foil!
20f0
t'oOIOltl ltOlff
ed,tor(-in-{hief mre
Nick Sweeney and Dani Ferrara
Katie Black
Michael Cresci
Meg Flannery
Sarah Holmes
David A. Cohen
Colleen Haney
Jessica
Sturtevant
Jennifer Sommer
their
lUpport of the litermrv,
mrtl
lotietv,,
we thmnk
J
J
Dr. Lea Graham and
Bob Lynch





Marist College
Literary Arts Society
Presents
cover ar
t by Colleen Hanley






































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~i~a,re
rs~
It's like trying to fit a square peg
in a round hole. Too much force.
Easy for one, Exhausting for another.
Never al dente but always at attention.
Unaware of the space it needs to dwell,
but persisent in trying. Trying, trying, trying.
tf..e
ceiii,n,
i
Cbn,J,
tf..e
f.eo-o-r:
a,
J.ouMe
~a,i,R,IA.
The ceiling it is screaming at the floor.
Mouth gaping wide, yet no sound comes.
The in-between: far too great a distance.
Shallow voices drowning.
4
Both
by
Nick Bolt










The 9:20 departs from track one equipped with men dressed in steel and iron
and women wearing dresses made of spark ph1gs.
What good is melody?
The daily commute tastes lackluster and the air in the drab cars screams at the
top of its lungs
What good is music?
Ear buds and Monster headphones pump the same mindless normalcy into the
ears of CEOs, Vice Presidents, Interns, Sharks, Slackers.
If
it ain't possessin' something sweet.
Is it the conductor who drives these drones?
The wheels?
The ambition?
The hunger for success?
It ain't the melody, it ain't the music.
daily grind blues
It's caffeine nestled in gold-encrusted to-go cups
And chain-smoked cigarettes with cartoon camels on the pack.
It's throwing elbows to get to the window seat facing the right direction.
There's something else that makes the tune complete.
Fight the crowd to be the first off.
Now arriving at Grand Central Terminal.
Early bird gets the salary raise - or so you would think watching these civilized
people trample one another for a taste of stale New York air.
It don't mean a thing
if
it ain't got that swing.
Left-right -left-right.
Walk-don't walk-walk- don't walk.
It don't mean a thing, all you got to do is sing.
Elevator opens- elevator closes.
Cubicle-board room-cubicle-board room.
It
makes no difference it it's sweet or hot.
Going through the motions of living in a
high-powered world,
and looking out the window offers no reprieve:
simply a way to peer into other fish tanks
with other colored gravel and plastic trees.
Just give that rhythm everything you got.
Eyes blind to everything that doesn't appear on a computer screen
Qwerty keyboards become the soundtrack of their lives.
Dao wop doo wop doo wop doo wah.
By
Heather Staats
5









L
When I was drunk and
in your bed against
all expectations
my contacts dried out my eyes
and I thought of taking
.
them out and throwing them
to the floor to both soothe and leave temporary
proof that
we were alive for each other
if only for a few hours.
When I was drunk and in your bed
turned inside out, entrails throbbing
my self-doubts were frothing like
polluted water trapped in a
crevice or ebb
with nowhere to go. Shifting
uncomfortably asking questions
for nobody to answer.
When I was drunk and in your bed
your breath found subtle passages
across my neck as
you slowly stole all of the pink and green sheets.
Rain
fell outside and its sound made me feel
alone in a wonderful way, as if it fell for only me.
The feeling of being alone with the sea and not knowing
6
By
Michael Cresci







-
of anything happening in
any crowded way.
I've read that all goes onward and outward.
Nothing collapses.
And to die is different from what any one supposed,
and luckier.
;
I've read that the universe has
no reason.
No rhythm.
No rhyme.
Like a heart in love, decked out in polka dots
and stripes, unstylish and exposed.
Drunken in your bed,
I pretended to be dead
half convinced I was asleep,
damning the pitfalls I've retread.
The woods of your embrace are swirling dark and deep
and I have no promises to keep.
But no one here's in love and all the slopes are steep,
with
everything unsaid and miles to go before I sleep.
7









I FUcked MY. B'lSt
Friend'S BOYfriencL
We Are N01- "Fr1enctS Anymore.
You inject yourself into my brain
A crap rap radio song
And I am left not right
A cigarette stub still lit sleepily stabbed into a plump mattress
An emaciated anorexic swinging legs atop a medical counter
Yelling at the gentle ancient nurse
"Fuck off! And I still won't eat!"
Raped and discarded, unguarded
I'm double checking the marshes
For
leftover law
and order style bodies
Basically alternate versions of myself
Just because I saw an unattended child's sock on the pavement
You stay with me
A sour stomach virus
That seizes the abdomen and wavers balance
Attacking me and attaching me to the tiny tile bathroom
8
By
Michelle Delbove





A lady bug nibbling at a spring time leaf
It has eaten perfect holes
Until the leafs edges will rot and curl
Crumple in and fall at the will of the wind
I text you saying 'I want your dick'
Study me and tell me I really ~eant to say
'I think I like you and I want you to take me for a walk'
It
didn't happen like that
I am now a rabid, poked and prodded pitbull
Who foams behind a bronx chain link fepce
I bite children and I need to be brought in to be brought out
Silenced and sent off by a homely rich veterinarian
Throw me over center of the street telephone wire
Like a pair of old Nikes, laces twisted together
Tossed up into the sun by a little black kid in the hood
I sit stained and strained
Reputation ruined, the expose of the table top rag
The hottest topic of the gossip mill
Because strangers love to talk about raw sex blotted by denial and hate
A web of purple spider veins tattooed on an old set of legs
9









III.ADS
I think I have cancer. I don't know for sure. I'm not a biol
ogy major. I might just be psyching myself out. I often convinc
myself that there's something wrong when there's not.
It
could b
nothing at all.
.
Then again, there are the spots. Maybe this is melanom
That's what it looks like to me anyways. The location is what con
fuses me most. Isn't skin cancer supposed to come from the Sun
I don't go to the beach, so my shirt pretty much stays on when I'
outdoors, but the spots all sit on my chest. Thinking back, I believ
I actually have heard reports of people getting skin cancer in place
not exposed to the Sun. This could be it. I'm not entirely sure.
It just so happens, though, that I don't much care either wa
If
it's nothing, I get another shot at life.
If
it's melanoma, this at le
should be something special. There is the off chance that the spo
are from something terrible not being cancer. Might have a simil
effect within the context of my life, but it could be terrible in othe
ways. I hope it's cancer, just so I know something to expect.
I may not be thinking of others in my prayer for death, b
this life to lose is mine, and I won't apologize for being selfish. N
like I can choose to have cancer one way or the other. All peopl
always act by selfish motives. Nothing will change that. I'm bei
selfish, but everyone else only does actions to fit their own perfe
visions of the world. It fits my world to die. I'm not going to ca.11
about their worlds when I know they don't care about mine.
If
it turns out that I do not have cancer, some people may r
joice, but I then would not have any plans. I like plans. Plans allo
10 By
David.
A.
Cohen







