet slime of the lake bottom squished between my toes, as I plunged from the last rung of the rickety ladder that hung from the back of my father’s boat. I bobbed back up, green algae sticking in my hair. I saw a huge red freighter carving its way across the lake a white-tipped tail trailing behind it. I saw the body of our boat rocking from side to side as my body bounced gently up and down carried, by the pull of the waves. My tee-shirt ballooned out around me as I floated on my back, watching the massive ship drift away in the distance.
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Brenda Castellani I was one drop of water in a flooded basement, one word in a an epic novel floating helplessly in the water.
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Brenda Castellani
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The Middle Alex stood in the center of the road dragging the thin sole of his shoe across the white line painted on the pavement. He looked up to see a blue minivan making its way down the hill a ways down the road. He stood placing his hands in his pockets, shoving his pinky finger through a hold in the corner and out the front of his jeans, smiling as he looked down on it. By now the minivan was considerably closer. He picked up his feet and walked to the grassy ditch on the side of the road and sat down. The van zoomed past as soon as he sat down, laying on its horn as it passed. He laced his hands and placed them behind his head as he lay back in the damp grass. He almost wished a car would break down and have to pull over on to the side of the road where he was laying because he thought it would have to be a funny sight to pull over or some reason and come across a person lying in the grass. He amused himself with the thought until he began to feel cool droplets of rain fall on his face. He shuffled his way through a patch of woods as he walked back towards his house, making sure to stomp on every branch possible because he liked the way they sounded as they snapped. He saw a dirty white Saturn in his driveway parked next to his mother’s red Honda as he approached his house kicking a crumpled empty soda can on his way. He let himself in the back door and padded silently through the yellow, tobacco stained kitchen. He saw that his mother had taken out the good glasses and a bottle of wine. He could also hear her laugher along with a male laugh he didn’t recognize coming from the living room. He tried his hardest to creep up the stairs as quietly as he could, taking long exaggerated steps to avoid stepping on the squeaky stairs. He entered his bedroom at the end of the hallway and gingerly shut his door behind him. He picked up a small piece of glass he hid on his book shelf and laid back on his bed without taking off his dirty tennis shoes, examining it. It once was a piece of a snow globe. His dad used to do a lot of traveling and brought it back for him once. It had a tiny city on the inside and read “Birmingham, Alabama” in cursive on the base. His dad left for one of his trips late one night after finishing a six pack of beer. Alex nor his mother had heard from his dad for weeks until one evening he overheard his mother shouting at someone on the phone then tossed any belongs he left at the house in the trash or destroyed them, including the snow globe. His mother had had plenty of friends come and stay the night with them since then, he remembered her having one over the night after his dad left. He found had found the little piece of the snow globe on the floor after his mother had swept away most the mess and hid it on his book shelf. He adjusted his pillow still looking at the piece of glass and began wondering if someday when he was older if he would have lots of friends that were women that he would spend the night with. He wondered about the girls in his class and if they would someday have a special set of wine glasses they would bring out when male visitors spent the night. He pulled his thin blue blanket on his bed over his body and wondered if he would travel around the country like his dad did and if someday he would have someone to bring snow globes back to. He wondered until he slowly fell asleep.
Rebecca Haidet Both Knew (The One Night Stand Poem) We both knew it was going to happen The moment I opened my mouth Saying it wasn't a big deal Stealing glances across the table Making me laugh Inviting me back It was a done deal We both knew It started with a cuddle To harmless flirting The kiss that took my breath away Your gentle lips kissing mine Your hands always finding the right spot We both knew when you laid me down Your kisses leaving my lips Finding my neck My giggles stop As I kissed you back Our clothes coming off Piece by piece As we brought our bodies closer The kisses more frantic When it was over You turned cold I realized what had happened But it was too late Your gentle kiss told a lie That I fell for And would fall for again If this weren't a one night stand.
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*Poetry Contest Winner* Dannielle Laws Invocations She calls my name to make sure I unlock the door for the nurse to enter. She calls my name in the afternoon, reminding me to pick up her meds. She calls my name as I walk out the door. “Be careful” And then - for a while no one bothers me, no one needs me. She calls my name when I return. We talk like we used to. She calls my name in the evening, asking if I’ll feed her. She calls my name in the night to give her the shot. She calls my name in the dark for a drink of water. And then - for a while no one bothers me until she needs me again.
