Ambrosia Fall/Winter 22

AMBROSIA Fall/Winter 2022

PRESENT POSSIBILITY

AMBROSIA STAFF Managing Editor

Shonda Tilitzky

Submissions and Copy Editors

John Matthew Cabalsa Shifra Hetherington Sarah Shentaler

Faculty Advisors

Dr. Rita Dirks Dr. Darren Dyck Dr. Jonathan Goossen

Web and Production

Ambrose University

Design and Layout

Shonda Tilitzky Madison Juricic (The Woman Behind the Curtain)

Ambrosia Literary Review Volume 2, Issue 1: Fall/Winter 2022 Published by Ambrose University 150 Ambrose Circle SW Calgary, AB T3H 0L5 Website: ambrose.edu/ambrosia-literary-review E-mail: literaryreview@ambrose.edu Cover Art: Sarah Ritter i

TABLE OF CONTENTS Editor’s Note

iii

Caribou

1

On Eggshells and Snow

2

A Letter From an Alternate Future

3

I Thought!

4

The Mistake

6

A List of Things You Gave Me

7

Light Embrace

8

The Stranger in the Photo

9

Paintings

10

Steeped in Acid

11

The Bystander

12

Aurora Over a City

14

Untitled Poem

15

We’re In This Together

16

When the Mountains Used to Breathe

17

Dear Future, From Now

20

Wild Goose (Wild God)

22

To The Ninth

25

The Turning of the Leaves

26

Haikus on Change

28

Autumn

29

List of Contributors

30

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Editor’s Note by Shonda Tilitzky The theme for this issue of Ambrosia is “change,” and I think most would agree that we have experienced a lot of change over these last few years. Often that change was unwelcome and uncomfortable, which made it all the more frightening. Fear of the unknown is perhaps one of the most basic and pervasive fears of human life, so it makes sense that we try our best to avoid it – or, at the very least, survive it. But sometimes facing the fear of change is unavoidable and, in fact, necessary. For though these last few years have indeed been frightening, I believe they have also been revealing.

Change can be abrupt. It grips us when we least expect it and whisks us away on a journey we are not ready for. Then, when the dust eventually settles, we begin to see things in a new light. The comforts we take for granted, the beliefs we hold, and the truths we overlook are exposed to many of us in this process, whether we like it or not. But this is not the end of all things, for it is often through change that we gain the opportunity to fix what is broken or make something new. If nothing changes – if no one speaks up – then the untreated wound will fester. It must be cleansed before it can heal.

Any story worth telling involves and requires change. In narrative terms, change is the inciting incident that pushes the plot and characters into motion. There is no journey to Mordor without the One Ring, there is no Hogwarts without the Hogwarts letter, and there is no Spiderman without the radioactive spider. Stories like these are beloved, not just for their fantastical worlds, but because they express the basic human truths of change and the response to change. But beyond that, they also give us the language and understanding to process the change in our own lives (even if that change feels far less magical).

As we journey through this season of Advent, we are reminded of a change that happened many years ago in a land far, far away. If you feel overly familiar with the Nativity story, it can be easy to miss its nuances. True, Mary did not destroy the One Ring, go to Hogwarts, or even become a superhero. She went through the simultaneously ordinary and extraordinary process of pregnancy and birth. Perhaps the most beautiful part about this story is that God did, too. The Nativity story is where the divine and human met in a way that radically changed the world as we knew it. Advent is the time in which we not only remember that change, but anticipate it again in our lives today.

The pieces in this issue of Ambrosia invite you to confront change in all its complexity. The invitation of possibility, the grief of what was lost, the regret of what was done, and the hope of what is yet to come – all these experiences exist within these pages for you to explore. But fear not, dear

reader, for change is ever revealing and renewing. iii

“Caribou” by Sarah Ritter 1

On Eggshells and Snow

by Shonda Tilitzky Unlike eggshells, Which scratch and shatter, Snow molds itself to shapes Making room

For the present possibility Of you No matter what state you’re in.

Both are white But only one is pure.

2

A Letter From an Alternate Future

by Cormeum [Redacted] Something feels off, I look around and sure I see humans, but I don’t really see people.

Something’s disconnected, separated from reality because maybe we preferred our own.

