Pandora Magazine - Spring 2021

Pandora is Centenary College of Louisiana’s Art and Literary Magazine, featuring the creative work of current students and alumni.

The Spring 2021 edition our third edition after a long hiatus, and we are excited to announce that Pandora Magazine will now be available online at PandoraMagazine.com!

We would like to thank our contributers for providing us with a beautiful array of work for this semester’s curation. We are honored to celebrate the talents found in Centenary’s Arts and Humanities departments; to share the insights of our students with the communities of Centenary, Shreveport, and beyond.

We hope you enjoy!

Love, Pandora Mag

Meet the Editors

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Anna J Storm ane s

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Greta Sim olke Intern

Table of Contents alarm clock...............................4 giuseppes..............................5 graveside..............................6 sleeping beauty.....................7 divorce..................................8 grey bliss....................................9 trick of the hand...................10 a simple unawareness.....11 delirium red.............................12 cigarettes...............................13 pie-eyed pop..........................14 darkness..............................15 our mother ... fire station.......16 childhood antics..................17 scent of lillies.........................18 family relics..............................19 hands off my.......................20 what showering..can do...21 worship....................................22 the old man weeps...........23 planting an oak...................24 winter charisma.................25 spring semester................26 frozen whata.........................27 roaring stillness..................28 clouded travel.....................29 tempest II --laura...............30

faith............................................31 sunshower............................32 trace...................................33 currency of a promise......34 rural glassware....................35 the graduate........................36 louisiana lawyer..................37 calluses ... monkey bars.....38 mystic matchboxes.........39 longwood general store...40 railroad crossing..................41 reflection...............................42 color me lilac........................43 the “american dream”......44 trouble on the water.........45 disney discography.........46 waiting it out.........................47 master of emotion...........48 dk4l......................................49 elegy for july..........................50 when the sun goes down......51 bee keeper.............................52 louis v bag..............................53 the enigma............................54 keatchie................................55 ritual on the floor.................56 lets fly........................................57 take a hike.............................58

alarm clock you never rouse as I once again attempt to wake you from this trance where I am nothing but insignificant, an annoyance desperately I ring, and I ring— disgruntled, you hit snooze.

Abbie Boudeaux Class of 2021

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Giuseppe’s

Crystal Burson photography Class of 2020 5

Graveside from “My Childhood Elegies” When Dad died and Mom fell into herself, there were no more cigarettes to chew, no grape popsicles to suck on, no fire to raise me.

There was nothing. No more bending sky.

No more growing. Caught in a snag in the fabric of time that will unravel until there is nothing left.

Mom was locked in her room and Dad was locked in the ground. I am nothing but a hole inside a hole inside a hole inside a hole.

Arden Alexander Miller Class of 2023

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Sleeping Beauty Haley Bordelon photography Class of 2020

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Divorce from “My Childhood Elegies” When Mom and Dad were still trying to keep the magic alive for Christmas, I was choosing where to wake up that morning.

Mom would wrap garland down the stairs and Dad would bake cookies.

Neither would let me help.

I was caught in a moment of time where nothing made sense. I would stare at either fire and feel the heat bend around me.

I wanted to reach out and touch it, wrap it around me, let the fire blister me, let it raise my skin better than my parents raised me, better than I raised myself.

The smell of burnt around me.

The jingle of the bells on the garland as it smacks the ground.

An ember flies out and hit my leg, and just for a second, I thought I had gotten unstuck.

Arden Alexander Miller Class of 2023

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Grey Blitz

Remi Miller photography Class of 2022 9

Trick of the Hand I think of him like an amputation: an appendage I can’t depend on or a buried hand that will never hold more than infection.

It’s hard to decide if I have been abandoned or if I gave in first.

But most of the time it’s too much to consider so instead I dream of smoking yellow suns or green lights or salt whites.

And I wonder if my hand was salted and burned or buried beneath guilt and shame.

I try to remember the handful of times I saw him.

