Writers Magazine 2012

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ÇŁ  Elizabeth Romero Moonwalker Williams ÇŁ  Monica Down Julia Kennedy Aurora Myers Douglas Orofino Hannah Robinson Enid Spitz  ǣ  Dr. Geneviève Brassard ÇŁ  Lady In Shadow by JoAnna Langberg Writers logo (back cover) designed by Enid Spitz ͖͔͕͖  Â

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Talley Carlston John McCarty Mackenzie Parker

4 5 8

Alcatraz In Hora Mortis On the Masochistic Fidelity found between Self-‐Dictated Platonic Fondness and Intimidated Love-‐ Sick Adoration

Katelin Stanley 11 Danielle Henry 14 Enid Spitz 18 Susan Pham 23 Katie Doyle 28 Monica McAllister 35 Rick Baleros 38 Talley Carlston 48 52 JoAnna Langberg Amanda Schenberger 55 61 Kate Stringer 65 Stasia Uhrhammer 70 Nicole Simard

Home One of the Crowd Athens Snowfall Rose Beetles from Broome, Australia Strength La Luna The Caper %RRN /RYHU·V +HDYHQ Kylemore Abbey Cable Beach Radcliffe Camera at Oxford University Karley Peninsula *RG·V /DZ

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Drew Barton Collin Pedeaux Kelsey Weyerbacher

74 85 89

Ian Clark José Huerta Bridget Abshear

12 13 19

Kat Snow Evan Gabriel Thomas Bluth Aaron Dobbe Amanda Schenberger

22 24 25 29 30

van Gogh Vestal Hours I only have so many heartbeats left My Conscience God Stressed the Child He is ordinary Alice and Sarah Keep Your Mouth Shut

Corey Fawcett Alex Graham Andrew McGaw Mackenzie Parker

36 37 41 42

Kelsey Weyerbacher Ian Clark Megan Lester AJ Davies Jeffrey Kuang Evan Gabriel

44 49 50 53 54 56

Aurora Myers José Huerta Kelsey Reavis Philip Ellefson Katelin Stanley Jillian Stephens Aaron Dobbe

57 62 63 71 72 82 86

Her Idols ² Mostly Chronological With One Accord If Eyes Widen The Problem with Having a Dam-‐ aged Heart and a Realistic Mind You. James Connolly Cryptic Title VII 0LUURU 0LUURU RQ WKH :DOO« To Get Her To Bertha Franklin Regarding the Death of Mr. Soul, 1964 Bludgeon Me Beautiful Precedent A Quest I Only Can Wonder $ &RPPXWHU·V 5HYHODWLRQ Who to Blame A Lovesong in Eulogy

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Cecilia Brunning 15 Job Nazareno 20 Philip Ellefson 26 Janel Raab 33 Anya Bury 39 Vanny Chao 45 Elly Thompson 59 Elizabeth Romero 66 Jordan Zettle 75 Jeff Makjavich 77 Michael Paton 83 Kevin Sharp 90 Kevin Hershey 92

The Last Daisy Rambling Thoughts The Plan for Enlightenment Forced Demise A Shift in Poles An Unforgettable Blessing Promessi Sposi Mi Prima, Diana me and you: fishing. Do You Have Any Change? Leaving Home Basic Human Decency Open Doors in the Old Country

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About the Creative Contributors Acknowledgements

ǯ Talley Carlston John McCarty Mackenzie Parker

Alcatraz In Hora Mortis On the Masochistic Fidelity found between Self-‐Dictated Platonic Fondness and Intimidated Love-‐ Sick Adoration

Katelin Stanley Danielle Henry Enid Spitz Susan Pham

Home One of the Crowd Athens Snowfall

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The rain came in sheets at first, but as the day progressed it settled into a fine mist. The excess water quickly turned the soil into a thick, pasty mud that stuck to black cap toes and high heels in heavy clumps. Peo-� ple clustered around the blue tent that shielded the fresh hole from the rain. They trampled and tore the dead grass, creating more mud, and watched while the priest said the final blessing. The crowd began to disperse, but the immediate family remained. There was silence except for the occasional sniffling; the youngest one stepped forward and took the first yellow rose from the bouquet.

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7KH FKXUFK ZDV KRW DQG LW VPHOOHG OLNH ROG SHRSOH +H GLGQ¡W ZDQW WKH ELJ ER\V WR VHH KLP FU\ EHFDXVH KH ZDV WRXJK OLNH WKHP +H GLGQ¡W like seeing grampa lying in that big box, but the flowers were pretty. He sniffled loudly. His mother handed him a tissue and put her arm around him.

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One yellow daffodil. He ran his hand along the lockers on the left side of the hall while he walked with the dean of students. His mind raced as he tried to recall if he had broken any rules recently, why else would they pull him out of class early? They walked right past the offices. Something was wrong. They stopped in front of the doorway to the conference room and the dean motioned for him to go in. His father, older brother and sister were already seated. One look at their red faces and watery eyes and everything made sense. Caught in the riptide of relation, he was pulled into an ocean of sadness. One pink carnation. ,W¡V &KULVWPDV (YH EXW QRW HYHU\RQH KDV WKH QLJKW RII $XQWV DQG uncles, cousins and grandkids, brothers and sisters all talk and laugh, their warm merriment pitted against the blistering blizzard outside. His wife makes sure he is adequately equipped for the snow, stuffing a tin of Copenhagen into his jacket pocket and pressing a thermos of coffee into his hands before he steps out the door. The next four hours he patrols the town in his maintainer, and while his family plays cards and opens presents, he keeps the roads clear and safe for a young wom-â€? an who might give birth any minute.

Alone in his yellow John Deere with only his thoughts and black cof-‐

fee, he smiles at the thought of his relatives celebrating miles away, al-‐ PRVW DEOH WR KHDU KLV ZLIH·V WLWWHULQJ ODXJK DV VKH RSHQV DQRWKHU SUHVHQW from their adoring daughters. He hums a tune from his childhood, un-‐ fazed by the cold, with his headlights barely cutting through the heavy snowfall; he levels the road for those to come after him. One violet carnation. There were eight people in the sun-‐room watching TV, his chair was empty as though he had just gone to the bathroom and would be back in a second. Ten more people sat at the kitchen table talking or playing cards. Another seven clustered in the main kitchen area, drinking beer and picking at different appetizers. The basement was the realm of the youth, and it was the only room in the modest house not overflowing with people. The kids sat on couches around the TV, played video-‐ games, and drank too much soda.

͚ One white daisy. Cigarette smoke hung in the air. He glanced at his brother as he fin-‐ ished his beer with a gulp. They had been drinking since the reception, but they grew tired of alcohol. The exited the bar and climbed into the raised pickup. Exhaust spewed from the tailpipe as they tore along the highway, and headed back towards the church. He decelerated quickly and hung a right; the tires slid in the transition from asphalt to gravel. Adrenalin surged in their veins as they swerved and skidded around turns, through cornfields and roadside ditches. The truck bounced out of one ditch and screeched across the road before dropping into another muddy trough. The fresh mud sucked the heavy truck down, covering the tires like wet cement. One red rose. The heart rate monitor maps the peaks and valleys of life. Several col-‐ orful bouquets sit about the room but the stark, white walls drown them out. His wife clasps his right hand and his five daughters hold hands in a half circle around the foot of the bed. They stand and watch with tears in their eyes, occasionally praying the Hail Mary. The IV drips, the monitor beeps, and the second hand sweeps slowly around the clock. He looks into the eyes of each of his daughters, and finally his wife. He says nothing, but they understand perfectly.

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7KH KHDUW UDWH PRQLWRU ZDLOV QRERG\ KHDUV LW 7KH\ FDQ¡W RYHU WKH putt-â€?putt of the old red tractor. He sits up straight; his tall frame al-â€? most makes the tractor seem small. They watch his labors from the edge of the field, and as he comes to the end he winks and gives them a wave, a wide grin spreading across his sun-â€?baked face. Deftly he turns the tractor around for another pass at the golden stalks of wheat. :KHQ KH¡V GRQH KH¡OO WLOO WKH ULFK EODFN VRLO LQWR QHDW URZV UHDG\ WR receive the life he sows, because this little plot of heaven is all he knows.

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KĹś ƚŚĞ DÄ‚Ć?Ĺ˝Ä?ĹšĹ?Ć?Ć&#x;Ä? &Ĺ?ĚĞůĹ?ƚLJ ĨŽƾŜÄš Ä?ÄžĆšÇ ÄžÄžĹś  ^ÄžůĨ-­â€?ÄšĹ?Ä?ƚĂƚĞĚ WĹŻÄ‚ĆšŽŜĹ?Ä? &ŽŜĚŜĞĆ?Ć? ĂŜĚ /ĹśĆ&#x;ĹľĹ?ĚĂƚĞĚ >ŽǀĞĆ?Ĺ?Ä?ĹŹ ÄšĹ˝ĆŒÄ‚Ć&#x;ŽŜ   'R \RX NQRZÂŤ What am I saying? You know everything, it seems. But, seriously, do you know that \RX¡UH P\ EHVW IULHQG and you know everything about me worth knowing. <RX¡UH P\ EHVW IULHQG DQG RIWHQ , IHHO ,¡YH RQO\ VHHQ D IUDFWLRQ RI \RXU PXOWLSOH IDFHWV DQG DQRPDOLHV Do you remember how we met, all those years ago? You sucked me in, Íœ  and when I reached the event horizon, my very atoms were ripped apart.

Like a sadistic psychologist with a voice like a hypnotist, you got in my head and you drilled through my skull, cutting, and stitching, and clamping, and carving, and playing. 7KHQ ZKHQ \RX¡G ILQLVKHG \RXU 'U )UDQNHQVWHLQ URXWLQH you dragged me bodily out of the morphine haze and, utterly unrepentant, pressed me tightly against your chest to stop me from ripping out stitches. That scar is still there, where my nails gouged away skin. I was touched, in a morbid sort of way, when I saw that you were more concerned for my wellbeing than for your eye that was rapidly swelling shut. 6DIHW\ RII " :KR¡V LQ \RXU VLJKWV WKLV WLPH" ,¡YH VWUDSSHG RQ D EXOOHWSURRI YHVW raided the drawer where I know you keep the Berretta, and charged into No-â€?0DQ¡V-â€?Land, just for you.

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Do you remember how we met, all those years ago? Now we sit across the table from each other. You build a sugar-�packet pyramid. But your own shaking hands send them sliding down slipping sideways skating across the linoleum, and none of our vast array of witticisms could possibly diffuse the bone-�numbing cold that suddenly overtakes us. I no longer flinch when tortured animosity seeps out from deep within you, like lava.

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6R ZKHQ \RX GLVFRYHU ,¡YH used your own trick against you, and stolen the key to the liquor cabinet from your pocket, I stand my ground, for once.

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Were I anyone else, I would be terrified, for I would look in your eyes and see a death sentence. I am not afraid of you. Not even as I stand with your thumb pressed hard against my jugular vein, because your eyes tell me what your actions do not³ were I anyone else, I would have already been dead. I pull your shaking hand away from the orange prescription bottle, and I interlace our fingers. Your skin burns, scorches my flesh; WKH RQO\ WLPH \RX¡YH OHW PH WRXFK \RX Part of me wants to be burned alive. %XW \RX ZRXOGQ¡W Not ever. %HFDXVH \RX¡UH VFDUHG RI \RXUVHOI VFDUHG \RX¡OO VKDWWHU WKH RQO\ WKLQJ LQ \RXU OLIH WKDW¡V PDQDJHG WR UHPDLQ intact. $QG QRZ

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 Your eyes still glitter, even as they scream, and curdle my blood. You still ensnare, entrance, but eventually, as we both know, your caution will be gobbled up by craving. ,¡P WLUHG IURP WU\LQJ WR IL[ WKLV H[SORGHG JDV PDLQ E\ P\VHOI ,¡OO EH IRUFHG to stand firm and remind your doctors that they have a DNR form with your signature on it, because your eyes will still possess me, even as their glittering intelligence flickers as the pressure of the agony begins to smother, and you start to fade with heart-â€?wrenching slowness. <RX¡OO OHW PH KROG \RX WKHQ ,¡OO FUDGOH \RX LQ P\ DUPV press a kiss to your, by then purpling, lips. 0D\EH \RX¡OO ILQDOO\ EHOLHYH WKHQ ZKDW \RX¡YH VHHQ DOO WKHVH \HDUV LQ P\ H\HV \RX¡OO EHOLHYH WKHQ ZKHQ , XQZLOOLQJO\ PHWDPRUSKRVH LQWR a pathetically dramatic human waterfall.

Í•Í”   And you, oh self-â€?restrained sceptic, will have all the proof your scientific mind could ever want, if you nod your head in surrender, DQG IUHH MXVW ORQJ HQRXJK IRU PH WR UDFH WR WKH QXUVHV¡ VWDWLRQ $QG QRZÂŤ :H ERWK NQRZ WKDW ,¡OO VWXEERUQO\ stay by your side, even as you stumble for the final time and tumble into nothingness.

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the ox trundles through the fog, wearing a crown of crows (sunflowers, spilled cups of tea, leggings of whores, worn ruts of insomnia and ashtrays burning with the embers of insanity) the ox sniffs the soil, wrinkling its nose against sodden dandelions (in the sink red bandages twirl slowly; yes, bandages ebbing slowly, slipping scarlet down the perforated drain)

Í•Í– Â Â the crows circle lowerÂłyes, there are crows drifting off into hazy seas

(the ox-�cart lurching up the road, yes, crows circling lower and lower and yes somewhere there is the murmur of sunflowers spilling over rain-�slick windows)

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and dawn would distill piece by piece through the curtains, tiny bits easing down into the disregarded corners of your eyes. and as if lost in achingly rapid thought, your lips would gather, curling inwards to retain fears only addressed in bed. and each miniscule bend or turn that I tried my best to stifle would be echoed in time, our own hushed waltz beneath the sheets.

and in the fleeting moments before you

wake, the calluses on every digit

would map the boundary line between the I and you and the I in you, blotting it out as much as possible until dawn breaks through, closing mine as you open yours.