I don’t belong to anything anymore and I think it’s getting to me. I think all of it is getting to me. How do I find community when everyone is just as lost as I am? Maybe we’re together in our lostness but that makes us vulnerable, weak. Maybe it’s the fact that I feel how fragile we all are, I can see the cracks in society start to break us apart and what do we do? We make it comfortable to stay apart. I think we as humans are lacking a common purpose, something to hold us together. We’re a generation that knows exactly what is wrong but is lost to what is right, truly right, if there is such a thing. And no one knows what to do, we’re lacking the naive conviction that brought us to this point. Maybe humanity has exhausted itself finally. It seems we’re just going to lull ourselves to sleep with meaningless instant pleasures. This isn’t the kind of life I want to live and yet, it seems I have no choice. The fire is too far spread not to be engulfed by it. I am not strong enough to resist its glow. Like a stupid moth to the flame we’re heading straight to our demise and it's one of our own making.

I think I’m witnessing a death. The end of an era. The beginning of something sinister and new. And what is humanity to do? Whatever it is, it must be done together, or not at all.

[Redacted]

3

I Thought!

By Sonia Pal I thought – I closed my pen For no more writing poetry Since your advent had snapped all That pain the separation pinched Ecstatic I felt Got relaxed of the stagnant state and Felt resurrected as if in the pre-dawn lonely elate The rippling smile on your lips As if to dive deep in the depth of your eyes

So was the new sight As a newborn child blinks its delight Just like that kid I tried to open the closed fist As if to realize the lucky mist Lo! The same spectacle reappeared Of which I remained often scared And often prayed With folded hands and covered head To help me better my destiny instead

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So has the fist enclasped again And I have to write a poem again Once again to realize and requite The pangs of lovesickness The pains of separation How dolefully I invoke “SHIV” again And feel bemoaned with my single self /sole self I thought – I closed my pen

5

THE MISTAKE

By Alanna Schwartz I will not make the mistake again.

Of following him through rice paddies at night, And teaching the Vietnamese boys to fly their kites during the day.

And I will not make the mistake, Of inhaling balloon after balloon, Again and again, on some German boy’s Instagram story.

I will not wriggle into your bed at night (a bed that feels like Styrofoam under sheets) Because I am cold and drunk and alone and freer than I’ve ever been.

I will not think about How I came here with nothing Except my dad’s credit card in my back pocket To establish myself as a free woman.

I did make the choice to crawl onto the back of the moped, Of a man I do not know, Because I only speak English and Prairie French, But mostly because He “died.”

And his dying for no reason lets me make these mistakes, All vibrant and bright, And hanging on, And being afraid, So I can feel a bit more “living.”

6

A LIST OF THINGS YOU GAVE TO ME

By Alanna Schwartz Cleaning out the bones in my closet And in the pile marked DO NOT KEEP A list of things you gave to me: A love for overlapping teeth A journal and a DVD A dozen meals A scar on my knee Some purple-crusted blood on jeans A braid from your hair The picture of you washing dishes The song “Wishes for Kisses”

The hurt that we both hid in ellipses…

Between when we touched and stopped talking.

7

“Light Embrace” by Shonda Tilitzky

8

The Stranger in The Photo

By Mo Hickman What do you see when you look at the picture of you and me?

The one where we're so happy, the one we captioned as “together forever” and never took another together.

We said it would never end but I can't even pretend that it hasn't.

It's been years.

Years of silence.

Years of moving, growing, changing.

Years of liking your Instagram photos hoping that just maybe you'd say hello again.

But no.

You go your way.

I go mine.

Two paths once so intertwined are now miles apart.

And I feel every inch of that distance every time I look at the stranger in the photo and I wonder if you see a stranger too.

9

Paintings

by Cormeum She’s pulling off her paintings And all the brushstrokes of men Are cascading down her Like watercolour on her skin She’s pulling off her paintings and all the blots of youth Are tearing from her canvas Revealing forgotten truth She’s pulling off her paintings And I add a layer to mine To build a wall is prettier

Than to be nakedly alive.

10

STEEPED IN ACID

By Alanna Schwartz I’ve got the barrel of the city between my teeth The ripples of the river slick on my feet You said “This town is too small for hurt feelings” But I’m really holding tight to that part of me.