In one picture dedicated to his only daughters, he misspelled my name and people say my mother misspelled it first.

Jerney Harms Class of 2023

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La situation finale La situation finale

A Simple Unawareness

Haley Bordelon photography Class of 2022

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Delirium Red on la rue de la soif Punch-drunk on cherry beer In the basement of a bar called Velvet-Underground, hah!

The most beautiful girl I have ever seen is swinging her hips in a low arc Pendulum, swelling sea, breathe in, breathe out, squeeze, release-Pleasantly dizzy, of mariner mind, The walls are leaking pink light And I cannot tell the difference between the beer in my mouth And the delicious taste Drunk in by my eyes.

Danny Paulk Class of 2021

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cigarettes Abbie Boudreaux photography Class of 2021

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Pie-Eyed Pop His shirt had a brown ring around the neckline His bottle was more than half empty His neck curled downward He had his eyes wide shut.

The tips of his fingers poked onto the brown casing The T.V. was turned down to eight Cartoon Network had just turned into Adult Swim keeping quiet was the best way to avoid him yelling, sitting in the back of the room, stifling all giggles, sitting in the back of the room, beginning to hear him gargle Every tingle in your body began to spike, staring directly back at his eyes. knowing the moment they were made tightly open Would be the beginning of your early morning sprint.

His vertebrae shot up before you had a chance to blink His mouth shouted an oration for you to go to sleep You go on your early morning sprint You go on your sprint straight back, chilly You discover that Bearie is there to watch over you His fuzzy brown skin brushing your minds’ whines steadying rhythm of your lungs’ shrink and expansion, As you make sure to keep your eyes tightly open.

Jo Moore Class of 2024

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Darkness Thomas Rodgers guache Class of 2024

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Our Mother Works at the Fire Station for my brother Some lucky days, at Goodfellow, Mom would pick us up from day care and take us to watch the exercise – the retired plane they’d set alight.

It was always warm there, not just with desert wind or sun, but warm with flame and fire suits that smelled of sweat. TSgt Almeida was always glad to see Stephanie’s boys. He’d sneak us into the fire truck, let us sit in the driver’s seat. We wanted to be firemen, remember? We practiced with a garden hose. Then astronauts.

Then football players. Our bedroom was full of trophies for the winning team.

Then separate rooms. Then separate homes.

I cried when you moved away. That sting, as if, I had inched towards that charred, broken hull of a plane, still fresh with burning – placed my little hand against the ashen spots.

Brian Flynn Class of 2021

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Childhood Antics Jan Gary graphite and ink Class of 2023

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Scent of Lilies You came to us that night.

We did not see you.

We walked along the roads, Our shoes scraping the street, Paved with gravel And slick with rain, The street light A sharp orange At the path’s corner.

How could we know?

How could we handle it?

We, who were already so fragile, Who were already so broken?

Whose hearts were full of anguish, And despair beyond expression, At the absence we knew, Yet could not understand.

Ignorance covered our face, And blinded our eyesBut we knew, all at once, You were there.

A spirit.

A smell.

Lilies and smiles, Fragrant and strong, Familiar on all levels.

Mary Caruthers Class of 2024

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Family Relics Jan Gary prismacolor pencils Class of 2023 19

Hands Off My...

Marissa Ramsey delica beads Class of 2021 20

What Showering with Your Childhood Best Friend Can Do Imprints on feet from My Little Pony Sheen on lips from M&M Lip Smackers Glimmer in eyes from St. Joseph’s Catholic School Prickled hair on arms from goosebumps, displaying unseen Hypersalivation in her mouth from the newly inserted retainer Flushed pink flesh from youth barely reaching decade My lips on her lips from forlorn love My skin on her skin from bathing in adoration Her mother telling my mother we will never again see one another.

