Mosaic_F_2005.xml
Media
Part of The Mosaic: Fall 2005
content
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HirJftT
MARIST
LITERARY ARTS SOCIETY
PRESENTS:
THE MOSAIC
FALL 2005
2
Fall 2005 Mosaic Staff
Executive Editors:
Erin Gannon Kelly Glynn
Art Editor:
Brianne Bendit
Assistant Editor:
Craig Ellsworth
Staff members:
Alyssa Tucci
Karli Smith
Alexander Sutton
Richard Langlois
Marion Quirici
•
CONTENTS
6
And They Were Not Ashamed
7
Diversity
8
The Shrink as The Devil
9
Untitled
N,4</'URC
11
Across State Lines
12
A Christmas Story
13
And I'm Praying for Rain, and I'm Praying for Tidal Waves
What's this all
14
The Observer
about?
15
Match
HODB
16
Application
18
A Section from: It's Never Too Late
mfilIDW®B
19
A Space Between the Wall
The Dreamer
20
When Nobody Sees You
21-25
Performance Poetry
22
Conciousness
4
SADNESS
Untitled
23
Repent
24
Clarity
25
If
There are
No
More
Sleeves, Grab
Another
Cup
26
'Cause that Cappucino Gets
Hot
C
lfl[J)l-[()()1)
__.____,
'POKt
N
Photographs
Ode to Recess
Woods of My Mind
Sunset
~ ' R - D
Shouldn't Have Stopped at Thirteen
Widening Heights
FRt
ET)bS
l)tp
Mariana
The Creator
El Olvido
Mi Tierra
Writer's Block
P
Hl
lOSOPHY
Magnetic Poetry
5
The Burden
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
And They Were Not Ashame
ByErinGanno
I pack socks
.
and a toothbrush
A change of clothes, shampoo, and soap-
I do not pack pajamas
They are for the naked
Tangled as ivy we floa
We wear each othe
In the dark heat of blankets, I stick to you.
Our Eden is filled with the buzz of a laptop
Post-its fall from the walls like autumn leaves
I could abandon this garden we grew.
If
I knew my bare s ·
Would always remember the scratch of your cheek,
The soft brush of your fingers, like boughs against the sky.
If
I could call up this quiet thicket of memory;
I could make it through one more lonesome wee
And go on to the cold, hard, brigh
Land of pages, and pencils, and pajamas at nigh
6
►
Diversity
ayNicholeBoisvert
The salty waves
Thunder against the rocky shore,
Sending geysers of salt water into the
air
Like those from underground,
Returning to their
Multicolored sulfuric pools,
In
the shadow of
Saw-toothed, snowcapped peaks
With melting glaciers streaming down their sides,
Hurtling over rocky precipices,
Making misty storms and glistening rainbows
That stretch across the sky,
From rim to rim,
As the jagged, rust-colored cliffs brush the sky.
7
The Shrink as the Devil
ByStephanieSlamka
J leave you to this
to take up all your pieces
and bring them to
.
me
So J can sift through
the good, the bad, the neccessary,
and give you back what you
.might find useful in life
and for this you pay .me homage
in the shape of .money
and J drink
.
my tea
with
a touch of sugar
because J have been successful another day
and when you crawl back to
.
me
days
,
weeks, years to co.me
ffl
tell
'fOU
~
lay yourself out for
.
me again
and you spread your neurons
flat on
.
my desk
I plug through them .meticulously
later you leave with a prescription
and J drink
.
my tea with a touch of sugar
because J have been successful another day
you co
.
me back to
.
me
because now you are hooked on my help
on the sound of
.
my voice
,
and the drugs
J dole out
and all the things you get to tell .me
~
I seem
so
inter
ested, so caring
really
So J sit there and doodle on
.
my clipboard, nodding
.my
head
Now how does that .make you feel?
Stereotyping my office walls
You put a check in
.
my hand
and leave with a smile
and I get to drink my tea with a touch of sugar
because now it is official
you belong to .me
8
9
Untitled
ByKevinDuffy
Take me
Take me away
To somewhere
I can still remember
Before the empty bottles
Before the broken pictures
Before everything reminded me of
you
When you come back
Just don't
I can't
see your
face
Your eyes see through me
Don't they?
I swear they do
Your hands pull through me
Don't
you
D
.
on't
you
feel me?
I'm still here
Different body
The same old thoughts
Jump through my mind
Like an old record
Playing the same imperfections
Again, again, and again
Where's tomorrow
All I see is
yesterday
All I can
see
is the tears from
yesterday
The pain
It didn't leave
But
you
did
You don't
seem
to change
Same cold winter nights
I
swear
those pictures come to life.
Across State Lines
ByErinGannon
I've driven this drive
a
hundred times,
It
seems.
West.
Sometimes
with
the
sun
in my
eyes,
Sometimes
at my back.
I know it well, know
that
When
you're
done-with-danbury,
Hey-bang-welcome! To the
Empire
State!
But I'm not all here,
I'm
eastward.
I've driven it through black rain,
I've driven it through pale
snow,
Slow
and
soft,
Stay, it
whispers,
His bed is
warm,
His lips kind.
What
are you
driving to?
Your
window
looks
over
the river,
But there is a
ems
t
of
ice
and
loneliness
on
the
glass.
Ankle
flexing
angrily,
drawing the distance between us.
Once I drove through dawn,
Watched the
snow
turn
Grey-to-blue-to-white
I fly
over
the highway
,
Waiting for that
killer
view
--
Over the next rise
--
Around
the
next bend
--
There! Catskills! Freedom-dawning!
This is
where
I belong
.
In
wonder.
And
though I know the
Half-frozen Hudson is home,
I've left
a
piece of me
on your
pillow.
~
eycraigEllsworth
Christopher feels as though he is simply working too many hours in those blackened coal mines.
With heavy legs and a sore back, he waddles and wades through the fierce snowdrifts to his front door
(fh
a
t's generous. Unfortunately for Chris, he hasn't a back door or side door with which to enter his home).
The snow blows at him fr
o
m the east and from the west, but mainly from the south, pushing him
o
n toward
th
e
house
.
His hous
e
, the pathetic thing it is, can only be
s
een by the sparkling Christmas lights adorning the door
and
w
indows
.
Chris hates Christmas. The only good thing he feels about Christmas is that he can always see his house
fr
o
m a distance, as his wife insists on decorating to "help him fully appreciate the holiday
.
" On days like this, it does
allow
him
to appreciate its wacky customs at least in the very slightest de
g
ree
.
But there are too many outside forces always making him more depressed around the holidays
.
First, he's
been forced to work longer and longer hours every year about this time
.
He is hardly ever able to spend time with
hi
s
wife anymore, a woman who always enjoyed Christmas growing up and who wants to be able to spend just one
Christmas with her husband.
But no, they always need him deep down in the mines right on Christmas, and for longer hours every year.
Chris knew he was gettin
g
too old to sling
y
et another heavy sack of coal over his shoulder when he real
-
iz
e
d he couldn't naturally stand up straight anymore
.
It may have been from carr
y
ing too much on his back in those
damn mines, or he could just be getting elderly. But the real kicker, if there ever was one, was when he realized that
he liked the name Christopher better than Chris. Nothing makes you realize you're not as playful as you used to be
as much as the day you realize you prefer the long of your name, and that you've preferred it for years
.
Another big Christmas in his life was the grand old day --much like this-- when he came home through that
gr
e
at bliz
z
ard of nineteen-whenever-it-was to his wife and noticed her hair was graying. That made Chris - Christo-
pher - give himself a good hard look in the mirror.
But he doesn't need a mirror to know that he can't see his toes anymore
.
He isn't pudgy, or husky, or chunky,
or pl
e
asantly plump like his loving wife
.
He is fat. He is plain old fat and he doesn
'
t like it. He is too damn fat. He
hat
e
s the stares he gets at the supermarket, and how his acquaintances (after too many rows, few friends were left)
t
e
ll
him
he
"
can stand to lose a few pounds." He is sure to have high cholesterol and figures he should've dropped
dead in the snow bank ten feet and ten years ago.
But Chris plods on, and feels the relief he
'
s been aching for since he began his trek through the snow too
damn long ago when his hefty boot scrapes the rough granite of his landing. He can't see the steps, and the howling
wind and snow (perhaps sleet by now) slamming his eardrums like David Silveria disallows him to hear the scrape,
but
y
ears of this same walk time and again at least give him that feeling in his feet.
But to Christ
o
pher this can
'
t be seen as an accomplishment, for he knows he'll just be working longer hours
ne
x
t year and will have to take this same trudge, but perhaps a little later in the early morning, when perhaps (the
onl
y
comfort) the snow won't be so bad.
All he has to do is turn the knob, and the force of the wind behind him takes the door in its grasp. Chris-
topher nearly loses an arm as the door bursts open (a cliche that cannot be closer to the truth), and his entryway
flood
s
with snow.
With all the effort he has left, he steps over the threshold, moves the door back into the way of the wind,
and puts all of his immense weight into closing it.
Chris knows he has accomplished his feat not so much by the clicking of the door, but by the largely de-
crea
s
ed volume of the outdoors. The wind still howls, and the sleet still tats the windows, but the
fury
is no longer
deafening.
Aching and shaking, he takes off his hefty winter coat, blackened through the night by his graveyard shift,
and leaves it dead on the ground, to be picked up some other time after a sitting at the fire or a hot bath.
T
As he rips off his boot without seeing it, he remembers that the joy of a hot bath is out of the question
.
h
e
last time he attempted such as stunt was probably over a year ago and that time he had gotten stuck like Taft.
11
A
fire it is
then.
With
inhuman
strength, Christopher
pushes himself
off
the
ground,
taking his
enormous
torso
with
him.
As
he
stumbles
to the den drunkenly, his
soft sock-footed
feet thump heavily
against
the
ground.
The house
rattles
with
each
footfall,
but
Chris
doesn't notice, nor does he care. He
wants a crackling
fire
where
he
can warm
his
ample
body
.
The fireplace metal is
as
cold
as
the
sleet
panging
against
the
window
panes. There is no fire
set, and
at
this
Chris
can
do nothing more than
sigh.
His wife usually has the fire
going, especially
during
such an evil
time
of
year,
but he
can't
be angry with her
.
He is
simply too
tired.
He is also to
.
o
tired,
too exhausted,
to
start
up his
own
fire,
so
he just hopes
to
be
able
to
get
naked
and
co
into
a
bed with
an electric
blanket and
warm wife.
Right now
all
he cares to do is tum
on
the
former,
not the latter.
