The Mosaic
Sixty Miles
By Timothy M. Bruderek
Sixty miles apart, a long
stretch of highway divides our schools
and our busy lives. Edge of Seventeen
blasting out of the windows
of my grey Dodge. Yellow line,
white line,
dotted and spotted and striped lines
are painted slowly down the center
of the road
as I drive, past a lonely billboard
,
and an occasional telephone pole.
Sixty miles of long distance
relationships and phone bills. I pick up
th~ phone
after one ring. hoping it is your voice
each time.
We used to drive down I-95
together, listening to Joni and
letting the cool air stretch our
hair out of the windows
of your old Ford Escort.
You speed,
your car and your youth in the air
that blows through the windows. It
lies by the side of the road,
like a ripped up tire, covered in dust
and dirt and shards of plastic
from a broken mix tape
that I made for you.
1






2
Fall 2001
For a Good Cause
By Dan Buzi
Talk to your son tomorrow
For now, lift your head up to the wind
Feel that cool crisp autumn air
Imagine his voice is
Each crinkle of leaf on lea
f
a word.
Think what the browning leaves say
As each crangles in the wind
How those leaves could talk
If
only you would listen
Sit on the rusty iron bench
Remove your shoes now one by one
And your socks off after those
How does the brown earth feel
On this cool crisp autumn day
As fallen leaves fly past your shiv'ring toes
Talk to y
our
son tomorrow
Tell him those things you said in Spring
When the only red was flowers
And the leaves didn
'
t crangle
Because their buds would sing.
Say, "war is noble,
"
And bow your head to his stone
Try to tell him that you love him
Dry your eyes
And pick the weeds that have overgrown
Look then to the leaves again
Brown, blowing in a cold crisp wind
Touch your hands to the ground
As close as you can get to him
.





The Mosaic
3
By Hem Borromeo







4
Fall 2
001
"TULIPS AND ORCHIDS"
by Nicole Tuttle
Tulips and Orchids
Entangled within one another
Like a lovers embrace.
They flourish like an
Already overpopulated city,
Grow as quickly as a
Newborn
child,
Quicker even.
Tulips
and Orchids
Hold tight one
another
For
fear of
death,
Like the human mind
fears death,
Like
you
and I
fear death.
So why
not
Hold tight
One another forever.








The Mosaic
5
Cider
By
Caitlin O'Hare
By Patricia Tarantello
Autumn orchards slipping under the tongue
Slyly pinching the back corners of the mouth
Crisp. dead air
-
cold with leafy flavor
Swallowed, gulped down
Swished with a bitter resonance drowning the taste buds
Like staring into the sun,
Forcing a glance into
Blinding illumination
Until tears stream
Uninhibited, thoroughly
A miserably sweet
Succulently sour
Cry of overwhelming
Salvicious sensation












6
Fall 2001
Have you ever ...
by
Mike Sowter
Have you ever taken a shit in the dark?
If
you've never done it,
I can honestly say it's a mind-altering experience. There you sit,
completely alone on the hard porcelain with nothing but your own
thoughts. As the grimy little bathroom encompasses you, a sense of
fear resonates from the pit of your stomach; the hairs on your arm
stand rigidly to attention. "What am I doing?" you ask yourself. You
suddenly become conscious of the fact that this is one of the weirdest
things you have ever done. "No person in their right mind would do
this. I can't see a thing!" Dread sweeps over you. "What happens if I
don't wipe all the shit off my ass. What if someone accidentally
comes storming in?" More and more questions rise up until you think
you might choke.
Then it stops. Slowly your eyes become accustomed to the
dingy yellow light from the lamp post outside, and bit by bit you de-
velop a feeling of serenity. The turbulence that wrestled with your
mind only minutes earlier gives way to a calm awareness of every-
thing around you. You make out the wallpaper trim with the 19th
century lighthouses that peels away from the paint
;
the vinyl floor in
the shape of hexagonal tiles that feels cold and hard beneath your
feet; the circular indentation on the floor where the door does not
open properly. Gradually each of these things stand out like a rising
flare that illuminates the night sky, begging to be seen. How is that
you can only truly see
in
the dark?
You notice the lights of the cars as they drive past the mottled glass
window
.
You try and guess what make of car it is and picture in your
mind the driver - where are they going
,
what are they thinking? A
sad realization brushes over you as you become tragically aware that
life goes on regardless - the cars keep driving past, the light from the
lamp post continues to squeeze into the room, the faint sound of your
housemate's television hums incessantly - and there you are
;
com-
pletely oblivious
to
the outside world.








The Mosaic
7
You notice that the shower door is always open and that your
towel that's hanging on the rail hasn't been washed in ahnost a
month
.
You see your roommate's paint smeared jeans crumpled on
the floor. Suddenly you come to the realization that they are actually
your own jeans
.
For a month and a half you've walked into that bath-
room and seen those things, yet it takes three minutes sitting in the
dark for you to fully comprehend that this stinky piece of clothing in
front of you is actually your own. You
try
and decide whether this
agitates or humors you when unexpectedly the sound of water drip-
ping in the sink distracts you. Drip ... (wait 6 seconds) ... drip ... (wait 6
seconds)
.
.. drip, every six seconds a drop of water falls from the fau-
cet to the basin without fail.
And then it's over. You wipe your ass a couple of extra times to
make sure you haven't missed anything. This meticulous attention to
ass-wiping concerns you but you acknowledge that this is just one of
those things that manifests itself when you're alone in the dark. You
pull up your pants, wash your hands with the same meticulous detail,
and open the door. The light from outside blinds you momentarily as
the halogen washes over you and you're reunited with the world.
What was it that just happened? In the space of about six minutes,
this dark and lonely place has somehow been transformed into a
haven, a safe place where I'm free to think what I want and be who
I
want. It's no longer the dark that scares me, but the light and every-
thing in it. So I ask you again, have you ever taken a shit
in
the dark?