Jo Moore Class of 2024

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Worship Worship the air and worship the land Worship your country and worship a man Only sell your soul if it’s for the right cause: A nod of acknowledgement or a round of applause No need for studies on moral thought If you keep in mind that always you are watched And no one can spite you For putting others in a box Because your leader above Gave you the job Worship your father and worship your priest For sins against friends, your rewards never cease Worship your money and worship yourself Perhaps if you pray hard enough you may never fear hell For no one can claim to be holier than thou If your prizes and idols aren’t where their heads bow Cups or crosses or thorns or vows I’ll meet you in heaven where glories abound

Avery Olive Class of 2023

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The Old Man Weeps Jerney Harms photography Class of 2023 23

Planting an Oak

When the work is over it rains and washes the sweat and sod from my back and brow.

Rick tells us, from his seat on the tailgate, of prior conquests and groundbreakings. I learn of

camel spiders in Afghanistan and mud walls and the girls down in New Orleans and how

you are glad to see a woman’s face again because they are soft and kind – even to a stranger.

And all the while we talk and drink, corresponding with our former selves, the oak out front spreads root and grows thicker – ready to outlast the each of us.

Brian Flynn Class of 2021

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Winter Charisma

Remi Miller photography Class of 2023

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Spring Semester 26

Anna Jane Storms digital art Class of 2023

Frozen Whata

Danny Paulk photography Class of 2021

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Roaring Stillness

Remi Miller photography Class of 2023

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Clouded Travel Thomas Siskron photographhy Class of 2021

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TEMPEST II -- LAURA I have a bad habit of imagining disasters that won’t ever happen, wasting time brewing up a storm for us to weather just for the chance to emerge at sunup holding hands, smiling, having proved ourselves impervious and deep-rooted.

I’ll admit I didn’t plan for an inland hurricane that struck as we slept apart, tearing through my plans like a trailer park.

Without your laugh to chase it into hyperbole, the beating of branches against shaking window panes just sends me running to the bathtub.

I sit, shivering, waiting for the inevitable is it raining where you are? that tells me you’re watching the weather channel for me, that you feel everything tilt when our pine tree finally topples, heaved-up roots leaving an altar-sized hole outside the north window.

When I wake, hours later, blinking alone under an unexpected sunrise, there’s only the silence of a wind that’s blown itself out.

Phoebe Cragon Class of 2023 30

Faith

Leah Baer-Hinsey digital artwork Class of 2019 31

Sunshower We gathered in a field of the green & dying,

under a virulent sun. Weeds stole names

from the dead, but ask Aunt Carrie

or Cousin Lynn & they could tell them all anyway.

A Baptist fellowship to add to their numbers

our matriarch of a fucked-up family,

with the preacher-man witness to our clumsy antics

of make-believe & the fifth-generation miracle

peeping from her parasol at her pitiful inheritance of us.

A splash against the casket our only warning,

before the heavens opened-up &

poured their disdain through the sun

& Grandma’s voice-“

Well, I guess the Devil’s beatin’ his wife.”

Callie Fedd Class of 2022 32

Trace

Lila Beavers harvested moss and peat Class of 2021 33

Currency of a Promise “It’s going to be okay...”

The summer I taught you to ride a bike, the sun was our best friend, and popsicles were the currency of a promise. When you fell, you clung to my neck all the way home, and refused to try again until we locked pinkies stained cherry red, and I promised not to let go.

Now the world is blanketed in numbing rain, and we are alone again, as we so often are. And I am left to wonder at the years that carved the sharp lines of your face, that quietly gave you strength, if you still trust popsicles and me, “...I promise.” and how you speak with such confidence, that I almost believe you.