Oh,
hell, he knows he's too damn
old for
that
stuff, so why should
he kid himself? Last time he had
sex was
..
.
well,
he doesn't remember having
sex after
400 pounds.
About
halfway to his bedroom he decides he won't
even
bother to undress. His wife
will
kill
him when he
wakes
up
for getting
the
sheets so
damn
dirty,
but he's too tired to
care. All that
matters is
getting some
sleep,
the
kind
of sleep so
beautiful
your
whole body is floating,
and
neither
earthquake
nor
atomic
bomb
can wake you.
That's the kind
of sleep Chris wants
to
get
to.
His bedroom door is closed,
so
much
of
his little remaining
effort
is
expended
just turning the knob,
push-
ing
on
the door with
a
touch
and
letting physics handle
the
rest.
In his
waking slumber,
Christopher does not hear his wife's
gentle
moaning. Instead, it is her
shriek
that
wakes
him up to full
consciousness, all gauges
in the red, all
senses
on high
alert.
Christopher
is no longer
an old
man. He is no longer
a
fat man. He is no longer
an exhausted
man. He is
now
Mr. Christopher Nicholas
Kringle, full
of
energy, full
of
life,
full of
rage,
and Christopher Nicholas
Kringle
has just discovered his
wife
in bed
with
another man,
a
man much
smaller,
perhaps quicker, than
giant Nick
hims
but no matter. The man
will
not be
getting out of
this bedroom alive.
12
And I'm
praying for rain, and I'm praying for tidal waves
ByJimmyCross
An electric
secret
masked
in
the open.
Black
bloss
oming
the
storm
clouds
reflec
t.
Heart
.
Mine
.
The
first
drops fall, lightly
th
e
pace
increases.
Listen
now
to the beat
.
A
rhythm
to the beat.
A rhyme
of
guilt and subtle fury.
Deep breath,
let the sky
bleed
itse
lf out.
Nature.
Illumination.
One
blin
ding fl.ash
And wha
t soul
you
saw has been
hidden once
more.
Silence.
The
clouds
roar in accusations,
true
and
painful
But
I'm
used
to it by now;
your fac;ad
e of sorrow
.
Here comes
the wave, keep
your
eyes
open.
It's
going
to be another beautiful
Midnight.
13
The Observer
B yNicho/eBoisvert
The ebony sky is watching
With eyes of gleaming stars
As your Nikes pound the pavement
And your breath explodes
In frigid puffs of smoke,
Remnants of the fire in your eyes.
The ghastly sentinels
Guarding the path
Stretch their gnarled arms
And scrape your flesh
With their rigid fingers.
Your black path
Extends to the horizon,
Barely discernable by the faint white glimmer
Wafting from the moon.
Invisible arms of air
Brush across your neck
As your throat closes
And you gasp, fighting the frosty fingers
For your life.
The ebony sky watches
As your path rises to meet you
In the cold, hard silence
Of night.
14
Match
ByMelissaHerpfer
I
walked to meet you,
All the stars were out
the
grass was stiff like sugared straw
Saturday night
Freezing November. A small heart
tucked
beating
under my breasts
You had a body
like
a diamond, swelled outward.
whole and perfect
I
will remember this,
1
wro
t
e
, "too sweet too sweet" in my mind and everything,
because it was.
like just
how warm
the
warm was
and
JU
St
how
cold
Ballooning out
the
cold.
Everything was ballooning out
Straining its skin. A struck
match in
me
just thinking.
1
5
Application
ByRisaPedzewick
My first job at CVS didn't pan out well. After spending a year making minimum wage and standing behind
a counter asking, "Do you have an Extra Care card?" I said,
"Fuck
it," and decided to apply at the Royal Video
Store near to my house.
I walked in and asked to fill out an application. The scary man behind the counter, who I would come to
know as Ray, gave me a blank stare and told me to go over to a device that looked somewhat like a fax machine.
Not quite sure what to do, I started pressing buttons and realized that the application was no longer in paper
form but in fax-machine-looking-thing form. Welcome to the age of technology.
The first few questions were general: name, address, telephone number, social security number (so they
can check my credit report and steal my identity), and age. The next few techno pages read like I was supposed
to be five or mentally retarded, and didn't understand what I was doing.
It
made sure every time I clicked the
"next" button that I was sure I knew what I was agreeing to. Yes, I do want to apply, I am in the store applying,
but thank you, computer, you helped me make an important life decision today.
The next questions that came asked me how many days I would be able to work. "Zero days a week" was
actually an option
.
Well, if I can get paid and not work at all, that would be very conducive to my lifestyle. I
have a feeling that's not how it works, unfortunately, otherwise more people would pick that option.
"Have you ever been convicted of a felony?" No.
"Are you sure you have never been convicted of a felony?" Well, you do have my social security number
so
why don't you go look, and see if I'm lying?
Next came the really fun obvious questions.
"Do you believe it is ok to steal things from your employer?"
"Do you have rage issues?"
"If
someone told you to 'sit on it,' would you get angry?"
My personal favorite ones were the "people-person" questions. They love people-people, and the managers
are always people-people
.
Fake as they come, because every corporation is really just a friendly neighborhood
store. The suits at the top of the corporate ladder really do care about each and every one of their customers,
in their very own special way. These questions always ask if you like being alone a lot and if you are seriously
depressed. Depression cannot exist in a friendly little neighborhood corporate store. The customer has to feel
warm and loved.
Three hours later I am still filling out these kinds of questions. Even ifI have a severe personality disorder,
and get angry at the customers
,
I have enough common sense not to tell the fax machine that.
Finally the
test
is over and my brain can relax. I tell Ray that I am done. Ray looks as ifhe lied on his per-
sonality test. He tells me to come back on Sunday when the regional manager will be in.
I come back on Sunday ready to be the bestest fake people-person there ever was!
Hank is our regional manager. He is wearing a grin that looks like his cheeks got stapled to his ears. I go
back into the office (where I note the positions of surveillance cameras, so that I am assured I will leave alive).
Hank starts asking me the typical questions in a very excited sort of manner.
"Why
would you want to work at Royal Video store?"
Clearly I want to work here because I am poor and this is near my house. I tell him,
"Because
I want to
be part of the Royal Video team and since I am a customer and like how this store is run!"
"Are
you a people-person?"
Can't
you
tell by the really fake grin on my face? Then he asks one question that really throws me.
"What
would you like to do with the rest of your life?"
Considering I am seventeen, I hope he doesn't expect me to answer, with
"working
at Royal Video store;
of course." I tell him I want to be a writer and a director. This is true.
"Well, that's perfect!" Hank answers, "You can really learn a lot about making movies working here!
W
give all our employees three free rentals at a time, and we really encourage you to use them. That way when
the
16
stomers ask you about a movie you can give them a run down."
cu
I don
'
t really see what that has to do with me being writer
/
director
,
but because he was very excited
about it, I smile and nod enthusiastically. He seems like the kind of man who may have had a dream once
,
but
hen moved on to greener pastures, such as Royal Video management.
1
"How are you at retail?" "
·
"Pretty good
,
" I say.
"
Here
,
sell me this pen
,
" he says and hands me a pen
.
"Well, you can write with it. It's filled with a lot of ink so it won
'
t run out anytime soon
,"
If I jab it in
m
y
e
y
e can I just be hired already?
"
You can use it as a weapon if someone comes to attack you. It's also looks
awful neat when it hangs out of your breast pocket!"
Hank then proceeds to tell me a million things you can do with a pen, like use it for a hair tie, or disman-
tle it and use it for a straw. I bet he has used a lot of pen straws in his life.
Finally I am done with my interview and Hank tells me to come back on Sunday for training. I am sup-
pos
e
d to wear a white polo shirt and black pants
.
I have to be in uniform because I get paid for this training.
Thank God for small favors.
Training at CVS was watching a half an hour video about sexual harassment and signing my name at the
bottom of a piece of paper. It took about an hour total, so I assumed it was the same deal with Royal Video. Boy,
what a surprise I was in for.
There was the obligatory sexual harrassment video that I had to watch. You would think at a video store
they could get decent actors and plot lines. There was an African-American actor
,
an Asian-American actor, a
Caucasian-American actor, and a Female-American actor. Between the four of them they played out what hap-
pens when you steal, what happens when you harass other employees or customers, and how much fun working
at Royal Video can be by playing trivia games about the different movies.
One of the actors was portra
y
ed as a triple major in college and was using this job to get by and pay off
some student loans
.
This is a realistic scenario. By the end of the video
,
he realized how much fun working at
Royal Video was and had dropped two of his majors so he could work more hours. Thank God I am applying to
Royal Video before I start college! Phew
,
that video reall
y
saved me from wasting a lot of money on a college
degr
e
e!
9
After an hour or so of videos I am given a booklet of info~ation about Royal Video that I am expected
.
to re
a
d
,
memorize and then complete a twenty page exam on. Wow, renting videos out to the general public
must be really really hard! And all the while the cashiers make it look so easy
.
..
After more information about how to deal with the customer
,
the policies of Royal Video, and more info
on s
e
xual harassment and stealing, I am thoroughly exhausted and hungry. I check my watch and see that I have
alread
y
been here for three hours and I am not done with the info booklet or the test. Between the pressure of
time and pointless bullshit, I realize this entire process was created to break the spirit of the new Royal Video
employee. Instead of outright brainwashing us like any sane person would do, they beat facts and trivia ques-
tion
s
into our skulls until we can take no more.
I check my watch again when I am done. I have been there in the office for five hours. I am cold because
1 am in a goddamned white polo shirt and the air conditioning is jacked way up, and I am mentally exhausted. I
leave the office and go up to Ray, and give him my completed test.
The best part was
,
while the questions were extremely specific and time consuming
,
Ray barely even
look
s
at them before telling me I am hired. He gives me a date to come back and start work officially
.
I will
ne
v
er use any of the information I just wasted five hours poring over. But at least I have a brand new bright
Purple shirt with the Royal Video logo on it that I get to wear every time I am working
.
Now when I greet the
cu
s
tomers with a warm smile
,
they can smile back at me. With pity.
17
A selection from:
It's Never Too Late
ByPatriciaPhillips
My last two careers were at opposite ends of each other - a reading tutor and a waitress. Five
years ago, I worked as a reading and writing tutor to juveniles. I would spend two days a week at the I
county jail, one day at the adult female correctional facility, and two days at Family and Children Servic
a half hour from home. Starting out, this was the job of my dreams. I felt like I was saving the young
hoodlums of America. If they could become literate, what need would they have to rob or steal? All
right
- I wasn't thinking clearly back then. But I came to realize that if I could make a difference with just
one
kid
,
it was all worth it, right? If so, why did I get burned out after only three years?