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When I was eight years old, Davey Douglas gave me a perfect white daisy in the abandoned Tristan family field. One week later he died.

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*** 1RZ ,¡P QLQHWHHQ \HDUV ROG VWUROOLQJ LQ &HQWUDO 3DUN RQH KDQG LQ *HRIIUH\¡V DQG WKH RWKHU ZLWK P\ FHOO SKRQH SUHVVHG WLJKWO\ DJDLQVW P\ ear. The phone feels sticky on my ear. My little sister is sobbing on the RWKHU HQG DQG , FDQ¡W XQGHUVWDQG DQ\WKLQJ VKH¡V WU\LQJ WR VD\ ´&DOP GRZQ &DVVLH Âľ 1R RQH FDOOV P\ VLVWHU &DVVLH H[FHSW PH (YH U\RQH HOVH JRHV ZLWK HLWKHU &DVV RU &DVVDQGUD ´&DVVLH &DVVLH &DVVLH KRQH\ :KDW¡V ZURQJ" &DVVLH &$66,( Âľ *HRIIUH\ DQG , VLW GRZQ RQ D EHQFK IDFLQJ D ELJ SRQG ,W¡V VXQQ\ RXW side, but I feel cold. Across from us is a small cafĂŠ, the one Geoffrey XVHG WR ZRUN DW ,W¡V ZKHUH ZH ILUVW PHW On the phone, I hear Cassie attempt a deep breath. I imagine her the last time I saw her, at the airport as I left for New York. Her short blonde hair looked perfect, Cassie makes sure that it always does. But her tears had easily defeated her waterproof mascara, trailing down in KHU IDFH ZKLOH OHDYLQJ EHKLQG PXUN\ VTXLJJOHG PDVFDUD OLQHV ,W¡V QR VXUSULVH WKDW VKH¡V FDOOLQJ PH EDZOLQJ 6KH¡V DOZD\V EHHQ D ELJ FULHU 1RZ LW¡V 0D\ DQG , KDYHQ¡W VHHQ KHU LQ QLQH PRQWKV &DVVLH FOHDUV KHU WKURDW ´,W¡V EDFN Âľ VKH ZKLVSHUV FU\VWDO FOHDU DQG then starts sobbing again. ´&DVVLH &DOP GRZQ :KDW¡UH \RX WDONLQJ DERXW"Âľ The next few seconds feel like an eternity as Cassie sniffles. Beside me Geoffrey gives me a questioning look. I can tell that he wants to get going. We have a meeting with the florist in fifteen minutes. $ FRXSOH PRUH VQLIIOHV DQG &DVVLH ILQDOO\ VD\V ´&DQFHU Âľ I stare across the pond at two carefree people throwing bread crumbs at some ducks. I open my mouth to say something back to Cas-â€? sie, but nothing comes out. At some point Geoffrey takes the phone IURP PH DQG , KHDU KLP WDONLQJ WR &DVVLH EXW ,¡P QRW OLVWHQLQJ WR ZKDW he is saying. The only thing in my mind is the face of Davey Douglas. , KDYHQ¡W WKRXJKW DERXW 'DYH\ LQ \HDUV EXW QRZ KH¡V DOO , VHH +LV bright blue eyes. Dark brown, messy hair. That little grin he had the day he gave me the perfect white daisy. The dimple in his right cheek and the small freckles trailed above his lip.

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 The only person I want to see at this moment is Davey Douglas.

*HRIIUH\ VD\V JRRG E\H WR &DVVLH DQG SXOOV PH LQWR D WLJKW KXJ ´,W¡V RND\ Âľ KH VD\V WKLFN ZLWK FRQFHUQ EXW ZLWK WKH WRQH RI WDONLQJ WR D FKLOG ´,W¡V JRLQJ WR EH RND\ ,¡OO WDNH FDUH RI \RX Âľ Geoffrey strokes my hair. I hate it when he does that. He always does it so hard, so forceful. I think of the way it felt to hold the daisy in between my little fin-â€? gers. I was so scared the daisy would fall apart. It felt so small and deli-â€? cate. But it was a perfect white daisy, so of course it never did. *HRIIUH\ OHWV PH JR DQG UDLVHV KLV KDQG WR WRXFK P\ FKHHN ´,¡P VXUH WKH IORULVW ZRQ¡W PLQG LI ZH¡UH D OLWWOH ODWH Âľ +H SDXVHV ´,V WKHUH DQ\ WKLQJ , FDQ GR"Âľ He looks so unlike Davey, with his dirt brown eyes and short blonde hair. I scan the area, my eyes landing back on the cafĂŠ. ´, ZDQW D EDJHO Âľ , WHOO KLP *HRIIUH\ ORRNV DW PH VWUDQJHO\ DQG WKHQ VWDQGV XS ´2ND\ ,¡OO EH ULJKW EDFN Âľ +H GLVDSSHDUV There is only one boy throwing bread crumbs at the ducks now. All the ducks are gone except for one. The boy tosses a rather large piece of EUHDG DW WKH GXFN ,W¡V D JLUO GXFN 6KH WXUQV KHU KHDG ORRNLQJ OLNH VKH wants to swim away. But instead she turns back to the bread, and she gobbles it up before it sinks into the water and disappears. To reach the Tristan field, you had to cross a stream. You always knew you were close when you could hear the familiar rush of water. There were millions of little pebbles surrounding the water and larger black rocks that outlined the dark blue stream. Once you leaped across the stream you went through a curtain of evergreens and then you were in the field and all you saw was green and daisies and squirrels and robins and sunshine. Every kid I knew, including Davey, had crossed the stream dozens of times. The day Davey died he was alone. They think he somehow tripped into the stream and hit his head on a rock, because when they found him his head was bleeding and he was face down in the water, long gone. Geoffrey returns with a warm bagel and he puts it in my lap, kisses my cheek, and drapes an arm around my shoulders. +H KDV LW DOO ZURQJ %XW , GRQ¡W WHOO KLP WKDW , GLGQ¡W KDYH WKH SHUIHFW ZKLWH GDLV\ ZKHQ 'DYH\ GLHG , SXW LW LQ WKH pocket of my white dress I was wearing the day he gave it to me, but it ZDVQ¡W WKHUH ZKHQ , JRW KRPH , QHYHU ZHQW EDFN WR WKDW ILHOG DIWHU 'DYH\ ZDV JRQH , FDQ¡W QRZ DQ\ZD\ :KHQ , ZDV WZHOYH VRPHRQH bought the property and built an ugly blue house there. ,¡P QLQHWHHQ \HDUV ROG VLWWLQJ EHVLGH D VWUDQJHU LQ &HQWUDO 3DUN 0\

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mother has cancer again. I want to see Davey Douglas.

But that will never happen. So I walk home, make a few phone calls, and fall asleep with Geoffrey beside me, dreaming of fields of perfect white daisies where there are no rocks to trip on and only Davey Doug-‐ las to see.

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I only have so many heartbeats left, Before I pass away into the dark. <HW ZKHQ , NLVV P\ ORYH ,¡P RIW EHUHIW For at a breathless pace my heart embarks And leaves me with a poverty of air. The one who brings a smile to my face And causes me to blush and twirl my hair Is yet the one who speeds me from this place. Why does my heart so hasten its demise? Each pump of blood is closer to its last³ $QG LI , GLH WRR \RXQJ LW¡V QR VXUSULVH That it should be of heartbeats much too fast. Yet I should never choose to leave the cause; )RU KH LV ZRUWK WKH KDVW¡QLQJ RI GHDWK¡V MDZV

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The weather was nice, sunny and partly cloudy with a breeze. Cold enough to wear a jacket, warm enough to appreciate the sun. I told her DERXW WKDW DERXW KRZ WKLV ZDV P\ IDYRULWH NLQG RI ZHDWKHU ,¡YH WROG her numerous times. I wondered if she thought about me when she saw this weather, if she had associated me with this kind of perfect day. 3UREDEO\ QRW QR SUREDEO\ QRW ,W¡V MXVW DQRWKHU GD\ ,W¡V QRWKLQJ VSH FLDO 6KH¡V JRW RWKHU WKLQJV WR GR RWKHU WKLQJV WR WKLQN DERXW , VWRSSHG thinking about her. I looked up at the sky. The wind had taken a break from blowing DJDLQVW XV RQ WKH JURXQG VR LW ZDV VWLOO %XW WKH VN\ÂŤ WKH VN\ ZDV EXV\ The clouds in the sky seemed as if they had an agenda, somewhere they needed to be. Big clouds, small clouds, and bunches of clouds flying away all the same. All this and I wonder what the buzz was, what was so important off in the distance that they all needed to disappear into WKH KRUL]RQ %XW , FDQ¡W IO\ DQG , FDQ¡W MRLQ WKHP VR ,¡OO MXVW UHWXUQ WR WKH ground and let the sky go to where it needs to be. ,¡YH WKRXJKW RI IOLJKW ,¡YH WKRXJKW DERXW KRZ , ZRXOG IO\Âłhow I could have had extra appendages in the form of wings, if my arms WKHPVHOYHV EHFDPH WKH ZLQJV ,¡G XVH WR SURSHO P\VHOI RII WKH JURXQG RU if maybe I had the power of telekinesis to lift myself up off the ground using the power of my will, my determination. But if that were so, I SUREDEO\ ZRXOGQ¡W EH D VWHDG\ IOLHU 1R IO\LQJ¡V QRW UHDOO\ IRU PH , OLNH WKH JURXQG ,W¡V VWDEOH LW GRHVQ¡W PRYH QRW PXFK I definitely have thought about having superpowers. Over the years ,¡YH FRQVLGHUHG IOLJKW VXSHU VWUHQJWK VXSHU VSHHG FRPSOHWH FRQWURO over fire, complete control over water, and being able to absorb and VWRUH HQHUJ\ DQG PDWWHU ZLWKRXW OLPLW %XW ,¡P DIUDLG RI KHLJKWV , GRQ¡W ZDQW WR IDFH WKH EXUGHQV RI KDYLQJ VXSHU VWUHQJWK , GRQ¡W ZDQW WR PRYH VR IDVW WKDW , OHDYH P\ ZRUOG EHKLQG , GRQ¡W ZDQW WR FDXVH DFFLGHQWDO KDUP , GRQ¡W ZDQW WR PDNH PLVWDNHV DQG , GRQ¡W ZDQW WKDW PXFK UH sponsibility. :LWK HDFK JLIW FRPHV LWV UHVSHFWLYH FXUVH DQG , GRQ¡W ZDQW WR KDQGOH them, not now, not while I have a choice. The worst power I can think of is immortality, because nobody should have to live forever, and no-â€? body should have to suffer that alone. To draw other people in with that ability, that curse, is an endless cycle. Once one gains immortality, RQH ORVHV WKH IHHOLQJ RI OLIH %HFDXVH ZKDW¡V OLIH ZLWKRXW GHDWK" ,W¡V MXVW HQGOHVV WLPH ,W¡V D JLIW LW¡V D FXUVH

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 ,¡YH DOZD\V LPDJLQHG WKDW ZKHQ WKDW GLVDVWURXV PHWHRU FRPHV around to destroy Earth, it misses completely. However, it hits the planet with its special radiation, killing some people, gifting some peo-â€? ple with superpowers, or just not affecting some people at all. The peo-â€? ple of the world who survived the event would live in a different world altogether, one with superpowers, one like the comics, one like we could only dream about. People would receive powers based on their personalities, their characteristics, their personal, unwritten life rec-â€? ords. It would be a world of good guys and bad guys, and it would be PRUH FRPPRQSODFH WR OLYH LQ DQ LQWHUGHSHQGHQW ZRUOG 7KDW¡V KRZ ,¡YH always thought about it, ideally. School life would change. Schools would have to incorporate mainte-â€? nance and ethics of these powers to their curriculums. Students would have to be separated between the powers and the non-â€?SRZHUV :H¡G have general classes together, but P.E. would have to take extra precau-â€? WLRQV MXVW LQ FDVH %XW LW¡V QRW P\ SODFH WR ZRUU\ DERXW WKDW ,¡OO OHDYH WKDW WR WKH DGPLQLVWUDWLRQ ,¡OO MXVW ZRUU\ DERXW WKH SRZHU , JHW LI , GR at all get a power. ,¡YH DOVR FRQVLGHUHG ZKDW P\ SRZHU ZRXOG EH LQ WKLV VFHQDULR :KLOH ,¡G VHH P\ IULHQGV RXW DQG DERXW WHVWLQJ RXW WKHLU QHZIRXQG SRZHUV DOUHDG\ WU\LQJ WR SHUIHFW WKHP DV PXFK DV WKH\ FRXOG ,¡G MXVW VLW RII RQ the sidelines and watch. It would be a just punishment to wish this fate XSRQ WKH ZRUOG 7KH PHWHRU ZRXOGQ¡W NLOO PH IRU GHDWK LV MXVW D ZD\ RI UXQQLQJ DZD\ IURP D SUREOHP ,¡G KDYH WR OLYH WR VHH LW WKURXJK 1RW ZLWK LPPRUWDOLW\ WKRXJK , ZRXOGQ¡W ZDQW WKDW FXUVH ,I , KDG UHFHLYHG my powers based off of a defining characteristic of myself, even if it was VRPHWKLQJ RQO\ , NQHZ ,¡G KDYH WKH SRZHU RI LPDJLQDWLRQ (YHU\ FKLOG LV ERUQ ZLWK D YLYLG LPDJLQDWLRQ LW¡V DOO D PDWWHU RI KRZ LW JRHV WR XVH ,W¡V XQOLNH WHOHSDWK\ LQ WKDW , ZRXOGQ¡W EH UHDGLQJ PLQGV QRU LV LW OLNH WKH SRZHU RI FUHDWLRQ EHFDXVH WKDW¡V D SRZHU IDU WRR VWURQJ for any mortal to have. Simply put, my ability would exhibit similar SURSHUWLHV WR &DOYLQ DQG +REEHV LQ WKDW ,¡G EH D &DOYLQ VHHLQJ PRUH WKDQ ZKDW¡V MXVW WKHUH DQG FUHDWLQJ H[LVWHQFHV RI EHLQJV RULJLQDWLQJ from my mind like Hobbes, but instead of just me, other people can see WKHP WRR DQG LQWHUDFW ZLWK WKHP , GRQ¡W NQRZÂłLW¡V UDWKHU GLIILFXOW WR explain. %XW LQ WKLV ZRUOG WKLV RUGLQDU\ ZRUOG ZLWK WKH (DUWK DQG 6XQ¡V QHDU-â€? LQILQLWH JDPH RI OHDSIURJ ZLWK FORXGV LQ D KXUU\ SHRSOH RQ DJHQGDV ,¡OO just stick to my imagination and reflections and ramblings and solilo-â€? TXLHV (YHU\WKLQJ¡V VDIHU LQ P\ KHDG DIWHU DOO (YHU\WKLQJ¡V VXEMHFW WR change. Everything stays the same. Everything moves on.

