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DAMOZEL The Literary Magazine of Notre Dame of Maryland University 2019-2020 2020-2021

Damozel Staff 2019-2020 Faculty Advisor: Kelly Boyd Literary Editors: Amirah Arafat Katie Cardinal Editors: Katherine Martinez Jessica Profilio Lindsey Pytrykow Angelie Singh Rochelle Thompson

Damozel Staff 2020-2021 Faculty Advisor: Micah Castelo Literary Editors: Lindsey Pytrykow Rochelle Thompson Editors: Kaity Angell Tarheem Haq Eden Lewis Sydney Miller

Table of Contents

Clarity, Anonymous ............................................................................... 1 Carnival Games, Hermione Riggs ........................................................ 2 la fachada de la universidad de salamanca, Angelie Singh ............... 3 Walker, Kisha Johnson ............................................................................ 4 My Heart, Lina Ibrahim ......................................................................... 5 Tears of the Magnolia, Rebecca L. Malone ......................................... 6 Danger, Alycia Hancock ......................................................................... 7 El amor en los tiempos de Corona, Bria Keyonna Foster .................. 8 Love in the Times of Corona, Bria Keyonna Foster ........................... 9 Jellyfish, Djeneba Sidibe ......................................................................... 10 Rustic Simplicity, Rebecca L. Malone.................................................. 11 Alexandria, David D. Quinton-Schein .................................................. 12-14 dionysus en el parque de el capricho, Angelie Singh......................... 15 Wish You Were Here, Megan Elizabeth Slaughter ............................... 16-26 Horizon, Jessica Profilio .......................................................................... 27 Sunset in Baltimore, Djeneba Sidibe .................................................... 28 Horizon Lines, Rochelle Thompson .................................................... 29 The Depths of Nature, Chavonne Brown ........................................... 30 Autumn, Bria Keyonna Foster ................................................................ 31 Autumn Whispers, Rebecca L. Malone ................................................ 32 Pollen Pouches, Rebecca L. Malone ...................................................... 33 Dredging Patricia, David D. Quinton-Schein ..................................... 34-36 Roller Coaster, Hermione Riggs ........................................................... 37 Summer Nights, Jessica Profilio ............................................................ 38 Pebble, Jessica Profilio ............................................................................. 39 A Boring Summer, Trinity Soto ............................................................ 40-50 Low, Alycia Hancock .............................................................................. 51 A One-Sided Chat with M. de Silento, Chinwendu Nwokeabia ..... 52 Remember the Seeds, Nice Y. Mutshipayi ........................................... 53 The Art of Humanity, Shabria White ................................................. 54 You Must Launch Out into the Deep Launch, Nakia McKinley .... 55 Mouse Cortex, Djeneba Sidibe .............................................................. 56 Askal, Gerizza Balmes ............................................................................. 57 My Black and White Thoughts, Kristina Pickering ........................... 58-59 Ever Watchf ul, Rebecca L. Malone ...................................................... 60 Spring Rebirth, Rebecca L. Malone ..................................................... 61

Table of Contents

Lavender, Bria Keyonna Foster ............................................................... 62 Insatiable, Amirah Arafat ....................................................................... 63 Smoke & Mirrors, David D. Quinton-Schein ...................................... 64-67 Perfectionism, Terrice Stewart ............................................................... 68 Constructed Beauty, Gerriza Balmes ................................................... 69 How Do We Describe Her?, Nakia McKinley ..................................... 70 Grace, Jessica Profilio .............................................................................. 71 Defending Black Womanhood, Nakita Carter ................................... 72 Reconciliation, Chavonne Brown ......................................................... 73 Untitled, Yahira Jones ............................................................................. 74 Woman, Nakia McKinley ....................................................................... 75 Subtrahend, David D. Quinton-Schein ................................................ 76-78 Untitled, Zena Zangwill ......................................................................... 79 Locke, Jessica Profilio .............................................................................. 80 Great Souls Die, Alycia Hancock .......................................................... 81 Elegy to Syria My Mighty, Ancient City, Amirah Arafat ................. 82 Hail to the Green White Green, Chukwudozie Enwese .................... 83 Bethlehem’s Juice Stand, Micah Castelo ............................................. 84 The Holiest Word, David D. Quinton-Schein ..................................... 85-86 Catholicism, Lindsey Pytrykow ............................................................. 87 Ferris Wheel, Eddie Bennett .................................................................. 88-89 Where the Lines Cross, Katie Cardinal ................................................ 90 Conquer, Jessica Profilio ......................................................................... 91 The True Story of Peter Pan, Rhea Lynne Melgar Guzman ............. 92-98 Life From the Dead, Nice Y. Mutshipayi .............................................. 99 Winter Night, Lindsey Pytrykow .......................................................... 100 Rainy Day Canvas, Rochelle Thompson ............................................. 101 I am home., Tahlia Douglass ..............................................................102-103 Rawabi’s First Family, Micah Castelo .................................................. 104 Your Destiny, Nakia McKinley .............................................................. 105 Hidden, Hermione Riggs ........................................................................ 106 Hold On, Kristina Pickering ................................................................... 107 Cultivating a Friendship, Nakia McKinley......................................... 108 Vastness, Rebecca L. Malone .................................................................. 109 arenas negras en tenerife, Angelie Singh ............................................. 110 Daily Heroes, Djeneba Sidibe ................................................................ 111 Tranquility, Rebecca L. Malone (cover art) ....................................................... 113