I remember my last day so clearly that it's almost frightening. After being reprimanded the day
before for allowing one of my clients to have two lead pencils instead of one, I was in a "feel sorry for
my-
self
"
mood when I entered the jail, but quickly snapped out of it when the director walked up and said
was sending me a "new one" today
.
That's how she would refer to one of my new clients. Her tone al
made me feel as if she was talking about her discarded lunch garbage. I put on my super-happy face
a
said, "Great!" just to annoy the shit out of her
.
She returned her "you'll be sorry" look and walked
away
quickly, in case my goodness was contagious.
This "new one" turned out to be a nineteen-year-old female who was awaiting trial for murder. H
ard, the C.O. on duty for my classroom, shared this information with me even though it's not allowed,
an
even though I've repeatedly asked him not to do this. I now knew that this petite little form sitting acr
from me, lost in her oversized orange jumpsuit, had stabbed her twenty-year-old sister to death because
she would not get off the phone. She was younger than my daughter, and her innocent and somewhat
prehensive face made me want to reach across the table and reassure her.
After testing her for a reading level, and discovering that she was at about fourth grade
,
I asked
her to write a small paragraph about anything she thought was interesting. I expected to read somethin
like
,
"I wish I could take it all back, and I really love and miss my sister." Instead she wrote
,
"I'm really
· pissed off rite now becauz she's probly goin to make me get the elecktrik chair or something like that,
a
my man needs me rite now." While I'm reading this, and trying not to gasp out loud, she continues
oral
"You know how that is, right teacher, you got on a wedding band, I bets you love your man, right?" I told
her I needed to use the ladies room. I did not tell her it was because I felt the urge to vomit and I didn't
want to mess the floor and have Howard pissed off at me. I called my supervisor later that day, told her
l
was burned out and was resigning. I never went back to the jail, or the correctional facility, or Family an
Children Services. My little murderer had convinced me I needed time away from the big house.
18
A Space Between the Wall
ByMichae/Renganeschi
We saw
you
soar
Through the air in flight,
We saw you try with all your might
To teach us to love and not to fight.
We carried
you
on our backs when you couldn't soar.
The Dreamer
ByErinGannon
Listen: I follow
your
eyes when you look at the world.
I know what you see.
You
see
love and beauty and you cherish them.
Know that I cherish these things, too,
But they must not be miracles to be worthy of my loving eye.
Know that the shadows of the leaves in the wind
Are not evidence of puppetry.
Know that a child laughs not because the sound is beautiful
But because he must.
And know that the best definition of life
Is the one
you
write yourself.
Go.
Study the sunrise
Marvel
at
mount~ns
Weep
at
the winding,river,
But do not muddy their dignity.
Do not bastardize October's trees.
~~
not belittle the wonder of each spinning atom.
W,
s
did not happen overnight.
e Worked hard, came far, to get here.
Know this·
W,
.
e are more than someone else's dream.
19
We've held you towards the light
We've pushed you to the floor.
I've held
you
by your hand
When you didn't know the way,
I've given you my ear
To hear all the words you say.
But once there was a silence
A
space between the wall,
I couldn't hear you soaring
But I could
see you
fall.
When Nobody Sees
You
By Michael Renganeschi
You trip when you
wa
lk
And you fall down the
stairs,
Nobody notices,
And nobody stares
,
Because when nobody sees
you
Nobody cares,
Your
life is
a
plaY
You rehearse everydaY
But
nobody hears the
.
lines
that you say,
Nobody cries and nobody laughs,
Nobody cheers and nobody claps,
The
theatre
is
full of empty chairs
20
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,
Nobody cares,
-
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21
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22
Untitled
ByFrankDebettencourt
Twilight leaking on my lips as my hunger aches and grows
for you
I know there is no good with you without you I feel lewd
In
all the ways
I make up for your absence
Does it make sense?
You've only held me against the truth and never brought in
Yes rm talking about our pseudo-relationship, our attempt
Or maybe just mine 'cause you couldn't find the light
I found
in your eyes
You was always lost in hers while you held me close by
Who cries when criminals tell lies ... victim plights?
In
spite,
I
Held the hand that hurt me every fortnight
Looking at the moon now with lips inked blue
I
can only
scream
Yo!
FUCK
YOU!
23
REPENT
BylndigoNothing
\
'VE BEEN
SENT
A MESSAGE
DE
AR NON-BELIEVER
..
.
REPENT
ANO \
CAN'T
U
NDERSTAND TH
IS
PASSAGE
I
KNOW
\
DRINK, SMOKE,
WORK, AND
TWIRK
.
YET
I
DO THEM
WELL
WAS PROUD TO
MOVE
UP
TO
LE
VEL AND EXCEL
''I'M GOOD AT
THIS,"\ STAMMER
MURMUR
AND
QUIVER
AS MY
SPIRITS START
TO
STIR
\
LOV
E
MY
HABITS,
CAN'T
DO
W
ITHOU
T
IT
S
o WHAT
I
GOT
HIGH?
R
EALIZED
I
FELT LIKE
A
BIRD
I
N
THE SKY
LI
GHTS OUT WHEN
\
GYRATE TO MY MOT
I
ON W
ITH
A MA
RRI
AGE NOT
IN SIGHT
REPENT
D
AMN
I
T,
I
BELIEVE!
I
BELIEVE
I
N
CHRIST
KNOW
OF THE WORKS
OF HIS
M
IR
ACLE BIRTH
S
AW
HOLL
YWOOD
SCARS
THAT
SPARKED
S
OMETHING
I
NSID
E
ME
\
CR
IED
DISTURBED,
U
NNERVED
BY HIS PLIGHT
FAITHFULLY
DE
AR NON-BE
LIE
VER ...
REPENT
H
ow
DARE HE
OR
SHE,
THEM OR WE
)UD
GE ME?
I
LOVE
M
E
, BUT CRY
E
ACH N
I
GHT
l
'M
SEXY, BUT LOATHE
MY
SIGHT
l
'M A
HEAL THY
H
A
I
T
I
AN CREAT
IO
N OF
I
NTELLECTUAL
SATISFACTION
COMPACT W
I
TH
DELIGHTFUL
BANTER OF A BIMBO
PERSUASION
AND
CAN
BURP MY
ABCs
(YES (
'LL
SHOW
YO
U
LATER
)
So
WHY?
WHY
AS
\
'M
HIGH, l'M THE LONE BIRD
I
N
FLIGHT, FEEL LIKE
NOBODY'S BY MY
SIDE?
\
'VE BEEN
SENT
A MESSAGE
REPENT.
REPENT.
24
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25
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If
There are no More Sleeves, Grab Another Cup 'Cause That Cappuccino Gets Hot
ByJimmyCross
Loathing
Inside my own big head
You try running from that
When it's already consumed
everything
before you;
everything
behind you.
A life of hiding from the pain that has
always known where I've been.
It is pathetic that I take every step
out
the
door
And search for you
anywhere.
Everywhere?
Sleep comes in the glorious twenty minute shifts.
Your Face
is seared into me; branded
are your infinite pupils, my cosmic safe houses.
Lonely now I am greeted by the shores,
and the ever fl.owing water.
You are alone, they say.
Why have you done this, they demand, again?
I lower my head and
reach for
your
Hand.
26
I've given up wis
The eye of a paint
I'm through askin,
Soft feet for danci
Now I wish
And the fond me
,
A
ll the sights and
Snapshots of an
I wish for the wedding album,
And the tiniest of baby pictures
.
The family photos through the years
,
And the toothless grins still to come.
J
wish for a life that exists somewhere,
In a future I hope I earn.
Maybe, just maybe,
A future you
'
ll share with me
.
27
Ode to Recess
ByMarionQuirici
Things I never thought I'd miss
Come bounding back to mind
As I pass from class to class
Woods ofmy Mind
ByBrianneB
e
ndit
With never a pause and never a break and
never a chance for rest to take.
A
road diverged in the woods of my
mind.
It's nice outside.
The lush lawns smile in the sunshine
To mock me, as I grunt and grind
Lost
No one to hold my
hand
Under the floggings of my grinning professors
.
When I'm loathe to keep working, I remember
a time when things weren't such a mess,
and
remind me to look both ways
and
where to step and how far to go
And I reflect on the days of Recess.
and
if everything will be ok.
Things I never thought I'd miss come bounding back to mind
Will
It?
The monkey bars, the tire pit
,
the golden winding slide
Oh, I get
It.
The net of chains
,
like a spider's web,
One of those trick questions.
The bully
,
crouched like the spider.
The answer is two jobs and a Chihuahua named Chalupa.
The three big swings,for which there was
Supreme, not
Baja.
always a race to reach - me first!
# 2
on the quiz of your life which is
100%
of your final
grade ...
The tire-swing - it made me sick.
How do you define innocent and
jaded?
The runners' track around the field
My final answer
Is:
was rounder than the sun,
I
am a complex equation
I
can't
solve.
And at one side forever stood
I
make as little sense as a one way Nova going in the wrong direction.
The Tree! The Tree that gave us shade
Scared
With branches full of love
.
Doubt
We laughed and played
The best part of the day!
Boys and girls lined up for cootie shots.
The boys were cops and robbers
,
The girls did stunts and cartwheels,
And me in my ownfantasy
Would climb up all the ladders
To the highest perch! I stood
so
prim
Surveying my playground kingdom.
Alas, alas, those days are gone
When bars and swings spelledfun.
Confusion
Decision
Responsibility
Accountability
Freedom
Fly off the trees of my memory like a powerpoint slide show.
·
How do you know when it's time to walk alone?
How do you listen to your intuition?
When can you
start
trusting yourself instead of others?
I AM NOT twenty years
old.
I am five and eight and twelve and sixteen and nineteen,
I know how to be these. This decade doesn't exist.
And now I work, head bent, nails bitten
Enjoy the weather? Who are you kiddin
'
?
It is not
me
Yet ... ,
To grow up would be quite an adventure,
Take the
risk?
But still
.
..
I miss the way it made me blue
To get a pebble in my shoe
.
28
Maybe next
year,
There's a leaf pile with my name written all over
It.
oon,
right.
light,
night.
light,
own?
Let the light be seen all around,
Because that candle can shine for us no longer.
29
Shouldn't Have Stopped at Thirteen
ByJimmyCross
Tuesday morning
and last night has slipped
out of memory. The drool
on my pillow is not all mine
.