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Cold hands and gnawing claws Reaching fingers, grasping paws Silent, quiet, still, black Choking, holding, screaming back Clutch my throat, hold sound back Cut the cords, tit for tat Without sound, without light Eyes bound Heart and sound My silence, a never ending round Heartless or quiet Silent or shy Without words, to speak I try Without wings I try to fly

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I can remember it right. Right now little one with little firecrackers in your eyes lick first then tell your tongue to ramble upon the reed, windpipe of the ZRRGZLQG IDPLO\ WKH OHVVRQ VRRQ JURZLQJ DQG HFKRLQJ *UDQGDGG\¡V flirtatious melody. I can remember it right. When I was an older boy and noticing the hum, hoping this funk is just a phase, still too young to know the soon-â€?to-â€?be depths of my world hush-â€? hushing itself, growing aware with each rest and slur, the quietudeÂł there in that space I grew. No more hearing Bhagera in the Jungle, no more Black Dog CafĂŠ in April Rain-â€? fall ,¡P RQO\ WKH ZHW OLQHV VWUHDNHG RQ D SDVVLQJ ZLQGVKLHOG ,¡P VLOHQFH reverberating memories of its golden hue and the smooth tongue that RQFH GLG MXVWLFH WKH VRORV WKDW , QHYHU EOHZ :KDW¡V UHFHLYHG QRZ LVQ¡W LQ WXQH LQ WKLV PXPQHVV ,¡YH JURZQ WKLV EOXH

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He is ordinary and knows the familiar but he sees the sublimity of man and nature and manifests wisdom. None know his genesis or his evanescence But we know his work, for he needs to work. And until diminished or satisfied, he is The Inspired Man.

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² I have a plan, and I think if I follow it I will reach enlightenment. ² Yeah? What are you gonna do, be the next Siddhartha or something? ² What? ² Never mind, tell me about this plan. ² I have a plan, and it is this: I will crawl into a cave. Well, okay, first I have to find the cave, and of course I will spend a period of time (not too long, one week at most) wandering in the mountains looking for a cave to crawl into. Then, once a cave is foundÂłonce the cave is foundÂłI will crawl into it. It will be dark, dark, for the entrance to the cave will be only as big as the widest part of my body, and it will face the north so that no light shines directly into it. So into the cave I will crawl, and even though the entrance is small, it will really be quite spacious inside. I will spend a good amount of time wallowing in this darkness (for wallowing is a healthy thing that humans ought to do), wallowing in this coldness and wetness (for, like all caves, it will be cold and wet as well as dark). I will deny myself food and I will drink only what I can lap up from the tiny stream of wa-â€? ter pouring across the floor of the cave. Likely it will be quite painful, but I will afford myself two luxuries: I will be able to dance, for the cave will be spacious and after a couple of days of bleeding my feet will be calloused enough to prance and frolic around the cave for hours, swinging around the stalactites and the stalagmites and jumping as high as my weakened body will allow; I will also be able to sing, and I will sound better than I do when I sing now, for the echoes and rever-â€? beration in the open cave will fill the space with a thick, rich, colorful reflection of my voice. My time will be occupied by singing and dancing and painful wallowing (mostly the latter). Then, in an epiphanic mo-â€? ment of dancing and singing (the only two luxuries I will afford my-â€? self), I will realize the folly of wallowing in the darkness and crawl out of the cave. It will be sunny on the day this happens, and snow will be on the ground so that as I come out from the darkness I will be blinded by the light all around me shooting into my eyes. But because my epi-â€? phanic moment will be ongoing, I will not be afraid of this blindness. I will seek refuge in the shade of a grove of pines that will be nearby (which I will name Ananias), and in a few days something like scales will fall from my eyes and my sight will return to me. I will decide that

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is unreasonable to live as an ascetic. Therefore, I will begin gathering food and supplies to make a fire. Once these are gathered (enough to cook two or three hearty meals), I will crawl back into the cave with them. In the cave, I will build the fire and, famished, cook my food quickly, a little too quickly (it will be a little bit burnt), and devour it like an animal. Once I have eaten and am full, I will see that the way the flames dance on the walls of the cave is beautiful, and I will see further that there are paintings on every wall of the cave, breathtaking paint-â€? ings of prehistoric mammals and of the primitive horde. I will reflect on the ancientness of these paintings, how they are older than Rome, older WKDQ *UHHFH ROGHU HYHQ WKDQ 6XPHU ZKLFK ,¡YH EHHQ WROG LV WKH ROGHVW civilization we know of. Then I will cry for three days. I will stoke the fire so I can learn the paintings, absorb them, experience them fully with my whole self. I will eat and I will drink and I will sleep and I will cry. Then I will have an idea and I will wander outside of the cave look-â€? ing for some pigment, something to paint with. I will find red berries and remember the charcoal from the fire. I will crush them and mix them with water to make paints. First I will think about practicing my painting on chunks of wood, for I have never studied painting and I think that my best, most practiced artistry is deserved by the prehistor-â€? ic painters to whom I will speak through my paintings, continuing the oldest discourse on all the earth. But then I will consider how the raw-â€? ness of my unrefined painting should be a part of the thing I create, that the practice of art is a part of the art itself. And I will then begin paint-â€? ing. Above, below, all around, I will put my images next to their images and I will cry for ten days as I do this. I do not claim to know what I will paint, for I will be moved by the moment and in a fleeting reverie make my unplanned strokes. When I am finished, I will spend three days see-â€? ing the flames flicker on the paintings, the old and the new, all outside of time. I will see that it is beautiful and climb out of the cave. This will be on the fortieth day. Having reached enlightenment, I will return to civilization with a new heart and live in a way those prehistoric paint-â€? ers, my comrades and collaborators, would have seen as wholesome.

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² +RZ FDQ \RX EH VR VXUH \RX ZRQ¡W MXVW ILQG DQ RUGLQDU\ FDYH ZDOORZ (as you say) for a couple days, and then run back to the comfort of the city?

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Alice was first, but her words were laced with tired profanity and needless angst, her idea of purpose was to pointedly sigh, blinded by the fishhook lodged in her eye. Sarah was last, but she was unfair, constantly belied with false compare, gliding with dangerous, inhuman grace, dark eyes overlooking the curve of her face.

While excesses and deficits got me this far, staying in bed or touching the stars, LW V WLPH WR VHHN RXW $ULVWRWOH·V PHDQ a muse that smiles, but not at me.

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What happened to The woman who fought To vote, have a career, Do anything she pleased? ,¡OO WHOO \RX ZKHUH VKH ZHQW 6KH¡V EHHQ UHGXFHG WR Checking out her ass In a bathroom mirror, Mouth sealed shut, Nothing important to say. :KHQ VKH¡V FDOOHG RQ LQ FODVV She apologizes For her ideas Before she speaks. She cares less about Thinking and more about The social scene and Looking like The cover of a magazine Because someone told her On millions of screens that 6KH FRXOGQ¡W EH EHDXWLIXO And have a brain 8QOHVV VKH¡V LQVDQH Her value is in her Toned legs, not her Tone of voice, Not like she has one, Because in fact She rarely says Anything intelligent

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At all. $QG WKDW¡V ZKDW ZH¡YH All come to expect: ,I WKHUH¡V EHDXW\ RQ WKH 6XUIDFH WKHUH¡V QRWKLQJ 8QGHUQHDWK LVQ¡W WKDW The way things are? Well maybe if you Looked into my mind Instead of Down my shirt, <RX¡G UHDOL]H WKDW I have IMPORTANT Things to say. I am intelligent and Spectacular, And if my vernacular Intimidates you, :HOOÂŤ, GRQ¡W UHDOO\ Give a shit %HFDXVH ,¡P GRQH Dumbing myself down So you can feel comfortable With your pigeon-â€?hole Gender roles. ,I \RX¡UH D JLUO Who perpetuates The stereotype, Stop being a coward And be who you are Or leave

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And anyone who Insists on being a part Of this diseased notion, Reads this and calls me $ ´IHPLQLVW ¾ ,¡G OLNH To inform you that the term Refers to someone Who believes Women should be Treated equally To men, and if you Have a problem with that, 7KHQ \RX¡UH WKH RQH ZKR Needs to Keep Your Mouth Shut.

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Attention, which she received easily from a certain someone Change Stability Change Stability People that made waves People that left no footprints Freedom, which she got to a degree she never could have imagined

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hid from friends and classmates, but at home her walls diminished. Life after the accident was progressing well, in terms of rehabilitation thera-â€? pies. She could read, drive, and remember her breakfast by dinner, and she had entered high school as a fulltime student. To most, she was fine, KHDOWK\ UHJXODU %XW LVQ¡W WKDW KRZ LW DOZD\V LV WKDW ZKLOH WKLQJV ORRN EHWWHU RQ WKH VXUIDFH ZKDW LVQ¡W VHHQ LV NHSW KLGGHQ" 2Q WKH JRRG nights, she fell asleep only worried and anxious about her dreams and how uncomfortable she felt in her brain. Black and white composition notebooks lined her bed, tears and fears stained the pages, as if writing everything out would tire her to sleep. The rough nights required her mom sleeping next to her on a cot; a sense of calmness and security IORZHG IURP KHU PRWKHU¡V KDQG WR KHU RZQ 7KH ZRUVW QLJKWV VKH GLGQ¡W sleep, she planned her funeral. Today she adapts to different challenges from the December visit. It ZDVQ¡W RQO\ GHSUHVVLRQ QRZ LW ZDV ELSRODU GLVRUGHU DQG VKH KDG LW EDG It made sense genetically; she is one of many in her family with a ´VSHFLDO WZLVW Âľ 6KH NQHZ IURP SV\FKRORJ\ FODVVHV RI 'DUZLQ¡V WKHRU\ RI evolution, that genes determine physical, social, and personality traits, and she must have really lucked out on this one. Acceptance of the new diagnosis hit her three hours later as she tried to steal a stop sign, frus-â€? WUDWHG WKDW VKH GLGQ¡W KDYH WKH ULJKW WRROV WR FRPSOHWH KHU ILUVW SRVW-â€? diagnosis manic thoughtless grandiose plan. She slid down, sitting on WKH GDPS VRLO IHHOLQJ WKH ZHLJKW RI WKH ZRUG ´GLVRUGHUÂľ FRPSUHVV KHU body and hugged her knees to her chest. Everything gets easier with a diag-â€? nosis, right? she told herself. More targeted treatments, better drugs. In WLPH WKH KLJKV ZLOO PHOORZ ORZV ZRQ¡W EH VR VHYHUH Sometimes she misses that naivetĂŠ. She once believed that pretending she was normal and nothing was wrong would make her better and ordinary. She believed that she could JLYH LW EDFN VLQFH VKH GLGQ¡W ZDQW LW DQG UHWXUQ WR ZKR VKH ZDV ZKHQ her only problem was severe depression. Depression seemed easier now, the lesser of the two evils. Nothing else came with it: no hidden fea-â€? tures, surprises, possible manic swings that could last from hours to weeks. As long as she could appear like a stable person, not let anyone notice she was branded with a chronic mood disorder, she could sur-â€? vive. False hope kept her afloat, that maybe this disease was something

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I work, ,¡OO FRQIHVV With a passionate zeal that gobbles up seconds, scarfs up minutes, and thoroughly digests hour after hour. I dream, ,¡OO FRQIHVV of a passionate love like the fairy tale endings ,¡YH VHHQ WLPH DQG DJDLQ in stories I know are horribly fake, but wish were wonderfully real.

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I stand, ,¡OO FRQIHVV waiting at the window, watching the surrounding landscape for signs of a shining knight in polo, or Oxford, or graphic tee. But I know, ,¡OO FRQIHVV that my chances of landing a happily-â€?ever-â€?after are horribly, terribly slim.

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I say that I want to understand, that I want to know everything. But all I want to do is find you, and memorize you. I want to feel your hand before it touches mine. I want to know the geography of your body without a need to glance at it lying next to me. I want to memorize your eyelashes as you look down at me and the creases by your mouth as you grin at our obscenities. I want you to slow me down EHIRUH , NQRZ ,¡P JRLQJ WRR IDVW I want to know your body, every freckle and every scar, so well that it seems it is just an extension of my own. I want to memorize you. I want to grow old with you until I know you better than I ever knew myself. , GRQ¡W QHHG WR NQRZ HYHU\WKLQJ I just need to know you.