me time to think random thoughts
while
alleviating the worry that
such
thoughts will hurt my future. I might even plan my death if
cancer
does not
come
through for me. It only feels right.
I might live to be one hundred. I could be married for sev-
enty years,
loving
every second,
with
ten
children coming along the
way.
I
simply
do not have the answers. If I do not have cancer, I'll
probably have to flip a
coin.
Heads lands more often than tails. I'll
let
that mean I plan for de<;lth,
I met with a doctor. He said I'm healthy. No cancer. I
flipped a coin. It read tails.
heoo.td.D
He caido como la lluvia durante la noche,
despacio y limpio.
He caido como un gato-sin ruido pero con mucha fuerza,
quemando con electricidad. Con fiebre.
Soy el viento que cruza por las ramas del
Cerezo durante la primavera. Alegre, feliz, radiante.
Llevando conmigo su perfume en mi espalda. Quiero
hablar,
gritar,
gemir
apasionante por las ramas como un desequilibrado;
pero no puedo. Tengo que guardar
mi silencio y sufrir
Como la lluvia durante la noche.
By
James Napoli
11






id
the good ol' blue collar boys
snorting a mix off an unoriginal glass table
they're locked in, i'm locked out
i could kick down the hawthorne door
which is already chipped and split
but what for
i sit ignorant, indian-style, headache
a silly flick dances in a just-cleaned dark room
candles l i t
as if to say 'be easy baby girl'
but i'm on end
like a watch dog hearing the first inkling
of a midnight mailman
what a great date night
i see a slobbering sweatshirt monster
push his way into my separation
'come on baby, let me come on to you'
his tongue heavy and slow
words dribble and drabble
me wishing they could somehow connect
and noose him right then and there
dragon kiss, a drug addict's kiss
breath old and rotten, stagnant
satan says i t ' s forever
' i love you so much' blows at me
like the gassy gust out of a truck tailpipe
the insincerity of the century
or maybe i t ' s dissonance creating distance
laying dead and lying out loud
i've given up a long time ago
i'm being messed around with
and i could laugh because i'm so lifeless
i wonder what crime this looks like
12 By
Michelle Delbove











. do not respond, i ' l l let him try
1
ft worm-like dick is uncurled
a
so
·
d flopped forward in my face
an
h
.
t
ld .
.
. am disgusted at w at
1
am
o
is mine
~onight, this will be a job gone impossible
no fault of my own, i would've preferred to pass
my mind envisions
the butcher style knife
in the cracked out kitchen, mess all around
but apart, there i t lies
blissfully on guard in
/
its slot
resting, but not sleeping in draw
commanding ..
.
crisp ..
.
alert ... erect
i short-circuit, and i'm back in me on my back
he's backed off and back to his boys
i look at my movie
but can't get into the story
i say nothing
i ' l l slink out soon
stretch the nightmare ' t i l quarter to two
literally slide my phantom self out the side door
no one even knows i'm gone
do i know i'm gone?
chilly night wind slaps me and i t stings
my chorus of sister trees rally for me
at least now I can breathe right
for now nature is on my side
beaten behind the wheel
racing as if a good night's sleep
was actually ahead in my own bed
What if i just mauled a pedestrian?
a drunk teenager hauling home
or an oddball dogwalker
maybe then i'd snap out of this
13





or if i ran reds?
skated through them like a little girl in a rink
euphoric acceleration
maybe the cops would flag me down
and even a do-little officer would see i needed help
i'm raspy like i've been used up
and i t ' s really starting to scare me
park the car in my driveway
paranoid frenzy
.
.. j i t tery ... j umpy
in a way, i kind of want to be murdered
i imagine a figure, throwing something over me
a pictureless death, but i t happens without my
scream
and then i'm tossed aside in my own gutter
heels on home concrete
they say i'm back on my ground
just try to even fuck with me now
i hear the click clack of pitbull toenails
coming through the house at me
a sheepish welcome, but still a welcome
a forever cherished welcome, always was underrated
i tuck this doll back into her blanket nest
petting her back to sleep
staring off at a turned off tv in a house with no
lights on
thinking ... meekly ...
how have i become so weak ...
14









~I(
N
;:dL:;t~!:;iddle of the night, my eyes became
fixated on a beautiful ornament dangling from the clouds. Like lightning, it
zigzagged across the sky and then stumbled into the ground below. I slowly
ot up from my bed, crept up to the window and gazed into the ray oflights
!mitting from the spacecraft. I felt an energy from the light, it called me to
come forward. Filled with excitement, I raced down the stairs as fast as a
squirrel escapes from a screeching car. Sprinting away from my house and
towards the field, I approached this massive object and realized this mes-
merizing
''thing"
was a space ship. It defied all the theories shown on the
history and discovery channels; people's conceptions of so called "UFOS".
It
was not round and black, but instead square and engulfed in colors- colors
that are unknown to this planet. The view was breathtaking.
It
eliminated all
fear and doubts rushing through my body.
It
gave me the courage to enter
the spaceship. As I entered this craft, I encountered an outsider, an alien to
this world. This alien sparkled in the death of night, giving the illusion that
it was daytime.
It
was about 8 feet tall with an abnormally size head. I asked
its name, and it replied "we do not have names; we do not need them to
identify ourselves:'
"What may I call you then?" I asked.
"You may identify me with human numbers, 76543210, since that is how
many miles we are away from my home:'
As the alien finished that sentence, my eyes widened. I was entering an en-
tire new dimension in the world, one where no one has ever been to before.
76543210 observed my body up and down, taking notes as he pleased. The
alien gazed curiously at my stomach, then babbled
"Game:'
"What?" I asked.
"Your shirt. What does that word mean?"
Excited to teach an outsider about my world, I replied, "Game has many
meanings and connotations to our people. 'Game' is an activity that groups
By Gabrielle Sitkowski
15



of human beings do for pleasure, to have fun. There are board games, such
as Monopoly or Candy Land. Each player receives a different piece and goes
around the board until one player finally wins:'
"Can you show me?" The alien asked.
I did not have the actual board game with me, only the pieces. I tol
76543210 I always played with the blue piece. I allowed the alien to hol
and play with the yellow one; I thought it was a good match with 7654321
sparkling glow.
"Thank you;' the alien said.
If
I ever get a chance to play Candy Land
will use this piece.
I continued with my description of a game.
"Games often pass the time to avoid boredom, or some play to procras
tinate an important task. Sports here on earth are also considered games
Sports are athletic activities that humans compete in. They can use a soc
cer ball to run around and kick in the goal; or a basketball which require
hand movement to pass and dribble to ball in order to shoot into the hoop
Some more examples of sports are lacrosse, baseball and softball. The whol
point of a game is to have a good time and win. However, the most comple
meaning of this word is the undeniable fact that life is a game. The concept o
"winning" in life is to ultimately be happy. To obtain this happiness, peopl
will be faced with opponents just like they do in Basketball or in Monopol
This Competition is a key aspect in all games. It will take place in daily life i
the work world, one's love life and social life with friends:'
76543210 gave me a wide smirk and said nothing more. Then, all with·
a couple of seconds I was pushed out of the space craft by an overwhelmi
force. Next thing I knew, I woke up in my bed in the exact same positio
where I originally fell asleep. Gazing out into the sky, I traced the zigzags ·
the sky, and followed the marks of the immaculate colors unknown to m
As I rolled over onto my side, I noticed a Candy Land board on my floor. M
piece remained one box away from Start. However, the yellow colored pie
was already on finish. Looks like 76543210 won.
16