8
Fall 2001
By
Christine DiGirolamo







The Mosaic
Abstract
By Christine DiGirolamo
Everything is green as far as you can see
,
And nothing is ever your fault.
At least that's what they said.
But something is on your mind
And you
'
re screaming so loud
,
Though no one else hears it.
You feel you're all alone,
But I don
'
t know how
You feel you're the only one.
I guess it's true:
It always appears greener
On the other side.
Your pain has been magnified in me;
It's just one thing we share.
We are both the same inside.
Isn't it strange
That what's holding you
Is holding me too?
You came to me and I understood
Even though we
'
re just two strangers
In the end.
9






10
Fall 2001
Telephone Conversation
By Liz Hammond
When it is late at night.
I think about my future with
you,
And sometimes all I will do is daydream.
When someone meets a friend on a ship
that is moving in one direction
And it is turned back to the port,
All they can do is simply daydream.
If
we really have a destiny
Then I pray to
find
it together.
I may travel to distance lands with you.
When I am alone at night,
I find that words can comfort me.
I pour my soul out to the word processor
And it is like a confessional for me
He whispers to me
And I find a hymn to sing.
There are songs that will echo in my conscious.
And I would be a fool to press pause.
I reminisce about our first phone conversation.
It really does not seem so long ago.
I have to face the honest truth
Our phone conversations have excited me






The Mosaic
11
Jellyfish Dreams
By Chrtstina Lambe
Jellyfish dreams
They're not what they seem
They come and they go
Yeah, I aught to know
I have them at night
When my head's not quite light
Jellyfish in the sky
Watch them fly by
Tentacles trailing
In the bed-sheets I'm flailing
Luminescent in the black
God, please don't come back
Ugly sea monsters
Deep ocean mobsters
They run raids with the tide
They're not on my side
I'd better watch out
I won't get to shout
Long arms all embracing
My heart, it is racing
A jellyfish hug
One you can't shrug out of
Jellyfish fill my eyes
Shit, I'm gonna die.
1+1=3
By Timothy M. Bruderek
One and one is three.
I think I'm hollow,
Just like you said.
And I think I hate living here,
Knowing that you're
Right upstairs
But I can't have you.
As the water swirls down the
drain,
My energy and hope dilute it.
Filling up a pitcher of pure,
filtered
Emptiness.
My ten fingers and ten toes
Have traveled enough.
They rest quietly and fade
And so does this day.
Today is without you,
And so is tomorrow.




12
Fall 2001
By Hem Borromeo






The Mosaic
Jim
Drinks
By James A. Rovello
They always serve the drinks heavy in this bar.
I don't know why I can't get something light.
Everything's got to go to your head in a hurry, else it's not
worth the trouble or tire.
Gotta wear liquefied eyes and see through a tunnel to
appreciate the one bright spot on the other's belly.
Can't see fades cause that takes away the effect.
Faults are for realists and down the road divorcees,
Nothing but the ideal when they serve you a drink here.
I don't understand why you can't get something light
Because it all tastes the same when you go heavy.
13







14
Fall
2001
Falling in Tune
ByC
.
U.
Falling in tune
And floating far fast
The sun it is past
Now its blacker than black
I can hear as you tap on my glass
And I am listening to hear where you are
I am listening to hear where you are
Falling in tune
Put on ruby shoes
And dance round the room according to
Beats of the music that sings in your heart.
Catching signals that sound in the dark
Catching signals that sound
In the dark we will take off our clothes
And there'll be tracing fin
g
ers through the notches of your spine.
And when all is breaking
,
everything cuz you can't keep the si-
lence
Now your eyes they beat in time with the movements of your
heart.
Falling in tune
With cold ease and fates
Creating the play just for two
Coated in armor with a moon across your face
And through the music he's sweetly displaced
Silver beams that will sparkle and grace
Made for your lover who's floating and stroking
Her hands across your face
And in the dark we will take off our clothes
And they'll be tracing fingers through the notches of your spine





The Mosaic
15
(continued from the previous page)
And when all is breaking, everything cuz you can't keep the si-
lence
Now your eyes they beat in time with the movements of your
heart.
And I am asking you once for a while
Let me run down your skin, that soft mile
As it twists and it turns through your body, my world.
By
Caitlin O'Hare







16
Fall 2001
Tell Me Something
By Braden Russom
If
decolonization is represented,
Time after time,
Within the small sphere of Algerian police work
By one set of handcuffs
And one list of victims, why then does nothing change
When a schoolteacher makes a moral decision
To respect a culture
And res
p
ect its ways
Even though he couldn't despise it more?
Listen to Unspoken Words
By Tatiana
Another cry from a beaten child
Is heard while I walk by.
The people hear them day and night,
And no one wonders why
.
A little girl sneaks out the house,
Hoping that when asked, people will lie.
She tells me of her dreams,
And I see the tears well in her eyes.
I know not what I do for her,
And why she visits me.
I also do not know
Why she smiles when she leaves.





The Mosaic
17
By
Hem Borromeo








18
Fall 2001
"A SINGLE SHELL"
By Nicole Tuttle
Raging emotions come out from within and splurge over
In my cup of thoughts-my tipped cup, my crooked cup.
I wonder much of things I should not wonder about-
Worry about what the future may shoot at me-
A
bullet maybe!
I rip myself into pieces; I don't need another to do that for me-
I will always be my own critic -
My own judgmental jury!
And I, seem to be always standing alone
On my un-lighted highwa
y
to nowhere, land of broken everything-
Hearts and dreams
And I must be the Queen of this disserted land for I have a broken
heart and
I have broken dreams that are too scared to dance again their
sweet magical dance of
.
..
HOPE
I,
well I am lost!
So I am this someone who never learns how to love-
And if I were to ever feel such a thing
I am sure that somehow my icicle heart froze it
And broke it to pieces.
So maybe I will go on raging about something in this twisted life of
mine-
This may just be do to the
fact
that I can't show love!
"Love me tenderly," he would say ....
And I would reply
,
"how?"