Callie Fedd Class of 2022

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Rural Glassware

Greta Simolke Acrylic on glass Class of 2023

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Graduate

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Thomas Rodgers 7x7’’ Watercolor & gouache Class of 2024

Louisiana Lawyer at the concrete crossroads, the haze hanged soupy and thick, like chicken stock stewing to supremacy. the Louisiana heat stirred the gulf preparing the air, like a wooden spoon in a gumbo pot, churning slowly. a category four is just begging to be more, a pinch of salt and a dash of cayenne, adds vigor to an unstoppable horror. electricity in the air thickens the plot, like a good roux, you’ll just have to watch. the gas station lot wasn’t without its glass trash and potholes, like sausage the trinity and chicken in the pot, the consummate décor for the poor. the wind swept the dirt from the ground into the air, dusted on your skin like filé just enough notice. the clean alabaster car spelt malefaction, like the first horseman of the apocalypse, he only knew sin. he got out the car making himself seen again like a good cancer, he would never just leave. he came to collect his chattel, like the prodigal son, he is back to ask for more. sweat drips down your back as your master calls, like a good ole stew, you must wait just a bit more.

Lyle Alford Class of 2022 37

Calluses from the Monkey Bars Dress up in old Halloween outfits Teacups filled with decaf tea Playground chases under the guise of doing it for the siblings Giggles about crushes over ice cream bowls Hours spent dancing with a Wii remote glued to our hands But after the giggling and glitter We’d whisper our fears into the night After we both had experienced loss We cried in the same room we had played Fighting those battles, we returned To the leggings and costume jewelry To the playful snacks and chatter And childhood embraced us Like a mother welcoming her daughter home from school Jordan Fong Class of 2024

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Mystic Matchboxes

Lila Beavers Multimedia Matchboxes Class of 2021 39

Longwood General Store

Blanchard, Louisiana fancies itself the modern-day Mayberry. A rural southern town, it exists in the No Man’s Land between one big place and another even bigger place. People only know of Blanchard if they’ve happened to have broken down there before, if they’ve had a really great burger there, or if they were given the dubious pleasure of a childhood within the town limits. I happen to fall into the latter category.

The unofficial town center, a quarter mile of buildings huddled close to the highway that leads to Urbana, includes a bank that closes by five on weekdays and remains stubbornly unopened on weekends, a post office with one worker prone to napping at the desk, and a long flat building dubbed the town hall--that also doubles as the water department. The town’s pride and joy are its three schools: an elementary, a junior high, and a high school—all of which still reflect the questionable aesthetic choices of the 1960s. In the warmer months, the baseball fields are packed full of fathers who pulled coaching duty for the season. The phrase “RUN YOU IDIOT,” can often be heard over the wail of passing coal trains. And the first stoplight in the town proper was installed in 2015, when the new Krispy Kreme caused an unprecedented influx in traffic. Blanchard is the remnants of an aging Mayberry, from the town’s personal Barney Fife to its one-stop-shop called Longwood General Store.

A film of age clings to Longwood General Store like the smoke from a Marlboro; it’s shown in the way the whole building sags with exhaustion, the vague tint of mold that permeates the foundation, and the emanating sound of drawling accents softened with time. The only condition to entering Longwood is the ability to traverse the uneven parking lot, dotted with haphazardly parked trucks and boats. I have noticed that the universal outfit for this is exemplified by a loyal customer’s Wal-Mart work boots (for the rocky terrain) and hunting safety orange (to warn the distracted truck drivers). From the parking lot, a person is welcomed onto the store’s best feature—its wraparound porch. The porch can pass for sturdy, as long as one isn’t foolish enough to peek between the wooden floorboards at the non-existent support beams, and instead chooses to indulge in the creature comforts of drooping couches, rocking chairs, and Folgers smoking cans. A place meant to encourage socializing, the porch is routinely populated with ancient good ol’ boys exchanging fishing stories, cigarettes, and the idle gossip that makes Blanchard run. With the people at Longwood, it’s easy to forget the passing years. At twenty years old, I can always count on some variation of “Hiya Sweetpea” greeting me at the porch. Shortly followed by, “You still sellin’ those Girl Scout cookies?

After extricating yourself from the chitchat of the front porch, a brave soul, or experienced customer, is then privy to the delicacies that Longwood has to offer indoors…

Callie Fedd Class of 2022

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Railroad Crossing in Monroe Danny Paulk Photography Class of 2021

41

Reflection We stare at each other Worry and watchful.