A tiny tree
bound
in wires,
pulling
and
pushing it
·
to
where
it
should
be growing
the
wires are
tightened every year as it ages,
rather
than
loosened with its age and maturity
wind blows,
its branches move slightly,
the
rest is
restrained.
He
came one
day and pulled the wires out
letting
it be free,
sway in the
breeze,
and let its leaves
fall with grace.
Now
he
nurtures it.
Her
beauty
is captivating.
He
accepts
whenever its leaves fall
whether
it
too early
or too late.
He
loves
her in her entirety.
By Alyssa
Rossi
1 7







Two lungs of a medical fox hunt;
laughing
it
off
like it
never
stole his
body
as lips drew down
face
cheek in teeth
legs up
because pants fit better when
you're happy.
and because love
is so much easier in retrospect.
He was just awake enough
to go back to sleep.
·
A
deliberate sleep like a
half-assed lobotomy
drilling holes in the black
Oldsmobile snap-in-time
colon cancer club car.
He could have lived if his body
had given him the
chance
18
By C.
Earnshaw







The wo
rld flickered and shuttered in small quick bursts
.
I choke
d on the thicker
-
than
-
mud blood - quenching my thirst.
I turne
d over to kiss the cold pavement
That e
mbraced my fall into the dark infinity of unconsciousness
Piercing
beeps wrench my heavy eyes open.
Needles
and tubes sprout open bringing a sickening glow.
The ste
ril
e
smell and bitter taste sew my eyes shut
.
"
...
Sai
d th
a
t he awoke about a day ago
."
a bru
n
e
tte facing
the wro
ng direction
is all I ca
n
s
ee
throug
h one bloodshot eye
.
By Jade Brewer, Kyle Cina, and Ryan Rivard
19






"3J'm
sbort anb so are
mp
stortes''
He called me his reason for existing and I said there's the door. I
can't be Atlas. My world weighs enough without his on the other shoulder.
I sit on the dock, because there are no graves for drowned souls,
and drop the flowers one by one into the sea. Always lilies, her favorite
.
Sometimes he took the wrong train on purpose. He
'
d wait 'til the
last stop or get off in a place that seemed better than where he came from.
The Uno cards were the only colour in the bleached hospi
room and we painted our afternoon with them, until the warmth
came back into you.
20 All by Kelly Gallucci






Measure characteristics of my persona
Repeated eye blinks, lip biting,
Hip swaying, mustache scratching
Count and qualify eac
_
h unique leg stride
And arm swing identification
Cards on my body by my lip curves
Mole marks, skin tone, eyebrow length
Verify my behavior, tell me who I am
Tighten the borders of my lips, my eyes
And waist
But let the flow of pork bills continue
Buy bridges to nowhere, steel and corn
For fuel, not food, purchased from farms
Planted in Mexico for cheap wages
Where each leg stride, eye blink
Isn't scrutinized but necessary
To make survive minimally
To runaway to below minimum wage
Raking up jobs we wouldn't touch
Jobs that keep us going
By
Sarah Holmes
21






22 By Colleen Haney
Words. Words. Words. Wo
How I love
th
How I love to shout
th
to slur th
to let them slip from
like silk on the ton
like a sigh of re ·
Erase
when I can
'
t find the right o
inmy
to bum a little
with words that pack sweet sto
of cowardice and v
tempt them with a bit of me
·
taste
when they scorch the ton
after they've muddled with your thi ·
I can pus
onto you
make them
find a horn
a reluctant pile of so
shouting deep inside your s
that will bite when I all






:My
mind is roused in groggy lucidity
Distraught by the perennial dream
It seems as though my mind remains in its haze
As my legs guide me through this maze
Its path hopelessly icy
For these calloused toes
Numbed by the night
Tingling from the torn r~se petals left by an angel forever lost in its
bleeding plight
She sleeps serenely
Secretly weeping
I approach her bed quietly
Careful not to encroach on her silver lining
My hand silently brushes her hair under the glistening moonlight
Her mother's visage searing my memory
The ecliptic night you were b9rn I could not contrive
How I would survive every helpless cry
And even when you were five
Every night I sang you a lullaby
Cry my child, cry
Into your blanket of snow
Cry my child, cry the sadness away
Until coldness becomes the past
Play my child, play in the grass
Where I can watch my precious flower grow
I linger on the threshold of sanity
You stir lightly
Not knowing tranquility
Unlike your mother who sleeps so heavily
By
Christopher Prozora
23





24
Cry my child, cry
Into your blanket of snow
Cry my child, cry the sadness away
Until coldness becomes the past
Play my child, play in the grass
Where I can watch my precious flower grow
'
Fingers from the wispy shadows kiss my hand
Seeping between the crevasses frozen in my skin
While a wandering wind encircles my frail body
Gently guiding my sail within
To where my dream had been marooned ages ago
"Soon," the wind whispers, "we can be alone again on the warmings
oh so white"
Cry my child, cry
Into your blanket of snow
Cry my child, cry the sadness away
Until coldness becomes the past
Play my child, play in the grass
Where I can watch my precious flower grow
In the morning darkness
I make her sandwich with turkey, tomato and lettuce
Careful not to spread too much butter
I squeeze in a bag of pretzels and an iced tea
I wish I could see her leave for school
I wish I could say good-bye
As I hear her writhe in her slumber
I depart for work trudging through the premature snow humming our
melancholy lullaby
Cry my child, cry
Into your blanket of snow
Cry my child, cry the sadness away
Until coldness becomes the past
Play my child, play in the grass
Where I can watch my precious flower grow









p
The Bachelor
Eri Yamamoto's photo hangs on the wall of the Irishman's Dublin bachelor pad.
She inspires
fuels
Excites him.
Her smooth voice glides over the keys of the piano
As
she switches into fast-paced furious syncopated keystrokes.
He follows her from Dublin to Japan to the jazz clubs of New York City,
Hanging on every note,
Every whisper,
Every melodic conversation that stuns his heart.
An
unlikely pair.
Or perhaps not.
Her elegant style compliments his expensive taste.
She reminds him of why he loves music--
Its long hair,
Its piercing eyes,
And mostly its fiery mouth
Spitting out highs and lows so fast that it always keeps him guessing.
She reminds him of why he is still a bachelor,
And why he longs so desperately not to be one all at once.
She does this with the incantations of her fingertips
And the wit of her composer brain
Without ever speaking a word.
By
Heather Staats
25
