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The street lamps glowed brilliantly, serene over the star lit river. Up the walks the streets glimmered like shattered glass from the frigid raindrops. Joyful steps of crowds in festive clothing could be heard and seen in the distance. My best friend, Brian, and I were standing over the rails along the waterfront, straight down the street from where we had gotten two mochas and a vanilla cupcake from Starbucks at the town square to celebrate the new year. We were excited to watch explosions RI ILUHZRUNV GXULQJ WKH ´EDOO GURSµ FRXQWGRZQ ,W ZRXOG KDYH EHHQ RXU first. We were not surprised that we did not find what we had antici-‐ pated. There were no crowds, no excitement. It was only us and the sounds of cars driving by in the distance every now and then. With our naive minds, we stayed. Even the cold, wintry rain that pierced my hands, feet, and ears did not bother me. We were isolated, lost within our own thoughts. Everything about the alchemy of the night was flaw-‐ less. We were in our own world. I felt bliss, an unforgettable charm as ZH H[FKDQJHG QHZ \HDU·V UHVROXWLRQV We were interrupted when a group of three older teens walked to-‐ ward me, giving us eye contact. I did not notice the other two, except for the female who had asked us if we had any change. I apologized and they retreated into the darkness. We continued to exchange promising ZRUGV WR HDFK RWKHU DQG %ULDQ·V ILQDO ZRUGV WR PH ZHUH And i promise that no matter what happens, we will get through it together before the twinkling of his eyes was gone within the minute it took for my eyelids to close. , FRXOGQ·W RSHQ P\ H\HV , IHOW P\VHOI JRLQJ GRZQ P\ PLQG VXUJLQJ back and back, unable to endure the sharp pain that resonated my en-‐ tire skull. My head became heavy instantly. I allowed myself to sink, as if I were to sink beneath into the hole of the earth, but to have the bot-‐ tom drop out only to enter a dark realm. Everything froze for a moment in the mist as I hazily reached for the abrupt throbbing and said to Bri-‐ an as I felt every word become more and more faint, Wait... just let me... I think I just need to rest my head for... one second.... It was a dream fall, my body languid as to where to land. And within that second before I hit the ground, I felt an aggressive tug at my shoulder where I held my purse. I plunged toward it. Everything from that point became automatic. A flash of panic and hate charged within me, I dashed over and grabbed it completely. I was running now, through the night, ran with-‐ in myself, for a second, ran. To where, I did not know nor did I care. My

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legs scrambled away from the street lamps, working awkwardly until I  finally stumbled into the center of gravity. I had lost all sense of propor-â€? tion. I heard footfalls coming doggedly toward me. I became unthinking, unfeeling. Two blurred, womanly figures ran over me, both seeming to blend. They wore dark, thick jackets that fit snug over their broad shoulders and used colorful scarves as a mask that made them disturbingly myste-â€? rious, their dark faces secret. My vision seemed to pulse, alternately clear and vague, driven by furious bellows and kicks to my body, my eyes streaming with angry tears. Yet in my mind it seemed to unfold like a slow motion movie run off, with the sound track dead. I did not even hear my own screams or cries for help. I was aware of it all form a point deep within me. I became frantic, blindly swinging, fighting back with hopeless desperation. I was fighting a sense of unreality. It was a blind fight. I was pathetic. Thrashing at them with my fists, legs, and every-â€? thing I had left within me, I felt feeble. , ZDV DEOH WR VHH RQH RI WKH IHPDOHV¡ IDFH +HU IDFH ZDV VR FORVH , FRXOG feel her panting as a sudden and brilliant suspension of time allowed me to peer into her sullen eyes, her impersonal stare, the expression empty; like everything within her had died. I felt embarrassed, unable to change the reflection I saw in her eyes. I felt weak. The muteness of the world was suddenly broken when I heard a familiar cry. Vanessa! Time again held still and I was able to see my best friend who lay on his stomach just ahead of me, his face grey, bruised and bloody. A large manly figure VWRRG RYHU KLP %ULDQ¡V ODUJH OLTXLG H\HV WHOOLQJ PH Just give it to them..., His voice throbbing with emotion and pleading though he tried hard to hold it in for me. It was as though his voice had landed in my stomach, sicken-â€? ing me. I felt a blighting hurt, which prevented me from trying to further defend myself. I stopped screaming for help. A pressure of guilt and shame came over me. At this point I heard their quick, crisp footsteps becoming faint. But maybe out of a gesture of payment, I was able to stop one of the figures with a weak attempt and quickly felt around my bag for my wallet and handed it to her as she hur-â€? ried away in her pajama pants, rounding the corner into the dark, gone. ,W ZDV RYHU 7KH\ FRXOGQ¡W KXUW DQ\PRUH , VWD\HG RQ WKH JUDVV P\ PLQG clear, but unable to rise. My head slumped slowly forward onto my knee, suddenly exhausted. The world had never seemed so quite, clear, serene, and lonely. The next thing I knew, Brian ran over to me and held me against his chest, 9DQHVVD $UH \RX RND\" <RX¡UH DOO EORRG\ But I only heard his tears. I was confused because I thought it was only a mixture of rain and tears that I was drenched in. Suddenly, I remembered how cold I was and how

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now even my socks were soaked with freezing rain. I asked Brian to

call somebody for help but they had taken his wallet, camera, and his phone. A thin, old man was walking his dog in the distance when he came over to see if we needed any help. Powerlessly I reached into my pocket and handed Brian my phone. Before long, two young men hur-‐ ried in our direction. Out of breath when they reached us, I heard them apologize for not being able to stop the hooligans. All at once I heard Brian and the thin man explaining and giving directions to emergency personnel, and then I heard Brian speaking to my mom. Tears began to fall again. A couple minutes later I was helped onto a hard surface and did not realize that I had been shaking uncontrollably; VKH·V LQ VKRFN, I heard someone say. Large layers of warm and clean cloth were piled on top of me just below my chin and Brian and I drove off in an ambulance, leaving sounds of splashing puddles in the distance. When I was final-‐ ly laid down on a hospital bed, a nurse came in and my damp clothes were taken off from the surface of my skin, relieving my body from ten-‐ sion. I watched as the blood-‐splattered stains on my jacket and jeans were sat in the chair next to my bed. My eyelids were heavy and my mind sat still. Then as she wiped some of the drying blood from my face and neck, I saw tears form in her eyes as she tried to make conver-‐ sation with me. After the pierces of five, cold, numbing needles and seven staples into my head, I arrived at my home after seven hours. I was lucky that night and even in a way, blessed.

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they tied him to a chair before they shot him; they tied him to a chair and there were red roses scattered on the flagstones of the yard and perhaps it was raining that day; it was raining and perhaps there was water dripping from the ends of rifle barrels as they clicked into the firing position and in that quiet waiting place broken by the rustle of roses, maybe James Connolly thought of hounds and rivers and cattle raids

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Let us go then, you and I As soon as the sun breaks the sky A violent crack of light Let us go through the waking town Driving with all the windows down The heat turned high I count your fallacies On my fingers and toes, When those run out, my knees and elbows, Soon I have no limbs, no nose, If we're talking politics I'll use up all my vacuoles

͙͔   When I have nothing more to count, And your words have momentarily run out, I fill the silence with facts I have found The benefits of eating raw honey are enormous, but children under 1 will die if they eat it. Č‚Why? Because they do not have an antihistamine necessary for the digestion of honey. Č‚:K\ FDQ¡W WKH\ HDW LW" I just told you. Č‚<HDK EXW , GRQ¡W NQRZ ZKDW WKDW PHDQVÂŤ I roll my eyes and sigh deeply, 1RW DGPLWWLQJ , GRQ¡W NQRZ ZKDW LW PHDQV HLWKHU , GRQ¡W NQRZ ZK\ ZH KDYH WKHVH GULYHV These drives that just waste our lives Or why I even waste my time 2U ZK\ FKLOGUHQ XQGHU FDQ¡W HDW KRQH\ But when you talk about Bush or Gore Or, more likely, Millard Fillmore, When you talk without relevance Words heavy with honest malevolence Malevolence 12 years too late,

more likely 162, Or, I just drive and listen to you, Because you explode like a streak of sun Whenever the topic is Clinton, Or, much more likely, Nixon And all I can mutter back in awe, Are the benefits of raw honey.

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Take a look in the mirror What do you see? Do you like the face that stares back? Or are you like me and see only what you lack? See I lived in the mirror Viewing life through vanity-‐tinted glass Plastering my world with images of myself Always staring at my image, never past Losing the world around me in the glass

Next time you catch yourself staring in the mirror Look past the person to a world now clearer Seeing everything in reverse has a perverse effect on the world You tend to see things missed with casual eyes But looking through glass turns them into curious spies Observing what is hidden in plain view Allow this optic dissention, this visual coup And you might just find something new in you

When you look in this mirror what do you see? Is it the person you expect it to be? Is it the future, holding unfulfilled promises and desires? Or the past, burning in critiquing fires? Or possibly do you not see yourself staring back? %XW UDWKHU DQRWKHU SHUVRQ·V LPDJH ZLWK \RXU LGHQWLW\ DV LWV WDFN" Is it you who controls the image you see? Or the mirror showing what you ought to be? Mirrors flip the world as we see it So think twice before you believe it Because once you believe what a mirror has to say Then your identity is the price you pay.

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Every time Eye See you, My Heart drive shifts To a halt. Try to mutter A word, perhaps A comment, about Gazing at those Bright eyes to Spark a conversation. It does not Compute. Whether in the   Í™Í˜    Sea of murmur, The split second Passing by. Trickling, Then tickling. Maybe Like a Bomb In my ChestÂł Ticking. Are we on The same page? A single glimpse Freezes my program. The mind says No. The heart says Yes. My conscience restrains Me, and lunges Me too, because To be friends With you is A stepping stone, A improved upgrade To be animate Instead of mechanical With the volume Left on mute.

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At the Hacienda that night you stashed khakis And Thousands in the bushes As Ms. Boyer waited outside Lady you shot the river and shot the little tent You shot the gift of water, the one that was heaven sent Lady you shot the movie and you shot downtown You shot our black uncle, now no one hangs around Lady you shot Los Angeles and you shot Chicago 6KRW WKH PDUFK DQG VKRW ULJKW WKURXJK /LQFROQ¡V FKDLU

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Your clenched fists ache Maroon³trepid is my asphyxiation. As violet flesh pulsating against my cheek against your flesh. That fist. Swift quick Hurry³hush now. Curtailed are my heavy eyes; amber sap spilling from my mouth, I will not wallow. Quiver. My lips, hit my jaw roll down my neck cut me tender. Jagged Seminole winds hollowed out by blazoned war cries. Raw crimson flesh melting³ spliced in leather your obsidian arrows³ needle instill time instill time Fuchsia exploded like a mushroom cloud. My cheeks blossom DV IUHFNOHG YLROHQW EXUVW« My mushroom bomb³ offered to you as a testament³ my love. Into me my ambivalence expires spasms. Too pale to radiate through enough light. There, the moths would land and wrap me in a cocoon. With those splendid dark eyes do I crawl away, do you gaze so obstinately³ my lipstick smeared like this sap on this cold hard wooden floor. My limbs, like the gnarled branches of a cherry tree³ stretch.

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My massacre your masterpiece. Paint my face rosy-‐colored. Place me in a glass box in the middle of the forest³ A hunter finds me. They come to see this woman with her fleshy arms and cracked jaw. The woman with the painted face. He picks me up. And I remember the poison that sent a jolt through me. You use to pick it up down at the corner store; Lying imposter. This liquid filth only costs a buck ninety-‐nine. I am drenched in you. I writhe and I take that bottle and slice it open as the jagged edges of your beloved glass bottle shred you and rip you apart. No longer will you have to suffer. No longer will they come to see the woman with the painted face.

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Phyllis was born in America. She graduated from high school, she learned to drive. She worked a photo studio, coloring red lips and blue eyes on black and white photos. She wanted to become a dietitian. When she was working at the photo studio, another young woman immigrated to her city. Maria came to America from the same small part RI VRXWKHUQ ,WDO\ WKDW 3K\OOLV¡V SDUHQWV DQG ROGHU EURWKHU OHIW EHKLQG EH fore she was born. Maria and Phyllis became good friends, and eventual-â€? O\ 0DULD PDUULHG 3K\OOLV¡V 8QFOH 6DP ´3KLO , WKLQN \RX¡G OLNH P\ EURWKHU Âľ 0DULD WROG KHU RQH GD\

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*** Giovanni still lived in Italy. His father was a shoemaker, he was a bar-â€? ber. He received a letter from his sister. ´<RX VKRXOG ZULWH WR P\ $PHULFDQ IULHQG 3K\OOLV \RX¡G OLNH KHU Âľ Maria said in the letter.

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*** A letter arrived from Italy. Even though she spoke it with her parents DW KRPH 3K\OOLV FRXOGQ¡W UHDOO\ UHDG DQG ZULWH LQ ,WDOLDQ 6KH VDW GRZQ with Maria and an Italian-â€?English dictionary. They read the letter and they wrote a response. Another letter arrived. She wrote back. Another letter. Another letter. Giovanni was coming to America. He would be on a boat in Novem-â€? EHU +H¡G FDOO ZKHQ KH JRW WR (OOLV ,VODQG *** *LRYDQQL SDFNHG KLV EDUEHU¡V EDJ 6FLVVRUV UD]RUV VKDYLQJ FUHDPV aftershaves. (Nothing the TSA would let you take on an airplane today.) His mother sewed his money into his underwear. After a long boat ride, Lady Liberty welcomed him to New York Har-â€? bor. It was a Wednesday. The day before Thanksgiving. He got in line where they told him to and he waited. ´7RPRUURZ LV 7KDQNVJLYLQJ :H DUH QRZ FORVHG XQWLO 0RQGD\ Âľ *LRYDQQL GLGQ¡W NQRZ DQ\WKLQJ DERXW 7KDQNVJLYLQJ DOO KH NQHZ ZDV that he was stuck on Ellis Island for the weekend. He used a payphone to call Maria and Phyllis. He inserted a nickel, called collect, and told WKHP KH FRXOGQ¡W OHDYH WKH LVODQG XQWLO 0RQGD\ DW OHDVW +LV FROOHFW FDOO of course, was charged (at some exorbitant rate, like one or two dollars)

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call. He looked at the nickel, put it back in his pocket and, thrilled that WKH FDOO ZDV IUHH KH WKRXJKW ´:KDW D FRXQWU\ Âľ   There were dorms on Ellis Island. Remember that scene in The Godfa-â€? ther: Part II where young Vito sits in quarantine, swinging his feet and VLQJLQJ" 6RPHWLPHV , LPDJLQH WKDW¡V ZKDW P\ JUDQGIDWKHU GLG ZKHQ KH waited on that long holiday weekend. 7KDW¡V QRW ZKDW KH GLG *LRYDQQL ZDV D VPRNHU $OO KH KDG ZHUH KLV barber supplies and the money that Nonna Gigina sewed into his un-â€? derwear. No cigarettes. Lucky for him, the other men waiting on the island had cigarettes. They also had long hair and scruffy beards. All weekend, Giovanni cut hair. When he left on Monday, his craving for cigarettes was sated, he had a little money in his pocket and he had VRPH QHZ ´$PHULFDQÂľ IULHQGV   Giovanni became John when he came to America. He went on dates with Phyllis. They went to the movies and they got hushed every time as she translated the dialogue aloud into Italian for him. They were married a couple of months later. My grandmother never EHFDPH D GLHWLWLDQ , GRQ¡W WKLQN \RX FDQ EH D GLHWLWLDQ DQG FRQVWDQWO\ tell your grandchildren to eat more of your cookies.

