The Chronicle | Spring 2021 by Clemson Chronicle

THE CHRONICLE

spring 2021

STAFF senior staff

Editor-in-Chief Managing Editor Literary Editor Art Editor Copy Editor Layout Editor & Webmaster Social/Promotional Director

Elizabeth Marvin Caroline Morales Hannah Skinner Nicole Ammerall Abigail Johnson Allison Killinger Kelly Evans

general staff

Erik Antonio Katelynne Collins Noah Daly Maille Gray Katherine Kaczmarski Heather Motro Alana Revels Roy Skinner-Villanueva

Covers by Nicole Ammerall

FROM THE EDITOR As the spring semester ends, so does another chapter in our lives. It’s not only been a year since the COVID pandemic started, it’s been a year since we have had to relearn our learning styles and figure out if we knew what it really meant to be a full-time introvert. No matter what we learned or how we learned it, I am proud to have been a student during this time. Tired, but proud. I am also proud to have been a classmate, Editorin-Chief, and friend during this past year. I learned a lot and most of it was something that I couldn’t learn the way I was learning before. I won’t lie, I don’t miss the crowded walkways or traffic, but I do miss seeing you all walking around and knowing that even if you weren’t someone I knew, you were still out there. When I signed up for my apartment, it seemed so large, but I found myself during this past semester feeling very alone. But I wasn’t, and I promise you, you aren’t either. It feels like it sometimes, but I’m here for you and so is everyone who has written for, read, or worked on the Chronicle. We’ve seen your words, and we’ve felt them too, even when we couldn’t understand what you were going through, we were and still are here for you. I don’t have a quote or an artwork that I can put here that’s going to get my meaning across, but I’ll say something: you aren’t a boat stuck in the Suez Canal. And even if you are, there are little tug boats just waiting to help you out. You got this, and we’ve got you. This magazine is flower themed and honestly it was pretty nice to see the colors and I feel like it brought a little bit of life back into the world that asks us to stay away from each otherfor the safety of ourselves and others. The stories and art contained in this magazine mean so much, not just to us reading it, but to those writing it. Those stories are the life of Clemson’s campus and the people who had to live through a time that we never imagined. Keep writing, keep drawing, keep creating because you are the life and color in the world that will continue to grow. You are strong, you have been strong, and you will be strong, I believe it.

TABLE OF CONTENTS Bumble Folk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Honey-Laced And Embraced . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Regolith . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Public Bodies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Framework . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sun Through The Trees . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hanging Around . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Two Seasons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sprouts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Down The Path . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Birds Of Prey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Finally Happy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bloom In Paradise . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Seedlings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Old Spring . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wood-Fired Cup . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 慕田峪长城 (Mutianyu Great Wall) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Current . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vickery, Her Glistening Stones . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mush! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Caress . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Leah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Up, Up The Wando River . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Koko And Her Kitten . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kristian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Untitled . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Over Easy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Identity Crisis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 29 30

TABLE OF CONTENTS Ghost Girl . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Coffee Break . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stuttering . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Eternal Soulmate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Extinction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Muscle Memory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Self, Mended No. 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Questions We Don't Ask . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . She Is Everything . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I Could Have Wanted . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . As Wallpaper Falls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . These Nights With You . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A First Love. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Envious Vain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Scientist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Nestle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Back . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Your Kiss . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Do Not Be Afraid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Beginning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ballad Of D-503 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Glittermaid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Dying Bloom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I Took A Trip Inside My Brain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Empty Chair . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cornflower Blues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kumiko Vol. 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

31 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

HONEY-LACED AND EMBRACED

hannah skinner

I find pleasure in the shards of mirror you broke I seek solemn in the holes you carefully placed into our drywall Your words are sweet like honey vine. Twisted, dripping a sweet nectar like poison letting all that come to you wonder... Why are you so enticing? You grip and hold me in an embrace defined by your arms and I can’t escape.

BUMBLE FOLK

clara noble

REGOLITH

carson colenbaugh

I caught myself talking to the cat— said all sorts of things about the A Horizon, recalcitrant material, what types of clay elluviate down into the zones of the pedosphere I probably have seen but never have looked at. I realized nobody in history would ever know what this moment was like but me and that’s special, even though STOP! he doesn’t understand STOP! a thing I say STOP! or why I rub his cheeks so tenderly. I put the cat to sleep talking about regolith— I lecture to myself about the color of what’s beneath me, how oxidized iron makes the dirt and our blood rusty. Somewhere in the depths of his cranium, the cat nibbles coneflower leaves from the edge of my nightstand.