He is nudging me
for a walk. A long night
for everyone. "Collar," I say,
and with one leap he's gone.
Feel for slippers in the dark
of my mind. Flip flops
will do for now. Grab
Some lettuce to get her
out of the cage. Slip
the collar on for two blocks.
The air has a slight bite
even with my pajamas on.
She is getting heavier
.
So am I.
They are happy and frolicking
while I miserably stand there
and watch their joy.
I am jealous of a dog and a bunny
.
Squinting through the sun,
I throw the ball again.
She chases and he lets her win.
Smart kid
.
That is why my bed
is empty
.
And has been
for weeks. A fit of nausea
rises from my feet. I steady
the lens onto them and cal I out.
Ti me halts forever.
They sit
on my wall now, young
and happy. But what you so not see
is me kissing her
like I never will again
.
Only to realize that I
won't.
30
Widening Heights
ByTimGriffin
I almost had the glittering stars about me,
Their distant beauty whirling around my head.
But I was left with a seat in the clouds,
A nighttime dream of many jealousies.
But those wispy clouds kept me listless,
Because now I dreamed of so much more.
The clouds brought with them a promise,
Carried by the western winds.
"The stars wait anxiously," it said,
"but to reach them you must be light,
Unweighted by guilt long since expired,
Unhindered by the fear of the widening heights."
Christina BrodzkY
'fhe Creator
ayRisaPedzewick
fv
e
died a thousand times
j\n
d
lived a thousand more
fv
e
lit the candle
'fh
at
would make Hell's fires burn out
fv
e t
raced my shadow
Wi
t
h chalk upon the pavement
An
d
been praised by Art Connoisseurs
'fh
a
t is falls nothing short of
Genius.
I c
an
hear a song in the silence
o
f the softly falling snow
An
d
I can unlock the secrets of your heart
Wi
t
h a flick of my wrist
Still
,
I sit here wondering
If
it has all been in vain
t
oo late do I see the truth in the matter
Th
a
t we call life.
I'm
a
fraid I've been telling you lies
Th
a
t would infect your soul
An
d
have hoped you would believe me
anyway.
I am not perfect
Ye
t
far from usual
Th
e
webs I spin
Ar
e
poisonous
An
d
the tales I weave
Could change the fate of man
Ye
t
I am blameless in my actions
I d
o
not write the words
Th
e
words write
Me
.
El
O/vido
ByA/tagraciaE.Pimentel
como puedo amarte y odiarte?
es como
tirarte
de un edificio
y tratar de rescatarte
no quiero separame de ti
tampoco te quiero cerca
de
mi
amo como eres tan atento y responsivo
y odio tu manera de olvidarme como
un
archivo
no se que hacer contigo si aguantar
o dejarte en el olvido
Mi Tierra
By AltagraciaE. Pimentel
Pienso en mi tierra
Ouisqueya
la
be/la
tan
importante
que a/Ii a Colon entierran
la
mas antigua colonizacion
que
Espana
cultivo con
feNor
Santo
Domingo, Punta
Cana, y Santiago
lugared de/
a/me
que
amo
La
flora y
la
fauna crecen en abundancia
Y espero el momente de regresar a mi casa
"Santo
Domingo
conoci a tu madre,
la
Espana imperialista"
·
Que
direncia
hay a
la vista!
34
Writers Block
ayBrianneBendit
Im
a car on empty.
Im
a
singer with laryngitis.
Im the pen in my hand but I don't hove any ink.
Better yet, it hos ink it's just jammed inside.
Constipated.
I keep pressing against the paper but it remains white.
Flawless.
Those organized blue lines and obnoxious pink ruled edges.
I wont to infect it.
I keep scratching the paper with the tip of my pen.
The fibers beginning to stretch,
The tethers unwinding,
My rage ripping it row.
Everything hos
a
breaking point
I've reached mine. So hos the paper.
Or is it the end?
The looseleaf tears apart.
I've destroyed
a
defenseless piece of paper. Wow, I'm pathetic.
I need better things to do with my time.
Chaos.
Ive penetrated through to the other side.
The paper is now incomplete.
Like my thought process.
There is a hole.
It beckons me. I wont to jump inside.
Its a vacuum. Absorbing all my thoughts and holding them hostoge.
All the words I cont remember,
The feelings I cont identify,
The inspiration I cont find to write.
·
F rustrotion.
The paper is mocking me.
Its blankness so empty. So intimidating.
A writers worst nightmare.
'
We hove
a
storing contest. It wins.
I need to concentrate.
I need to focus.
I wont to scream.
I wont to write.
I wont to sound profound.
Hey that rhymed, maybe Im getting somewh-
Never mind. That sucks.
I just need to start
Start something.
Anything
I think Ill start with Writers Block.
It hos potential.
At least its
a
beginning.
35
The Burden
ByJamesBums
I steal other people's
gym
clothes. It's starting to become a problem. It didn't used to be;
my
theft used to be seal-proof. I used to be able to slide into a local
gym
undetected, grab the first
set of
unguarded
gym
clothes, and slide out in no more than two minutes. I was like a ninja. A
gym
clothes-
stealing ninja. In fact, I would sometimes pretend that I was some sort of spy working for a mysterious
underground organization, finding and stealing the evil corporation's newest weapon -- an atomic
bomb
shaped like gym clothes. I would concoct elaborate scenarios, imagine the dark, dank headquarters
'
where I would be given my missions. I made up imaginary comrades in the rebel group. There was
Bradley, the idealistic kid straight out of the academy, a bit on the dumb side but charming as hell. I got
nervous that my wife might be having an affair with him, but my wife prefers men with a good sense
of
humor, and also Bradley doesn't exist. Then there was Rudd, a big man, very rarely talked but
always
had your back. You didn't mess with Rudd and Rudd didn't mess with you and everyone was happy
with that arrangement. Finally there was Zeddy, the computer genius who would somehow find a
blue-
print of the building just in time and tell us where alternate exits were. Before I left my house, I
would
close my bedroom door and talk to each team member so they knew what to do. Then I would drive
to
whatever locker area I had decided to go to that day and follow through with my mission, coming
home
victorious with someone else's gym clothes, usually a pair of running shorts and an oversized T-Shirt.
If
I was lucky, some sort of headband.
But recently I've been running into problems. I've been getting sloppy. A few days ago,
some-
one caught me. I was in the local community college's gym, searching for unlocked lockers when I saw
a pile of dirty clothes laying on the top. I grabbed them quickly, stuffed them under my jacket as
is
my
trademark (Zeddy is always kidding me about that), and was just taking a few quick steps toward
the
exit when I saw three college kids, probably athletes, walk into the locker room. Now is where I used
to shine, I used to be brilliant in these
situations,
I was a genius. I would calmly wave and smile to
the
intruders, maybe even say "hey" in a voice deeper then my own to indicate that I was one of them (I
wasn't a grown man who steals other people's
gym
clothes), and walk calmly out of the room. This
time
I messed up. As I slowed my walk and went to wave, I noticed the guy on the left was looking at the
top
of the locker with a concerned look on his face.
Damn,
I thought to myself,
they were his. That's
o/e,
just
play it cool.
"Hey guys," I said quickly, waving and smiling (as is my normal operation). I turned to leave-
even made it to the door-- when one of the guys said something.
"Hey pal, did you see my gym clothes anywhere?" the guy on the left said
.
I paused for a
second
and turned around.
"Umm, no, I don't think so," I said, suddenly aware that I was clutching his gym clothes
under
my jacket. I gripped them tighter.
36
••They were right on the top of this locker here," the guy said. I noticed one of his friends looking at my
•acket. I looked down. Part of the student's blue T-shirt was hanging out. I didn't wait for them to put
~o and two together, I just dropped the clothes and ran. I sprinted home and locked all the doors.
"Daddy? What's going on?" my daughter asked.
·
"Robbers, honey. Robbers
.
"
I know what you're thinking, and it isn't for the smell. Not that I hate it like most people, but I'm
somewhat indifferent to it. People can get so weird about smells. My young son refuses to go into my
parents' house for visits because he says it smells like dead people.
"How do you even know what a dead person smells like?" I ask him
"Mary brought one in for show and tell last week," he says.
"No, she didn't."
"Yes, she did, the teacher let us pass it around the class," he says. I think he's lying, but I should
call the school anyway.
And it's not for the thrill of stealing either; I'm not a kleptomaniac. It's true that I enjoy going
out and finding them, but the bulk of my enjoyment comes after I steal the clothes.
I steal other people's
gym
clothes for the sweat. I can't sweat myself, I have a genetic disease,
none of the men in my family can sweat. It's recognized by the American Medical Association. When
my son grows up, he probably won't be able to sweat either, which is a conversation that I'm not looking
forward to. I'm going to wait a couple of years though. My father told me at a very young age, when
I wasn't even sure what sweat was. I think that did more harm than good, because from that age on, I
was very insecure of my inability to sweat. In middle school during
gym
class I would sit out so the other
kids wouldn't find out my dark secret. My dad talked to the
gym
teacher, Mr. White, so he was aware
of my situation. While I was thankful for this, from that time forward Mr. White looked at me in a
strange, sad way, as though to say, "There's that boy who can't sweat
,
poor bastard, I can't imagine his
pain
.
" And he can't, either.
Once I steal a pair of gym clothes I walk up to my bedroom and lock the door. I have to be sure
my wife is going to be out for a while. Then I put the clothes on. Its odd that I've never been able to
sweat because when I put the gym clothes on, its feels natural --the sweat sticking to my skin-- it feels
right. I'll stand in front of my mirror and just smile, finally at peace
.
I never go out in other people's
gym clothes because I'm terrified of being found out, but in my room I pretend I go out to the local cafe.
I sit on the edge of my bed, imagining a chic coffee shop filled with attractive college students, and lean
back. I pretend to have a conversation with a group of the students about philosophy or movies, you
know, whatever comes up in conversation. I pretend we all just got back from a rousing game of basket-
ball, and came to the coffee shop to chill out. I look in the mirror the whole time, smiling happily with
Illy friends. But this isn't real.
I've come so close, dozens of times, to telling my wife, but at the last second I always abandon
the idea. I'm terrified she'd divorce me, I can see my entire life fall apart in front of me. So I continue
alone, carrying my burden. I'll continue to carry it until I screw up completely and I'm exposed as who
I
am --
a person who can't sweat. The world will be shocked, no doubt, and I'm prepared for that. I
steal other people's
gym
clothes, I'm not ashamed of that. It's just what I do. But as I said before, it's
st ·
arting to become a problem.