The Mosaic
I'M DOWN WITH
SUPERFICIALITY
By David Rodriguez
If I had an open mind
Then I would find
That who I used to be
Was down with superficiality
The bonds we make are frail
'
cuz what does it entail
no intimacy
I'm down with superficiality
I saw you at a show
So I guess you really know
What ifs like to be me
I'm down with superficiality
I dig the clothes you wear
So I don't really care
About your personality
I'm down with superficiality
19






20
Fall 2001
Jazz Iz
By Jeff Berner
I pick up my jazz box and hug its bulky contours
And dream of Bird and Diz and Lester Young.
I daydream how I am suddenly seated in Minion's in the late 40's,
With the
great
Thelonious Monk
seated
at the battered piano not
ten
feet
from
me.
He grumbles to
Coleman
Hawkins about
the chord changes to the
bridge
of
"Epistrophy."
"Naw
man, it's B-flat to C-minor to G ...
"
Monk takes
a sip from the half-empty bottle of Dewar's on the
piano.
In
his
mumbling
way, he
counts
off the next tune.
He
plays like he speaks-in fragments, hard to discern at times but
always something
that
knocks you
out.
In the corner, Max
Roach
is drumming, lines of concentration
etched
in
his head.
His sticks are a fiery blur
, r
adiating intensity and concentration of
the utmost.
And Ron Carter over there, holding it down, counting out the time
on his big scarred
standup bass
The loping bassline he plays suggests a drunken old man's walk
Sometimes stumbling, sometimes loping, but with a crazy feel like
no other.
I can almost hear the old man's shoes shuffling against the side-
walk,
And when he
flies
into the upper octaves for a solo, watch out now.
Fingers
flying,
slapping the fretboard, truly an amazing feat to
watch.
Coleman sits patiently on
a
chair, waiting for his moment to
create
his own sound painting.





The Mosaic
21
Face is motionless and expressionless, save for the glowing eyes
receded within.
They seem to scrutinize and take in all that surrounds him.
Pressing the metal mouthpiece to his lips, he begins to play
His rich tenor fills the room with its golden tone.
Aloft on a sea of melody, he flirts with some notes, yells at others,
and pleads with others
still.
Sometimes he uses his instrument as a weapon of war, like the
Mystery Horn in the
Grand Wazoo.
Other times he argues passionately with lost lovers and laments
the
death of those before
him.
Max is in a frenzy, playing seemingly faster than the sound can
catch
up with him
A ball of fury barely restrained enough to sit on a drum stool.
An old man dressed in his Sunday best, sticks his head in the
door and says,
"Allriiiiiight!",
and walks away, groovin' out to the rhythms inher-
ent within.
Now I know where James Brown got the urge to give it up or turnit
a loose, and at the
same
time marvel at the true American
"classical"
music.
The smoke curls up from the ashtray on the chair next to Max's
hi-hat and slowly makes
its way to the ceiling, fighting for space amongst all the notes
clustered in the room.
Monk's right foot shuffles and strides across the floor as he comes
with fractured chords and bass runs.
Never staying still, it seems to suggest the energy apparent in this
music.
And for this I mourn the death of The Great American Note.




22
Fall 2001
To Socrates
By Ann M. Metz
Socrates, I have walked beside thee on Athens's streets
And I have heard the wise softy speak,
And seen the foolish tremble weak
When thou comest to question all they fathom.
Socrates, I have observed thy inquiring mind
Hold what slumbering souls cannot find.
I strived to touch that eternal truth,
But it shriveled away, distorted by youth.
Still I sought, and with vigor pursued,
Thinking back on inebriate half
-
mad brothers,
Wasting away of unknown hunger and thirst,
Smothered by shadows of human illusion.
Socrates, at times I have stood at thy side,
Other times I stumbled unsteadily behind.
But always I pursued the path set by thy feet,
Always I imitated the meter
Of thy poetically contrived line
s
.
Socrates
,
I have tasted the fruits of intellect,
Ripened in thy aged hand.
I cultivated the seeds of Academe,
Scattered by thy learned voice
.
And the words were harmony
To everyone else's discordant noise.






The Mosaic
(continued from previous page)
Socrates, I call thee teacher, friend, mentor, guide.
Thou art all of these and words I cannot describe.
I followed thee, but time comes, and I must journey.
I must journey away with the wisdom you imparted,
The knowledge I always held but was afraid to touch.
I feared to break into the expanse uncharted.
I feared the loss of so much.
Socrates, once I walked beside you,
Once I stepped only in the streets of Athens,
Once I followed only the paths you made.
Now I depart my own way,
With your words always residing inside.
The Lament of the Astronomer's Wife
By Christina Lambe
Oh ptolemy,
Star gazer! Mad lover of untouchable perfection!
Why did you forsake me for your lady Night?
Your eyes are weak from seeking her shaded glance.
23
"They
cannot bear the brilliance of the day or the sheen of light on
your hair,"
You say, as you turn away, close the shutters, dream of the sun's
and my departure.
Your skin is as pale as a sliver of almond from the Moon's touch.
"Get
away!" you shout as I reach for you.
"Your hands are too hot, you'll burn me, and leave blisters on my
cheek!"
We are like a double star, you and
I.
When you rise I set,
Forever circling, eternally attracted and repelled.






24
Fall 2001
Crayons and Hand Grenades
By Jim McGrath
Where do I wear this I can't stand the stare
Hits the man at the back of the elevator
But was intending to cross paths
With me and my
Red leotard
We met in the bargain bin
I couldn't pass up the chance to
Mingle
And now I pay the price
Of humiliation
The cashier never mentioned that
When she rang it
up
for
Seven dollars forty eight
Sense
I lost it for a moment there
She said it was a
Steal
She was right
My dignity is gone





The Mosaic
The Green Rose
By: Brian Wills
A touch and a shadow
A soft caress in the moonlight
A finger tracing the outline of my face
My hands searching for something
Yet never leaving the sheet
Light streams in from the outline of my window
Night has descended on us
You sit beside me
I am laying down face upturned
Looking into your eyes
Time is forgotten
Time is forever
Time shared together
Time to heal each other
Time to write again
In my mind danced two roses
The first has wilted in my heart
It broke in wind long past
The other of emerald green
It blossoms in my soul
The moments grow longer
I begin to hope
My heart trembles
I begin to hope
As fingers trace my face
25







