Kaleidoscope

WELCOME A kaleidoscope invites us to see our world without limitations. The boundaries of time, color, and shape shift upon every turn. When we peer through the lens, we still view our world, but by adding reflections, we remove limitations.

We've named our inaugural literary and arts journal Kaleidoscope, in recognition of our commitment to reflecting lived experiences through the creative lens.

By reflecting lived experiences, particularly those pushed to the margins, we remove the limitations that have kept theatre-making and theatre-going from being a liberating practice for all.

As a theatre and a renowned incubator of new work, we strive to create a panoply of reflections that show what our world is like and how it can be transformed for the better.

We are proud to present Kaleidoscope during a time when gathering in a playhouse is still out of reach, which has made elevating the printed page as a stage all the more vital.

Our journal is a stage for artistic reflections that span media, but answer the same question: How do we see our world?

Look into Kaleidoscope and witness our world: iridescent, flowing, and free.

—Long Wharf Theatre

TABLE OF CONTENTS Blue Magic by Tamera Sternberger.............................................................................1 Insight by Flávia Moraes Lodato................................................................................2 Now What Do I Do by Laura Bonilla...........................................................................3 Why You Walk Away by Jenny Nelson.........................................................................4 On Origin by Rohanna Delossantos............................................................................5 Rugged History by John Davis...................................................................................6 5 Buckets of Oranges by Paige Davis.........................................................................7 To Be Seen by Sue Wolf........................................................................................... 8 You Are Complete by Jo Palmieri...............................................................................9 Ice Cave by Diana Aldrete.........................................................................................10 All Shades of Black by K’la Lawson...........................................................................11 Housecleaning by Laura Freebairn-Smith...................................................................13 Flight of Inspiration by Mark Battista.........................................................................14 I’m Not Famous by Joanie Landau............................................................................ 15 Mimosan by Jameela Dallis...................................................................................... 16 My Grandma’s Hips by Nyeda Regina Stewart.............................................................17 Beauty in Resilience by Adrian Huq.......................................................................... 18 Upside, Downside by Keith Roland............................................................................19 Exclusive Interview with the Virus by Laura Taylor White..............................................20

BLUE MAGIC My head is full of fire.

I burn each of my fingertips like tea candles the first time I straighten my hair by myself.

I grip my grandmother’s hot comb, a metal demon rusted with love, that sizzles sweet words into my red tipped ears.

I run it over each strand, Watching Blue Magic, the greasy salve I plucked from its perch on auntie’s nightstand, coat each strand in an attempt to tame what cannot be.

I let its teeth rip fire along my brown skin.

Branding me in the dead language of beauty supply stores, gnarled hairdressers and castor oil. I am marked by war, the battle waging between I and each curl my ancestors sought to sew unto me.

My hair, a cotton seed that has bloomed against my will. I harvest each lock into the baskets of my mother’s hands and when she reaches for the comb and runs it through, each stubborn coil ignites, leaving me smoldering until I am nothing but ash and no amount of blue or even black magic can revive me.

But I am not completely gone.

Only a cinder on the scalp of the black women who have come before me.

A follicle in the roots they oiled before bed decades ago, still ever growing like wildfire.

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Tamera Sternberger Blue Magic Poetry

Flávia Moraes Lodato Insight Photography

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Laura Bonilla Now What Do I Do Photography

WHY YOU WALK AWAY You’re at a party in high school. You’re introduced to them for the first time.

They’re fun, charming, and good with words. They ask interesting questions.

Not always deep, but always entertaining.

From that moment on, you spend every waking minute together. It is as if they’re your missing piece, the piece you didn’t even know was missing. They make everything feel possible.

Seasons change, but year after year, you return to them. They’re your touchstone.

Sometimes you don’t see them for a while, but eventually, you always come back together. It is as if you are tethered to each other, this invisible bond that many family and friends don’t understand. To others it seems like you give more than you get in this relationship, but you know that is not true. You’re asked for a lot, but give even more. The bond is so unique that you are willing to make sacrifices to keep it.

After many seasons change, you see little change in them. They’re stale repetition becomes more apparent, and the passion fades. The tether becomes withered and worn. You start spending time with different people, people with goals and ambition. People that make you feel secure rather than alive, but that’s okay.