Wasn’t I steeped in acid?

Weren’t you the shiniest teen?

Flicking that lighter in your pocket Almost lit up when you were nervous.

Remember how you breathed in cold smoke, Sipping air between my finger and my thumb bone?

Won’t you miss the freeze when you’re not at home?

Won’t I feel sad that I’ve been outgrown?

11

The Bystander

By Shifra Hetherington The bystander Conjured a fever to feel something.

Because, for a period.

There was no punctuation There was nothing to differentiate.

There was nobody to accentuate.

There was none, and that was life.

Monotony became immutability And immutability became divinity.

The illness spread, and the bystander Became God. Always there was a cause and the cause Was the bystander

But this was too much Because the people begged for hope And the bystander couldn’t give them something That didn’t exist within.

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Then, then, then — There was an effect.

Now, the bystander is on the outer rim, Desperate to fall in, To gulp and be filled with something Because the muddled mind mutters: “It’s better than being empty.”

The body wants to disagree to disobey, but the mind does not allow

Such foolishness, so the body agrees to obey.

It is better to suffer Something Than to feel nothing.

So, to feel

Something the bystander conjured A fever.

13

“Aurora Over a City” by Shonda Tilitzky

14

UNTITLED POEM

By Alanna Schwartz What if as I’m dying I finally cling to my body and love it

Look at my fragile hands as I have a million times And beg that they don’t slip away Like a ghost leaving in a cartoon — Turning transparent, or to dust motes floating in the light — To appreciate the gift of being embodied As I turn into a vague thing.

15

“We’re In This Together” by Sarah Ritter

16

When the Mountains Used to Breathe

By Shana Hekman

The Creation Myth from a fictional people group called a’Skaleara lan Trarnali (The People Who Live Above), living in a mountain range inspired by the Himalayans.

Back when the mountains used to breath, before there was The People, there were the mountains. The mountains were even taller than they are today, so high they nearly brushed against the heavens when they stretched in the morning, and when they lay down at night they wrapped all the way around the world. But nothing lived on those mountains of old. Not even the tiniest shrub. The mountains were lonely. It is not easy, to be so tall and yet so alone. So one day, they called out to the Maker in the heavens, and they cried, “Give us companions, Lord, for we are lonely!”

And the Maker responded, “Are you not so tall you reach the heavens? Can you not stretch ‘round the world in a single night? How is it you can be lonely? Be proud of your height, and be at peace.”

But the mountains cried again, “No amount of pride can replace a living friend. Give us companions, Lord, for we would rather be as large as the tiniest beetle in these other lands than go another day with no friends.”

And the Lord’s heart was touched by their words, and so he said to them, “Would you truly give up your great size for a friend?”

“Truly, Lord, we would,” the mountains replied.

17

“Then I will grant your request,” the Maker said. And so he reached down to the mountains, and he pulled shrubs out of their depths, and with the shrubs came gophers, clinging to their roots, and mountain goats, munching on their leaves, and great, white birds, perched on their branches. As soon as the shrubs stopped moving, the birds took off and flew in circles around the mountains, tickling them with their wings, and the gophers burrowed around in their roots and the mountain goats leaped from cliff to cliff, and the mountains laughed with delight at the new and happy sensations.

But still they were lonely, and so they called out to the Maker again, asking for more companions. And the Lord asked them, “Why are you not happy?”

“The birds tickle us with their wings, and the gophers burrow in our roots, and the goats leap from cliff to cliff,” the mountains responded, “But they do not come to us as a people and know us as we wish to be known.”

The Lord understood then, but he said, “Have I not fulfilled your wishes? Be content with your birds and your gophers and your goats, and be at peace.”

But the mountains cried, “We would rather be as large as the tiniest beetle in these other lands than go another day with no friends who know our names as we know ourselves.”

And the Maker’s heart was touched, and so he reached down and took some rocks from the mountains, and breathed his own life into them, and they began to move and talk among themselves. And he gave them to the Mountains and he said, “Here are your People. Care for them, and they will care for you.” And the mountains bowed down in thanks.