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*Fiction Contest Winner*
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Jasmine Townsend Save Now? You must save the duke from the tower now. Hurry. The castle’s crumbling in the distance, and the tower will be the first to go. The brittle grass pricks at your feet as you sprint, but you don’t mind much, not until you ram your toe at full speed into a good-sized rock. You yelp and fall flat on your stomach, turn on your side, look at your toe. It’s bleeding, enough to lose a hit point or two. That is a good-sized rock. God, it’s as big as your foot. The throbbing subsides, but you roll over onto your back and stare at the ashen sky. Checkpoint. The duke awaits. Sure, you wince when you put pressure on your toe, but you’ll be all right, except now you jog instead of sprint. The poor duke’s auburn head must be sticking out the tower window now, like a lit match, and all that flailing’s going to burn him out. Well, good. Maybe he needs a good fall to knock a wrinkle into that smooth brain of his. Stop. You look down, wiggle your toes. Silly you, you left the hut without your shoes in your haste. If you’d have taken the time to grab your shoes, you wouldn’t have hit your toe. You look back and think about running home, but it’s too late. You’re already too late. The duke needs you. The duke always needs you, and you always run to him, like you’re doing now (except with a bit of limp because of your toe). You don’t quite know why he’s always complaining about things. Sure, he doesn’t actually rule a duchy, but he’s got a title for gods’ sake. And anyway, don’t you treat him like royalty? He calls, you come. Now that’s love. Or, friendship, as you’d told your mother. It’s chilly. You jog against the wind, grass crunching beneath your steps. And you feel a speck of wet cold on your cheek – a rain drop? You look up, jog slowing, and feel another drop pelt your eye lid. Well this is fantastic. This reminds you of the last time you and the duke were out. You’d cut the date short because it’d started pouring, and the duke had gotten mad because you wouldn’t kiss him in the rain. What was the point? He had a shower, and shower water is warmer, besides. The duke had pouted, said it wasn’t the same. What a needy little jackanapes. You spoil him. But how could you not? He might be a rain-drenched match on a dim day, but he’s your rain-drenched match. That night, right before it’d started to pour, he’d told you he’d once seen an aurora the color of your eyes – vibrant blue-green. You were almost flattered. In fact, you would have been if he hadn’t said they compliment the coal blackness of your hair. Why did he have to use coal? The jerk. You’d wanted to grouch, partly because he’d compared your hair to coal and partly because you’d wanted to compliment his eyes, too, but couldn’t think of anything pretty and green besides the clichéd emeralds. But you’re not into that girly, romantic drivel anyway. So instead, you’d fallen silent, and he’d wrapped his arms around you. Called you his favorite nobleman. Sure, you’re a nobleman; your plot of land consists of exactly 40 pixels of royal dirt (except right about now, it would have turned to royal mud) and a dog that shits like a mule. In fact, you’d slipped in a gigantic shit pile once and was on your way to the lake to wash off
Jasmine Townsend
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when you remembered the duke had heated water flowing from carved marble. That’s how you became friends, really. He was useful to you. And then he became a little more than useful. Speaking of useful, you’re not making yourself so, are you? Limp faster! Soon, you see the tower fade into vision in the distance. It’s the first thing you see, then the fort walls. Well how on Earth will you get over those? The closer you get to the castle, the better you can hear the rumbling, crumbling stone, hear the blocks pummel the pathways below, but no screams. Everyone else had had sense enough to get out – everyone else but the duke. The drawbridge was still open, but the middle was missing, pieces of it resting at the bottom of the ditch thirty feet below (there was not actual moat. The duke couldn’t afford it). You shuffle to the middle of the drawbridge and compel yourself not to look down the hole; you just jump (man, you’d really better get something good for this). Just ahead, you see the little castle weathering. The tower was beginning to topple. Your legs quiver a bit; you may or may not be afraid of heights (you’ve yet to admit it to yourself). What a silly boy the duke was, getting himself into such a predicament. This topped all other predicaments thus so far, and as punishment for being so soft-headed, the duke shall have absolutely no kisses in the rain – not that you’d ever done it before, but you’d considered it. Now, you won’t even consider it. Leap! Slip! Help…! Oh. You haven’t fallen. But it still did cost you six dexterity points. You swing your arms forward so as not to fall back into the hole. Thank the gods a bit of wood still jutted out from the side. Even though the bridge is soaked, you try to get a good footing, rubbing the bottoms of your feet against the grit. Is this traction good enough? It’s going to have to be. Leap! Oh, god. That was a close one. One leg made it; the other you had to swing over, and you fall forward, flopping on your belly. You are now sodden and covered in mud and grit. No kisses in the marble shower, either, for that matter! Your toe is killing you, but you push that to the backburner. There’s a faint cry, and you strain to hear the words. You pick yourself up to hands and knees and crawl inside the castle gates, and the wind carries a hint of speech to your ears. “… Baron! Baron, is that you? …” Such was the soft speech you often heard, looking down at that blushing face—the lilt of the duke. This time, it was heavy with urgency. It's as if the wind could only carry it so far and dropped it just out of your reach. You chase it. “Baron, I see you!” He sticks out from the tower window, waving his arms, and something pierces your chest—worry? Fear? Something. You sprint across the citadel now, slide to the door, fling open the door, launch yourself in. All right. The strip of carpet lies ahead of you, leading to the spiral staircase, and you make a beeline for it. Zip right up. You don't get to dictate your own running pace—the stairs perish behind you. Tarry even half a second and down you go. You push yourself. At the top, the door is wide open, and you propel your body forward, but the steps
Jasmine Townsend
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tumble away from under your feet. You snatch a glimpse of the duke's red locks just before you fall. When you catch the ledge, your hands and arms scream. Pulling yourself up is not an option; you're too exhausted. All you want now is to see the duke before you go. Bits of the ceiling break away, and drops of rain infiltrate the chamber, drop from your hair into your eyes, but you blink like mad because you see the duke bending over you from the doorway. The rain pours into the chamber now; his bangs are drowned and sticking to his forehead. He leans forward, and you strain to meet his face. He reaches down, touches your cheek. And those lips, those pink, pouty lips part, and you close your eyes. You feel a slap. Your eyes fly open. Ouch, damn it. “Mine own baron,” the duke said. “You fail. Try again.” You fall. You wake. The ashen sky expands above you, and your toe is throbbing. When you sit up to examine it, you discover it's bleeding. And the duke awaits.