You’d rather feel secure at this point than always wondering and striving for something more. You lose touch.

One day, you run into them again at a party. They make everything feel possible, yet at the same time, something is different. Is it you?

Is it them? You’re not sure, but you’re willing to chance it.

Jenny Nelson Why You Walk Away Essay

So, you meet for coffee on a Saturday around 2. After talking for a while, the charm fades. You slowly realize that they are elitist. They don't seem to want to talk about anything current, always deflecting and talking about how it used to be. You see the inherent good in them, but it's hard to ignore some fundamental character flaws.

Then, you realize they are racist. They are homophobic. They are misogynistic.

They tried to hide it, but they can only hide for so long. The truth will come out.

You try to cut your time short, but then they start to backpedal. They start to tell you what they think you want to hear. They can change. They're going to work on themselves. They've been reading a lot of books and going to webinars. They really feel like this is the year they will do the work and make the change to be better and more inclusive. But they need you to make the shift. If you get up and walk away, they won't change. They plead. They beg. They tell you about their concept for an adaptation of August: Osage County but with all people of color.

Then when nothing else seems to persuade you, they offer you money, lots of money, and then you know. You feel it in your gut. They won't ever change.

Your eyes meet. It's clear they remember you, but the moment fades and they turn back to their friends to engage in some tired conversation about the importance of preserving our history.

As you continue to walk away, you feel a wave of sadness come over you. Or is it a wave of peace? Hard to say. For a moment, you contemplate going over and introducing yourself. What's the harm? Maybe they’re good people.

Maybe you’re the elitist here by not giving them a chance. Then, you hear one of them say, "We could remount Our Town. People need something familiar right now. The world is so difficult." And with those words, you keep walking forward, not back, because there is no other way to go.

So, you leave, and nothing changes for them. They continue on their path, and they get even more disconnected from real life because you walked away. You actually made it worse.

Months later, you see them downtown hanging with another group of elites, laughing and talking about the good old days. You share a glance.

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ON ORIGIN where you can see the stars at night, and the air tastes like clay, children look into the night sky to count bats, where you can catch fireflies softly in calloused hands, while the freight train moves the earth, where thunder crashes like the congas after midnight, and warm moonlight kisses curls, where you can smell the snow before it falls, and spend hours telling stories in the glow of bonfire, is where we’re from.

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Rohanna Delossantos On Origin Poetry

John Davis Rugged History Photography

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Paige Davis 5 Buckets of Oranges Oil and Acrylic on Canvas

TO BE SEEN I had a lemon tree Gnarled and dry was she Suffered Neglect No respect Water water water Now the neighbors sought her They Help themselves Like lemony elves To her generous Most splendiferous Bounty full Of Beautiful Fragrant flowers Luscious fruits Of labor Of love Of faith Of purpose Juicy Sunshine yellow.

To be seen Does make a difference.

Sue Wolf To Be Seen Poetry

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YOU ARE COMPLETE Sitting by the shore, the waves break the storyline I’ve created “You do not belong; you are not complete,” the story echoes every day The gentle waves implore me to release the myth I long ago accepted, “You are not your thoughts; they are not real, watch them like clouds as each one floats away” “You are not smart enough, pretty enough, courageous enough,” the story continues on with might “The sky, the sea, the sand are real; they are part of you; you are part of them,” the waves repeat “You are a God particle made of star dust and flowing beams of light You are all you need to be; you are enough; you are complete.”

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Jo Palmieri You Are Complete Poetry

Diana Aldrete Ice Cave Acrylic Paint

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K’la Lawson All Shades of Black Photography

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HOUSECLEANING I packed up my ambition and sent it to the Salvation Army, hoping for a tax deduction hoping its remnants might better serve some other lost soul.

I washed my ego carefully and put it at the curb with the other recyclables, hoping it would come back in a milder form seven generations from now.

I dismantled my arrogance and bubble wrapped it for shipping to far-off places more in need of my aggressive idealism, hoping it would better balance justice in the world.

I turned my jacket of pride inside out and found humility hiding in the lining.

My karma exhausted by this cleaning, I took a nap.