Clarity My life feels like a large piece of shattered glass broken into a million pieces; I keep trying to put it together. A fragmented life, plagued by addiction, abuse, and secrets locked up in tiny corners. The truth slips out and whispers so faintly, I feel deaf. I desperately want to know, but where would I put that piece? I have tried to connect the pieces, sometimes desperately shoving them. My spirit breaks with a deep ache to unload all the weight I carry, I am tired. Mercy whispers hope louder than the voice of fear, I lighten. Therefore, today, I will pick up a piece, however small, and with tenderness place it there. I have faith that it will fit revealing a more focused reflection. Then, maybe one day, I will come to believe that I did not smash the mirror. — Anonymous

Carnival Games My second favorite carnival game, Was the one where he guesses your weight. But now if I went, Would he include the weight of the world That rests on my shoulders? — Hermione Riggs ’22, Psychology

la fachada de la universidad de salamanca Angelie Singh ’21, International Relations & Spanish

Walker I can’t sleep. Been up all night thinking about how I was going to talk to you. Couldn’t believe you would be able to see my face Felt like you personally knew me my grandmother’s fingers unearthing my soil as I heard your soft, delicate, pronunciation of the syllables in my name. Shaken ground, movable, disturbed… For my garden was growing as you made me smile in response to your thoughts, your reprimands, your light chuckles. I can’t stop looking for some hidden meaning behind your command for me to study. Study what tho? ‘cuz I can’t sleep, right now, I keep thinking about talking to you. — Kisha Johnson, M.A. in English Literature

My Heart A movie in the sky With her golden heart Her smile is a sunshine Calling her moon and night The sadness in her eyes Dropping blood, burning my heart Hiding behind the stars For the day to come out Breaking my heart As of fire burning Never get down Without her next to me Love is life, over and over Along the ride Up and down, left and right Growing up next to her eyes Like the world with nothing as POP … POP … POP … OUT … Out, from behind the stars Run out, through the hills Never forget To ask my door It would never say no Always ready to dream Next to you, with you Not ever without you Don’t be shy my love I love you as life goes Sunshine don’t be afraid To ask the door of my heart It would never say no Remember, I love you I love you — Lina Ibrahim’23, Biology Pre-Med

Tears of the Magnolia Rebecca L. Malone ’21, Biology

Danger

Alycia Hancock ’23, Biology

El amor en los tiempos de Corona Como te extraño El silencio compartido voluntario Las noches antes que nos conociéramos Olían así sin humor o risas sin amistad La distancia se envuelve alrededor de mis huesos Como un abrazo frío olvidado Una niebla pesada en mi mente En mi alma En el espacio donde se quedó mi corazón, Mi humor y Mis risas. Donde viviste tú — Bria Keyonna Foster ’21, Modern Foreign Language

Love in the Times of Corona How I miss you The shared silence voluntary The nights before we met Smelled like this Without humor or smiles Without friendship The distance wraps itself around my bones Like a cold hug forgotten A heavy fog in my mind In my soul In the space where my heart stayed, My humor and My laughs. Where you lived — Bria Keyonna Foster ’21, Modern Foreign Language

Jellyfish

Djeneba Sidibe ’20, B.A. in Biology

Rustic Simplicity

Rebecca L. Malone ’21, Biology

Alexandria you fumble with silver as a way to keep your hands occupied i want to offer you my fingertips but that would be too forward you sit in beautiful contemplation, or uneasiness I can’t tell, but i like not being able to say what it is that keeps you here we compare sedans and i brag about my boxcar and you smile, for me, I believe you tell me about your love of the stacks and the one memory you would keep and I continue asking questions and telling stories wanting really nothing more than to see you smile again and believe I made that because it seems an unnatural sunrise he continues to bring you tea and i switch to decaf you don’t drink coffee and you prefer certain foods i hoped this was a prelude and as i return from the dessert case i watch you and wonder if you’re bored i pretend to be unaffected when i am rude and you tell me i am a quarter of your age older than you and i know i am irrational and i know i am overanxious and i know i am assuming there is even the possibility this would ever even matter; 12