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Beneath my skin, resonating. Same tones you once adhered to: not-â€?good-â€?enoughs and try-â€?KDUGHUV GRQ¡W GLVDSSRLQW PH DJDLQ Symphonic progressions of warnings to backhands to the metal side of the belt. Anxiously awaiting a cadence. Still waitingÂłthis hurts me more than it hurts you. Somewhere along the way, bruises settled. My voice is like yours, they say: whispered, coarse, so low to the ground it seems ashamed, or afraid. Scared of failing or falling or disappointing again. Memory on my shoulder, on the face in the glassÂłwhoever LW LV QRZ <RX¡OO WKDQN PH IRU WKLV VRPH GD\

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Its crisp, smooth edges Contour the taut yet soft Fibrous epidermis On a journeyÂł Its veins dividing and conjoining like neighborhood streets Portsmouth, Pittsburg, Polk, Desert Cove. Getting lost in the tricks and turns of its endless complexities. Not one, two, but hundreds of roads.

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A highway down the middle, straight-� shot. A cable that can bend and wrap itself around itself. Branching country drives, never quite as wide. All heading in some other direction.

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Passing the peeling purple house as rickety rockers sway and brown-â€?recluse spiders sub-â€?lease the porch, you fear some new-â€?age Miss Havisham might toss her hardened 48-â€?year-â€?old frosted wedding cake out the window. You pass the Amazonian garden house a little faster than the others, for civil war has broken out amongst the vegetation. Fighting for land, young and old blossoms are lost to the soil. Where vengeful tomato plants lay siege to the sunflowers, who always demand the spot-â€?light. Shadows slowly slip away beneath the oaks and quickly, beneath the evening joggers. Douglas Firs pierce the belly of the sun DV LI LW ZHUH D JLDQW \RON WKDW GRHVQ¡W UXQ but rather sinks slowly into the earth.

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Rips and tears, holes in its fragile existence.  /LIH LV LQ WKH FUHYLFHV ZKHUH LW¡V DEDQGRQHG and where it grows. Where the pile of plucked dandelions lay dry on the side of the sidewalk & where budding blackberry bushes arise from accidental water wells in the cement. Life, different than we know it, lives and dies beneath our toes. We crush the roads, highway, and neighborhood streets as we disrupt the curvature and veins, of the leaf, as thief gravity pilfers the weight of our feet filled shoes. Â

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I am shy to begin with and there was going to be the language barrier. I knew exactly what would happen. My father had been waiting to brag DERXW KLV OLIH WR D IDPLO\ KH KDGQ¡W VHHQ LQ \HDUV DQG QRZ WKH PRPHQW had arrived and the many boasts of his children's successes which had been pent up would finally have the chance to break free in a form of fervent and hasty Spanish caused by his excitement and my lack of pro-â€? ficiency in the language. I would sit at the table politely smiling and nodding my head when appropriate as my father tried to catch his fam-â€? ily up on the twenty years that our annual Christmas card could not encompass. I knew I could pick up a few words here and there, enough WR PDNH D JRRG JXHVV RQ WKH WRSLF EXW ZRXOG VRRQ VHQVH P\ IDWKHU¡V VKDPH DW KLV GDXJKWHU¡V LQDELOLW\ WR VSHDN 6SDQLVK WKLV ZRXOG FDXVH PH severe discomfort which would manifest itself in the crimson color my cheeks naturally transmit when found in uncomfortable situations such as this. I've always been amazed about my body's own conspicu-â€? ous defense mechanism against humiliation. My father would have to translate when a question was directed at me, otherwise all I could of-â€? fer was an embarrassed smile, a shrug of my shoulders, and a mumble of con permiso. My father and I were on a plane to Madrid. My cousin, Diana, was getting married. I had never met my cousin, her mother, our grand-â€? mother, or any of my other family members from Spain. While I sat un-â€? comfortably in the middle seat of a tiny plane, I cursed myself and my mysterious language defect. After being raised by my Spanish father, taken care of by my Mexican godparents, surrounded by family who were able to speak it, and two years of lessons in high school I was in-â€? explicably unable to speak Spanish. I was meeting family for the first WLPH DQG ZRXOG EH XQDEOH WR VD\ DQ\WKLQJ PRUH WKDQ ´+L KRZ DUH \RX"Âľ We missed the wedding. There was a workers' strike in Madrid, which was causing various issues including delayed flights. Luckily we made it to the reception, but I had to go in the sweatpants and t-â€?shirt I had been wearing on the plane, for our luggage was in BarcelonaÂł another unfortunate side effect of the strike. We would not have our clothes for a couple days, which meant the dress I had bought specially for this occasion, that would bring me comfort as well as confidence, was never going to see the light of the Madrid sun. I felt bad for attend-â€? LQJ P\ FRXVLQ¡V SDUW\ GUHVVHG OLNH , ZDV EXW VKH GLGQ¡W VHHP WR FDUH She was intrigued by me and as soon as she ran over, throwing her arms

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trigued. My dad told me that according to my aunts, Diana had been a diffi-â€? cult child to raise. Diana was very independent, opinionated, and al-â€? ways got her way. That was why I was at this wedding in the first place after all. Her family believed she was too young at the age of twenty-â€?one to get married, but their gripes and wisdom-â€?filled guidance had no ef-â€? fect. Diana had made up her mind and Diana always got her way. She was beautiful with olive skin, a dark head of curls that bounced with every quick, spontaneous movement she made, and dark chestnut eyes that seemed to hint at a secret that only she knew. She was aware of her beauty, but not in a way that purported arrogance. Rather she simply seemed attuned to her gifts and talents, whose use she never wasted or WRRN IRU JUDQWHG ,W ZDV KHU FKDUP WKDW \RX MXVW FRXOGQ¡W VD\ QR WR The reception, fortunately, was not as bad as my predictions, but I still felt uncomfortable. My father was my translator and I accepted it gratefully. The eight course meal was a distraction and exhaustion an excuse not to talk. I quietly ate and tried to listen. As we got ready to leave I was able to understand that Diana, her new husband David, and their friends wanted to take me out that night. My stomach did a sum-â€? mersault and I started to sweat. Visions of me being stranded at some club surrounded by drunk people, all of them speaking Spanish, and unable to get back home flashed across my mind. Diana and her friends seemed like the partying type and I was only sixteen and seriously inex-â€? perienced in that whole scene. I was definitely going to get stuck at whatever club we went to and be more of a hassle to them than any cat-â€? alyst of fun times. I tried to stop the horrible flashes of the worst case scenarios and focus on an excuse to get me out of going. I figured I would use the Yo estoy cansada excuse that seemed to be working well, and then for an extra touch, use the No tengo ropa buena, for all I had were the dingy clothes I had been wearing on the plane. When we arrived at the house they encouraged me to take a nap. I thought I was in the clear. I knew by the time I woke up it would be late and maybe I could avoid one night of complete awkwardness. I fell DVOHHS KRSLQJ WKH EOHVVLQJ RI MHW ODJ ZRXOG ZRUN LWV PDJLF DQG , GLGQ¡W ZDNH XS XQWLO DURXQG PLGQLJKW 7KLV GLGQ¡W PDWWHU WKRXJK $V VRRQ DV , walked down the stairs I was being dragged out the door by Diana as she shouted for my father to follow with money. , FRXOGQ¡W EHOLHYH VKRSV ZHUH VWLOO RSHQ DW WKLV WLPH EXW , TXLFNO\ learned that things in Spain were different from the US. We went into one store and Diana grabbed my arm and pulled me straight to the un-â€? derwear section. She grabbed a black thong from the hanger and as

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soon as I saw it I shook my head and firmly said noÂłat least one word  that was the same in both our languages. She instead nodded fervently, as both of us realized head and hand movements were the best mode of communication. I had never worn one of those before and I definitely did not want the first time that I bought one to be with my father. My face must have been giving away my worry because she started to pull at the waist, showing me that the underwear would stretch. I consent-â€? ed that the next anxiety of mine was that it was not going to fit, but Diana showed me that was clearly not an excuse. After a few more at-â€? tempts at explaining why I kept shaking my head, she threw two thongs into our basket, but thankfully for my benefit added two pairs of regular underwear (black of course). The next goal was to get me some clothing for the night. She tried asking me what my size was and I tried to tell her, but of course the size chart in Europe was different from the US. It didn't matter though and I began to blush as I realized this store SUREDEO\ GLG QRW KDYH D ELJ HQRXJK VL]H IRU PH ,W GLGQ¡W WDNH ORQJ WR notice that every female in Spain seemed to be the size of a toothpick. However, Diana grabbed a few different pairs of jeans and several shirts and before I knew it, I was thrown in a dressing room with Diana impa-â€? tiently waiting outside. Nothing fit. I was mortified. Losing patience, Diana came into the dressing room carrying another pair of jeans; she would get her way even here in the store. She started pulling off my SDQWV , ZRXOGQ¡W HYHQ OHW P\ RZQ PRWKHU VHH PH FKDQJH P\ FORWKHV but I knew with Diana I had already lost the battle. She forced the jeans on me, and somehow, magically, these jeans fit. They were tight, but they were on and I could breathe. She was able to joke in English that I needed to eat less burgers. I could not help but laugh. Normally I would have been completely embarrassed and insulted, but it came from Di-â€? ana, who had managed somehow under impossible circumstances to pull together an outfit for me. She always got her way. When we got back to the house, she showed me her plan to straight-â€? en my hair by holding up her flat iron. I only have an older brother and I have to admit as I was sitting there having Diana help me with my hair DQG PDNHXS , SUHWHQGHG VKH ZDV P\ VLVWHU 7KH VLOHQFH GLGQ¡W ERWKHU her and I concentrated on not letting it bother me. Once I was dressed in my tight fitting clothing and my eyes were lined in black and my hair stick-â€?straight, we were ready to go out. She did hint through an obnox-â€? ious smile, a shake of her head, and point of her finger that I should keep my mouth closed so no one would see my braces and mistaken me for my actual age. I was to act like I was twenty-â€?one; I was to act like I was Diana. The only experience I had with this type of atmosphere was the cou-â€? ple of high school dances I had attended and what I had observed in the

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movies and TV dramas I was addicted to. The dancing that occurred at  WKRVH , ZRXOGQ¡W HYHQ FDOO GDQFLQJ %RGLHV ZRXOG JULQG EXPS KXPS and sway all over the place, and all I knew was that I wanted no part in it. I was prepared for a long and awkward night at the discoteca. But, once again, Diana proved my dreaded visions false. David and his friends shared dances with me so I was never without a partner, music I actually recognized came on (thank God for Shakira), and I had a few drinks which all added up to a pretty fun time. But the best part was watching Diana and David dance. In what seemed like one swift motion she grabbed David and brought him close to her. I followed with my eyes the straight line of her arm until it came to an abrupt turn, her elbow pointing out at a sharp ninety-â€?degree angle. The new couple was made of lines and curves and yet they blended somehow and it was beautiful. I saw they ZHUH ORRNLQJ LQ HDFK RWKHU¡V H\HV IXOO\ IRFXVHG RQO\ RQ RQH DQRWKHU feeling their way through the music and through their bodies. They ZHUH GRLQJ WKH PRYHV VKH KDG WULHG WR WHDFK PH EXW LW ZDVQ¡W XQWLO , saw it, that I understood. The dance was about the closeness with your partner, letting yourself follow his lead: trust. She trusted him and with the slightest push of his hand on her back she knew where to go. She knew to turn and he would be right there again to catch her hand in his. It was one of the most romantic scenes I had ever witnessed. They were dancers, artistsÂłmore than simply two people in a discoteca in the center of Madrid. Our time at the club swept right by me. After drinks that were muy delicioso, a dance with a Spanish boy of my own, and a bargain that I would try to speak Spanish and Diana, English, we left the club. As we walked back into our house the sun was up and my abuela was making breakfast. My dad looked up as I entered the room and after seeing the smile on my face he, too, smiled knowingly as he looked at his watch. My trip to Spain was going to be muy bien after all.