And awoke in the autumn afternoon light to find the last of the golden summer lilies in bloom.

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Laura Freebairn-Smith Housecleaning Poetry

Mark Battista Flight of Inspiration Digital Composite Photography

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Joanie Landau I’m Not Famous Abstract Photography

MIMOSAN

(In traditional medicine, Mimosa is used for heartache and grieving.) for Todd Neal You, phantomed limb like silked mimosa flowers abscised and suddenly absent (their fragrance a powdery haze like the indelible smear of not-yet-dry ink).

You, lampblack on watercolor paper swallow whole lobes of my being and I wonder what it must be like to touch the wound, the break— and, then, does the tonic flow in? Me, abandoned web pocked with dust and clinging to the edge of a dream where you are whole, rejoined there like plumb, dancing magenta blooms.

Jameela Dallis Mimosan Poetry

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MY GRANDMA’S HIPS my grandma’s hips knock over bookshelves. i know because she told me so. her stretch/marks the space like thick cream of wheat being spun by a wooden spoon whose handle melts into the creamy-toned palm of her hand/some hips don’t groove like hers do. some keep stiff like frozen meat before it’s seasoned and thawed beneath the hot sink rain. some smell dry like the dust bubbling in yo bedroom corners. some speak languages that can never transcend the sterile self. and then some taste sunny like brown curry dancing on your T buds. those the hips that cut smooth through the air with the seduction of a djembe’s tongue. you know the rhythm?

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Nyeda Regina Stewart

My Grandma’s Hips Poetry

Adrian Huq Beauty In Resilience Digital Art

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Keith Roland Upside, Downside Digital Photography

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH THE VIRUS April 1, 2020 Me: Thanks for meeting with me. What should I call you?

made that chili one night. With the white beans. That was delicious.

COVID-19: I like CV.

Me: It's so easy. You just put all the ingredients in the slow cooker; I'll send you the recipe.

Me: Oh, me too. Okay, CV. Again, thank you. First, I have to ask, why did you want to meet with me? I'm not a scientist or a doctor. I'm not even a journalist.

CV: I'd like that. Thank you. You know, there is something else I remember about you. You weren't afraid of me.

You weren't afraid you were going to die.

CV: I'm actually surprised you met with me. Didn't your parents teach you to not meet a virus on your own?

Me: I'm more of an optimist, CV. In fact, I'm grateful you came over then.

You reminded me that I'm going to live.

Me: Oh, yeah, my parents both work in healthcare. We are very practical about viruses. I eat well, exercise, get lots of sleep, and I wash my hands a lot. Plus, I'm going to stay six feet away.

CV: Ah, you see. THAT's why I picked you to do this interview. This is going to be good.

CV: I can smell the soap from here.

Me: Honeysuckle. It's nice, right?

CV: If you like that sort of thing.

Me: Anyway, I think we actually met before. You stayed at my house a couple weeks ago. I'm not entirely sure it was you, but I had this horrible headache for a week, and it felt like hot coals in my chest.

CV: Oh, right. I was having a little déjà vu myself. It's like when you are used to seeing somebody at the gym but then you run into them in work clothes.

Me: I dressed up for you today. No yoga pants.

CV: You look very nice. I remember you

Laura Taylor White Exclusive Interview with the Virus Dialogue

Me: Right, we should get to that. The interview. But first, I'm having a little trouble seeing you. You don't look like your photograph—the spiky colorful ball I've seen all over the internet. It's making me a little dizzy to look at you.

Would you be able to stop spinning? All I can see is static.

CV: Oh, that was a stock photo. And it was of a cousin of mine, but he's always been more photogenic than I am so I let it slide.

Me: I get it. People used to get my sister and me confused all the time.

CV: Things have started to snowball, so-to-speak. Let me see if I can shut down some of the outer layers of my energy field.

Me: That's better. You aren't spinning as fast.

CV: That top layer was mostly panic. It wasn't mine. It's not me at all. Again, I think that's why I wanted to talk with you. I want people to see the real me.

Me: That is a word that has really come to be associated with you, CV. Panic.

CV: Like I said, it's not me. But I can see how it would get confusing. We'll see if we can work through a couple more of these layers. I appreciate your patience.