18

Many years passed, and the People lived happily on the mountains, and the mountains lived happily with the People. But one day, the mountains remembered their promise with the Maker, and so they went to Him and said, “Lord, when we asked you for the People, we swore that we would rather be as large as the tiniest beetle in these other lands than go another day with no friends. You have given us friends, Lord, so now it is our turn to fulfill our end of the bargain.”

And the Lord looked on them, and felt compassion, and said, “There is no need to take away your great size. Keep your People and your size. You have proven yourselves worthy.”

But the mountains insisted, “We will keep our bargain, Lord. Let us do this for You.”

And so the Maker said, “Very well. I will take your size. But I will not take it all. You shall still be the tallest mountains in the land, so you may better protect and provide for your People.” He reached down and scooped the tips of the mountains from them, so they became the size they are now. And the mountains were glad to have kept their bargain.

19

Dear Future, From Now

By Annica Creighton A house before it is sold Is possibility.

A house someone has left Is haunted.

My internal affairs arranged Just the way you like it Space between the wall and bed For you to tuck the sheets in

A freezer full of ready meals A fridge with milk A light to go on at any time Soap on the left You left My windows dark And doors locked

Trying to contain The emptiness inside A house before it is sold Is possibility, A house someone has left Is haunted.

20

But ask that house What the goings were for When the moonlight’s receded and Sunlight wafts through her panes Perhaps this then is what she’ll have to say “A house – just a house Has no wear.

A house that’s a home Has care.

I’m thankful for the paint – now starting to flake For how time has decorated my walls For your comings that made my hinges squeak And for the chair where you’re starting to stay.

Perhaps the vacancies had a purpose A house that’s a home gives respite.

This is what this old home has realized This is a home that’s content.”

21

Wild Goose (Wild God)

By Barrett Hileman When you saved Rome with your squawking Into the sleepy sentries’ ears The approach of the invading Gauls was thwarted.

Did you think then You would become a venerated symbol of providence Or were you just scared By the unsavory smell of human Appetite for violence?

It’s true you are A disruptor Moving in unexpected fashion Surprising most of us thoroughly If we get too close.

When you pecked San Damiano bricks From the hands of an aspirant saint The tower of Franciscan order arose.

Did you think when “Build my church” was properly construed impact would be heightened Or were you just afraid That blunt blocks of human enterprise posed The more appreciable threat?

22

It’s true you are Surprising Swooping in completely unforeseen Causing most of us to consider What is in our hands.

When you expressed your displeasure For my bleary-eyed morning walk My swift progress paused, undeniably altered.

Do you think now

You can eliminate the unceasing rushing of our times Or do you just frighten Those who think they own the world’s pathways And try to claim what is yours?

It’s true you are Alarming Jolting us to sudden attention Demanding most of us must walk an Utterly new course.

23

If I, like you Knew the times Incited others to awake Offered interruptions Kindled reconsiderations — We might look more closely at said hands Wave white flags Clutch less firmly Think eternal things Give away what we are holding.

24

To the Ninth

By Erin Clarke Not a Grecian Urn, but an ode all the same, I change, but ironically you stay the same, Oh, ever changing changer, I look at you and I’m freer, Paint brush of death and decay, Marks the beginning of a new day, A contradiction, welcoming — with permission, A breath. A beat. Nature’s petition.

Start. End. No need to pretend.

How glorious to join you and descend.

How glorious to

Fall.

25

The Turning of the Leaves

By Glendon R. Frank

The leaves have once again begun to turn, The shifting seasons break and bend and blow, And who I am is swallowed by the churn.

I move, yet stand in place, in flux and flow My limbs reach out for time that rushes past, regressed, To liquid days that toss me to and fro.

One year is forty in this wilderness; My unslaked soul strives for the safety of Egypt’s walls, Of certain food and sanguine lack of stress.

I am Elijah, fed by ravens’ haul, Not knowing, when I wake, if I will feed again, Eased not by fires great or voices small.

And as the cold takes hold, my last Amen, Is not a boast of trust, but faith that sparks like shame, A seed of hope that I will flee this den.

All is change and all is still the same.

The days dance past me as I to the floor adhere; All is changing, stillness is to blame.

26

I cast my vision out and see my peers, Their lives a mount, the steadily ascending sun; I, the shifting valley of anxious fears.

My winter shadow hates who I’ve become, While summer self looks sagely through the light it’s cast, Knowing growth has only just begun.