Hand grazes our face in wonder Feeling the dampness on our cheeks.

Hand moves down our shoulders, Careful and precise.

They lower to our waist with gentle caresses Brushing over the marks on our skin.

Hand slows as gaze lowers.

Our gaze focuses on our abdomen, Turning ever so slightly, Pinching our flesh in annoyance.

We think, I thought I could love you.

Diane Battaglia Class of 2022

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Color Me Lilac

Jordan Fong photography Class of 2024

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The “American Dream” Consuming. The darkness that encases us Every sound amplified by our terror Please make it. Please make it. Please make it.

Dread. At every passing cop.

Every brush of the law Don’t take us. Don’t take us. Don’t take us.

Frustration. Seeing the divide exist everywhere Every condescending word drives through me You don’t know me. You don’t know me. You don’t know me.

Hope. At the strength of our determination Every new voice that sparks change Accept us. Accept us. Accept us.

Jessica Cordova Class of 2023

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Trouble on the Water

Thomas Siskron photography Class of 2021 45

Disney Discography We lived on a Dead End Street But I’d still turn my radio up And dance in front of the Floor-to-ceiling window Waving at the infrequent cars Like I was Selena or Miley Singing of love I had never had And cars I had never driven Now I sit in this parking lot With Olivia Rodrigo blasting And we sold that house eight years ago And I lost those CDs But for a moment I’m back to being A Disney Channel star.

Jordan Fong Class of 2024

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Waiting it Out Phoebe Cragon Class of 2023 Graphite

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Master of Emotion I must have been from another worldA superhuman teenage girl, Immune to each one of Their looks and advances.

I had learned from others The magic powers of attraction But their electric touch couldn’t make me their puppet And their butterflies couldn’t infest my stomach So, many saw my powers as a threat An inhuman ability trapped In the body of a brunette, Something that they felt Needed to be fixed or eradicated, So, I hid it all away, and made Careful calculations Until I mastered the art of emotional reciprocation.

Madi Holden Class of 2024

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DK4L Jerrica Harris @justjerrstudio digital art Class of 2020 49

Elegy for July It is the worst summer on record not because the woman up the street is dead-I think it is more likely that she shot herself because July was already untenable.

When June withered and rotted on the vine we were left with nothing but the realization that you can’t outrun something that’s saturated the air as heavy as humidity. There is only the slow dizzy crawl out of the path of the sun, the endless laps I traced around the circle, noting 9806 only for its anthills dead and vacant as the windows with their dust and their cobwebs.

I hover at the cracked front door as the cops descend like a clutter of blue-backed spiders and wrap the street in a web of yellow tape tying up every unfortunate delivery man; the husband on his knees in the driveway the only one out immobilized of his own accord.

The rest filter through the lawn like restless ants searching for any crumb of an explanation even as the coroner pens out something that could pass for cause of death: overabundance of stagnant air.

We all understand, even the ones who pretend they don’t.

I can’t blame her, though I do begrudge her the commotion-I had meant to take a walk today.

50

Phoebe Cragon Class of 2023

When the Sun Goes Down

Baylee Barajas photography Class of 2023

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Bee Keeper

Leah Baer digital art Class of 2020

52

Louis V Bag

Jerrica Harris @justjerrstudio digital art Class of 2020 53

The Enigma

Jonathan Okereke photography Class of 2023 54

Keatchie

Baylee Barajas photography Class of 2023 55

ritual on the floor My private Aphrodite, oh, the crown of sweet, sweet rituals!

She is wreathed in pink curls, sugar sweet, cotton candy, peachy keen We are sitting on the hard tile of a dorm room floor.

She is baptizing me in the New Way, working hellfire, orange juice, sunsets, autumn leaves, through my scalp When I wash it out, half an hour from now, A little of the sin will stay behind The sweet crown of sweet friends’ rituals.

Danny Paulk Class of 2021

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Let’s Fly

Greta Simolke photography Class of 2023 57

Take a Hike Brianna Callicoatte photography Class of 2023

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