9lemulud!Readitu;J,
"As long as the arrogance of mankind exists, Godzilla
will survive." -Tomoyuki Tan
·
"Teaching is the profession that teaches
all
other professions
.
" -Anonymous
"This is the letter A." I pointed to the easel. "Do you understa
A." She stared at the card in her familiar vacant fashion. I waited a
ute, then another. She just kept staring. How long had we been at this,
thought. It must have been at least day twenty of the project.
"How about a break?" I yelled to the Colonel 160 feet below.
Leaning on the lift's control panel, he shouted back "How's
ab
I tell you when to break." His voice echoed harshly through the hang
"I told you, less sedation." I replied. "Otherwise there's not
mu
I can do. This is still going nowhere."
"Don't wanna hear no talk like that, boy. You just keep at it."
I sighed and tapped my foot against the hollow metal box to
m
left, which used to house the lift's topside controls before it was disas-
sembled.
"For safety purposes."
,
Suddenly I was hit by a gust of warm air. A huge pair of rept" ·
nostrils pulsated in my face. She wanted my attention.
"I know, girl." I reached over the railing and patted her cold g
snout. "It'll be lunch before you know it, okay?" I tried to sound sooth!
ing. It was the sound, not the words that she understood. And that's
what nobody else seemed willing to understand.
I can't say I blame them for the whole operati~n. There would
have been certain political and military benefits to this creature's un-
derstanding of English rather than
,
say, Japanese, German, or-god
forbid-Russian. But that's assuming that a fifty meter tall, fire-spe ·
dinosaur in captivity can, in fact, learn its ABCs.
Again, I pointed to the easel. It held a poster-sized card with
a
large, boldfaced capital A and a small picture of an apple. "This. Is A.
For Apple." I made a circular gesture around the apple with my right
hand. "Apple." She was not impressed.
26 By
Rob McHugh













As her enormous glassy eyes began to wander, I raised my right
d and snapped my fingers. It's a simple gesture, but it's effective
ban
·
Th
'
h.
f
1
b
.
I
"Y,
. t lesser bemgs.
ere s somet mg power u a out
1t.
t says,
es,
aga1ns
n flatten a city with your enormous feet and melt cars with a single
you
ca
th but can you do this?"
brea ,
Snap.
Pay attention.
Her eyes darted towards my hand, then slowly widened. "No. No,
' d
th· "
you
can
t
o
is.
She stared so closely that her mouth bumped into the lift's railing.
I held on for dear life as the ~hole thing swayed dizzyingly. I looked down
at
the hangar floor for a moment and nearly vomited. Then I looked up,
but
the sight of the ceiling rocking a few feet above my head only made
things worse.
"Don't worry son," the Colonel yelled from below. "We got insur-
ance on the thing." I closed my eyes until the world stopped swinging.
"So, did ya get the thing to tawk yet?" Mom asked that night. It
was our family's regular Thursday dinner.
"Yeah, when you gonna get it to talk?" said Jenny, who had driv-
en twenty miles to bring us her famous family-sized microwave chicken
pot pie. No matter how many times I explained the goals of this whole
project, they were convinced I was giving the thing speech lessons.
Mom chimed in again. "I don't unduhstand why you gotta teach a
lizid anyway. Ya know Tawmiss here juss got a real good teachin' job. Tell
'im Tommy."
Thomas had been married to my sister for a little over a year, and
from what I'd heard was an excellent lover. Jenny liked to share those
kinds of things. But Thomas was too busy stuffing his face with half-
frozen chicken-pea slush to tell me once again about his biweekly gig as a
rniddle school sex-ed teacher. Jenny rubbed is back and smiled.
"Yup.
That's my Tommy."
I smiled back and nodded. Good on Tommy for finally bringing
together his two passions-sex and children.
"Your
country needs you, son!" the Colonel shouted the next
27








morning as he raised the lift to the creature's eye level. That was the
Colonel's answer to everything.
"I don't think the thing is capable of reading, or even understa
ing a language, I mean, look-"
Your country needs you, son.
"But what if- What if it eats me?"
Your country needs you, son.
"Um, sir my IBS is acting up. And I'm afraid of heights."
Your country needs you, son.
I sipped my coffee and closed my eyes. I hadn't bothered to co
up with an excuse today. The Colonel had just said it out of habit.
The lift stopped and I stood face to face with the radioactive
lizard. According to top scientists her radiation posed no threat to my-
self or my loved ones unless she started firing flaming projectiles from
her mouth, but somehow I was sure that in twenty years or so, I'd die
o
some slow and painful though officially unrelated cancer
.
"Yeah, me again," I said as I set up the easel. "They haven't
fired me yet, but I think we're pressing our luck here."
It
had been thr
unsuccessful weeks, and I was starting to regret ever teaching that da
iguana to play the piano a few years back. That's how they heard of
me-the lizard teacher-and hired me under competitive salary and
threat of treason.
"Ya know those Koreans?" the Colonel asked on our lunch brea
He gnawed angrily at my frozen pot pie remains. I wasn't hungry. "Th
got this giant turtle thing.
"
He crunched through the crust. "They got
it doin' sign language. Goddamn!" He pressed his finger into the man-
gled pot pie's clammy center. "And the Chinese, yeah, I heard they got
another'un just like ours and they taught it to play the harmonica.
Yo
imagine that? A giant freakin' harmonica. What the hell is wrong with
our girl?"
I shrugged.
"Hrmph," he grunted. "That's what you get for buyin' Japane
After lunch, I was again face to face with my scaly student.
If
only this was as easy as teaching an iguana the piano
,
I thought. Of
28











se that was all a trick, like teaching a bear to dance.
It
doesn't actu-
cour '
·
· ·
f
· I ·
k
h
.
d
d .
Il gain an mtmt1ve sense o music. t JUSt nows w at it nee s to o m
a
rier
to be fed instead of prodded.
0
Maybe it was all the sedation, or the three ton ankle chains that
(llade it hard for her to learn something even a toddler can comprehend.
Maybe it was the fact although her brain was estimated to be larger
than my car, were she shrunk my height, her brain would be the size of
a marble. I looked over the edge of the railing. The colonel was having a
smoke, paying no mind to my lesson.
"Okay, girl. Today,
/
we're gonna teach you how to read."
Again, she stared blankly.
"You heard the colonel." I picked up the poster with the letter
A and held it to her nose. Her eyes crossed stupidly to look at it. "We're
getting our asses kicked in sign language. And the harmonica." I put the
card down and picked up the easel.
It
was light enough to hold by one
leg.
"This is A," I said and swung the easel at her nose. It cracked
against her gigantic right nostril and she whimpered softly. Again
,
I held
up the card and said, "A is for apple." I swung the easel one more time
and it nearly splintered in two against her scales. Her giant eyes watered.
She looked confused. I picked the card again.
"Do you understand? A?"
I pushed it to her nose and she let out a brief belabored roar.
It
took the colonel a moment to realize the source of the sound, but from
my
distance it was nearly deafening.
"What's going on up there?" he yelled.
"Progress," I yelled back. "We're making progress."
"Atta boy!" he cried. "I told ya you could do it!"
For the first time since we started this exercise, I picked up a second card
and held it to the creature's face.
"This is
B."
29









lllLD')I. ~ :
JDIWIL
OJllL
~
i
Shake the Sheets
Will you remove the
cobwebs on my pawn shop heart,
naive yet weary?
Freckled Ghost
See my ink drenched arms?
Still the words they never come.
Green eyes haunting me.
When My Reckless Self-Destruction Takes Its Toll
But I'm just a king
destroying my own kingdom.
The drinks are on me!
Finished With Mermaids and Whores
Sick of empty talk.
Caught a glimpse of something real.
Can't seem to forget.
30 By Michael Cresci