My yesteryears of hope, my distant past, Are merely fragments of the vagrant man I’ve been, The homes I’ve lost, the truths I would outlast.

But seeds of truth grow slowly deep within, So though I’m still a sojourn and a stumbling stray, I lean my lonely soul into the wind.

I cross from night into the light of day, And through the vision of the summer solstice glare, I seek the colours for these shades of grey.

Uncertainty still binds me to the snare, But as I watch the leaves again begin to turn, The shifting seasons temper my despair.

27

Haikus on Change

by John Matthew Cabalsa

Changes come and go.

This is our lives’ ebb and flow,

Nor in our vain, corrupt hearts,

Like rushing rivers.

For they all shall fade.

How dreadful it is

Go and seek him out —

When brilliant days turn to storm

He who changes not, whose word

With grey clouds looming.

Endures forever.

And in the tumult,

28

No, not in nature,

Ebb and flow of life,

Where now do we find solace,

Only one can ease its pain.

Love, and constancy?

God is unchanging.

“Autumn” by Sarah Ritter

29

Contributors John Matthew Cabalsa John Matthew Cabalsa is a fifth year double-degree student at Ambrose University pursuing a BSc Biology and BMus Piano. He is the president of Ambrose University’s Biomedical Club, a music faculty member at Morin Music Studio, and a full-time Christian. He enjoys practicing, composing, and writing memoirs in his free time.

Erin Clarke Erin is working towards a Bachelor of Theology with minors in English and Theatre. She is grateful for everyone who has supported her along the way.

Annica Creighton Cormeum For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. That is all.

Glendon R. Frank Glendon R. Frank is an alumnus of Ambrose University with aspirations of further studies and eventually becoming a novelist. He currently writes film reviews and discussions over at https://glendonrfrank.wixsite.com/franklyspeaking and can be found at @Frank1ySpeaking on Twitter.

Shana Hekman Shana Hekman is an English major at Ambrose University. She loves writing, drawing and all things fantasy and mythology.

Shifra Hetherington Shifra Hetherington wrote one thing. She has written other things as well. Will she write more things? Only time will tell.

Mo Hickman Mo Hickman is an alumni of Ambrose University (BTh 2020) and is currently completing a MATS (Master of Arts in Theological Studies) in Christianity and the Arts at Regent College in Vancouver, BC. Barrett Hileman Barrett Hileman is a multidisciplinary maker of art working primarily in theatrical mediums.

His career has centered on the creation of new work, and he has acting, directing, devising, dramaturgy, and coaching credits on a wide variety of productions and events throughout Canada and the United States, including multiple world premieres.

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Sonia Pal Sonia is a professionally trained bilingual teacher and writer from India and currently lives in England. She holds multiple degrees and accreditations, including an MA in English and a BEd. She is a proud mom and housewife. You can find her published works on Amazon under the name Santosh Ram. Sarah Ritter Doodling critters ever since she could hold a pencil, Sarah Ritter experiences art as a form of worshiping the Creator God and as a personal outlet — two facets that she holds to be inseparable. Allowing her art to express her emotions, she has found it to be an avenue of comfort, connection, and joy. Her art can be found at @Art_SarahRitter on Instagram.

Alanna Schwartz Alanna Schwartz is an essayist, screenwriter, and social services case manager from Calgary in Treaty 7 Territory. Her most recent project, the award-winning second season of Abracadavers (The Fantasy Network/Amazon Prime), is currently screening at TV and web festivals worldwide. She is in the first year of her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Guelph where she is completing her first feature-length screenplay.

Shonda Tilitzky Shonda is in her fifth and last year in the English Literature program at Ambrose University.

She has been a contributor and co-editor of Ambrosia for the majority of her degree, and hopes to keep the tradition of Ambrosia alive for future students. Shonda enjoys reading, learning, and writing poetry and prose (not always in that order). She is also a self-proclaimed coffee addict.

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Ambrosia Literary Review Volume 2, Issue 1: Fall/Winter 2022 Published by Ambrose University 150 Ambrose Circle SW Calgary, AB T3H 0L5 Website: ambrose.edu/ambrosia-literary-review E-mail: literaryreview@ambrose.edu Cover Art: Sarah Ritter