37
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HirJftT
MARIST
LITERARY ARTS SOCIETY
PRESENTS:
THE MOSAIC
FALL 2005
2
Fall 2005 Mosaic Staff
Executive Editors:
Erin Gannon Kelly Glynn
Art Editor:
Brianne Bendit
Assistant Editor:
Craig Ellsworth
Staff members:
Alyssa Tucci
Karli Smith
Alexander Sutton
Richard Langlois
Marion Quirici
•
CONTENTS
6
And They Were Not Ashamed
7
Diversity
8
The Shrink as The Devil
9
Untitled
N,4</'URC
11
Across State Lines
12
A Christmas Story
13
And I'm Praying for Rain, and I'm Praying for Tidal Waves
What's this all
14
The Observer
about?
15
Match
HODB
16
Application
18
A Section from: It's Never Too Late
mfilIDW®B
19
A Space Between the Wall
The Dreamer
20
When Nobody Sees You
21-25
Performance Poetry
22
Conciousness
4
SADNESS
Untitled
23
Repent
24
Clarity
25
If
There are
No
More
Sleeves, Grab
Another
Cup
26
'Cause that Cappucino Gets
Hot
C
lfl[J)l-[()()1)
__.____,
'POKt
N
Photographs
Ode to Recess
Woods of My Mind
Sunset
~ ' R - D
Shouldn't Have Stopped at Thirteen
Widening Heights
FRt
ET)bS
l)tp
Mariana
The Creator
El Olvido
Mi Tierra
Writer's Block
P
Hl
lOSOPHY
Magnetic Poetry
5
The Burden
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
And They Were Not Ashame
ByErinGanno
I pack socks
.
and a toothbrush
A change of clothes, shampoo, and soap-
I do not pack pajamas
They are for the naked
Tangled as ivy we floa
We wear each othe
In the dark heat of blankets, I stick to you.
Our Eden is filled with the buzz of a laptop
Post-its fall from the walls like autumn leaves
I could abandon this garden we grew.
If
I knew my bare s ·
Would always remember the scratch of your cheek,
The soft brush of your fingers, like boughs against the sky.
If
I could call up this quiet thicket of memory;
I could make it through one more lonesome wee
And go on to the cold, hard, brigh
Land of pages, and pencils, and pajamas at nigh
6
►
Diversity
ayNicholeBoisvert
The salty waves
Thunder against the rocky shore,
Sending geysers of salt water into the
air
Like those from underground,
Returning to their
Multicolored sulfuric pools,
In
the shadow of
Saw-toothed, snowcapped peaks
With melting glaciers streaming down their sides,
Hurtling over rocky precipices,
Making misty storms and glistening rainbows
That stretch across the sky,
From rim to rim,
As the jagged, rust-colored cliffs brush the sky.
7
The Shrink as the Devil
ByStephanieSlamka
J leave you to this
to take up all your pieces
and bring them to
.
me
So J can sift through
the good, the bad, the neccessary,
and give you back what you
.might find useful in life
and for this you pay .me homage
in the shape of .money
and J drink
.
my tea
with
a touch of sugar
because J have been successful another day
and when you crawl back to
.
me
days
,
weeks, years to co.me
ffl
tell
'fOU
~
lay yourself out for
.
me again
and you spread your neurons
flat on
.
my desk
I plug through them .meticulously
later you leave with a prescription
and J drink
.
my tea with a touch of sugar
because J have been successful another day
you co
.
me back to
.
me
because now you are hooked on my help
on the sound of
.
my voice
,
and the drugs
J dole out
and all the things you get to tell .me
~
I seem
so
inter
ested, so caring
really
So J sit there and doodle on
.
my clipboard, nodding
.my
head
Now how does that .make you feel?
Stereotyping my office walls
You put a check in
.
my hand
and leave with a smile
and I get to drink my tea with a touch of sugar
because now it is official
you belong to .me
8
9
Untitled
ByKevinDuffy
Take me
Take me away
To somewhere
I can still remember
Before the empty bottles
Before the broken pictures
Before everything reminded me of
you
When you come back
Just don't
I can't
see your
face
Your eyes see through me
Don't they?
I swear they do
Your hands pull through me
Don't
you
D
.
on't
you
feel me?
I'm still here
Different body
The same old thoughts
Jump through my mind
Like an old record
Playing the same imperfections
Again, again, and again
Where's tomorrow
All I see is
yesterday
All I can
see
is the tears from
yesterday
The pain
It didn't leave
But
you
did
You don't
seem
to change
Same cold winter nights
I
swear
those pictures come to life.
Across State Lines
ByErinGannon
I've driven this drive
a
hundred times,
It
seems.
West.
Sometimes
with
the
sun
in my
eyes,
Sometimes
at my back.
I know it well, know
that
When
you're
done-with-danbury,
Hey-bang-welcome! To the
Empire
State!
But I'm not all here,
I'm
eastward.
I've driven it through black rain,
I've driven it through pale
snow,
Slow
and
soft,
Stay, it
whispers,
His bed is
warm,
His lips kind.
What
are you
driving to?
Your
window
looks
over
the river,
But there is a
ems
t
of
ice
and
loneliness
on
the
glass.
Ankle
flexing
angrily,
drawing the distance between us.
Once I drove through dawn,
Watched the
snow
turn
Grey-to-blue-to-white
I fly
over
the highway
,
Waiting for that
killer
view
--
Over the next rise
--
Around
the
next bend
--
There! Catskills! Freedom-dawning!
This is
where
I belong
.
In
wonder.
And
though I know the
Half-frozen Hudson is home,
I've left
a
piece of me
on your
pillow.
~
eycraigEllsworth
Christopher feels as though he is simply working too many hours in those blackened coal mines.
With heavy legs and a sore back, he waddles and wades through the fierce snowdrifts to his front door
(fh
a
t's generous. Unfortunately for Chris, he hasn't a back door or side door with which to enter his home).
The snow blows at him fr
o
m the east and from the west, but mainly from the south, pushing him
o
n toward
th
e
house
.
His hous
e
, the pathetic thing it is, can only be
s
een by the sparkling Christmas lights adorning the door
and
w
indows
.
Chris hates Christmas. The only good thing he feels about Christmas is that he can always see his house
fr
o
m a distance, as his wife insists on decorating to "help him fully appreciate the holiday
.
" On days like this, it does
allow
him
to appreciate its wacky customs at least in the very slightest de
g
ree
.
But there are too many outside forces always making him more depressed around the holidays
.
First, he's
been forced to work longer and longer hours every year about this time
.
He is hardly ever able to spend time with
hi
s
wife anymore, a woman who always enjoyed Christmas growing up and who wants to be able to spend just one
Christmas with her husband.
But no, they always need him deep down in the mines right on Christmas, and for longer hours every year.
Chris knew he was gettin
g
too old to sling
y
et another heavy sack of coal over his shoulder when he real
-
iz
e
d he couldn't naturally stand up straight anymore
.
It may have been from carr
y
ing too much on his back in those
damn mines, or he could just be getting elderly. But the real kicker, if there ever was one, was when he realized that
he liked the name Christopher better than Chris. Nothing makes you realize you're not as playful as you used to be
as much as the day you realize you prefer the long of your name, and that you've preferred it for years
.
Another big Christmas in his life was the grand old day --much like this-- when he came home through that
gr
e
at bliz
z
ard of nineteen-whenever-it-was to his wife and noticed her hair was graying. That made Chris - Christo-
pher - give himself a good hard look in the mirror.
But he doesn't need a mirror to know that he can't see his toes anymore
.
He isn't pudgy, or husky, or chunky,
or pl
e
asantly plump like his loving wife
.
He is fat. He is plain old fat and he doesn
'
t like it. He is too damn fat. He
hat
e
s the stares he gets at the supermarket, and how his acquaintances (after too many rows, few friends were left)
t
e
ll
him
he
"
can stand to lose a few pounds." He is sure to have high cholesterol and figures he should've dropped
dead in the snow bank ten feet and ten years ago.
But Chris plods on, and feels the relief he
'
s been aching for since he began his trek through the snow too
damn long ago when his hefty boot scrapes the rough granite of his landing. He can't see the steps, and the howling
wind and snow (perhaps sleet by now) slamming his eardrums like David Silveria disallows him to hear the scrape,
but
y
ears of this same walk time and again at least give him that feeling in his feet.
But to Christ
o
pher this can
'
t be seen as an accomplishment, for he knows he'll just be working longer hours
ne
x
t year and will have to take this same trudge, but perhaps a little later in the early morning, when perhaps (the
onl
y
comfort) the snow won't be so bad.
All he has to do is turn the knob, and the force of the wind behind him takes the door in its grasp. Chris-
topher nearly loses an arm as the door bursts open (a cliche that cannot be closer to the truth), and his entryway
flood
s
with snow.
With all the effort he has left, he steps over the threshold, moves the door back into the way of the wind,
and puts all of his immense weight into closing it.
Chris knows he has accomplished his feat not so much by the clicking of the door, but by the largely de-
crea
s
ed volume of the outdoors. The wind still howls, and the sleet still tats the windows, but the
fury
is no longer
deafening.
Aching and shaking, he takes off his hefty winter coat, blackened through the night by his graveyard shift,
and leaves it dead on the ground, to be picked up some other time after a sitting at the fire or a hot bath.
T
As he rips off his boot without seeing it, he remembers that the joy of a hot bath is out of the question
.
h
e
last time he attempted such as stunt was probably over a year ago and that time he had gotten stuck like Taft.
11
A
fire it is
then.
With
inhuman
strength, Christopher
pushes himself
off
the
ground,
taking his
enormous
torso
with
him.
As
he
stumbles
to the den drunkenly, his
soft sock-footed
feet thump heavily
against
the
ground.
The house
rattles
with
each
footfall,
but
Chris
doesn't notice, nor does he care. He
wants a crackling
fire
where
he
can warm
his
ample
body
.
The fireplace metal is
as
cold
as
the
sleet
panging
against
the
window
panes. There is no fire
set, and
at
this
Chris
can
do nothing more than
sigh.
His wife usually has the fire
going, especially
during
such an evil
time
of
year,
but he
can't
be angry with her
.
He is
simply too
tired.
He is also to
.
o
tired,
too exhausted,
to
start
up his
own
fire,
so
he just hopes
to
be
able
to
get
naked
and
co
into
a
bed with
an electric
blanket and
warm wife.
Right now
all
he cares to do is tum
on
the
former,
not the latter.