31



32



33



34



35



36



37







p
Bedroom
Cast of Characters
Man:
About 23 years old.
Woman:
About the same age as Man.
Scene
A bedroom. A large bed located at centerstage. The lights
are dimmed. At rise the stage is silent with the two
characters at opposite sides of the stage. WOMAN is reading
a book in a large, comfortable looking chair at stage left,
and MAN is sitting at a desk at stage right typing on a
laptop.
Time
Modern day. Night.
The curtain rises and the lights come up. There
are a few beats of silence as the two characters
go about their respective actions.
MAN gets up from desk and walks over to WOMAN,
who is still sitting in her chair reading.
MAN
Whatcha reading there?
By Brianna Kelly 39






40
WOMAN
It's this awesome book about these two sisters who run
away from their abusive father and eventually find jobs
in the South working as waitresses .. .lt' s really
powerful and moving, and the language the author uses
is so creative ...
MAN
Sounds like a good book to me.
(WOMAN smiles and goes back to reading
as MAN walks downstage to address the
audience.)
I get scared sometimes, you know? That she's gonna
decide we don't have enough in common, and she needs
find somebody who likes books and poetry and stuff.
It's not like I'm stupid or anything. Far from it.
We're both very intelligent people, our intelligences
are just very different. I have a degree engineering,
she got her PhD. in contemporary literature. And that's
always been fine, but sometimes I get scared. I don't
want her to
think
she might be better off with somebody
who loves all the same things she loves, you know?
(Walks back to desk, sits down and
resumes typing.)
WOMAN
(Remains seated in chair, but puts book
down and addresses audience)
Sometimes I get nervous. I get nervous because I don't
have the faintest idea what he is saying when he talks
about his job. To be perfectly honest, I'm not even
totally sure what he does for a living, other than the
fact that it has to do with numbers! Lots of numbers.
And it's not that I don't want to be supportive,





because I do! Everything I've ever read on
relationships has stressed how very important that is,
being supportive. And
I try to be! But it's hard to be
supportive when you only have a vague idea of whether
what the other person is saying is good or bad. I only
know so many ways to say
11
That's great!
11
or
11
That's too
bad!
11
But what else can
I
say?
I
don't understand what
he's talking about half the time!
I
get so nervous that
he's going to wake up someday and realize that
I don't
have anything ~teresting to add to the conversation
and find some science girl to run off with
.
MAN
(MAN gets up from seat at desk and comes
over to where WOMAN is sitting.)
Do you mind
if
I
use the bathroom first?
WOMAN
Go right ahead.
(MAN exits stage right.)
(To audience)
That right there, what you just saw? Drives me
absolutely up a wall. Every night it's the same thing.
He uses the bathroom at the same time every night, and
have
I
ever once cared before? No. And have
I
told him
that he doesn't need to ask permission? Yes. Does he
still do it? Yes! It makes me nuts, it's like he feels
like a guest in our own home! It's like he's not
planning on being here for that much longer
.
(MAN re-enters)
MAN
Hey honey. Bathroom's all yours.
41








42
WOMAN
Okay, thanks.
(Exits stage right)
MAN
(To audience)
I try so hard to make things as smooth as possible for
us. To keep our relationship alive by doing things like
asking to have the bathroom first. It may seem silly to
you, something so small. As if she's ever once cared
before! But actions speak louder than words and all
that. She's told me that I don't have to ask if little
things like that are okay, but I still do it anyway
just so she knows that I don't take her for granted.
If
we're going to have a long life together, and I want us
to, we need to always do little things like that to
remind each other how we feel.
(Returns to seat in front of computer.)
WOMAN
(Re-enters)
Hon, did you remember to turn on the dishwasher?
MAN
No ..
.l
forgot. I'll go do
it
in a minute.
WOMAN
(Sighs)
(To audience)
God that's annoying. Why can't he just get up and do
it
now? What's the point in waiting? I know he's going to
end up forgetting and I'll have to remind him to do it
at least three more times tonight.
If
he would just get
up and do it now, we wouldn't have that problem!
And
yet I still love him. Isn't that funny, how the person





you love can constantly annoy the crap out of you, but
you still love them? It's pretty stupid
if
you think
about it, but it's true.
(To MAN)
I love you.
MAN
(Looks up at her from seat at desk
looking confused.)
I love you too ...
,
WOMAN
(Smiles tightly)
(To audience)
That is the thing that really starts to get me worried.
When you love somebody, aren't you supposed to tell
them all the time? Otherwise how else are they going to
know that that's how you really feel!? I tell nim I
love him constantly, in great detail, and he's always
so put-off by it! And he says it back, but it's almost
like he doesn't really put the emotion behind it all
the time, you know? Only very rarely does he say that
he loves me and I can really feel it. Like, does he
really love me? Or does he only love me on select,
special occasions that he chooses arbitrarily at his
own discretion? How am I supposed to just magically
know how he feels!?
MAN
( Goes back to seat at chair and picks up
book again.)
(To audience)
She's always doing that you know. Saying that she loves
me
.
And I believe her, it's just...
If you say a thing
too often,
it
loses all of its meaning! After you hear
43