26
Fall 2001
(continued from previous page)
I lay there trembling
I lay there hoping
I lay there praying
I lay there wanting
I lay there
You whispered me words
You answered my prayers
By embracing my soul
By
Scott Neville






The Mosaic
27
By
Caitlin O'Hare







28
Fall 2001
Epidermis (or The Next Layer)
By James
A.
Herman Rovello
I was passing through Franklin Street, my fingers numb from the
autumn air. I had dipped them deep into my pockets and leisurely
mumbled to myself. Marlon had taken up the walkway in his
aimless travels. He was a heavyset man. with thick, stupid glasses
that had been broken almost as often as his promises. I had opted
for the grass alongside him. It was cramped with moisture and my
feet sank with each step. I felt like I was walking on soggy cereal.
precariously balanced between the edges of a cheerio. I was trying
to
navigate the great white bowl and the silver spoon at the lip.
Cars rebounded off one another with slow. successive stop and
starts. The sun was glaring at me from the horizon and I had
wished the afternoons were just a little bit longer. Those days were
gone and
Marlon was too absorbed to care.
'Tell
me something I don't know" Marlon moaned.
"You're an
idiot" I shot back, shoving my hands deeper into my
pockets. My nose felt numb and my lips cracked. I wanted a ciga-
rette. but I'd be damned if I was going to take my hands out of my
pockets.
"Got a
light?" I inquired, severing the agitation in my voice in one
clean motion. Amputation never felt so good behind a prosthesis. I
grinned
inwardly. behind my mask.
"Yeah. yeah" Marlon shifted himself between steps and felt around
for his signature lighter. Somewhere he had acquired an antique
Zippo. told everyone it was his grandfather's every time.
With a clean motion, Marlon lifted the shiny tin can.





The Mosaic
29
A spark erupted and I dove into the flame. The brief heat seeped
into my lungs, and the ashes of my cigarette reminded me of
marshmallows roasting on a campfire. I'd been an honorable Boy
Scout for less than a year. The uniform didn't fit.
"The way I see it," I exhaled the concealing fog into the frigid,
contemptible air. "You've got two options, stick with it and hope
things get better," which they won't. "Or, cut your loses and find
another."
"I don't know" Marlon answered, that dumb look on his face. He
was a primitive chap, if that was the right word. Always
second-guessing himself. He was slow to react; he dragged his
knuckles a lot. I was about to serve him a wise crack when I re-
membered his raw and bloody knuckles. Marlon had a temper that
wouldn't quit.
"Mirel, that bitch" Marlon groaned, stomping his foot at the invis-
ible onslaught. The concrete absorbed him; it shot back a re-
minder with electric clarity. Leisurely, I took another drag, while
he went about his fusion process with the earth.
"Listen,"
Marian bent close, his lips quivering, eyes dilated. "You
got to know something about this guy, where he lives, what he's
doing. You've talked to her, your friends. She ain't moving for
nothing.'"
I gave him a pathetic smile. It was all I could offer, anything to give
him some kind of sign of my feelings. He was clutching for air,
trying to breathe the situation through his callused skin. He was a
fish, driven from his pond, gobbling the poison in the atmosphere
and calling himself a man. I'd be damned if I thought he could do
it, and I didn't care whether he learned to walk or not, but some-
body had to set him straight today. Silence was my tool. I blinked,







30
Fall 2001
refocused, and then looked him in the eyes.
"Who
is she seeing?"
It
was a guttural inquiry, a dying man's plea. Somewhere inside
the wire had
snapped,
the
cables
turned to jelly and his dignity
had drained into a pool
at
his feet. This was war; I remonstrated
myself for forgetting.
It
was cold, brutal war that he had waged and
everyday
it was turning up new bodies behind those sleepless
eyelids.
It
was time, I thought, time to take him out of the front
lines. I struck with fragrant venom in my voice.
"Who
stuck the knife in your back?" I shot him a cold glare. "Who
cheated
on who and how often?"
My
adversary
choked up
and coughed.
He tapped his foot in some
subtle rhythm
and gave
the ground
an apologetic glance. His nose
.
was
running and he
sniffed
cold, stale air through it.
"I
just want
to
know."
I glanced down Franklin Street, then back toward Main. Traffic was
getting congested and
we
could
part now, or stick to the sidewalk a
little further. I opted to
keep
walking a
little further.
"Y
ou messed up." I
told him, "Sleeping around
like
that,
what did
you think was going to happen?" The wounds were superficial. He
had heard them
all
before. I
peeled
away the layers of flesh with
finesse and ease.
I peeled
with
subtle contempt and aimed, with
careful
intent, my severing shot.
"She
started looking after the first
time," I watched him shrivel. I watched him die. He was a drowning
man, just another sailor out to sea. "You lost her a long time ago."
Time passed between us. The poison did its work. His pupils were
dilated and at the closing of a minute the gulf between bodies was







The Mosaic
31
too great. The tendons, and sweet ligaments had been severed.
The stretcher had risen from the earth and he was pronounced
dead, if not disabled. Marion didn't look me in the face. To be
honest, I didn't want him to either. "When am I going to see you
again?" he asked.
"I don't know" I lied, "College is a tricky place I'm told. Not sure
when I'll be back."
"All right, all right. I trust you." Marlon conceded, slipping his eyes
beneath the concrete walkway. Without warning, he rushed me
and gave me a sharp, heavy hug. Struggling flesh yearned for life.
His fingers clawed at my sides, they dug for flesh
,
and he rocked
me like an invalid within his grasp. He whispered his own venom,
his dying whimper "You're my best friend." I smelt the dried blood
on his knuckles, the cracked skin and split flesh. I remembered
who I was dealing with, and for a moment I feared he would look
me in the eyes. I waited, waited for him to smell Mirel's scent on
my jacket. I waited for the twisted moans to creep up from the
abyss of my ears, and serenade his soulless form. I waited for him
to catch her undressing behind my eyes.
Instead, limping like an amputee, the veteran retreated from the
front lines and carried on his way across Franklin. Back to civiliza-
tion and on his own. I think
I
felt sorry for him, and flushed with
myself. I think about what would have happened if he had looked
back. I think about Mirel. I think about silky white linen dripping
off peach cream shoulders. I'd kill a friend, a best friend, for that
woman's scent.
If
opiates even had a clue about disease. I'd spent
my summer tasting Marlon's desire with a stirring spoon, and
adding a drop of bourbon to flavor. I wasn't sure what Mirel was
yet, the desire, or the bourbon. To be honest, I didn
'
t really care
anymore. She was just a photo in an album now
.