Oh,
hell, he knows he's too damn
old for
that
stuff, so why should
he kid himself? Last time he had
sex was
..
.
well,
he doesn't remember having
sex after
400 pounds.
About
halfway to his bedroom he decides he won't
even
bother to undress. His wife
will
kill
him when he
wakes
up
for getting
the
sheets so
damn
dirty,
but he's too tired to
care. All that
matters is
getting some
sleep,
the
kind
of sleep so
beautiful
your
whole body is floating,
and
neither
earthquake
nor
atomic
bomb
can wake you.
That's the kind
of sleep Chris wants
to
get
to.
His bedroom door is closed,
so
much
of
his little remaining
effort
is
expended
just turning the knob,
push-
ing
on
the door with
a
touch
and
letting physics handle
the
rest.
In his
waking slumber,
Christopher does not hear his wife's
gentle
moaning. Instead, it is her
shriek
that
wakes
him up to full
consciousness, all gauges
in the red, all
senses
on high
alert.
Christopher
is no longer
an old
man. He is no longer
a
fat man. He is no longer
an exhausted
man. He is
now
Mr. Christopher Nicholas
Kringle, full
of
energy, full
of
life,
full of
rage,
and Christopher Nicholas
Kringle
has just discovered his
wife
in bed
with
another man,
a
man much
smaller,
perhaps quicker, than
giant Nick
hims
but no matter. The man
will
not be
getting out of
this bedroom alive.
12
And I'm
praying for rain, and I'm praying for tidal waves
ByJimmyCross
An electric
secret
masked
in
the open.
Black
bloss
oming
the
storm
clouds
reflec
t.
Heart
.
Mine
.
The
first
drops fall, lightly
th
e
pace
increases.
Listen
now
to the beat
.
A
rhythm
to the beat.
A rhyme
of
guilt and subtle fury.
Deep breath,
let the sky
bleed
itse
lf out.
Nature.
Illumination.
One
blin
ding fl.ash
And wha
t soul
you
saw has been
hidden once
more.
Silence.
The
clouds
roar in accusations,
true
and
painful
But
I'm
used
to it by now;
your fac;ad
e of sorrow
.
Here comes
the wave, keep
your
eyes
open.
It's
going
to be another beautiful
Midnight.
13
The Observer
B yNicho/eBoisvert
The ebony sky is watching
With eyes of gleaming stars
As your Nikes pound the pavement
And your breath explodes
In frigid puffs of smoke,
Remnants of the fire in your eyes.
The ghastly sentinels
Guarding the path
Stretch their gnarled arms
And scrape your flesh
With their rigid fingers.
Your black path
Extends to the horizon,
Barely discernable by the faint white glimmer
Wafting from the moon.
Invisible arms of air
Brush across your neck
As your throat closes
And you gasp, fighting the frosty fingers
For your life.
The ebony sky watches
As your path rises to meet you
In the cold, hard silence
Of night.
14
Match
ByMelissaHerpfer
I
walked to meet you,
All the stars were out
the
grass was stiff like sugared straw
Saturday night
Freezing November. A small heart
tucked
beating
under my breasts
You had a body
like
a diamond, swelled outward.
whole and perfect
I
will remember this,
1
wro
t
e
, "too sweet too sweet" in my mind and everything,
because it was.
like just
how warm
the
warm was
and
JU
St
how
cold
Ballooning out
the
cold.
Everything was ballooning out
Straining its skin. A struck
match in
me
just thinking.
1
5
Application
ByRisaPedzewick
My first job at CVS didn't pan out well. After spending a year making minimum wage and standing behind
a counter asking, "Do you have an Extra Care card?" I said,
"Fuck
it," and decided to apply at the Royal Video
Store near to my house.
I walked in and asked to fill out an application. The scary man behind the counter, who I would come to
know as Ray, gave me a blank stare and told me to go over to a device that looked somewhat like a fax machine.
Not quite sure what to do, I started pressing buttons and realized that the application was no longer in paper
form but in fax-machine-looking-thing form. Welcome to the age of technology.
The first few questions were general: name, address, telephone number, social security number (so they
can check my credit report and steal my identity), and age. The next few techno pages read like I was supposed
to be five or mentally retarded, and didn't understand what I was doing.
It
made sure every time I clicked the
"next" button that I was sure I knew what I was agreeing to. Yes, I do want to apply, I am in the store applying,
but thank you, computer, you helped me make an important life decision today.
The next questions that came asked me how many days I would be able to work. "Zero days a week" was
actually an option
.
Well, if I can get paid and not work at all, that would be very conducive to my lifestyle. I
have a feeling that's not how it works, unfortunately, otherwise more people would pick that option.
"Have you ever been convicted of a felony?" No.
"Are you sure you have never been convicted of a felony?" Well, you do have my social security number
so
why don't you go look, and see if I'm lying?
Next came the really fun obvious questions.
"Do you believe it is ok to steal things from your employer?"
"Do you have rage issues?"
"If
someone told you to 'sit on it,' would you get angry?"
My personal favorite ones were the "people-person" questions. They love people-people, and the managers
are always people-people
.
Fake as they come, because every corporation is really just a friendly neighborhood
store. The suits at the top of the corporate ladder really do care about each and every one of their customers,
in their very own special way. These questions always ask if you like being alone a lot and if you are seriously
depressed. Depression cannot exist in a friendly little neighborhood corporate store. The customer has to feel
warm and loved.
Three hours later I am still filling out these kinds of questions. Even ifI have a severe personality disorder,
and get angry at the customers
,
I have enough common sense not to tell the fax machine that.
Finally the
test
is over and my brain can relax. I tell Ray that I am done. Ray looks as ifhe lied on his per-
sonality test. He tells me to come back on Sunday when the regional manager will be in.
I come back on Sunday ready to be the bestest fake people-person there ever was!
Hank is our regional manager. He is wearing a grin that looks like his cheeks got stapled to his ears. I go
back into the office (where I note the positions of surveillance cameras, so that I am assured I will leave alive).
Hank starts asking me the typical questions in a very excited sort of manner.
"Why
would you want to work at Royal Video store?"
Clearly I want to work here because I am poor and this is near my house. I tell him,
"Because
I want to
be part of the Royal Video team and since I am a customer and like how this store is run!"
"Are
you a people-person?"
Can't
you
tell by the really fake grin on my face? Then he asks one question that really throws me.
"What
would you like to do with the rest of your life?"
Considering I am seventeen, I hope he doesn't expect me to answer, with
"working
at Royal Video store;
of course." I tell him I want to be a writer and a director. This is true.
"Well, that's perfect!" Hank answers, "You can really learn a lot about making movies working here!
W
give all our employees three free rentals at a time, and we really encourage you to use them. That way when
the
16
stomers ask you about a movie you can give them a run down."
cu
I don
'
t really see what that has to do with me being writer
/
director
,
but because he was very excited
about it, I smile and nod enthusiastically. He seems like the kind of man who may have had a dream once
,
but
hen moved on to greener pastures, such as Royal Video management.
1
"How are you at retail?" "
·
"Pretty good
,
" I say.
"
Here
,
sell me this pen
,
" he says and hands me a pen
.
"Well, you can write with it. It's filled with a lot of ink so it won
'
t run out anytime soon
,"
If I jab it in
m
y
e
y
e can I just be hired already?
"
You can use it as a weapon if someone comes to attack you. It's also looks
awful neat when it hangs out of your breast pocket!"
Hank then proceeds to tell me a million things you can do with a pen, like use it for a hair tie, or disman-
tle it and use it for a straw. I bet he has used a lot of pen straws in his life.
Finally I am done with my interview and Hank tells me to come back on Sunday for training. I am sup-
pos
e
d to wear a white polo shirt and black pants
.
I have to be in uniform because I get paid for this training.
Thank God for small favors.
Training at CVS was watching a half an hour video about sexual harassment and signing my name at the
bottom of a piece of paper. It took about an hour total, so I assumed it was the same deal with Royal Video. Boy,
what a surprise I was in for.
There was the obligatory sexual harrassment video that I had to watch. You would think at a video store
they could get decent actors and plot lines. There was an African-American actor
,
an Asian-American actor, a
Caucasian-American actor, and a Female-American actor. Between the four of them they played out what hap-
pens when you steal, what happens when you harass other employees or customers, and how much fun working
at Royal Video can be by playing trivia games about the different movies.
One of the actors was portra
y
ed as a triple major in college and was using this job to get by and pay off
some student loans
.
This is a realistic scenario. By the end of the video
,
he realized how much fun working at
Royal Video was and had dropped two of his majors so he could work more hours. Thank God I am applying to
Royal Video before I start college! Phew
,
that video reall
y
saved me from wasting a lot of money on a college
degr
e
e!
9
After an hour or so of videos I am given a booklet of info~ation about Royal Video that I am expected
.
to re
a
d
,
memorize and then complete a twenty page exam on. Wow, renting videos out to the general public
must be really really hard! And all the while the cashiers make it look so easy
.
..
After more information about how to deal with the customer
,
the policies of Royal Video, and more info
on s
e
xual harassment and stealing, I am thoroughly exhausted and hungry. I check my watch and see that I have
alread
y
been here for three hours and I am not done with the info booklet or the test. Between the pressure of
time and pointless bullshit, I realize this entire process was created to break the spirit of the new Royal Video
employee. Instead of outright brainwashing us like any sane person would do, they beat facts and trivia ques-
tion
s
into our skulls until we can take no more.
I check my watch again when I am done. I have been there in the office for five hours. I am cold because
1 am in a goddamned white polo shirt and the air conditioning is jacked way up, and I am mentally exhausted. I
leave the office and go up to Ray, and give him my completed test.
The best part was
,
while the questions were extremely specific and time consuming
,
Ray barely even
look
s
at them before telling me I am hired. He gives me a date to come back and start work officially
.
I will
ne
v
er use any of the information I just wasted five hours poring over. But at least I have a brand new bright
Purple shirt with the Royal Video logo on it that I get to wear every time I am working
.
Now when I greet the
cu
s
tomers with a warm smile
,
they can smile back at me. With pity.
17
A selection from:
It's Never Too Late
ByPatriciaPhillips
My last two careers were at opposite ends of each other - a reading tutor and a waitress. Five
years ago, I worked as a reading and writing tutor to juveniles. I would spend two days a week at the I
county jail, one day at the adult female correctional facility, and two days at Family and Children Servic
a half hour from home. Starting out, this was the job of my dreams. I felt like I was saving the young
hoodlums of America. If they could become literate, what need would they have to rob or steal? All
right
- I wasn't thinking clearly back then. But I came to realize that if I could make a difference with just
one
kid
,
it was all worth it, right? If so, why did I get burned out after only three years?