44
"I love you" a thousand times or so, you aren't really
going to hear it anymore, are you? It'll just blend in
with all the other words and become essentially
meaningless. When I tell her that I love her, I want
her to know that I mean it. I don't like saying it all
the time, but it's not like I can just not respond when
she tells me every day. I would just rather show her
how I feel every day, and only tell her when I really
mean it, not just out of habit. I show her constantly
that I love her. I'll even go
tum on the dishwasher
right now, without her having to remind me again.
Isn't
that more powerful than three simple words?
(To WOMAN)
Are there any other plates up here that need to get
washed?
WOMAN
(Slightly surprised)
No, I don't think so ...
MAN
All right, I'll go
tum the dishwasher on then.
WOMAN
Okay.
(To audience)
Well that was weird. I didn't have to remind him again,
not even once. I bet he probably got hungry or
something, and needed to go downstairs anyway.
May
he thinks it'll get him brownie points. Either way, at
least it's getting done I suppose.
(Sighs)
I just don't know how much longer I can do this. Be
with him and not ever know exactly what he's feeling.
Sometimes I feel like
if
I could just see inside his








head for five minutes ... But that's never going to
happen
.
I've given this relationship everything I've
got and I just can't understand the things he does.
Every once in a while I'll think, yeah, we've got this
now. But then he'll do something and I'll realize we
just aren't the right people for one another, and no
matter how much I want it to work,
it
just isn't
working anymore. Really I'm just prolonging the
inevitable here.
MAN
(Sighs and gets into bed)
(Re-enters, sees WOMAN in bed and dims
lightswitch. )
Isn't she peaceful when she's sleeping? I wish things
could always be like this. I
try
so hard to make us
work but it never seems to get better. We'rejust wrong
for each other, but I just can't admit that. We're
stuck, just waiting for what's bound to happen, and
neither of us wants to be the one to do it. But
eventually one of us is going to have to end it.
(Gets into bed, lies on back)
Goodnight.
WOMAN
(Rolls onto her back.)
(MAN
and WOMAN both stare up at ceiling
for a beat)
Goodnight.
45






THE TASTE OF CHIVES
A response to Chris Cho's slam poem
You said you don't even know how to
cry.
I confess: I do. Too well.
Too many nights huddled in these sheets,
stifling shudders and muffling sobs,
darkness concealing the droplets
sliding down my face.
It's too cold for April
and the wind through the window
teases like the taste of grocery store chives in January.
As I lie here, the thoughts
running through my head
in waves of longing I cannot focus,
the grievances specific to this week
slide into reruns of what I always
cry
for:
Because I don't know how or what to do
or where I fit in this pattern of a life
and I never had a confidant I trusted beyond these shadows.
Because the Universe is so big
and always expanding
and we get lost on a tiny planet
orbiting a sun that's only a star
on the edge of nowhere.
Earth - the only planet with a thousand words for crazy.
Maybe you know this heaviness too.
Maybe we are all sparks inside mudballs
looking for the shine in each other.
And we're all seeking, dry-eyed or not,
for that spring day where we can find
someone waiting with a Frisbee
and a open heart.
46
By
Jessica Sturtevant






D\der
One day I woke up ten years older and realized that it wasn't
about to be the first day of 6th grade at Yantacaw Elementary school.
I wasn't about to tum off my Nickelodeon alarm clock and put on
the denim shorts and collared t-shirt that my mother had laid out for
me
.
I hadn't spent the whole night lying awake terrified because I'd
watched Planet of The Apes. I wasn't exhausted by my inexplicable
belief that the Apes were going to burst through my door and get
me. Somehow my younger brother would stay asleep in his twin bed
and I'd be too afraid to scream as they came in and took me away to
wherever highly advanced Apes take the 11 year old boys they seek to
terrify
.
It
dawned on me that I wouldn't go downstairs to the smell of
Eggo waffles in the toaster and the sound of my Mother's blow dryer
floating through the house; her hairspray' s overwhelming odor reas-
suring me that the world was the way I'd left it the night before. I
Wouldn't eat slowly and then watch TV raising the volume to drown
out the shouts of "MICHAEL YOU ARE GOING TO BE LATE!" My
lllother wasn't going to turn the TV off and make me take a picture
With my neighbor Kaitlin like every first day, every year, despite
countless protests. I wasn't going to approach the brick faced Yanta-
caw and see my friends playing "Wall ball" and "Four Square" on the
By
Michael Cresci
4 7














freshly asphalted blacktop. I wasn't going to kiss my Mom
goodby
and run to join them. We weren't going to show each other
the ne:
Magic: The Gathering trading cars we'd gotten or discuss the
girls
we were too terrified to talk to. Too terrified to even walk n
ear
for
fear they may sniff out our admiration in some feminine way
. As
if
the rapidly evident changes in their bodies were accompani
ed
by
a
sense that we were noticing, or rather actively trying not to
notice
.
We weren't going to meet our teachers and receive our book
s and
exclude some poor kid at lunch and invite someone over aft
er school
and groan when my Mom called it a "play date" and eat
th
e
snack
s
he
made and do homework in time to rewatch Planet of the
Apes with
my Dad who would fall asleep halfway through. I wasn't g
oing to
dream about writing Nicole Isabella a note asking her to
if
s
he
"liked
me" with the options "Yes, No, Maybe." Every little thing w
asn't go-
ing to seem like the end of the world or the second coming.
One day I woke up ten years older and I could drive
, buy
beer
,
vote, die for my country and stay out as late as
I
pleased.
But some-
where along the way none of those things seemed as impor
tant.
Re
ally
I was ·ust older. And that was about it.
48













~
6~ , . ~
,-,
••
1. ·~
1bursday bore the end of summer
d September brought the end of a world I had
:refully constructed, rising and falling
with each swell of the blood of the thermometer
over the past seven years,
where each Collapse was as
}ncreasingly
less tragic than the last.
Yet
I
still clutch at the tops of sleeping backs,
my
shadow clings to the edges of tattered, rain-soaked tents,
atrophied and dusty-scented like a pile of brittled leaves,
the sky bleeds moonlight from the crescent-shaped
puncture in its velvety skin, twins with each mark in my palms.
rrv£A7tt7v\£A?-
The lighter was brass.
It
was shiny, with one worn side. The front
had an etched
'F'
in script. On the back was a note:
'From
Gabe, to a loving wife. Happy Anniversary
June 15, 1957'
I pressed the lever down expecting the flint to spark, but nothing
happened. A small pin popped up where the wick should have been.
It
was
a
butane lighter. There are no standardizations on butanes, some'll fill and
some won't. This one wouldn't work.
It
wouldn't. The price tag read:
'$8,
as is.'
I put it back on the shelf and left.
By Shelley Doster (Top); By Kyle Cina (Bottom)
49






SUPERMARl<ET
ODYSSE
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Homer, for
I walk down the Athens side streets lost in an epic battle of
self-doubt and prideful vigor
.
In my hungry fatigue, and frenzy for answers, I wander
into Bazzar, dreaming of your Odyssey.
Chickens sway on their lines; whole families
plucked in secret. Aisles full of Lotus Eaters lazing on
avocados, watermelons, and tomatoes-and you, Odysseys, what
were you doing down by their fruits?
I see you, deceitful, lonely old grubber,
poking among the lamb in the freezer and eyeing the grocery
boys.
I hear you muttering questions: Who killed the
pot roast? What price bananas? Are you my savior?
I wander in and out of brilliant stacks of Fan ta cans
following you, and allowing you to fool me the wrong
way.
We dance down the open lanes together in our
solitary haze filling our cart with fresh feta and
creamsicles, Trojan horse past the cashier.
Where are we going, Odysseys? The doors close at
ten. Which adventure will you conquer tonight?
(I
touch my book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
50
By
Jennifer Sommer