32
Fall 2001
I lit up another cigarette, satisfied that I had conserved enough
heat in my hands for a minute's work. I breathed Marlon's toxin.
Bestfiiend.
I felt better. I glowed.
It
wasn't the cigarettes.
It
was the sensation.
It
was the look. I baptized my new mold with a tap of my cigarette.
Flaky ashes, like skin, dripped into the air. I was changing. I was
shedding, that much I was sure. Marlon was just the next layer.
By
Kristen Alldredge






The Mosaic
33
Mystery
By Patricia Tarantella
You hide behind your stained glass,
your rock walls.
I try to took in, but you're concealed, enshrouded.
What demons do you hide?
Let me in.
But I'm left outside looking in
with the gargoyles, the grotesque angels. and the marble saints
with outstretched hands
Guarding you, warning me not to keep this vigil
to intrude this place kept sacred
in fear.
Reveal yourself to me.
I will not turn from you.
Why won't you tear down this veil between us?
Are you afraid of what I might see-some lack
of virtue, some fall
from innocence?
No,
I will adore you
whatever tattered state of grace
Confess yourself to me
Unconditionally
Let your words spill
over like blood,
blood flowing from your wounds
hidden from the world
Let it wash over me,
Baptize me until my skin is crimson with its stain
and you are reborn.





34
Fall 2001
The Edge of the World
By Tatiana
You want to run
To the edge of the world
So that you may peer over.
You hope and pray,
Expect to find
The answers to all hidden mysteries
And questions
That you've always searched for.
And I see you,
Far off in the distance,
And the sun is slowly
Making its way to the other side.
Its rays hit you,
And you realize that there
Is no edge,
Or maybe there is,
But with nothing there
Except this huge ball of fire
Making its way closer
And closer to you.
So you decide to jump inside
While I stand
Far off
Watching,
Without the ability
Or time
To save.






SIN ORIGINALE
By David Rodriguez
The Mosaic
I'm the serpentine that's circling in your
dreams
Surfacing where nothing seems of purpose
But believe temptations curses reverses
what you achieve
So be nervous when verses convert the
focus to hopelessly in need
and concede to forces that causes effects on
what to believe respect the free
that neglect the threat of the enemy
me, I've seen everything from the beginning
who's winning? Ask Eve
35
By Hem Borromeo




36
American Sobriety
By Dan Buzi
Oh say can you see,
By the dawn's early light,
A drunkard sitting sober
Fall 2001
Contemplating, head down, slouched shoulders?
Can you see his thoughts? A thousand images
Shared by America all over.
The crumbled buildings,
Broken dreams,
Shattered as the glass around him
With his head down, and slouched shoulders
"God bless America," he mutters,
"Land that I love. Stand beside her"
"And" his words crumble into mumbling tears.
But his cheeks aren't wet for his own troubles
Not after so many years.
They are not wet for the arm he lost long ago,
Fighting for the land that he loves
Nor for his long lonely nights huddled into cardboard.
Drop by drop his tears fall as love
Dripping from his cheek to make mud,
Of the gray ash around him.
He weeps for the wounded and weeps for the dead,
All of those who will surely pass away
If
war begins again.
Oh say can you see,
By the dawn's early light,
A drunkard sitting sober,
One arm, one war,
His head hanging low, slouched shoulders?
"In the name of the father and the son and the holy spirit," he
prays






The Mosaic
That no one else will have to die
The way he died long before today.
"There
is no honor in killing" he mumbles,
And drops the full bottle to shatter,
As he slowly walks away.
37
By
Caitlin O'Hare






38
Fall 2001
Upside
Down
By Timothy M. Bruderek
Does
it have to be shared?
I'm sorry I can't
wish it all for you
or fini
s
h pretending to mind.
The wind
m
akes this room cold
and I don
'
t care.
You guard the music
and
drop
a sword
of
inferiority
upon me.
Stop kicking me around
like
a
lost stone
every time I smile at you.
Not everyone with a pen and a hairbrush
can
exit
my life.
If
you
meant nothing to me
then I wouldn't ask you here.
Believe
that I'm
going
to cry
when
you
get on that plane,
Like I'm doing right now.








The Mosaic
The First
Day
I Went to School
By
Jim McGrath
39
I was scared, for a number of reasons. We were all herded in,
one by one. My mom told me to listen to the teacher and to do
whatever she said. I didn't count on the bats. Hundreds, maybe
thousands, hanging from the ceiling of our little cave. The teacher
said they wouldn't bite you if you were quiet. So we were. For
seven years. Then we found out that Mrs. Buffington wasn't a real
teacher.
By
Caitlin O'Hare










40
Fall 2001
Tonigh
t
I
Say
By Diana Ventimiglia
Tonight I say,
To you I whisper,
A breath upon your ear
I love you.
The night seemed to shimmer,
Twinkling its song among your
eyes,
A frightening
glow
Soothed
and
caressed me tight.
But the
look you
gave.
I
wander
around the room.
It
seems the
suns lost its bloom.
Rainbows are
the dreams
That kiss your skies,
Hand in hand
we ride their
tails.
Silence was
the
scar
That cast
your spells,
Moment
by
moment we
slip
away.
Cause its all
a
facade,
The hour less
days,
Your walls of
frames,
The spooning
of lies
That fed
my aching belly.
I scavenged for the hopeful
grace,
You nourished a bomb.
Dreamers are
the fools
That
lick you
r
tears,
Step by
step you crash.
Waiting was the vision
That
dried my
eyes,
Day to day
I lost
you.
I
see through your case,
The
looking
glass stripped deep
My ladder of escape;
It
was all the glory,
The chapter never
turned,
I was waiting
for the
fall
That
knocked me down
Never
to
pick me
up,
I found you.
I waited for my clouds
Before the storm,
To rain its light on me,
I found you.
Words are the sins
That make forever,
Fist after fist a mold built.
Weeping was
my potion
That killed your story,
Night
after
night I love
you.