I remember my last day so clearly that it's almost frightening. After being reprimanded the day
before for allowing one of my clients to have two lead pencils instead of one, I was in a "feel sorry for
my-
self
"
mood when I entered the jail, but quickly snapped out of it when the director walked up and said
was sending me a "new one" today
.
That's how she would refer to one of my new clients. Her tone al
made me feel as if she was talking about her discarded lunch garbage. I put on my super-happy face
a
said, "Great!" just to annoy the shit out of her
.
She returned her "you'll be sorry" look and walked
away
quickly, in case my goodness was contagious.
This "new one" turned out to be a nineteen-year-old female who was awaiting trial for murder. H
ard, the C.O. on duty for my classroom, shared this information with me even though it's not allowed,
an
even though I've repeatedly asked him not to do this. I now knew that this petite little form sitting acr
from me, lost in her oversized orange jumpsuit, had stabbed her twenty-year-old sister to death because
she would not get off the phone. She was younger than my daughter, and her innocent and somewhat
prehensive face made me want to reach across the table and reassure her.
After testing her for a reading level, and discovering that she was at about fourth grade
,
I asked
her to write a small paragraph about anything she thought was interesting. I expected to read somethin
like
,
"I wish I could take it all back, and I really love and miss my sister." Instead she wrote
,
"I'm really
· pissed off rite now becauz she's probly goin to make me get the elecktrik chair or something like that,
a
my man needs me rite now." While I'm reading this, and trying not to gasp out loud, she continues
oral
"You know how that is, right teacher, you got on a wedding band, I bets you love your man, right?" I told
her I needed to use the ladies room. I did not tell her it was because I felt the urge to vomit and I didn't
want to mess the floor and have Howard pissed off at me. I called my supervisor later that day, told her
l
was burned out and was resigning. I never went back to the jail, or the correctional facility, or Family an
Children Services. My little murderer had convinced me I needed time away from the big house.
18
A Space Between the Wall
ByMichae/Renganeschi
We saw
you
soar
Through the air in flight,
We saw you try with all your might
To teach us to love and not to fight.
We carried
you
on our backs when you couldn't soar.
The Dreamer
ByErinGannon
Listen: I follow
your
eyes when you look at the world.
I know what you see.
You
see
love and beauty and you cherish them.
Know that I cherish these things, too,
But they must not be miracles to be worthy of my loving eye.
Know that the shadows of the leaves in the wind
Are not evidence of puppetry.
Know that a child laughs not because the sound is beautiful
But because he must.
And know that the best definition of life
Is the one
you
write yourself.
Go.
Study the sunrise
Marvel
at
mount~ns
Weep
at
the winding,river,
But do not muddy their dignity.
Do not bastardize October's trees.
~~
not belittle the wonder of each spinning atom.
W,
s
did not happen overnight.
e Worked hard, came far, to get here.
Know this·
W,
.
e are more than someone else's dream.
19
We've held you towards the light
We've pushed you to the floor.
I've held
you
by your hand
When you didn't know the way,
I've given you my ear
To hear all the words you say.
But once there was a silence
A
space between the wall,
I couldn't hear you soaring
But I could
see you
fall.
When Nobody Sees
You
By Michael Renganeschi
You trip when you
wa
lk
And you fall down the
stairs,
Nobody notices,
And nobody stares
,
Because when nobody sees
you
Nobody cares,
Your
life is
a
plaY
You rehearse everydaY
But
nobody hears the
.
lines
that you say,
Nobody cries and nobody laughs,
Nobody cheers and nobody claps,
The
theatre
is
full of empty chairs
20
And when nobody sees you
,
Nobody cares,
-
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21
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22
Untitled
ByFrankDebettencourt
Twilight leaking on my lips as my hunger aches and grows
for you
I know there is no good with you without you I feel lewd
In
all the ways
I make up for your absence
Does it make sense?
You've only held me against the truth and never brought in
Yes rm talking about our pseudo-relationship, our attempt
Or maybe just mine 'cause you couldn't find the light
I found
in your eyes
You was always lost in hers while you held me close by
Who cries when criminals tell lies ... victim plights?
In
spite,
I
Held the hand that hurt me every fortnight
Looking at the moon now with lips inked blue
I
can only
scream
Yo!
FUCK
YOU!
23
REPENT
BylndigoNothing
\
'VE BEEN
SENT
A MESSAGE
DE
AR NON-BELIEVER
..
.
REPENT
ANO \
CAN'T
U
NDERSTAND TH
IS
PASSAGE
I
KNOW
\
DRINK, SMOKE,
WORK, AND
TWIRK
.
YET
I
DO THEM
WELL
WAS PROUD TO
MOVE
UP
TO
LE
VEL AND EXCEL
''I'M GOOD AT
THIS,"\ STAMMER
MURMUR
AND
QUIVER
AS MY
SPIRITS START
TO
STIR
\
LOV
E
MY
HABITS,
CAN'T
DO
W
ITHOU
T
IT
S
o WHAT
I
GOT
HIGH?
R
EALIZED
I
FELT LIKE
A
BIRD
I
N
THE SKY
LI
GHTS OUT WHEN
\
GYRATE TO MY MOT
I
ON W
ITH
A MA
RRI
AGE NOT
IN SIGHT
REPENT
D
AMN
I
T,
I
BELIEVE!
I
BELIEVE
I
N
CHRIST
KNOW
OF THE WORKS
OF HIS
M
IR
ACLE BIRTH
S
AW
HOLL
YWOOD
SCARS
THAT
SPARKED
S
OMETHING
I
NSID
E
ME
\
CR
IED
DISTURBED,
U
NNERVED
BY HIS PLIGHT
FAITHFULLY
DE
AR NON-BE
LIE
VER ...
REPENT
H
ow
DARE HE
OR
SHE,
THEM OR WE
)UD
GE ME?
I
LOVE
M
E
, BUT CRY
E
ACH N
I
GHT
l
'M
SEXY, BUT LOATHE
MY
SIGHT
l
'M A
HEAL THY
H
A
I
T
I
AN CREAT
IO
N OF
I
NTELLECTUAL
SATISFACTION
COMPACT W
I
TH
DELIGHTFUL
BANTER OF A BIMBO
PERSUASION
AND
CAN
BURP MY
ABCs
(YES (
'LL
SHOW
YO
U
LATER
)
So
WHY?
WHY
AS
\
'M
HIGH, l'M THE LONE BIRD
I
N
FLIGHT, FEEL LIKE
NOBODY'S BY MY
SIDE?
\
'VE BEEN
SENT
A MESSAGE
REPENT.
REPENT.
24
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25
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If
There are no More Sleeves, Grab Another Cup 'Cause That Cappuccino Gets Hot
ByJimmyCross
Loathing
Inside my own big head
You try running from that
When it's already consumed
everything
before you;
everything
behind you.
A life of hiding from the pain that has
always known where I've been.
It is pathetic that I take every step
out
the
door
And search for you
anywhere.
Everywhere?
Sleep comes in the glorious twenty minute shifts.
Your Face
is seared into me; branded
are your infinite pupils, my cosmic safe houses.
Lonely now I am greeted by the shores,
and the ever fl.owing water.
You are alone, they say.
Why have you done this, they demand, again?
I lower my head and
reach for
your
Hand.
26
I've given up wis
The eye of a paint
I'm through askin,
Soft feet for danci
Now I wish
And the fond me
,
A
ll the sights and
Snapshots of an
I wish for the wedding album,
And the tiniest of baby pictures
.
The family photos through the years
,
And the toothless grins still to come.
J
wish for a life that exists somewhere,
In a future I hope I earn.
Maybe, just maybe,
A future you
'
ll share with me
.
27
Ode to Recess
ByMarionQuirici
Things I never thought I'd miss
Come bounding back to mind
As I pass from class to class
Woods ofmy Mind
ByBrianneB
e
ndit
With never a pause and never a break and
never a chance for rest to take.
A
road diverged in the woods of my
mind.
It's nice outside.
The lush lawns smile in the sunshine
To mock me, as I grunt and grind
Lost
No one to hold my
hand
Under the floggings of my grinning professors
.
When I'm loathe to keep working, I remember
a time when things weren't such a mess,
and
remind me to look both ways
and
where to step and how far to go
And I reflect on the days of Recess.
and
if everything will be ok.
Things I never thought I'd miss come bounding back to mind
Will
It?
The monkey bars, the tire pit
,
the golden winding slide
Oh, I get
It.
The net of chains
,
like a spider's web,
One of those trick questions.
The bully
,
crouched like the spider.
The answer is two jobs and a Chihuahua named Chalupa.
The three big swings,for which there was
Supreme, not
Baja.
always a race to reach - me first!
# 2
on the quiz of your life which is
100%
of your final
grade ...
The tire-swing - it made me sick.
How do you define innocent and
jaded?
The runners' track around the field
My final answer
Is:
was rounder than the sun,
I
am a complex equation
I
can't
solve.
And at one side forever stood
I
make as little sense as a one way Nova going in the wrong direction.
The Tree! The Tree that gave us shade
Scared
With branches full of love
.
Doubt
We laughed and played
The best part of the day!
Boys and girls lined up for cootie shots.
The boys were cops and robbers
,
The girls did stunts and cartwheels,
And me in my ownfantasy
Would climb up all the ladders
To the highest perch! I stood
so
prim
Surveying my playground kingdom.
Alas, alas, those days are gone
When bars and swings spelledfun.
Confusion
Decision
Responsibility
Accountability
Freedom
Fly off the trees of my memory like a powerpoint slide show.
·
How do you know when it's time to walk alone?
How do you listen to your intuition?
When can you
start
trusting yourself instead of others?
I AM NOT twenty years
old.
I am five and eight and twelve and sixteen and nineteen,
I know how to be these. This decade doesn't exist.
And now I work, head bent, nails bitten
Enjoy the weather? Who are you kiddin
'
?
It is not
me
Yet ... ,
To grow up would be quite an adventure,
Take the
risk?
But still
.
..
I miss the way it made me blue
To get a pebble in my shoe
.
28
Maybe next
year,
There's a leaf pile with my name written all over
It.
oon,
right.
light,
night.
light,
own?
Let the light be seen all around,
Because that candle can shine for us no longer.
29
Shouldn't Have Stopped at Thirteen
ByJimmyCross
Tuesday morning
and last night has slipped
out of memory. The drool
on my pillow is not all mine
.