Will
we walk all night and never home? The
leafl
ess
trees
desperate to shade, lights hung dead: burnt out,
we'll both be
l
o
nel
y
.
Will
we sail back dreaming of decaying possibilities
ove
r
Aegea
n blue, home to our silent cottages?
Ah,
dear friend, King of Ithaca, look at your
c
ity
now,
w
hat has become of it? What was
it
like
w
h
en you o
utsmarted a cyclops
w
h
en mighty
Achilles was your best friend?
51








we.
~e.
p
e.Of'le.
We the people has become we
the corporations
Of an American dream that has tum into
The middle and lower class nightmare
We the people has become we
the white, rich, straight
and devotedly Christian
of the United States
Where unity means you agree
With that geriatric minority on Capitol Hill
Agree they have everyone's best interests in mind
We the people has become no longer we
but them
From this prospective and us, not we, from theirs
Politicians have become big business men
Without degrees, without skilled reputation
Become best friends of conglomerations
We the people has become
small type
On the constitution where the 2nd amendment
Is number one and the 1st is in question
What happened to rights for the people
By the people who need healthcare
That cares for everyone no matter
Pay rate, job title, genetic predispositions
We the people want to
be protected
From terrorists but from cancer too
Regulate the industry to prevent
Toxic release of carcinogens changing
52
By
Sarah Holmes














0
tios of radioactive chemicals to oxygen
J'a
'
d
pollars less to cee ~e o s
~
not
.
from workers earnmg mm1mum
We the people want
to work
For our living but lack of
tax
breaks
T
O
small entrepreneurial men and women
Make it hard to make a living
And when the big companies say cut some
Hundred jobs then why are we
Ones fallen on a hard mattresses without benefits
As, and so that, higherups can keep fat paychecks
Making it harder to earn that doctor
And we get sicker, work less harder
"
Even though we're trying to make our lives better
We the people need
freedom
To do as we may, to hold some political sway
Yet a million bucks from a company
Silences thousands taking care of their families
Writing pleading letters that won't be read
And then there are those humans
Criticized for who they take to bed
And we claim to be the land of the free
Free to judge those who may love another
We the people need
some understanding
That we're still millions strong
And not in pre-modem England
The revolution happened, Jefferson
Declared our independence,
N
o matter what Texas textbooks say
And though he did not write
53





Prophesies about catastrophes coming to our shores
He would understand the people's land
Is what we're fighting, protesting for
We the people want
a declaration to protect our flesh
Our ways of living, of culture, of ecology
Independent of business interest that interest CEOs
And do not provide for these "small people"
We the people- flesh, blood, dreams, hopes
We- who know true suffering and can tell you so
If
only you would listen to
We,
The People
54





ME:US DOMAS
MY
health-riddled lungs expand
as another glass of silky-smooth nothing
slides down my gullet as gracefully as a Foxtrot
They ask what it's like to experience second hand smoke
When burning paper is obnoxiously absent.
I tell them my air is their air
That my air is richer air
'
When Broad Street and Market Street
Hooked their thumbs beneath the elastic clipped to trousers
And emitted creation with a snap
Tarnished the growth with violence and dirt
Smeared across the face of the rose budding generation
A place that I never want to go
The jutting Calcaneus
Like an ivory tusk slashing from the hand of Achilles
Magnificent against sun-kissed skin
Dictates otherwise
The foam leaves trails of where I've walked, they've walked, we've walked
Black sands absorbing the mark of civilization,
Locking it safe within its grains
Reached only by the shiny-stoned white lined road that emits identity
151, 98, 4b
And tires burn out and the metallic green signs blur
And the speedometer screams
As The Boss calls me honey
Tells me what
I was born to do
But I'll never want to.
By Kayla Gabriele 55















IN
THIE ZONIE
As the day of stressful classes come to an end, I reach into
my
strawberry~colored bag to retrieve my sturdy and intimidating flats.
prison bars, the metal spikes stand tall and firm on the bottom of
my
sneaker. They are anxious to grip the ground beneath them. These
sp·
are ready for action to crush, tear and smother. Do not underestimate
power. Even though they are little in size they possess great strength.
I walk across the park, slowly approaching the starting line. I
look ahead and notice how the cherry and apple trees are lined up
like
soldiers ready for battle. I notice the sun is at an angle, creating
areas
darkness in the forest. In these areas, the squirrels scurry across the
leaves. To my side, the shore of the ocean peeks out through a small
ing between the trees. I hear the roaring of the waves. The air is crisp.
take a deep breath to relax before my race. I smell fresh air with a
hint
burning wood. This moment in time is where I become one with na
I rely on nature to guide me through its path, to make it out to the
·
line. This moment is one of relaxation, peace and tranquility. I treasure.
this moment; it is precious. It is the last time I
will
be calm for the
next
twenty five minutes.
The whistle has been blown, commanding every racer to take
position on the starting line. Becoming prepared for this race is a
mind
game. The nerves throughout my body are fluttering; I can feel my h
beating throughout my body. The tension is so high I want to break
and cry. I try to resist the intimidation of the other racers
.
This task
is
ficult, for their faces are aggressive and fierce. I repeat to myself .. I can
this" over and over, instilling this fact into my brain. I take one last
breath, "This is it" I mumble to myself, "On your mark, ready set ...... "
I am in the zone. My surroundings are blurry~! cannot focus
on
anything around me. The screams of people cheering on the sidelines
mush into one monotone sound. Nothing matters. The only thing
that
important is crossing the finish line with that feeling of accomplishm
As I run down the
hill,
my brain jars with the unsteadiness of ground
56 By
Gabrielle Sitkowski














eath me. I feel my head bop up and down. I feel all of the stress from
be\.fe leave my mind, it evaporates into the fresh autumn air
.
As I pound
rnY
der into the ground, more and more sweat drips from my entire body. I
bar
being cleansed. Cleansed of all of the tension that life brings. Cleansed
arche corruption I have witnessed in the world. The only thing that is
f
eft
is m
y
true being; myself and all of the world. I have an entire world to
eXPlore and an entire lifetime filled with discoveries.
Running teaches you so much about life. It teaches you how to
overcome ob
s
tacles. It reminds you that there is light at the end of every
dark
tunnel. It gives you the opportunity to go beyond your potential, to
exceed your limit, to reach a place you never thought was possible
.
You
learn how to deal with pain. You learn that if one suffers on this earth
that it
will
not be forever. I experience pain for those twenty
-
five minutes,
knowing when I cross the finish line, I
will
feel great joy and pride. Run
-
ning teaches you how to react to failure. Not everything in life will go
your way, and a person needs to be prepared to be put down. The most
important thing is to learn how to react to these setbacks in life
.
If
one
reacts properly, they
will
be set on the right path back to success
.
Unlike
any other sport, running involves no contact with opponents
.
There is no
pushing or shoving. Our diverse world needs to recognize this peaceful
way of competition. Taking part in a race is the one place where you are
isolated from all of the violence in the world. You forget about the mur
-
ders, rapes, wars and bombing. In running, war ends with a shake of the
hand and pat on the back
Although many people refer to these twenty
-
five minutes of run
-
ning "hell"
;
it is heaven to me. All of my recognitions about life and impor
-
~t decision
s
have taken place while running
.
Running sets your priori
-
tle
s s
traight; it brings tranquility to your mind
.
It makes you one with
nature. It teaches you lessons about life
.
Most importantly, it makes you
s
t
a
y
true to yourself
.
Only a runner could relate to this experience
.
Once a person start
s
t~e
hobb
y
of running, it easily becomes a passion. I express deep sympa
-
t
t
for a person who has never been in the zone
.
They have missed out on
a
eautiful part of life
.
57