The Mosaic
41






42
Fall
2001
I saw a forest at night
With vibrant lights
Shining through the tangled treetops.
I saw a clearing with two people - us
Standing together.
In-between was an energy,
A force
So great that light was emitted
And shone to see closed flowers
And mushrooms that grew along mossed
trunks.
As I look inside this teardrop
Placed ever so carefully
Atop its velvet interior.
I
see
a love for
passion
,
Independence,
Uniqueness,
The present touch of your
hand,
And you.
You
with
all your
glory
Have
met
me in a hideaway
To give the greatest gift of all,
A gift from the gods,
The gift of beauty,
Appreciation,
Understanding,
And
love.
It is to thee I
ascribe my belonging
Out here in the dark,
Beyond the imaginary wall
Of my dreaming.








The Mosaic
43
Atoms and Void
By Chrtstina Lambe
By
Caitlin O'Hare
We burst forth like Phoenixes, Iising from each other's ashes.
Electrtfied bones and blood, clay bodies filled with lightning.
We are like the stars - comets streaking forth illuminating
The night in a fierce combustion, a moment in eternity.
I love you, but there is no certainty in love or life.
Who knows when the caprtcious lady Fortune will turn you
And me upside down?
This is a haphazard life we lead. Nothing but Atoms and Void.
You and I blaze forth leaving trails of desire and tears,
Trails of broken hearts.
Only to be hit from behind by the unpredictable, unavoidable
swerve.











44
S
tale Memory
By Dan Buzi
Fall 2001
It
was the stale memo:ry of him that she inhaled, two fingers
pressed to her lips like a lifeline. Her hair was black, curly.
It
fe
ll
over her face carelessly. She was a little stocky maybe, but no
t
fat, by no means fat. She wore her weight
li
ke a sort of burden
.
She was an average height. Her cheeks were a little re
d
now wi
th
the cold breeze. They contrasted with her
pal
e skin. ·
It
was an October night. The breeze was c
old
. That's true, but
the
air was pleasant. The day had been surp
risin
g
l
y warm, the su
n
shining. She had slept, and she wou
l
d be up all nig
h
t now wit
h
her cigarettes, her black curly hair over her red cheeks. She
breathed the smoke in deeply, held it there a while, her mouth
open, and let
it
out in a cool billow of grey, her lips almost kiss
ing
it as it left.
"
On
e
year
,"
she thought.
"
One
ye
ar since the stale smoke room
po
et
s
."
That's what she called them, the stale smoke room poets
.
They ne
v
er said much
,
but they had coffee and they had some-
thing else that she wanted, something she couldn't quite put her
fin
ge
r on
.
One year
,
two days ago
,
like it was yesterday.
Sh
e h
ad walk
e
d into an old caf
e
.
It
was small and out of the way.
A f
riend had been talking about it with some contempt earlier in
th
e
evening.
It
o
cc
urred to her now that she had probably gone in
for ex
actly that reason. Her friend said that the place should be
condemned. Her friend liked what was in style.
The place had the feel of an old western saloon in an abandoned
ghost town.
It
was dusty and not well
lit.
The owner blended in
with the customers. He didn
'
t say much. Some of the tables
wobbled on mismatched legs. They were all chipped on the top.






The Mosaic
45
There was a small stage at what could roughly be called the front
of the room. But she hadn't noticed any of this right away
.
Almost before her foot made contact with the first squeaky floor-
board of that room she caught Jesse's eye. H
e
was turning his
head one way and she the other. Their glances met for only a
moment.
It
was all that was needed. Jesse had her. He didn't
know it yet. Neither did she.
She had sat down then, and she remembered looking at her
watch.
It
was 11:07. She remembered that somehow. She re-
membered every little moment of that night
.
She sat down and
took in the room. It was old, and just about ready to fall down,
that was true. The ceiling was low
,
the walls were all a sort of dark
wood color. There were little words carved into the table: "I love so
and so
.
" Some were crossed off and some were highlighted with
foul language.
It
had been a bit chill. October was just starting to move in.
That's the nature of October nights, a bit chill. Th
e
door was open.
It
was always open, even in late Januaiy
...
you had to ventilate
somehow.
It
was still stale.
She didn't smoke then. She sipped coffee slowly
,
always sneaking
glances around the room as if it were inappropriate. Somehow it
was. He.re and there her gaze locked on Jesse. He sipped his
cigarette. It was almost as if he were thinking through it
.
"
Hello, my name
'
s ...
" "
I was just noticing
..
.
" "
Ummm, I just gotta
tell you that you look. ..
"
I've been looking over here all ...
"
"Do you
know that you are the single most .
.. "
and the possibilities played
on all night in her head as the stale smoke room poets went up
one by one to read what they had written.





46
Fall
2001
The owner read too, he blended in with the customers. The ceil-
ing hung low. The walls were dark. Her table read "I love so and
so."
It
was crossed out and "you slut" was in its place.
It
was the
potential of him that she sipped.
She hoped she wasn't staring too much. His hair was dark, his
jaw firm, his nose sharp. His skin hugged tight to his face. His
cheeks were bony. His lips were full and red and they kissed the
smoke. His shirt hung loose off his shoulders. His jeans were
worn. He didn't care about a thing. She kissed her coffee.
She looked at her watch then.
It
was 12:04. She had the same
cup of coffee.
It
was lukewarm. The stale smoke room poets were
done reading. They sat around talking to each other. She got up
to leave. Jesse shot a glance her way. She didn't notice. The
door opened to a chill October night.
She walked home, her hair neatly tied back in a scarf. Her
clothes were worn, but she bought them that way. The cold wind
pinched her pale cheeks. Her smile was the memory of him.
She remembered each of those year-ago steps home as if they
were yesterday. The taste of coffee had been sticky in her mouth.
Her feet almost skipped. The next day had come and gone and
she hardly even noticed the sun that was shining bright all day
.
Her thoughts were in the small stale smoke filled room of the
night before. She skipped classes that day, sat around in bed, her
head a little bent, with an immovable smile. A few naps later and
it was almost time. 10:05 her watch read, and she plucked at her
eyebrows, filed her nails, brushed her teeth, brought a few mints
along, made her hair perfect, no makeup though, he wouldn't like
that.