PUBLIC BODIES

samantha shamard

FRAMEWORK

jessica swank

SUN THROUGH THE TREES

allison franklin

THE TWO SEASONS

elizabeth marvin

She is winter’s daughter her eyes are a cold and icy blue. Her hair as dark as the frozen bark on the oaks. Her personality is just as solid. Staying inside as if she has no where else to go. She sits in a chair big enough to swallow her reading books of monsters and fantasies. She is summer’s girl Suddenly blonde, the golden wheat strands playing in the wind. The sky glows in her eyes and her smile is a bright light. Small footprints and a distinct chlorine scent follows her. Her laugh booms across the backyard like the summer thunder booming across the sky.

HANGING AROUND

maille gray

SPROUTS

aidan rhoades 9

BIRDS OF PREY

carson colenbaugh

In the powerlines, holding, waiting for the right moment to strike, the hawk catches an afternoon meal— they still hunt these grounds. She departs on open wings but I cannot tell the difference between a hawk and a buzzard in flight. Later in the dusty basement, I step out into the damp grass and hear the hunting owl, or perhaps only the ruffles of the silent sky— she’d never let me know.

DOWN THE PATH

maille gray

FINALLY HAPPY

kaila honaker

BLOOM IN PARADISE

katelynne collins

SEEDLINGS

hannah burns

Like seedlings stifled out of spite We never got to see the light Sleeping by you in the sack Hourglass behind your back When the sand ran out Spring came with no sprout Now we lay underground Unspoken thoughts, a piercing sound But you can drown it out

OLD SPRING 15

colby cofield

WOOD-FIRED CUP

olivia hueble 17

慕田峪长城 (MUTIANYU GREAT WALL)

mary grace nimmer

CURRENT

jessica swank 19

VICKERY, HER GLISTENING STONES

carson colenbaugh

A crouched, old woman asks me how one’d get to the water— I tell her to go until you can’t drive anymore and start walking. It's better if you take your shoes off. We stumble on the rocks and feel our legs at the edge of a precipice swimming in the muddy, old flow of Vickery Creek. Climbing up the slick cliffs and tumbling into the drainage froth, we leap high off the tallest rocks we can find and hold onto our hats and pray we land softly. In the winding trails of the woods, there is an old wellhouse by the greenwater with a large granite pool; crawfish home. We all sip and swallow it down. We could wash off our dirty faces or throw it to the air and imagine it's raining a sweet, fresh rain.

MUSH!

mary grace nimmer 21

CARESS

samantha shamard

LEAH

olivia hueble 23

UP, UP THE WANDO RIVER

carson colenbaugh

This was an old port town and the mouths of the rivers have always been open, just spitting up the remnants of time— old vertebrae and giants’ teeth. Collecting stones, black memories from the clay and the mud by the slurping tide. What has come has not been new and we in fifty-year-old hull float past the unseen wrecks of the bark canoes and galleons of those great rough feet that sludged Before.

KOKO AND HER KITTEN

sam lowrie 25

KRISTIAN

mary grace nimmer 26

UNTITLED

elizabeth marvin

As a child, I always had an answer for what I wanted to be when I grew up and what I would do as an adult. The answer would change like the colors of a plastic mood ring (fleeting but magical in the hands of a seven-year-old), but the answer would exist. This has changed. The closer I get to graduation, the more I want to forget about it all and leave myself Untitled. I want to hide in the pages of a book, the view counts of a YouTube video, the lyrics of my favorite song (for today). I see my future typed out in "countless opportunities" and "promises of growth in the company" and want to find a way to stay out of it for the rest of my life. I changed my major because I didn't want to be surrounded by the sadness and fear that existed in the textbooks of my first major, but my new one is no better in that respect. But there is something to be said about changing my major. It brought me relief that I still had enough in me that could make decisions and find out what I wanted for myself, not just because it was easy or would make someone proud of me. I was proud that I could still change my mind. But even in my pride, I find myself scared.