memories run like
silent geography
under
your skin,
where
healed
scars
leave mountain ranges and
your
fingertips
gouge valleys
out of open wounds,
a persistent cartography
of
the past
couple years
tracing
ghostlike
paths almost unnoticeable in the
sunlight.
you
and I are our own planets;
I used to orbit solely around you
because
your
gravity pulled me in.
but recently I have altered my orbit
out of no fault but my own.
still
reckless and strange after two months practice,
I trace an irregular, arbitrary path
that only allows us to brush dangerously
every once in a while,
narrowly
avoiding
collision.
58
By Shelley Doster






Our chairs just inches apart and there is an electric current flowing
between [the two
,
of us]
We sit [in someone else's house,] eating someone else's ice cream
Yet [it feels like home]
III
erupt in laughter as we recall moments, pieces of our shared past
Why can't it always be [like this]?
While [laughter is dancing from my lips], underneath stings sadness
[This moment] will be over too soon
We play around the kitchen like it's [our own]
Splashing water in each other's faces, [we lock eyes]
Why can't it [always] be like this?
II have] his spoon, share his cup
His knee is my foot rest,
I
laugh at [him]
His phone rings and [he smiles]
And [it is obvious he loves] her
That's why it won't always be like [this]
By
Elissa Rodriguez 59













SMIL€
When you're five, you're always smiling. Rolling around
in
the grainy sand, cherry red popsicles stain your chapped lips.
No one
judges you; no one cares. Life is easy. Or at least it seems like it.
You are
carefree. Things like looks don't matter. Until everything changes.
One
day you walk into school, and it seems like your whole world has turned
upside down. You're the outcast. You don't like sparkly headbands
or
frilly, lacy dresses. Playing football with the guys appears to be a much
better idea. You don't care that they whisper behind your back. Not until you
hear them. You hear their jaggedjokes and bitter laughs. Your smile is
gone.
You tum eight and your vision goes fuzzy. You can
no
longer see the beautifully scripted cursive on the blackboard or
the
monotone highway signs you pass every day. It's a different
world.
Crooked teeth lace your mouth. The doctors tell you you need braces
and
glasses. You don't really mind; you've never cared much how you
look.
But your best friend does. When you break the news to her, she scowls,
You're told you'll look like a freak. She doesn't hang out with freaks,
Twelve years old, and you can barely look in the mirror. Everything
seems grotesque; from your bushy hair to your misshapen thighs
.
You
want
to change, but you don't know how. Your best friends insist that you're
beautiful. But they're liars. They only see what they want to. They can't
see
what you see: the soft lumpiness of your upper arms, the rough white heads
60 By
Shannon Duncan








dotting your face. Are they blind? That year, a girl in your class has a birthday
partY· You decide to go, despite your desperate need to go hide in a closet.
y
0u know they'll be there, those girls whose skirts are too short and shirts too
loW- The girls who smile when they see you and the moment you leave they
tear you apart. They'll stand in the comer, jutting their hips to the side like
supermodels, and cackling like hyenas. What were you thinking? From the
moment you get there, torture is served on a silver platter. You cringe as they
callously jeer while you shovel in food. Your mouth bums with self-loathing;
your skin tingles with disgust. What is wrong with you? You are aboutto explode.
You reach for your phone, ready to call home. Look a new text message! As
you read, tears fill your eyes;
,
how could anyone be this insensitive? You stare
at the hateful words, and your heart beats out of your chest. You want to die.
You are fifteen. You're out to dinner with your friends. They pile in
food like children at a carnival. You stare at your leafy green salad, virtually
tasteless. Your mouth curls in revulsion as you watch them finger greasy, salt
soaked potatoes and imitation bread batter chicken fingers. They
try
to force
some on you; they tell you it's okay. But you have to resist. You can't let
them break you. You must stay strong. The less you eat, the happier you get.
You're not anorexic; you eat. But only eat enough to live. Chewy caramel,
luscious chocolate, and cheesy pizza no longer exist. You live in a bubble.
Everything you love is thrown into a closet: soft sweatpants, comfy t-shirts,
worn out running shoes. You never wear the lace, the frills, the sparkles,
but you shop in their stores. Your style is different, a collage of everyone
you know. But it's not you. You were swallowed up when the weight on the
scales lowered, the hair on your head straightened, the mask of make-up
appeared. You didn't change because of the girls who laughed or the boys
who jeered. You changed because you had to. You changed because of you.
It's five months and
40
pounds later, and you still can't smile.
61





Here ...
The blood rushes to my head as I stroll on streets in the endless blue sky.
Here ...
I have only birds and clouds for company.
Here ..
I look up at the ground thoughtfully,
seeing the sun drop out of the earth on the horizon.
Here ...
I smile as the sun passes under me, warming my feet.
How came I here? Did I grow tired of being held down?
Did I try to fly? I cannot recall.
The road goes everywhere, and wherever I go, I am the
first, staring up at the busy world over my head.
Here ...
It's quiet here.
My conversation is with the wind alone.
Here ...
Here, I think I am happy.
62
By
Jared Topalian
Here ...
Here
...



63




There, upon the windowsill, was a snail
that, passing the obstacle, rusted nail,
gave me much and yet robbed me of my rhyme;
though, laid astride his stride, I spent my time,
I am no Lawrence and no Lizard he,
in that great space nothing great came to be,
perhaps neither of us 'worth looking at,'
and yet there he crawled and yet there I sat.
And as I watched him slowly glide along
there came into my breast no thought of song -
except the one thought that there one should be.
The horned, housed beast carried to me
enough thought and comparison to rack
any man's poetic imagining,
but my own was racked with starvation instead
and even in this, my poem, I find naught
and so I end --
64
By
James Rizzi






















the
f
OI
11
01
t
t
l
2
0
I
0
literairj
e
-b
o
01
rd
Top: Dani Ferrara, Kelly Gallucci
,
Kellie Hayden
Middle: Nick Sweeney, Olivia McMahon, Marina Cella
Bottom: Yelesah Haseley
,
Stephanie Grossman
,
Michael Cresci
Dear Faithful Readers, Writers, and Artists,
We love you and we hope you enjoy the new Mosaic.
This is why the artistic community comes together. Whether
it be photos, poetry, creative essays or stories you've inspired
us once again to make a beautiful collection that we can all be
proud of. For that, we thank you.
Sincerely,
Nick Sweeney & Dani Ferrara


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