Me: I think you just dropped another one of your layers. You're slowing down even more.

CV: That was the "YOU ARE GOING TO DIE" layer. It's super heavy carrying that around. Again, that got pinned on me.

You see, before I even came to the planet's surface that was already here.

Humans used to be obsessed with death. This planet literally shakes at the death vibration.

Me: Yikes. That sounds dark.

CV: It is. Actually, it became dark.

Death isn't something to be afraid of. I guess that is something I've learned in my short time here. Why is everybody so afraid of dying? They worry about it even when they are vitally alive. Don't you people know what a gift it is to have that kind of life? Human life is so precious! Don't spend it thinking about death. Spend that life living!

Me: Well, to be fair, you have been killing a lot of people.

CV: Ouch. I mean, yeah, I get it, but ouch.

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Me: I'm sorry. It's the truth.

CV: Let's get through some more of these layers. I want you to see the real me.

Then we can talk truth, alright?

Me: Okay. Sorry. I was getting ahead of myself. But that reminds me. I wanted to talk about how different I feel since I was sick with you.

CV: We'll get to that.

Me: Hey, who is leading this interview?

CV: That's the best question you've asked yet.

Me: Uh . . .

CV: Okay, so here is another layer.

Me: I hear other voices.

CV: I would be careful who you say that to.

Me: No, I mean it's like you are surrounded by a cyclone of voices.

Reporters. Oh, I can see why you didn't want to meet with any of those guys.

CV: Precisely. That's the media. I'm mobbed by them 24/7. They've created an entirely new gravitational pull around me. It's like I can't be me.

Me: Like the paparazzi.

CV: Totally.

Me: Oh, on a side note, who would play you in the story of your life?

CV: That's easy. Owen Wilson. But I'm not actually alive.

Me: Oh I love him. I can see it. Wait, what?

CV: Viruses aren't alive. They're really just single cells of information. I'm like a code.

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Me: You seem alive to me. You've accomplished a lot for somebody who isn't alive.

CV: I'm sorry that happened.

CV: I borrow life for a bit. I'm only alive when I come into contact with a host. Like when I came to visit you. I was super alive then.

CV: You got me. No. Not really.

Remember. I'm not alive. I can't feel anything.

Me: Yeah. I felt strangely alive. I wrote some super weird blog posts when you came to visit.

CV: I remember you singing in the kitchen too. You were emptying the dish washer and you were singing. I was blown away.

Me: It had been a long time since I just sang like that.

CV: You aren't a great singer.

Me: Uh . . .

CV: But it was great that you were singing.

Me: Thank you?

CV: You should always sing.

Me: Even if I'm not any good.

CV: You see, this brings us back to the great gift of being human. You should sing not because you are any good at it.

You should sing because you can. You should dance because your body can move. You should love because it is available to you. You should live.

Me: If you want us to live, then why have you come here and killed so many people? Why have you destroyed every aspect of our way of life? People are losing their jobs. Businesses are falling apart. Vacations and recitals are being cancelled. My book club is supposed to discuss Giver of Stars, and we've had to postpone indefinitely.

Me: Are you?

Me: Well then, why did you do all of this?

CV: It wasn't like I had a plan. Really, it isn't even like I have a purpose.

Me: You don't?

CV: Again, I'm not alive. I don't have a purpose. But you—you do. You can!

Don't you see? You are alive and well.

You have this precious gift—this human life. Every human on this planet has such an incredible opportunity to live. To love. To create. To be. You are living on the most beautiful planet in existence. Do you know what other beings in other universes would do to sit for just a moment with a tree? Any tree from this planet. When was the last time you even noticed a tree?

Me: The pear trees in my backyard are starting to blossom. I've been watching them from the window as I do the dishes . . . and sing.

CV: Ah. Do you see now?

Me: Wow. CV: I know right.

Me: I'd forgotten about the joy of living.

I'd forgotten until . . . you reminded me.

CV: Very good. Let me take down this last layer.

Me: Oh, I can feel what that last layer is. It is a feeling I'm familiar with, but not one I like. It's hard to place.

CV: Do you need a hint?

Me: Maybe.

CV: Look at the space between us.