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That drive ,W¡V OLNH QR RWKHU You begin within the confines of humanity Journey across its ingenuity With an awed gasp at the span of potential fulfilled As it glitters, reflecting off the muddy waters The spires that pass above tell of harmony Between imagination and trigonometry The abstract and the stoic That is the brainchild of mankind Then there are the silent watchers Whose patience overbears Like the immenseness of their stature White-â€?capped, standing steadfast The three guardians of a valley That shifts beneath their feet

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I like to think I fell upon fishing by grace. Like I was being saved from a tragic life of trouble and self-â€?GHVWUXFWLRQ %XW WKH WUXWK LV , ZDVQ¡W , just simply found my passion that moment when I felt that first small-â€? PRXWK JUDE RQWR P\ IO\ 7KH OLWWOH JX\ ZDVQ¡W ELJ DQG KH GLGQ¡W SXW XS a fight worth writing home about, but the fish started something. , ZDVQ¡W VRPH 0RQWDQD ER\ JURZLQJ XS RQ WKH %ODFNIRRW RU WKH %HD verhead. Up until the age of twelve, fishing had been my least concern, since every time my Dad would take my brother and I out we would come back skunked. Hunting and guns and shooting stuff took prece-â€? dence when we were young; it was much more thrilling with a lot less patience involved. But sometime around the age of twelve I went fish-â€? ing with a friend to a small pond where we caught smallmouths in the hundreds. They came to hand one after the other, each one special in its own regard because it slowly sent me down a spiraling path to-â€? wards a lifetime of fishing. From that moment I was hooked. When you first start fishing, especially fly-â€?fishing, it really is diffi-â€? cult to get thrilled about. You have to learn all sorts of stuff like tying knots, types of flies, colors of flies, types of fish that correlate to the types of flies, rod weights, line weights, tippet sizes, wader sizes, warm/cold gear for clothing, where the secret spots are, or how to get tips from the old guy who is slaying the fish. All sorts of stuff. And you VWLOO KDYH WR OHDUQ WR FDVW LQ ZKLFK FDVH \RX¡OO SUREDEO\ KRRN \RXU IO\ on the overhanging limb dangling behind you. When you break the fly RII \RX¡OO EH SLVVHG WUXVW PHÂłSLVVHG DQG QH[W WKLQJ \RX NQRZ \RX¡OO EH VR DQJU\ \RX MXVW GHFLGH WR TXLW $QG WKDW¡V ZK\ , ORYH ILVKLQJ ,W¡V D relationship; it goes up and down. Obviously the ups are the best place WR EH DQG , SUHIHU WR VWD\ LQ D WLPH RI XSV ZKHUH ,¡P FDWFKLQJ ILVK %XW days will always come when no fish bite, rods break, waders leak, you take a spill in the river or forget your flies. Whatever it may be, down days will always come. But they make it worth it, because something about them is what gets you out on the water the next week. , GRQ¡W NQRZ ZKDW LW LV DERXW WKH ILVKLQJ LWVHOI WKDW LV VR ZRQGHUIXO 6RPHWLPHV LW¡V WKH SHDFHIXO VROHPQLW\ RI WKH ULYHU IORDWLQJ E\ ZLWK D gentle breeze pushing forward your back cast into a loop that lands softly into a vast little world of water. But then the world gets turned upside down and my peaceful zoning is sent into a rush of line peeling through my fingers with line zinging off my reel as that fish dazzles the water with jumps and sprints and twists and turns and another jump.

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Then it all comes together. Like a jewel the fish spans about in your  hands, and the little drops of bliss and tranquility combine with the spurts of adrenaline and excitement and slowly pound their way through your body. And I just hold it there, breathing it in, before slowly letting it back in the water. The fish swims away; my body is searching for a balance between wonderful chaos and peaceful calmness. And I climb back on that rock to cast again. Something about the water and the wind and the grass sets me back. It can take your mind off of things. The cold water cools the blood. The wind blows on your skin and sends little bugs dancing about on the ZDWHU¡V WLSV $QG WKH JUDVV EORZV LQ WKH ZLQG WLFNOLQJ P\ OHJV DV , FDVW into the water. It all comes together, just me and you: fishing.

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esty fades as fast as it was unfurled. She holds it only for enough time to get a snapshot and then quickly stashes it away in a Chrome mes-â€? VHQJHU EDJ ,I VKH EHORQJV LQ WKH FLW\ VKH¡G ZHDU KHU EHOLHIV RQ KHU FDSH Sound snaps my impressionistic focuses. I hear music playing near The NinesÂłwhere the frequenters are typically only dressed to the sev-â€? ens (because black suits are what you wear to a funeral for fashion)Âł EXW , KDYH QR LGHD ZKDW¡V GRLQJ WKH ´SOD\LQJ Âľ ,W VRXQGV OLYH , SLFN XS my alphabetical palette and move into the middle of the masses. But on multiple occasions, I remove myself from the moving force to observe more closely. I discover the source of the music; I find out that LW¡V D VROLWDU\ PDQ SOD\LQJ D JXLWDU DQG VLQJLQJ LQWR D PLFURSKRQH ERWK KRRNHG XS LQWR D 5RODQG VSHDNHU ,W¡V WLQQ\ IRU WKH JXLWDU EXW KH VRXQGV JUHDW +H¡V VWDWLRQHG DW D 0$; VWRS IRUFLQJ SHRSOH WR OLVWHQ LQ the hopes that it forces them to be entertained. Unfortunately, MAX-â€? lining urbanites are too hip for fun. I chat with himÂłreal friendly, real QRUPDO DQG UHDO WDOHQWHG , WKLQN ´+HUH¡V D ZRUNLQJ-â€?class hero who SOD\HG Âś*ROGHQ 6OXPEHUV¡ IRU PH DQG LV KDSS\ WR UHFHLYH P\ TXDUWHU² the only bit of money I had. This is all while Ke$ha gets paid millions. 6LFNHQLQJ Âľ +H¡V KRQHVW HYHQ WKRXJK , DP WKH RQO\ RQH WR DSSUHFLDWH LW , OHDYH DQG HQWHU D QHZ FURZG DIWHU D FRYHU RI ´)DNH 3ODVWLF 7UHHVÂľ E\ Radiohead and I see those dancers again and I wish that I asked them ZKDW ZDV JRLQJ RQ LQ WKH VTXDUH DQG , NQRZ ,¡OO QHYHU VHH WKHP DJDLQ DQG ,¡P MRVWOLQJ DQG RQ WKH HEE RI WKLV DWRPLF WKURQJ EXW , JHW RXW $QG I sit down to the side to observe. ,¡P VWLOO LPSUHVVHG E\ WKH KHWHURJHQHLW\ RI SHRSOH KHUH FXOWXUHV ODQ guages, relational pairings, fashion. I see one woman wearing what I could quickly deduce as being around a $2500 outfit (including acces-â€? VRULHV DQG \HV LW LV D WDOHQW IROORZHG E\ D ZRPDQ ZKR SUREDEO\ KDVQ¡W VKRZHUHG ZHDULQJ D RXWILW 7KH\¡UH DOO WRJHWKHU DW WKH VDPH WLPH but so entirely separated. Hell! I even blend in with the city. I see a girl I knew in high school ZDON E\ EXW VKH GRHVQ¡W VHH PH VKH MXVW EOD]HV RQ :H¡UH DOO NLQG RI one with the city while in the city yet removed from each other and so RQFH DJDLQ , DP LQ WKH FURZG DQG ,¡P E\ PHQ LQ 1LNH DQG ZRPHQ LQ Chanel and men painted silver fondling balls of marble or glass or something but stupid nonetheless and moving but not seeing as we all

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He proceeds to tell me how he has lived in Portland his whole life and how it is particularly resourceful, lamenting upon the fact that SHRSOH LQ 1HZ <RUN KDYH WR JHW GHVSHUDWH WR PDNH D OLYLQJ +H¡V QHYHU been in that position. ´<RX NQRZ ,¡YH EHHQ WR SULVRQ , KDYH D EDG GUXJ SUREOHP EXW , KDYH PDQQHUV ,¡P WKDQNIXO WR KDYH DOZD\V JURZQ XS WR EH QLFH WR SHR SOH , GRQ¡W XVH SHRSOH Âľ +H QHYHU DVNV PH IRU PRQH\ HLWKHU 2 A woman wearing a white dress and pink shorts, who is supported by one New Balance sneaker on her left foot and a white Stiletto on her right, approaches usÂłor rather, him. She utters something that I can-â€? QRW UHDOO\ PDNH RXW EXW VRPHWKLQJ DORQJ WKH OLQHV RI ´GR , ORRN SUHWW\"Âľ +H UHVSRQGV ´<RX KDYH WZR GLIIHUHQW VKRHV Âľ She storms off. ´, JXHVV WKDW¡V QRW ZKDW VKH ZDQWHG WR KHDU Âľ ´'R \RX NQRZ KHU"Âľ , DVN +H FKXFNOHV ´<HDK , NQRZ KHU 6KH KDV D ORW RI PHQWDO SUREOHPV 6KH¡V D SURVWLWXWH Âľ 7KHUH¡V D shit ton of honesty in the city. At this moment, he remembers that he needs to talk to her and bounds off in his blue jacket, with his black suitcase and I never see him again. I hope he finds his printer. Just like thatÂłI learn more about a person that I will likely never see again than I have with most of the people that sit next to me in Philosophy, or English, or Advanced Jazz and Modern Dance. My resolution to not ignore the often ignored continues. A Green 3HDFH PHPEHU VWRSV PH DQG DVNV LI , ZDQW WR ´VDYH WKH ZRUOG Âľ .LQG RI a loaded question. I nod vigorously throughout her testimony, but real-â€? O\ ,¡P ZDLWLQJ XQWLO VKH DVNV PH IRU D PRQWKO\ FRQWULEXWLRQ DW ZKLFK SRLQW , FDQ SXOO P\ ´SRRU FROOHJH VWXGHQW FDUG Âľ Dodged. ´'R \RX KDYH DQ\ FKDQJH"Âľ $ ZRPDQ DVNV PH Not dodged. , GLGQ¡W , KDG JLYHQ WKH JXLWDULVW VLQJHU P\ RQO\ TXDUWHU

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minutes later as I am writing about the last time she asked. ´:HOO \RX MXVW DVNHG PH Âľ , UHVSRQG DSRORJHWLFDOO\ ´, DVN D ORW RI SHRSOH Âľ )DFHV EOHQG WRJHWKHU ZKHQ \RX¡UH WU\LQJ WR VXUYLYH $W OHDVW VKH¡V KRQHVW $QG WKHUH¡V JHQXLQH EHDXW\ WR WKDW For all of you out there, embrace your peculiarities. Conversations DUH PXFK PRUH LQWHUHVWLQJ ZKHQ \RX¡UH YXOQHUDEOH :H DOO DUH ,W¡V MXVW a matter of what we do with our strange proclivities and weaknesses that makes the value of our connections so much deeper. Wear two different shoes! (But I do not recommend that you become a prosti-â€? tute).

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She opened her eyes, UXEEHG WKHP FOHDQ RI ODVW QLJKW¡V WHDUV and saw that she was in pieces. She knew not who to blame. The sting of alcohol lingered on her breath, and her makeup remained smeared down her face. Faint memories of the haze of inebriation returned, but so much was still unclear. She knew not who to blame³ the booze, or the boy, or her body. Her reflection proved unkind, and she dropped her gaze from the shameful sight. The blissful innocence she possessed ZDV VWROHQRU SHUKDSV JLYHQ DZD\ She knew not who to blame. Then she recalled the heavy breathing, the swiftness of progression³ hands fumbling, limbs tangling, bodies moving, a hungry heat hanging in the air, pervasive and persistent. She knew not who to blame. The desperation rose within her³ a hateful regret and nagging guilt. The heavy breath turned to sharp gasps, gasps needed to sustain her sobs, and the rapid movement of the feet beneath her. She knew not who to blame, but knew only to run³ and to utter with what breath she had left, ´)RUJLYH PH ¾

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Rummaging through the depths of my drawers, I unearth clothes that have been far outgrown. Beneath the jeans, sweatpants and shirts I find my favorite Mickey Mouse sweater and clutch it, wishing it would still fit. Regretfully I toss it into the garage sale pile, reawakening the recent-â€? ly settled dust. As I pause and scan the disheveled room, suddenly it occurs to me that I could no longer call this place my own. Autographed baseballs, model cars, favorite books, and rock collections that once covered my dressers, shelves and walls have now been crammed into cardboard boxes. The naked wallpaper is lifeless and mundane without its decorations. Voids in the dust caked dresser tops are like imprints in the snow that will soon fade. The wooden bunk bed, now a skeleton, looms in the far corner. A part of me wants to put everything back in their rightful places, but it is too late now. The boxes are getting heavier each time I drag one out of my room. Even the smaller ones are dense with memories. Walking down the red-â€? carpeted stairs feels like a precarious descent on a switchback as I bal-â€? ance another box in my arms. I remember using the stairs as the stage for many action figure battles, where soldiers would struggle through the red fibers to fight their enemy. There was never an object or part of the house that went unused, those stairs especially. As I step into the hallway, I peer over the cardboard box ahead to the living room where my mom is hastily vacuuming the large oriental rugs that stretch across the old growth floorboards. It is as if she is scrub-â€? bing away our presence from the house so that the next family could settle in. Her pursed lips and furrowed brow are telling of her frustra-â€? tion. After all, this was the house she grew up in too. I carry the box out to the front porch to place it with the others DZDLWLQJ WUDQVSRUW WR WKH PRYHUV¡ WUXFN ,Q WKH PRUQLQJ FKLOO WKH FDOP ness of the light pink dashes in the gray clouds and the dew resting on the rhododendron leaves contrast the chaos inside the house. Depend-â€? ing on the time of day, I could find solace sitting on the porch steps basking in the summer sun. Even in fall or winter, the pouring rain or feathery snow would gently crash onto the railing creating a soothing spectacle. At sixteen years old, this place still lets my imagination grow. As I drift back down to reality, I return to my chores inside. I notice right away that the large rug that my mom was vacuuming only mo-â€? ments earlier is now rolled up tight and ready to be hauled away. Slow-â€? ly, pieces of furniture are disassembled or moved and I can see the mem-â€?