The Mosaic
It
was wanner that night. The breeze still blew a bit chill. She
walked a little slow, didn't want to get there before him.
10:42. She stepped into the room. Jesse sat exactly where he
had the night before. She wondered if he had moved.
47
A man held an acoustic guitar delicately on the stage. He
strummed out something barely audible. His eyes were turned in
on himself. Jesse watched him intently
.
She took her seat, same place as she had the night before. She
could hear the cars driving by outside more clearly than the gui-
tar. She watched Jesse. He was wearing the same clothes he had
the night before. His hair was black and curly and thrown over
itself carelessly. His mouth hung open just a little to let his
thoughts in through smoke. His eyes were wide and questioning.
They noticed every small movement of the man's hands on stage
.
The song sunk in little by little as if it were getting louder. The
cars outside faded away. She could hear herself breathing. Her
heart was beating quickly. She sipped on the potential of him.
She could hear herself slurp.
He wanted to tum around. He knew she was looking. The man
on stage_was his excuse
.
He took a drag of meaning and breathed
it out slowly.
She was done with her coffee by the end of the song. She turned
the mug this way and that and watched the small ring of brown at
the bottom that would not come out. The audience had a moment
of silence in place of applause. Then the cars could be heard
again.






48
Fall 2001
Jesse walked up to the stage. He belonged there somehow. His
long thin fingers held the cigarette delicately.
He had nothing on
paper.
His voice was low and calming. He wanted to look at her.
Her hair was tied back neatly. Her clothes were appropriate for
the room but placed with care. Her rosy cheeks contrasted her
pale skin.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. His hair was out of
place, black and curly. His words were slow. She didn't catch
their meaning. His jeans had holes in the knees and on the
thighs. She knew
it
wasn't for fashion.
He walked off the stage towards her. She could hear her heart
beating
.
She tried to sip the last of her coffee. He pulled a chair
away from the table and his eyes asked if he could sit. She smiled
shyly and motioned for him to go ahead. She stared into the
brown bottom of her mug. Her pinky finger outlined the
rim in circle after circle.
Someone else was on stage reading. He was a blur behind the
smoke. Jesse was in perfect focus in the corner of her eye. He
put his hand on hers. The table wobbled. Her chair flinched. Her
eyes matched his. She saw they were intense. Jesse had her. He
knew it now. So did she.
He smiled. She bit her lip and her cheeks curled up with her
shoulders. His smile grew. He produced two cigarettes, offered
one to her. She didn't smoke. She took it. She leaned across the
table and his lighter clicked, hers first then his. The smoke tasted
like the room amplified a thousand times.






The Mosaic
She coughed and tried to hold it in. He grinned. She felt his
hand on her knee. She leaned in.
49
The poet was done on stage. Jesse stood during the moment
of
silence and walked towards the door. Her eyes followed. She
could hear the creaking of the floor.
A smooth ring of smoke followed his face as he turned to meet her
eyes. She got up to follow him. He had her. They knew it.
They walked the midnight pavement. She could hear each of her
steps.
A
pair of headlights drove by. She thought her shoes
would deafen her. The occasional streetlight brought Jesse into
focus. He walked as if he were naked. Jazz music fell from a
nearby window.
"Listen.
I. .. "
He put his finger over her lips.
It
was rough. She
kissed it. He kissed her. They stood in the streetlight amazed
with each other. She kissed him. Her eyes were closed. He pro-
duced another cigarette for each of them. They breathed in mean-
ing and walked on.
His apartment was small, cluttered. Papers were everywhere.
An
old word processor sat his desk.
It
was all that wasn't gathering
dust. One lamp lit the room. It didn't have a shade. He shut it
off, lit a candle. He pushed the papers from his bed. They kicked
off dust. She wondered where he slept.
A cold breeze snuck in through a slightly cracked window. She
shivered.
It
was an early October night. Her eyes adjusted to the
candlelight.
He stood in front of the bed, took off his shirt. He was thin, almost
transparent in the candlelight.







50
Fall 2001
Her eyes motioned for the door. "It's Jesse" he said. She came to
him. Her hands rested on his chest and slipped down.
'Tm ... " He kissed her. She grabbed his back and squeezed. She
wanted to make him part of her. She forgot her name then. His
face was rough against hers. They melted to the bed ...
She woke up naked.
It
was an early October morning. A cool
breeze snuck in through the slightly cracked window.
·
She was
alone. She sat up, gathered her clothes. They were soaked in
dust and sweat. A scrap of paper sat on the desk looking newly
placed amongst the dust. She picked it up.
It
read, "I loved you."
Her eyes closed up tightly, they almost pinched out a tear.
She crumpled the scrap, got dressed, put it in her pocket. She got
one foot out the door, turned around. She scribbled, "call me" on
the scrap, jotted down her number, put the scrap on the desk. ..
It
was a dark evening, early in October. The breeze was cold.
That's true, but the air was pleasant. The day had been surpris-
ingly warm, the sun shining. She had slept, and she would be up
all night now with her cigarettes, her black curly hair over her red
cheeks. She breathed the smoke in deeply; it was the memory of
him. She held
it
there a while, swallowed it, and coughed a bit.
She gave a little smirk filled with tears thinking of herself. He still
hadn't. called ...