Those "countless opportunities" can be tricky because many people will find that the opportunities aren't countless at all. People will fail, and burn out, and become jaded by their prospects (or lack thereof ), and that idea scares me. What if I gave up something tangible for something that I wanted, was I greedy or selfish? I don't think I was, but maybe I'm biased. I look around and see a lot of destruction, of loss, of pain, but I also see forgiveness, and love, and healing. And those are the things I want to look for in this world. I want to hear and read stories that were almost lost in time. I want someone to know that I'm there for them and find as much comfort in that as I can convey to them. But for now, I want to make it to graduation without losing myself. So, I may be Untitled now, but I am working to find myself everyday (even during mid-afternoon naps, those are very important to the process). I may not be titled a hero or a savior, but I don't need to be. My title will come to me when I'm ready, in the form that fits me, and I know that yours will too. To the Untitled, may we stay exactly where we want to be until the moment we are needed. To the Untitled who used to know what they wanted to do when they grew up, only to then grow up, may you find a way that brings you relief. To the Untitled, I'm with you all the way (yes, even during mid-afternoon naps). From, Lovingly Untitled

OVER EASY

sam lowrie 29

IDENTITY CRISIS

kelly evans

GHOST GIRL

whitney edgerly

Hot summer air And cruise control Down a long, winding street Blood red roses, Too many sighs Driving into nowhere And I can barely see My own reflection in the rearview Is she a ghost? A mirage? Is she even real? Because her white knuckles grasp On the edges of the steering wheel But she’s barely here at all. This ghost loves to daydream, Loves to pretend that She’s a part of a world Larger than herself She thinks the music blasting through the car stereo Was made all for her

And she drives in the evil hours of the night To clear her head of darkness, And try to find the light Past neon signs and convenience stores Past lampposts and houses and wind-strewn shores, And the light that reflects off of pools aglow A brightness so blinding like winter snow She drives, And drives, And drives Searching for an answer, Or maybe a questionAn ends to a means, To one day finally feel real To finally feel seen Like she’s a part of something Like she’s material, holds weight in this crazy dimension The rest of them call earth

COFFEE BREAK

olaf tollefsen

STUTTERING

madeline c. watkins

ETERNAL SOULMATE

kelly evans

My casket unwilling My marionette My confidence killing My daughterly debt I pray to you daily at your porcelain altar Dearly and devout, despite a faith prone to falter I scream when you change but also when you won’t And I know I hurt you more than often than I don’t In the false name of love, us both I’ve deprived And only in losing you was my religion revived But I spite you, unknowing, when I kneel down to pray In wanting to see part of you melt away Forgive me my missteps and welcome me back I cannot undo my most brutal attack Yet I promise to never blaspheme you again Or drive you to derive your self value from men And I will weave words into love songs for your thrill That are far more beautiful than any man ever will After all, they will write and they will try But they shall never love you more than I My eternal soulmate My lifelong lover My perfect fate My heart forever

EXTINCTION

setareh etesham

MUSCLE MEMORY

madison pate 37

SELF, MENDED NO. 2

jessica swank

QUESTIONS WE DON'T ASK

isaac washington

“I’ve been seeing someone else.” She says it so casually, as if she were telling me the weather. I have a hard time swallowing. Surely anything I could say has been considered by her. “I’ll be keeping Walter then,” is what I land on. Walter is a three-year-old golden retriever with a chunk missing from his left ear. He lost it in a fight with a neighborhood rottweiler. I remember her telling me what had happened, all sobby and hysterical on the phone. “Poor Walt never stood a chance!” she wept, “Too sweet, y’know? Not the fighting type.” “Did you call the cops?” I asked. “Do you call the cops for this sort of thing?” I wasn’t sure. Neither was she. She is not sobby or hysterical now. She’s been rehearsing this for a while. “Honey, why don’t we talk about arrangements for Walter when things have settled down a bit.” My cheeks are hot, I’m surely cherry red. “Things are plenty settled, dear. You’re fucking someone else, and I’ll be keeping the dog, and as far as I can tell that’s about all there is to it!” “There’s more to it,” she says. There really is. I want to know everything. Who is he? How long has she been seeing him? Does she love him? She chose him over me, and I thought she loved me, so. . . Really I just want to know why. I want to know why things are so good until they’re bad, and why when things get bad it’s hard to remember all the good. Like, for instance, there’s this picture on our nightstand. It’s from our honeymoon, when we were in Hawaii, and I’m putting this lei around her neck, and we’re both smiling. We would have smiled whether anyone was taking our picture or not. I can’t remember the last time I would’ve smiled whether or not anyone was taking a picture. I almost say all of this, about Hawaii and whether or not she loved this man, whether or not she loved me, but I don’t. I don’t because it’s 2:49 p.m., and the plumber is coming soon to fix the faucet again, the faucet which (like so many things inside this house) is broken for the thirtieth time this year. So I say nothing because the plumber is coming soon and I want to be calm when he gets here. I don’t want to be asking her why. I want to be calm.