He is nudging me
for a walk. A long night
for everyone. "Collar," I say,
and with one leap he's gone.
Feel for slippers in the dark
of my mind. Flip flops
will do for now. Grab
Some lettuce to get her
out of the cage. Slip
the collar on for two blocks.
The air has a slight bite
even with my pajamas on.
She is getting heavier
.
So am I.
They are happy and frolicking
while I miserably stand there
and watch their joy.
I am jealous of a dog and a bunny
.
Squinting through the sun,
I throw the ball again.
She chases and he lets her win.
Smart kid
.
That is why my bed
is empty
.
And has been
for weeks. A fit of nausea
rises from my feet. I steady
the lens onto them and cal I out.
Ti me halts forever.
They sit
on my wall now, young
and happy. But what you so not see
is me kissing her
like I never will again
.
Only to realize that I
won't.
30
Widening Heights
ByTimGriffin
I almost had the glittering stars about me,
Their distant beauty whirling around my head.
But I was left with a seat in the clouds,
A nighttime dream of many jealousies.
But those wispy clouds kept me listless,
Because now I dreamed of so much more.
The clouds brought with them a promise,
Carried by the western winds.
"The stars wait anxiously," it said,
"but to reach them you must be light,
Unweighted by guilt long since expired,
Unhindered by the fear of the widening heights."
Christina BrodzkY
'fhe Creator
ayRisaPedzewick
fv
e
died a thousand times
j\n
d
lived a thousand more
fv
e
lit the candle
'fh
at
would make Hell's fires burn out
fv
e t
raced my shadow
Wi
t
h chalk upon the pavement
An
d
been praised by Art Connoisseurs
'fh
a
t is falls nothing short of
Genius.
I c
an
hear a song in the silence
o
f the softly falling snow
An
d
I can unlock the secrets of your heart
Wi
t
h a flick of my wrist
Still
,
I sit here wondering
If
it has all been in vain
t
oo late do I see the truth in the matter
Th
a
t we call life.
I'm
a
fraid I've been telling you lies
Th
a
t would infect your soul
An
d
have hoped you would believe me
anyway.
I am not perfect
Ye
t
far from usual
Th
e
webs I spin
Ar
e
poisonous
An
d
the tales I weave
Could change the fate of man
Ye
t
I am blameless in my actions
I d
o
not write the words
Th
e
words write
Me
.
El
O/vido
ByA/tagraciaE.Pimentel
como puedo amarte y odiarte?
es como
tirarte
de un edificio
y tratar de rescatarte
no quiero separame de ti
tampoco te quiero cerca
de
mi
amo como eres tan atento y responsivo
y odio tu manera de olvidarme como
un
archivo
no se que hacer contigo si aguantar
o dejarte en el olvido
Mi Tierra
By AltagraciaE. Pimentel
Pienso en mi tierra
Ouisqueya
la
be/la
tan
importante
que a/Ii a Colon entierran
la
mas antigua colonizacion
que
Espana
cultivo con
feNor
Santo
Domingo, Punta
Cana, y Santiago
lugared de/
a/me
que
amo
La
flora y
la
fauna crecen en abundancia
Y espero el momente de regresar a mi casa
"Santo
Domingo
conoci a tu madre,
la
Espana imperialista"
·
Que
direncia
hay a
la vista!
34
Writers Block
ayBrianneBendit
Im
a car on empty.
Im
a
singer with laryngitis.
Im the pen in my hand but I don't hove any ink.
Better yet, it hos ink it's just jammed inside.
Constipated.
I keep pressing against the paper but it remains white.
Flawless.
Those organized blue lines and obnoxious pink ruled edges.
I wont to infect it.
I keep scratching the paper with the tip of my pen.
The fibers beginning to stretch,
The tethers unwinding,
My rage ripping it row.
Everything hos
a
breaking point
I've reached mine. So hos the paper.
Or is it the end?
The looseleaf tears apart.
I've destroyed
a
defenseless piece of paper. Wow, I'm pathetic.
I need better things to do with my time.
Chaos.
Ive penetrated through to the other side.
The paper is now incomplete.
Like my thought process.
There is a hole.
It beckons me. I wont to jump inside.
Its a vacuum. Absorbing all my thoughts and holding them hostoge.
All the words I cont remember,
The feelings I cont identify,
The inspiration I cont find to write.
·
F rustrotion.
The paper is mocking me.
Its blankness so empty. So intimidating.
A writers worst nightmare.
'
We hove
a
storing contest. It wins.
I need to concentrate.
I need to focus.
I wont to scream.
I wont to write.
I wont to sound profound.
Hey that rhymed, maybe Im getting somewh-
Never mind. That sucks.
I just need to start
Start something.
Anything
I think Ill start with Writers Block.
It hos potential.
At least its
a
beginning.
35
The Burden
ByJamesBums
I steal other people's
gym
clothes. It's starting to become a problem. It didn't used to be;
my
theft used to be seal-proof. I used to be able to slide into a local
gym
undetected, grab the first
set of
unguarded
gym
clothes, and slide out in no more than two minutes. I was like a ninja. A
gym
clothes-
stealing ninja. In fact, I would sometimes pretend that I was some sort of spy working for a mysterious
underground organization, finding and stealing the evil corporation's newest weapon -- an atomic
bomb
shaped like gym clothes. I would concoct elaborate scenarios, imagine the dark, dank headquarters
'
where I would be given my missions. I made up imaginary comrades in the rebel group. There was
Bradley, the idealistic kid straight out of the academy, a bit on the dumb side but charming as hell. I got
nervous that my wife might be having an affair with him, but my wife prefers men with a good sense
of
humor, and also Bradley doesn't exist. Then there was Rudd, a big man, very rarely talked but
always
had your back. You didn't mess with Rudd and Rudd didn't mess with you and everyone was happy
with that arrangement. Finally there was Zeddy, the computer genius who would somehow find a
blue-
print of the building just in time and tell us where alternate exits were. Before I left my house, I
would
close my bedroom door and talk to each team member so they knew what to do. Then I would drive
to
whatever locker area I had decided to go to that day and follow through with my mission, coming
home
victorious with someone else's gym clothes, usually a pair of running shorts and an oversized T-Shirt.
If
I was lucky, some sort of headband.
But recently I've been running into problems. I've been getting sloppy. A few days ago,
some-
one caught me. I was in the local community college's gym, searching for unlocked lockers when I saw
a pile of dirty clothes laying on the top. I grabbed them quickly, stuffed them under my jacket as
is
my
trademark (Zeddy is always kidding me about that), and was just taking a few quick steps toward
the
exit when I saw three college kids, probably athletes, walk into the locker room. Now is where I used
to shine, I used to be brilliant in these
situations,
I was a genius. I would calmly wave and smile to
the
intruders, maybe even say "hey" in a voice deeper then my own to indicate that I was one of them (I
wasn't a grown man who steals other people's
gym
clothes), and walk calmly out of the room. This
time
I messed up. As I slowed my walk and went to wave, I noticed the guy on the left was looking at the
top
of the locker with a concerned look on his face.
Damn,
I thought to myself,
they were his. That's
o/e,
just
play it cool.
"Hey guys," I said quickly, waving and smiling (as is my normal operation). I turned to leave-
even made it to the door-- when one of the guys said something.
"Hey pal, did you see my gym clothes anywhere?" the guy on the left said
.
I paused for a
second
and turned around.
"Umm, no, I don't think so," I said, suddenly aware that I was clutching his gym clothes
under
my jacket. I gripped them tighter.
36
••They were right on the top of this locker here," the guy said. I noticed one of his friends looking at my
•acket. I looked down. Part of the student's blue T-shirt was hanging out. I didn't wait for them to put
~o and two together, I just dropped the clothes and ran. I sprinted home and locked all the doors.
"Daddy? What's going on?" my daughter asked.
·
"Robbers, honey. Robbers
.
"
I know what you're thinking, and it isn't for the smell. Not that I hate it like most people, but I'm
somewhat indifferent to it. People can get so weird about smells. My young son refuses to go into my
parents' house for visits because he says it smells like dead people.
"How do you even know what a dead person smells like?" I ask him
"Mary brought one in for show and tell last week," he says.
"No, she didn't."
"Yes, she did, the teacher let us pass it around the class," he says. I think he's lying, but I should
call the school anyway.
And it's not for the thrill of stealing either; I'm not a kleptomaniac. It's true that I enjoy going
out and finding them, but the bulk of my enjoyment comes after I steal the clothes.
I steal other people's
gym
clothes for the sweat. I can't sweat myself, I have a genetic disease,
none of the men in my family can sweat. It's recognized by the American Medical Association. When
my son grows up, he probably won't be able to sweat either, which is a conversation that I'm not looking
forward to. I'm going to wait a couple of years though. My father told me at a very young age, when
I wasn't even sure what sweat was. I think that did more harm than good, because from that age on, I
was very insecure of my inability to sweat. In middle school during
gym
class I would sit out so the other
kids wouldn't find out my dark secret. My dad talked to the
gym
teacher, Mr. White, so he was aware
of my situation. While I was thankful for this, from that time forward Mr. White looked at me in a
strange, sad way, as though to say, "There's that boy who can't sweat
,
poor bastard, I can't imagine his
pain
.
" And he can't, either.
Once I steal a pair of gym clothes I walk up to my bedroom and lock the door. I have to be sure
my wife is going to be out for a while. Then I put the clothes on. Its odd that I've never been able to
sweat because when I put the gym clothes on, its feels natural --the sweat sticking to my skin-- it feels
right. I'll stand in front of my mirror and just smile, finally at peace
.
I never go out in other people's
gym clothes because I'm terrified of being found out, but in my room I pretend I go out to the local cafe.
I sit on the edge of my bed, imagining a chic coffee shop filled with attractive college students, and lean
back. I pretend to have a conversation with a group of the students about philosophy or movies, you
know, whatever comes up in conversation. I pretend we all just got back from a rousing game of basket-
ball, and came to the coffee shop to chill out. I look in the mirror the whole time, smiling happily with
Illy friends. But this isn't real.
I've come so close, dozens of times, to telling my wife, but at the last second I always abandon
the idea. I'm terrified she'd divorce me, I can see my entire life fall apart in front of me. So I continue
alone, carrying my burden. I'll continue to carry it until I screw up completely and I'm exposed as who
I
am --
a person who can't sweat. The world will be shocked, no doubt, and I'm prepared for that. I
steal other people's
gym
clothes, I'm not ashamed of that. It's just what I do. But as I said before, it's
st ·
arting to become a problem.
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