Andre's Departure
By Ann Metz
The Mosaic
At the end of the driveway he sat
Between the rusted tan of the Chevy
And the fallen pine tree needles.
I watched through the windows,
Wet cheeks adhering to the sun-warmed glass.
We said our good-byes and sayonaras
But the words were melted
Crayola Crayons and forgoten make-believe tales.
They were not like those we imagined together
In the fragments of our jungle
gym
playground,
Spoken in a Morse code of
Flashlight bulbs and finger puppet people.
Instead an emptiness spoke
In the curled toes of the pet canary,
Car tires hissing, Mourning doves murmuring.
I saw the sunbeams glare on a blue metal hood,
Witnessed my father's weak embrace,
And somehow I knew
That my brother was dissolving
!o
a place where I couldn't hug him.
Entering and exiting he moved,
Forever between the overture and the entr'acte.
Here at ten, at fifteen, and then at twenty.
We never arrived at Act Two to see the show end.
He was always that indecipherable hieroglyph,
Eyes staring to the side away from us.
51







52
F
a
ll 2001
THE LAST HUMAN ALIVE
By David Rodriguez
I wish I could be alone for a
cen
t
ury o
r tw
o
To think about the t
h
ings t
h
at all humans
do
I wish I could dream for millions of years
Living all my fantasies, confronti
n
g a
ll
my
fears
I wish I could hibernate for a millennium
To
wake
up
and see
what the worl
d
has
become
My place
in
history is lost
Memories have turned to dust
Wad
i
ng throug
h
the san
d
s of
t
ime
I want to be the last human alive
I
wis
h I could be wa
s
hed away and li
ve
out on
the sea for days
escaping reality, floating on eternity
I wish I could go to heaven someday
Alive but be there anyway
Just to see what'
s
up there
And to see if anyone cares
I wish I could
g
o to hell and see the devil dwell
In all his burning glory and still come back to
tell
My place in history is lost
Memories have turned to dust
Wading through the sands of time
I want to be the last human alive






The Mosaic
53
ti
By Hem Borromeo











54
Fall 2001
If Your Eyes Are Brown ...
By Timothy M. Bruderek
If
your
eyes
are
brown, await me.
I long for pink strands in my crown
and to swim free from it.
To knock them down like game
pieces,
the stale figures,
into a pool of tin
.
Swim, swim away ...
Tie me up
with
seasons,
and
self,
and your prettiest textures.
What
to
do, not read you and
plagiarize? To
sing
down
without plu
gg
ing
their
mouths?
To sing
you
...
I blow like
brass
to hear from here to
th
e
r
e
.
You left without your
home,
you swirled my placid face
into a
trance.
To
survive on
herbs by the
sea.
To survive .
.
.
If
your eyes are wet, await me
.
Fortune will make it like this.
I will balance this wire for you.
I'll lie in porcelain
and break it into points.
To
break
this ...







Table of Contents
1
Sixty Miles
Timothy M. Bruderek
2
For a Good Cause
Dan Buzi
3
Indian Summer
Hem Borromeo
4
"
TULIPS AND ORCHIDS
"
Nicole Tuttle
5
Joy Ride
Caitlin O'Hare
Cider
Patricia Tarantella
6
Have You Ever ...
Mike Sowter
8
Feet
Chiristine DiGirolamo
9
Abstract
Chiristine DiGirolamo
10
Telephone Conversation
Liz Hammond
11
Jellyfish Dreams
Christina Lambe
1
+
1
=
3
Timothy M
.
Bruderek
12
Grass
Hem Borromeo
The Jungle
Ann Metz
13
Eden
Caitlin O'Hare
Jim Drinks
James A
.
Rovella
14
Falling in Tune
c.u.
15
Little Sprirtkler
Caitlin O'Hare
16
Tell Me Something
Braden Russom
Listen to Unspoken Words
Tatiana
17
Tanglewood
Hem Borromeo
18
"A SINGLE SHELL"
Nicole Tuttle
19
High Tide
Kristin Gari
I'M DOWN WITH SUPERFICIALITY
David Rodriguez
20
Jazz Iz
Jeff Berner
22
To Socrates
Ann Metz
23
The Lament of the Astronomer's Wife Christina Lambe
24
Crayons and Hand Grenades
Jim McGrath
25
The Green Rose
Brian Wills
26
Sunshine
Scott Neville
27
Symmetry
Caitlin O'Hare
28
Epidermis (or The Next Layer)
James A. Rovella








32
Sunset
Kristen Alldredge
33
Mystery
Patricia Tarantello
34
The Edge of the World
Tatiana
35
SIN ORIGINALE
David Rodriguez
Earth Angel
Hem Borromeo
36
American Sobriety
Dan Buzi
37
Lit
Caitlin O'Hare
38
Upside Down
Timothy M. Bruderek
39
The First Day I Went to School
Jim McGrath
Young Summer
Caitlin O'Hare
40
Tonight I Say
Diana Ventimiglia
41
Silhouette
Caitlin O'Hare
The Gift
Tatiana
43
Tangled
Caitlin O
'
Hare
Atoms and Void
Christina Lambe
44
Stale Memory
D
an
B
uzi
51
Andre's
D
eparture
Ann Metz
52
THE LA
S
T HUMAN ALIVE
D
avid Ro
d
riguez
53
Whir
li
ng
Dervi
s
h
Hem
B
orrome
o
5
4
If
Y
o
ur
E
yes a
r
e
B
r
o
wn ..
.
T
im
o
t
h
y
M
.
Brud
er
ek













A Special Message from the Chief Editor
This
is
my
first semester as chief editor of the
Mosaic. Although the work has
been
arduous and
difficult
at times,
I have
enjoyed
working with the staff of
assistant editors.
They have
a great sense of
humor,
enthusiastic energy, and
great commitment.
They
are some of the
best people I have
ever
worked with. I
would
especially
like to
thank James
A.
Rovella
for
his technical
expertise and
Caitlin O'Hare for
her assistance with
the photography. Most
importantly
,
I
would
like to
thank
all of you who submitted material
to the Mosaic. You have
all made a
significant contribution to the voice of creative
expression here
at
Marist College.
It
is
my hope that
this issue marks a new beginning in the
history
of
the Mosaic.
This
is
the
longest issue
ever
produced and it represents
some of
the best
work
I
have seen to date
.
I look
forward
to reading the submis-
sions in
the spring.
ChiefEditor:
Ann Metz
Front Cover Art
Caitlin
O'Hare
Advisor:
Greg Machacek
Back Cover Art
Caitlin
O'Hare
Sincerely,
Ann M. Metz
By Hem Borromeo




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