II. On. Off. On. Off. The ring slid so easily off my finger, which now looked bare. I’d forgotten what it meant to be without it. I couldn’t tell if it felt good, or different, or what. You got married so fast, my friends would say, you never got to explore your options. Explore my options. Jesus, what a terrible thing to say. I wondered if he ever felt that way. We were so young. I asked him once if he had any regrets. He said no. I asked him if he’d ever wanted to have a three-way. He laughed. He’s so sweet, he really is. I have plenty of flaws. I’m always late to things. I get nervous about being early. I’m very clean, too clean. It bothers most people, they say I have a problem. He doesn’t say that, he’s never said that. Some nights I try really hard to think of an unkind word he’s said to me. A few times he has called me selfish. I guess that’s the terrible thing. When a really selfless person calls you selfish, you can’t help but think that it’s true. Walter sauntered into the room, great big beautiful fool that he is, and cocked his head to the left, as if to say, why are you taking off your wedding ring? I kiss him on the head and rub his scarred ear, thinking what a terrible thing it is, the marks we leave. III. The first thing I noticed was her hands. Silky smooth and soft, with a faint tan line around her ring finger. “It’s a big house,” I said. “Are you married?” She caught me staring at her naked finger, and her cheeks turned cherry red. “Yes.” “Show me the faucet,” I said. She showed me to the faucet. The second thing I noticed was the nape of her neck, how it caught the sunlight coming in the kitchen window. Then the smell, some distant cousin of lavender. I wondered how good a man I was. She turned and smiled at me. Before it happened, she turned the picture on the nightstand face-down. Just as her bra was coming off, in walked the most beautiful golden retriever, with a mangled left ear. “Out, Walter,” her voice cracked when she said it. She coughed, cleared her throat, “go on, get out.” For a moment, I didn’t know who she meant.

SHE IS EVERYTHING

I COULD HAVE WANTED

sydney lykins

AS WALLPAPER FALLS

olaf tollefsen 43

THESE NIGHTS WITH YOU

katherine kaczmarski

These nights, later than I’ve ever had Stretching out time for conversation and kisses In the wee hours of the morning No one else exists in the world Stretching out time for conversation and kisses Your eyes, glowing in the TV screen light No one else exists in the world I wouldn’t have fathomed I’d get this Your eyes, glowing in the TV screen light In the wee hours of the morning I wouldn’t have fathomed I’d get this These nights, later than I’ve ever had

A FIRST LOVE.

anonymous

standing in the parking lot, thinking about the night we shared. we were listening to Bon Iver, staring at the ceiling. revealing our deepest truths, spilling thoughts we had never shared. your hands running through my hair, never felt feelings like that before. like a scene from the screen. and when I knew it wouldn’t last, my eyes filled up with tears and I pictured all the years we would’ve spent together.

ENVIOUS VAIN

kelly evans

THE SCIENTIST

whitney edgerly

i’d like to think of myself as a scientist i observe and i translate i make notes on the cuffs of my white lab jacket, i theorize and hypothesize i research and memorize but i’m always studying you. you’re always changing to me, the most engaging experiment i’ve ever seen you’re as energetic and evasive as an atom in motion you rebuild and restore like an ecosystem after the worst disaster you’re the scent of nature after a late evening rain, the pollen of flowers in bloom i’m convinced your DNA is written in some other code, some other language, and i am unfit to read it. every synapse in your brain is a mystery to me that i’m dying to understand because that’s my job, isn’t it? to understand, to comprehend to theorize and memorize but all of it counts to nothing every accomplishment, every observation jotted down onto paper it will be lost eventually after all, science was built to disprove to melt and change like the neurotransmitters in my brain but i can still put all my hard work to use, because by now i know this much is true, that my greatest discovery has always been you.