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ories of my youth being moved with them. Now my only legacy is the green marker scribble located on a wall that I had made when I was five. A piece worthy of the Smithsonian no doubt. Nearing the late af-‐ ternoon now, my parents prompt me to hurry so that the movers could take things away. I journey into the depths of the basement where a few boxes remain. The narrow, creaky staircase reminds me of that creature that lived by the furnace that would chase me up the stairs at night. I think that it has moved out as well, even though I secretly wish it would stick around for the next family. Cobwebs illuminated by a few rays of day-‐ light dangle from the exposed pipes in the ceiling and a musty odor permeates the room. Toys and games that used to litter the floor are now in the hands of some other kids, leaving me only with the cracked concrete floor. I swiftly grab my last two boxes and climb the stairs, conscious of anything following me. Upon returning to the surface, I set the boxes down with their card-‐ board brethren. I now see our work over the past month coming to frui-‐ tion. Except for the bustling family members and workers, everything is gone; the walls, floors, cabinets and windows are all cleaned and empty. The movers have already taken a large portion of boxes to their truck. Watching the mass of boxes flowing into the truck, I realize that no matter how many things I take with me, I will never be able to take everything. My childhood was a part of this home, and there it will stay. I can only hold its memories.

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My eyes kept moving down the page, scanning the lines of New Roman. %XW P\ PLQG GLGQ¡W ZDQW WR IROORZ No, it was much happier chewing on the meaning of some line. ,W JDYH XS KDOIZD\ WKURXJK GHILQLQJ œUHDO ¡ I thought I was done with the question years ago. I thought she took it with her when she left (or died). Forcing myself to pay attention, I closed the book and turned it over. ´.DOHLGRVFRSLF SLFDUHVTXH IODVK\ DQG GHFDGHQW ¾ it said, ´ DQ DPD]LQJ YLUWXRVR SHUIRUPDQFH ¾

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Idly, I took a sideways glance at the clock. It was fast approaching seven and the most important event of the day. So flip to channel two: our returning champion wants Cryogenics for $600, as the chime begins to sound. Alison makes it a true Daily Double. Alison really looks like her. I saw that smile as I laid beside her; I saw that smile amidst the chaos. I saw the fire and the death in the side of my vision. I didn't bother to turn my head. The object of my desire is a figment of my imagination. %XW VKH¡V WKH REMHFW RI P\ GHVLUH ´:KR LV +HPLQJZD\Âľ URXQGHG RXW WKH KDOI-â€?hour, and Pat and Vanna threatened to take the next one. ,¡YH EHHQ WROG WKLV LV KRZ ROG SHRSOH VSHQG WKHLU WLPH So I resigned to maturity (or degeneration). The sensation was familiar.

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I picked up the book again to once more read the back. One more quick scan of the reviews (or memories). Publishers Weekly WKRXJKW LW ZDV ´UHYROXWLRQDU\ Âľ So I turned it over and resumed re-â€?reading. ´, GRQ W NQRZ ZKHQ , ILUVW EHJDQ WR GUHDP RI KHU Âľ it said, ´EXW , GR UHPHPEHU WKDW DW ILUVW VKH ZDV RQO\ D VKDGRZ Âľ It felt like the book was reading me. %XW ÂśVKDGRZ¡ ZDVQ¡W TXLWH WKH ZRUG It was more like a want (or need). It was more like a craving.

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´%DVLF KXPDQ GHFHQF\ VKRXOG DOZD\V FRPH EHIRUH FRQYHQLHQFH DQG FRPIRUW Âľ 0\ IDWKHU VWUHVVHG WKLV WR XV UHSHDWHGO\ ´%HFDXVH LI \RX FDQ¡W EH D GHFHQW KXPDQ EHLQJ \RX UHDOO\ GRQ¡W KDYH DQ\ EXVLQHVV EHLQJ DURXQG DQ\ERG\ HOVH Âľ 0\ EURWKHUV WRRN PLOG KHHG WR P\ IDWKHU¡V PHVVDJH DQG KLV ZRUGV acted as a kind of subtle conscience working behind the chaotic scenes of their existence. With me however, it became the working core of everything I did. I always treated others with respect and kindness, and I sacrificed comfort hoping to attain that ever-â€?HOXVLYH WLWOH RI ´GHFHQW KXPDQ Âľ If our father approved of our efforts, never once did he show it. How-â€? ever, he often told me about how the people he dealt with everyday act-â€? ed with the utmost indecency. As a highway patrolman, he became a target for hate and mockery throughout our little backwoods Georgia town, where anything resembling State or Federal authority received nothing but hate, mistrust, and the occasional brick through the win-â€? dow at three in the morning. Eventually, my brothers and I grew up and moved out. They all joined the highway patrol, and had bricks tossed through their win-â€? dows. I moved to Chicago, went to college, and became a paralegal. I dropped my accent and tried as best I could to forget growing up three miles outside nowhere. From what I could tell, people in the city be-â€? haved either a whole lot better, or a whole lot worse than those in town, but usually, they just kept their heads down and kept going, which seemed all right with me. During college, I came home from every chance I could. I missed my PRWKHU¡V FRRNLQJ DQG WKH VLJKW RI P\ IDWKHU UHOD[LQJ RQ WKH FRXFK 0\ brothers also migrated home from their various places in the state. When put in the same room, they seemed like little kids again, bicker-â€? ing and arguing, fighting and wrestling, and swapping highly exagger-â€? DWHG VWRULHV RI ´KLJKO\ LQGHFHQW SHRSOHÂľ WKDW WKH\ SXOOHG RYHU ZKLOH RQ patrol. I often tried telling stories about college, but instead of warm laughter, I received nothing more than cold, confused stares, ending ZLWK P\ PRWKHU WHOOLQJ PH ´7KDW¡V QLFH (OOLH Âľ After college, I came home only during Christmas, and sometimes for my birthday. My now retired father hobbled around the house, occa-â€? sionally leaving to go hunting with other aging lawmen. My brother Luke now walked with a limp and a cane. Two months ago, a man shot

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 him in the leg during a routine traffic stop. A week after his surgery, the +LJKZD\ 3DWURO WROG KLP WR UHWLUH /XNH GLGQ¡W WDON YHU\ PXFK DIWHU that. For a while, my other two brothers still tried to include him in their games, but eventually, Luke just stayed in the house and talked to me. He asked me about my life and listened with a subdued intensity. I told him about the lawyer I worked for, and his dark eyes showed a crystal clear understanding. ´(YHU\ ODZ\HU , ZRUNHG ZLWK ZDV D O\LQJ EDVWDUG Âľ +H VDLG ZLWK D KLQW RI VSLWH WDLQWLQJ KLV YRLFH ´,¡YH QHYHU PHW D GHIHQVH DWWRUQH\ ZKR FRXOG FDOO KLPVHOI D GHFHQW PDQ Âľ +H VDLG ZLWK WKH VOLJKWHVW RI VPLOHV KLQWLQJ DW P\ IDWKHU¡V DGYLFH ´<RX NQRZ WKHUH UHDOO\ GRHVQ¡W VHHP WR EH DQ\ SODFH OHIW IRU GHFHQW PHQÂŤÂľ :LWK REYLRXV SDLQ KH VWRRG XS grabbed his cane, and limped out the door. A week later, my father found Luke alone in his apartment, dead. He had a bullet lodged in his skull, his service pistol in one hand, and his badge in the other. My father stopped talking about decency after that. He also stopped hunting with the other retirees. He put his pistol, DQG /XNH¡V DZD\ LQ KLV JXQ FDELQHW +H ORFNHG WKH GRRU DQG SXW WKH key in his Bible, on Luke 12:25. My mother just stopped talking to my father in general. She moved about the house in a quiet fury, organizing plates and cleaning furni-â€? WXUH 6KH OHW WKH JXQ FDELQHW JDWKHU GXVW /XNH¡V SLVWRO VDW OLNH D VQDNH on the top shelf, ready to strike. We buried Luke in a closed casket. I drove back to Chicago the day after the funeral. On the way back home, a young highway patrol man pulled me over for going eighty-â€?five in a seventy zone. He told me that I needed to slow down, and that crashes at that speed often resulted in a grisly death. He said that I might hurt a decent person.

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Ireland is a country of stories and graveyards. Stories told in grave-â€? yards, as a matter of fact, have defined our trips to the Old Country since I was a little boy in a car with the steering wheel on the wrong side, inching down a precariously narrow road with nothing but an ancient stone wall between myself and the fog-â€?covered slope of a cliff. Every five minutes we would pull over to stand on the grass under ZKLFK P\ JUDQGPD¡V FRXVLQ¡V VLVWHU¡V KXVEDQG¡V DXQW LV EXULHG :H DOO silently agreed that if we passed her by, she might take offense. We visited an endless slew of wet, crumbling graves. Each head-â€? stone was ornamented with a tale told in a language I could not under-â€? stand by a wrinkled relative I did not know. Our ultimate destination ZDV WKH JUDYH\DUG QH[W WR 6W -RKQ¡V &DWKHGUDO LQ WKH FHQWHU RI /LPHU ick. Here, we would lay my grandfather to rest in his hometown. The option of burying him in the silicon soil near his retirement home in Florida was not discussed. That would have been easier, yes, but the LPPLJUDQW¡V GUHDP LV WR JR EDFN LI RQO\ LQ GHDWK +H EHORQJV LQ WKH GHHS URRWV RI /LPHULFN¡V PRLVW VRLO +H ILWV ULJKW XQGHUQHDWK WKH PRVV-â€? covered stone engraved with the names of his own parents and broth-â€? HUV DORQJ ZLWK VHYHUDO ´%DE\ 5RFNHWWV Âľ WKRVH FRXQWOHVV OLPER-â€?bound EDELHV ZKR QHYHU TXLWH PDGH LW ´5RFNHWW Âľ RXU JUDYHVWRQH UHDGV ,W LV an out-â€?of-â€?SODFH VXUQDPH EHWZHHQ 2¡&RQQHOO DQG 2¡'RQQHOO %UDQLJDQ and Flanagan, a title followed by a list of etched names that might one day include my parents or even me. Limerick is an industrial town on the River Shannon. It stands sever-â€? al miles off the emerald trail followed by most tourists, just off the com-â€? mercialized map of rolling green hills and verdant coastal cliffs. Unless \RX ZDQW WR WDNH WKH $QJHOD¡V $VKHV WRXU \RX RQO\ JR WR /LPHULFN LI you have family there. And we have family there, both alive and dead. They were our mute heavenly hosts, and we their foreign guests, the descendants of those lucky enough to sail off the cursed shamrock shore. (YHQ GDUNHU WKDQ WKH WRUPHQWHG VN\ 6W -RKQ¡V &DWKHGUDO VWULNHV D KHDY\ SULQW XSRQ WKH FLW\¡V EDFNGURS ,Q LWV VKDGRZ WKH FHPHWHU\ LV vast and the graves still kept up with fresh flowers and colorful offer-â€? ings left by the living. It echoes a bygone time when you honored your dead because you might be next. A group of American transplants and a host of Irish family I never knew existed, we gathered around the Rockett plot to properly honor our dead.

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 :H ZRUH FRDWV DQG P\ PRWKHU¡V ZDV ORQJ DQG EODFN IODSSLQJ DJDLQVW her ankles, which were covered in black pantyhose. She chatted effort-â€? lessly with these aunts and uncles whom I could scarcely understand. I asked her later why she never told me she spoke Irish. She answered that she does not. Letting the priests droning brogue dissolve into the misty air, I peered about at my relatives, examining a microcosm of what I could have been had the Irish been allowed to stay on their land so many years ago. Would I be like these cousins of mine, drinking tea OLNH LW ZDV ZDWHU DQG XVLQJ H[SUHVVLRQV OLNH ´IRU IXFN¡V VDNHÂľ LQ IURQW RI my parents? I gazed up at the formidable church and its steeple that plunged boldly through the fog. Enormous Irish saints stared down at me, their stained glass faces demanding to know where I had come IURP , WULHG WR WHOO WKHP , ZDV P\ JUDQGIDWKHU¡V JUDQGVRQ 7KH\ NQHZ him, I was sure. I wondered if my grandfather knew I was in Limerick, if he could see PH LQ KLV FKXUFK¡V VKDGRZ LQ KLV FLW\ GLYLGHG E\ WKH JUD\ 5LYHU 6KDQQRQ The narrow roads are lined with little pubs with forever open doors and crammed row houses that are painted in bright colors to defy the melan-â€? choly climate. In one of those row houses, my grandfather had an acci-â€? dent that changed his life. My mother, standing by our grave, began this story. I had heard it so many times before, but only from our own living room. I had never seen where it actually happened. 0\ PRWKHU DOZD\V EHJDQ VD\LQJ WKDW P\ JUDQGIDWKHU¡V IDYRULWH VLVWHU had pushed him down the stairs. It was important that she was his fa-â€? vorite, perhaps redeeming her somehow. He spent a horizontal year in a OLWWOH KRVSLWDO DQG FDPH RXW ZKDW WKH ,ULVK FDOOHG D FULSSOH :H GRQ¡W call people that now, my mother was compelled to add. Political cor-â€? rectness aside, he could not move his right leg. He used to slide down the stone banisters of the cathedral after rosary and the boys would run to catch him. My mother liked to make sure we knew that grandpa still had fun. The Irish survived by finding humor amidst desperation. As so many did, my grandfather had to leave Ireland when he was old HQRXJK WR FRQWULEXWH WR KLV IDPLO\¡V VXUYLYDO (QJODQG KDG LPSRYHULVKHG Irish land, thus creating a reliable mass of cheap migrant labor for their selfish smoggy industries. My grandfather became part of that cheap labor source. With hard work and long hours, his leg began to bother him again. At that time, English doctors would serve no Irish. My moth-â€? er spoke matter-â€?of-â€?factly here, but her eyes were blue and bitter. One doctor, a racist of the benevolent variety, wrote down instructions for a newly developed surgery on a scrap of paper. He had only just invented this procedure and it had never been performed. The doctor told my grandfather to bring the paper back to where he came from and give it