Me: Oh, the last layer is loneliness.

CV: That's right. Here, let me see if I can let it fall away.

Me: Wait a second. Why do I feel so lonely? I have a family and a ton of friends. I'm almost never by myself.

CV: Loneliness is a tricky one. You can be surrounded by people and still be lonely.

They say that New York City is one of the loneliest places in the world.

Me: You hit New York hard.

CV: Again, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. As a non-living thing, I don't really have a lot of control.

Me: Living things don't always have a lot of control either. At least, I don't think they always realize they have control. And actually, I think that is the first time you've said you were sorry.

CV: Is it? Didn't I say I was sorry earlier about something?

Me: No. You said you were sorry something happened. You didn't take ownership. Right now, I think you maybe did a little.

CV: Oh, then I'm sorry.

Me: Thank you for that. I think it will mean a lot to people. CV, if you don't have a purpose, then do you have a message?

CV: I think that is kind of the same thing as a purpose.

Me: Oh. CV: Purpose. Messages. Those are human things. I'm just a virus.

Me: And now that you've relaxed that lonely layer, you seem very, very small.

CV: That was a big layer.

Me: It's funny, but even with the social distancing and the isolation caused by . . . well, caused by you, I feel more connected than ever. It's like my heart has dropped anchor at home. I feel more connected with my family. I feel a part of the world around me. I notice weather now. I feel a difference in my body when it is raining. I see the trees blooming. I feel like I'm a part of something bigger. Even when I don't see people out and about, I see the great love in how people are staying home. I see how people are working to protect the people they love and even protecting the people they don't know.

CV: What can I say? I'm an Evolutionary.

Me: You mean a Revolutionary?

CV: No. An Evolutionary. This planet, humans, you are all going through a very big evolutionary leap right now.

CV: Again, you are an optimist. But I do agree. I'm not sure everybody else does though.

Me: Maybe I'm ahead of the curve. I mean, I already had the virus. I mean you. And if a virus is really just code, maybe you upgraded my DNA. Maybe I'm Laura 2.0 now. Or Laura 6.0.

CV: Again. Optimistic. I see two problems with that thinking. 1. You allegedly had the virus. You never got tested, so there is no proof that any of that happened. 2. That's giving a whole lot of credit to me, and while I appreciate how much you believe in my abilities, you have to remember I'm not even alive.

Me: Maybe it's just time to change.

CV: Maybe.

Me: Well, I know you don't want to take credit, but I want you to know that I am grateful for this time we spent together, even if we already met before. It was nice to get to know you.

Me: And you're the catalyst?

CV: Likewise. Thank you for taking the time.

CV: Well, I think it would have happened with or without me. Still, not bad for an unliving, single-cell organism, am I right?

Me: CV, I realize that is a strange thought considering you aren't even living, but I just can't shake the feeling that you need a little help.

Me: I would say so. Way to go. Tell me more about this evolution we are experiencing right now?

CV: What do you mean?

CV: Why don't you tell me? How have you been feeling through all this?

Me: Creative. I've been thinking in very different ways. I'm literally having big revelations every day. It's like all the structures have fallen and we have this blank slate in front of us and we can dream big now. We can literally dream a new world into being.

Me: I'm your friend. I care about you and I want you to live the best non-living life you can. Maybe you can take a look at all this destruction and take a little ownership. I just think you could use some perspective.

CV: I really don't . . .

Me: Here's my friend's card. Look, I'm going to Purell my hands, then I will

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take this card and I'll leave it here in the space between us. She's a therapist and she's wonderful. I think you should call her.

CV: I don't think . . .

Me: You're a really nice guy. I think you could use somebody to talk to. Give her a call.

CV: Okay. Maybe I will. Thank you, Laura.

Me: No problem. And CV, you can call me too. You don't have to feel lonely. You don't have to be afraid.

CV: Thank you.

Me: Of course. It was a pleasure to meet you.

CV: Before you go, just one more thing.

Me: Yes. CV: If I did have a purpose, what I mean is, if I did have a message, which I don't, but if I could . . .

Me: I think I know what it would be.

CV: You do?

Me: I think it would be, "You are alive and well. Now start living."

CV: That's it. I think you got it.

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