NESTLE

olivia hueble

YOUR KISS

hannah burns

Skin pale and hair coarse Blue veins stream from the source Nose fine and lips full Smile shy with eyes to scold My love for you is not yet cold And though I yearn I can discern Your kiss was never earned

BACK

madeline c. watkins

DO NOT BE AFRAID

nicole hunnewell 51

THE BEGINNING

sophia altieri 53

BALLAD OF D-503

katherine kaczmarski

O, how beautiful the line which stretches infinitely onward I am but a devoted servant at its shrine Mathematical perfection my only aspiration But what is this stirring behind my sternum, a fluttering, live burning thing with a mind of its own? I am told I am gravely ill, that I may even die Yet somehow, I have never felt more alive She lays her hands to the piano and elicits tender, tenuous tones with no meaning, no purpose in this act, except her own Each cascading frequency makes a rapping on my chest waking this strange creature inside me from rest The spaces between the notes and the distances distinguishing frequencies, mathematically perfect, are pleasing to my ears I ne’er knew how hertz which walked within my everyday could dance with each other in such an enchanting way Is this the sound of the wild beyond? The world giving color to the glimmering green wall surely resounds with such splendor to its strange spell, I now surrender. Inspired by Zamyatin’s “We”

GLITTERMAID

samantha shamard 55

A DYING BLOOM

mateo vallarino

I TOOK A TRIP INSIDE MY BRAIN

julia bonetto

I took a trip inside my brain and sat in silence there Breathed in the cold, the sharpest breeze, the coarse and heavy air And floating by, like mindless clouds, the thoughts they gather so To meet and grieve the mind of me lost lately long ago. A path appears through shadowed trees, the leaves its cobblestone A step and more I follow these, inwards I am thrown. It’s strange, I find this mind not a maze with walkways clear defined But a single thread twisted as such, a sinuous ball of twine. A single tug and it so much so raveled will unwind So watch your tugs, your minds as much may loosen as did mine. Beware the casual walk around your own and idle brain You’ll find that you find so much more than that for which you came. So here I stroll inside my head, the storm is elsewhere passed A garden party thrown for me, the guests all here amassed. And floating on a summer's breeze, the thoughts they gather so To meet and grieve the mind of me lost lately long ago.

IDENTITY 57

maille gray

THE EMPTY CHAIR

ellee mikell

CORNFLOWER BLUES

elizabeth marvin

There's no more to be done, there's no more we can do For the boy laid to rest in Cornflower Blues He lived long ago But not as long as it seems For if you didn't know He still lives in our dreams There's no more to be done, there's no more we can do For the boy laid to rest in Cornflower Blues He lived on the edge But tried not to be seen For his visage would dredge Words we didn't mean There's no more to be done, there's no more we can do For the boy laid to rest in Cornflower Blues He lived his own life Played his own songs For he travelled with a knife But for peace he would long There's no more to be done, there's no more we can do For the boy laid to rest in Cornflower Blues He died long ago Though we thought he'd be stronger For he gave us great hope But we see him no longer There's no more to be done, there's no more we can do For the boy laid to rest in Cornflower Blues

KUMIKO VOL. 1

colby cofield 61

TAKE TIME TO CREATE Use this page to doodle, write a poem or short story, paint, or whatever you feel like doing. Take a photo and tag us on Instagram @cuchronicle!

ABOUT THE CHRONICLE Established in 1897, the Chronicle is Clemson University’s first student art and literary magazine. Twice a year, our staff promotes, produces, and distributes a new issue representing the best artistic and literary work that Clemson students have to offer. We have many committees that work together to create the magazine including creative direction, layout, promotions/events, copy-editing, art submissions, literary submissions, merchandise, web, and business. From art and photography, to poems, short stories, essays, audio and visual submissions, we accept a wide variety of submissions every semester, many of which are selected to appear in the magazine.

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The Chronicle also like to give an honorable mention to Roy Skinner-Villanueva. His appearances in our staff Zoom meetings have made him a regular, and we figured he was frequent enough to be put on our staff list.

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