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 one of his own doctors, someone who did not mind having his hands to dirtied by Irish flesh. If it failed, his leg would be amputated. My grand-â€? father knew the English had money on their side, but the Irish had a patron saint for every occasion. So he crossed the wind-â€?tossed gray sea to Dublin and traveled west back to Limerick. The winding streets were still the same, as narrow as their gaunt inhabitants, and the little pubs still always open, as warm as poverty ZRXOG DOORZ ,ULVK KRVSLWDOLW\ WR H[WHQG 6W -RKQ¡V &DWKHGUDO VWLOO DV serted its stone spires amongst the fog. The cemetery was still full of /LPHULFN¡V GHDG 0\ JUDQGIDWKHU¡V PRWKHU DQG VRPH EURWKHUV ZHUH DO ready under the family gravestone, under the supervision of the same stained glass saints that watched my mother recount this tale. He asked those ancient men and women to intercede for him, to help an Irish doctor read the scribbled instructions of a bigoted English genius. He did not think he was asking too large a favor. There was a Limerick doctor who, my mother added, had seen so many of his people die and helped so many women birth dead babies. At this mention, my unknown relatives closed their eyes and nodded deeply. The older women massaged their dangling rosaries like dough in their weathered fingers. Old Irish women always want to reaffirm the suffering of their generation. The doctor carefully read the crumpled scrap of paper that had trav-â€? HOHG DFURVV WKH ,ULVK 6HD IURP D IDQF\ GRFWRU¡V RIILFH LQ /RQGRQ WR WKH depraved banks of the Shannon. He was not a surgeon, but his wife had a knife she used for special corned beef suppers. He performed the in-â€? novative surgery and with no training or instruction beyond that scrap of paper, he succeeded. My grandfather was the first test subject for the English doctor. His new surgery became standard procedure in English medical practice, although still inaccessible to anyone with a brogue. The stained-â€?glass saints smiled from their lofty arches, relishing the IDFW WKDW D FRUQHG EHHI NQLIH LQ /LPHULFN KDG VHW /RQGRQ¡V ODWHVW WUHQGV My mother ended her story and an elderly uncle leapt forward to throw another story into the misty air. With great gusto he told a tale I could not understand, but I could see that it was funny. I gaped up to-â€? ZDUG WKH FDWKHGUDO¡V SURXG VWHHSOH DQG WKHUH ZHUH GDUN IDLULHV IOLWWLQJ among the convoluted spectacle of spires. I was still gaping at the un-â€? FHUWDLQ VN\ ZKHQ P\ PRWKHU¡V KDQGV JXLGHG PH LQ D SLOJULPDJH GRZQ /LPHULFN¡V ZLQGLQJ URDGV WRZDUG D OLWWOH SXE ZLWK HWHUQDOO\ RSHQ doors.

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 Â„‘—– –Š‡ ”‡ƒ–‹˜‡ ‘Â?–”‹„—–‘”•   BRIDGET ABSHEAR is a freshman and currently an undeclared major. She has a strange affinity for iambic pentameter. RICK ANDREW BALEROS. Junior. Psychology Major by day. Photographer for life. DREW BARTON loves the Bay Area. He also enjoys tie-â€?G\H 5HHVH¡V 0F)OXUULHV and long walks on the beach. THOMAS ARTHUR BLUTH is a sophomore English major minoring in economics who grew up in Seal Beach, California, south of Los Angeles. The inspiration for his short poem came from the mystery of the nature of inspiration, the emotion he was feeling at the time of its composition. CECILIA BRUNNING treats her books like she would her children. She is a freshman history and secondary education double major who adores traveling to Europe, trying new recipes, and obsessively studying the life of King Henry VIII. She dreams of publishing a book, being a princess, and a world without cancer.

Í?Íš   ANYA BURY grew up in Eugene, where she developed her love for Ken Kesey, Birkenstocks, and Seinfeld. As an English major and psychology minor, she isn't certain about her future but is reminded to take life a day at a time. TALLEY CARLSTON wishes every night were karaoke night. VANNY CHAO is a fun-â€?loving girl who loves to laugh and spend time with her friends and family. In her spare time she loves to draw, color, and eat! Her best friend, An Nguyen, encouraged her to write her story. IAN CLARK is a junior English and philosophy major, meaning that he will probably be unemployed for most of the foreseeable future unless he becomes very good friends with some sort of wealthy patroness willing to lavish him with funding for his writing. He is currently studying abroad in Galway, Ire-â€? land, and in his free time he enjoys drinking a good beer while watching BBC television shows involving portly Englishmen riding spindly little bicycles and eating ice cream cones. AJ DAVIES is a silent freshman biology major with the most irresistible wink \RX¡YH HYHU VHHQ IURP 2O\PSLD :DVKLQJWRQ ZKR ZLVKHV KLV IULHQGV FRXOG match the wit he brings to the Shipstad 2B study table. He would like to thank his mate Alex for inspiring him to make his poetry public; may those shore-â€?side fires illuminate the lunacy of life. AARON DOBBE is a sophomore computer science major and math minor, born in the great white north of Canada but raised in Clackamas, Oregon. He devotes too much time and money to niche board and video games. He writes computer

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 SURJUDPV DQG SRHWU\ DQG ZKLOH LW¡G EH YHU\ SRHWLF WR VD\ WKDW WKH WZR SURFHVV HV DUH DOLNH WKH\ GRQ¡W KDYH PXFK LQ FRPPRQ KATIE DOYLE will be graduating in May with a degree in English and second-â€? DU\ HGXFDWLRQ 7KRXJK VKH ORYHV EHLQJ D EDE\ WHDFKHU VKH¡G UDWKHU EH SDLG WR take pictures of pretty flowers all day. PHILIP MARTIN ELLEFSON is a human who was birthed approximately 19 years ago. He enjoys the cooking and eating of food, the making and listening-â€? to of music, and meandering in mountains and meadows. COREY FAWCETT was born in Seattle but raised on the forest moon of Endor by Ewoks, who taught her all of her out-â€?of-â€?this-â€?world dance moves. Naturally, 1HZW *LQJULFK¡V PRRQ FRORQ\ LGHD PDNHV &RUH\ ZDQW WR JURRYH GHVSLWH KHU self. EVAN GABRIEL: :KHQ LW¡V D QLFH GD\ RXWVLGH GRQ¡W JHW D FRIIHH DQG VLW LQVLGH :KHQ LW¡V D QLFH GD\ QRERG\ FDUHV DERXW \RXU SUREOHPV

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ALEX GRAHAM. Like any English major, Alex loves reading and writing, and she is excited to finish off her college education as a Pilot. While she will miss being a student, she cannot wait for graduation!

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DANIELLE HENRY is a freshman English major who dabbles in both writing and photography. She enjoys going on adventures big and small, and finds a WUXVW\ FRPSDQLRQ LQ KHU IDWKHU¡V ROG 1LNRQ )$ ZKRVH -â€?80mm F/3.5 lens is one that never fails to bring out the best in everything, even on a bad day. Dai-â€? sies are her favorite. KEVIN HERSHEY is a senior Spanish major with strong social work tendencies. After graduating, he will return to his hometown of St. Paul, MN to join a Catholic Worker community and hopefully write about what he thinks. JOSÉ RAUL HUERTA was born in Mexico City and grew up in Salt Lake City. He is a music and English major, studying composition with Dr. DeLyser and classical guitar with Jeff Ashton. He has no idea what he is doing with his life, but is sure enjoying writing about it. JEFFREY KUANG was born and raised in Clackamas, Oregon. His last name is SURQRXQFHG OLNH ´.ZRQJ Âľ Â

JOANNA LANGBERG is a junior English/psychology double major with a minor in fine arts. She would like to thank her family for their support, and for their gift of her first box of crayons, which started her enduring love affair with art. MEGAN LESTER is a freshman English and German major at the University of Portland. She enjoys reading, traveling and spending time with her family. JEFF MAKJAVICH is a junior philosophy major and is excited for employers to ceaselessly throw job offers at him. He pursues his passions for music and writing by playing rhythm guitar, singing, and songwriting for his band, The Harm.

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M  ONICA MCALLISTER is a senior biology and Spanish double major with a chemistry minor who loves salsa dancing, playing guitar, and photography. An avid lover of tea and squirrels, she can often be seen riding her bike to local cof-â€? fee shops to study. JOHN MCCARTY is a senior English major from Colorado Springs, Colorado. Aside from abusing words and punctuation by forcing them into his own pecu-â€? liar order, he enjoys reading, drawing, and playing the drums. ANDREW MCGAW wrote a poem. AURORA MYERS is a freshman education and English major who has an appreci-â€? DWLRQ IRU EDFRQ EHQG\ \RJD PRYHV 6KDNHVSHDUH NLGV¡ ERRNV SRHWU\ WKH YHUE ´UHOHDVH Âľ UXQQLQJ DQG NLZLV JOB NAZARENO happens to be a time traveling junior biology major who likes turtles and cats. He is a whovian, brony, and nerdfighter who intends to de-â€? crease world suck with the magic of friendship. DFTBA! MACKENZIE PARKER is a professionally published fiction writer and poet, cur-â€? rently pursuing an English degree at University of Portland. When not listening to her muse, Mackenzie reads, updates her Twitter feed, memorizes random facts, watches British television, and pretends to be witty.

Í?Íœ   MICHAEL PATON is a junior chemistry major from Seattle, Washington. In addi-â€? tion to his chemistry and writing skills he makes killer twice baked potatoes. COLLIN PEDEAUX is ready to graduate this semester with a Bachelor of Arts in VRFLDO ZRUN D PDMRU LQ 6SDQLVK DQG D PLQRU LQ SV\FKRORJ\ +H SXWV WKH ´SURÂľ LQ procrastinate and can be predictably unpredictable. SUSAN PHAM is an 18-â€?year-â€?old biochemistry major and psychology minor. Born and raised in Portland, OR, she is mesmerized by the beauty of nature. She also loves sleeping whenever she can. JANEL RAAB is an electrical engineering (computer track) major, minoring in computer science. She is writing because she can see the stories in her mind, and has to get them on paper. KELSEY REAVIS LV D JUDGXDWLQJ 6SDQLVK XQGHFLGHG GRXEOH PDMRU IURP $UL]RQD¡V Valley of the Sun. In a year, you may find her writing poems in a shack on a beach or working for immigration reform on the Mexican border. She also as-â€? pires to live every day as a /DGLHV¡ 1LJKW! ELIZABETH ROMERO was born in Los Angeles, CA, and migrated north to expe-â€? rience what living amongst trees would be like. She dreams of moving to Europe and one day (finally) learning Spanish. AMANDA SCHENBERGER is a freshman undeclared major and native Portlandian with a passion for the arts including writing, photography, music, theatre, and drawing. Considering political journalism as a career choice, she is also a blog-â€? ger and raging feminist...but yes, she does in fact shave her legs and wear heels.

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K  EVIN SHARP LV D IUHVKPDQ SROLWLFDO VFLHQFH PDMRU :KHQ KH LVQ¡W DW VFKRRO KH spends his time drinking coffee and being angry at the internet. For fun, he writes stories, rides horses, and reads long books. NICOLE SIMARD. After studying abroad in England where her photo was taken, she feels that the English know the secret to life: beautiful buildings and excel-â€? OHQW WHD 8QWLO VKH FDQ UXQ DZD\ WR OLYH WKHUH IRUHYHU VKH¡V FRQWHQW WR FRQWLQXH her sophomore year as a psychology major. KAT SNOW is an accounting major from San Diego who feels that K-â€?pop is grossly undervalued for its musical potential. Kat attributes her love of writing to her 11th grade creative writing teacher, who pushed her to follow her passion. ENID ROSALYN SPITZ, a junior English major, is also a victim of wanderlust, an ´RKPÂľ DILFLRQDGR D PRGHUQ OLW JURXSLH DQG LQGHVFULEDEO\ JUDWHIXO IRU KHU IDEX lous support network. Thank you!

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KATELIN STANLEY. Though a dedicated student of biology and German, Katelin possesses a distinct love of expression through fiction, poetry, and the visual arts. She takes pride in noticing the little things that are often overlooked, both in nature and in life.

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JILLIAN STEPHENS is a freshman English and communications double major at the University of Portland. She enjoys long walks on the beach and spooning with her cat, and she aspires to live in the fifties when she grows up. Â Â

KATE STRINGER is a graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and is currently studying English and education at UP to better understand the Muggle education system as well as the way in which Muggles express them-â€? selves through language. Her one life ambition is to meet her maker, Ms. Jo Rowling. ELLY THOMPSON is a senior with majors in French studies, Spanish, and politi-â€? cal science. She spends most of her time procrastinating and wasting time. A small percentage of her time is spent frantically working to make up for the WLPH VKH¡V ORVW 2QH GD\ VKH¡OO WHOO KHU JUDQGGDXJKWHU DERXW WKH ORYH RI KHU OLIH STASIA UHRHAMMER is a junior nursing student who enjoys all things science. She took this picture while riding camels into the sunset during her semester in Australia. KELSEY WEYERBACHER is a freshman English major who enjoys hiding her face behind a camera lens or the wonderful smell that comes from pages of an old book. She enjoys getting lost in the wilderness and eating homemade apple pie. JORDAN ZETTLE spends countless hours thinking about fishing and not doing work. Nature and the outdoors are his passions, and he hopes to explore the wonders of fishing, hunting, skiing, and hiking for the rest of his life through his writing.  Â

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Special thanks to our wonderful advisor, Dr. Geneviève Brassard, for her support and guidance throughout the creation of this publication, and to Dr. Lars Larson, for lending us some invaluable wisdom along the way. To Kassie Hansen and Linda Gill, from the UP Print Shop, for bringing this collection of art and literature so beautifully to these pages. To Erin Bright and the UP Bookstore, for so kindly hosting our premiere event by their cozy fireplace. To our enthusiastic and industrious editors, for all of their effort and ingenuity in shaping this publication from start to finish. And finally, to all of the students who contributed their creative work, for sharing the captivating, inspirational words and images that are now crystallized within this little book.

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