that you could ever want me in return but i believe that i am right and i tell myself this is how it must be if i had stayed a student you would have been my pupil i strain for conversation because i don’t want to talk but i don’t think i should leave with you so i continue telling stories and asking questions the one memory i would keep and my love of so many mundane things i apologise you tell me not to and i wonder about your spine if that tower can give you the strength to say what i cannot and if those steps would welcome the sandpaper of my chest or my stumbling fingers or breath and we forget about hours and we walk away when at last i pay the check i act as if a gentleman and if this night had used a different set of rules i might have tried to kiss you nervous and feeble i walk back to my car thinking about ethics and willpower and wanting little more than for you to follow me home but you are not one of your cherished starvelings and i am not bold enough but i see you tonight and you glance at me as we pass like lightning bugs dancing in the twilight 13

i fan my eye toward you you spark i burn like Alexandria hoping you will crack my bindings pull me from the parchment with archival care and i will immortalize you in memories and ink because i am selfish and a coward and i don’t know anything about you even after reading every letter you have written to me pretending to understand anything besides my own stuttering speech knowing nothing other than hedonism and the warmth of your ember eyes pull me in twist limbs into origami thighs hide my lenses with opaque tresses i won’t strain to see scratch your manifesto into my flesh i will pronounce your desires with the clarity of calming waters — David D. Quinton-Schein ’20, M.A. in Cultural Proficiency Leadership in Teaching, ’22 Ph.D. Candidate Instructional Leadership for Changing Populations

dionysus en el parque de el capricho Angelie Singh ’21, International Relations & Spanish

Wish You Were Here October 12th, 2073, Universe 0. Kacper rifled through the closet, searching for his old blue sweater. He hadn’t worn it in a long time, not since the last time he saw her in this universe, and the sight of it pained him, though just for a moment. She’d mentioned the last time he visited her in 29 that she loved that sweater the most, so he told himself he’d dig it out of the closet, brush off the cobwebs, and wear it for her. He quickly got dressed and stopped in front of the mirror, straightening himself out. He felt nervous — why was he nervous? He’d known her for years, and now he does this all the time, on the twelfth day of every month, for the past two years, so why was he nervous? Perhaps it was just butterflies in his stomach at the thought of seeing her, feeling her, in person once again. He smiled at the thought that she could make him feel so flustered even after all this time. Glancing at the clock that reads 13:45, Kacper heads to the kitchen and begins to prepare a picnic basket with the food he’d picked up at the shop yesterday — some sandwiches, fresh fruits, and a small selection of various meats and cheeses. He tops the basket off with a bottle of bubbly water and heads for the door. Slipping on his shoes and picking up the flowers he’d gotten for her, Kacper takes one more look at the clock, reading 13:52 — good, he won’t be late. He leaves his apartment and heads down the street toward the old community garden. This was the place where, two years ago, at exactly 14:00 on the twelfth of November, he’d discovered the aperture. This was how he would see her again, the only way he could see her again. November 12th, 2071, Universe 0. It had been three weeks since the funeral. Kacper was sitting on one of the swings of the dilapidated playground beside the garden, not moving aside from the force of the breeze that battered his thin frame. He used to come here with her — and he’d come here every day for the past three weeks, often forgetting to bathe or even eat in favor of sitting on the swing and trying to think of nothing at all. The cold autumn air made his cheeks sting, his skin red and raw from tears. He ignored the strange glances from passers-by, wondering why a grown man was crying in an old playground in his pajamas. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d changed out of those clothes, and his yellow-brown hair looked as sad and unkempt as he himself was. He didn’t have the energy to care what they thought anymore. He glanced at his phone as he missed yet another call from his boss, wondering when he would be returning from his sick leave. Kacper didn’t want to go back. His boss gave him six weeks when Kacper came to him pleading for time off to spend with his girlfriend, explaining 16

that she was sick and in need of care. That was five weeks ago. Kacper was running out of time to spend wallowing in the misery of losing the woman he loved, and he’d need to get his act together so that he didn’t lose his job too. Still, he ignored the call and glanced at the time. 13:59. He’d need to head home soon, as he was expecting a visit from his parents later that afternoon. They’d come to see him often in the past few weeks, trying to help him in any way they could, but it didn’t do much. While digging his feet into the graying mulch and wondering if he should just stay at the garden and forget his parents’ visit, Kacper was blinded by a flash of light that seemed to come from behind the old garden shed. He tried to ignore it, but it began to make a very loud booming noise that interrupted his thoughts at every turn, so he got up to investigate. He turned the corner at the shed and was greeted with a glowing, pale golden archway. He couldn’t see through it, as it was filled with that blinding light. It looked like it would be hot, but when Kacper held the back of his hand closer to it, the air that burst forth was actually very cold. The sky above the archway was significantly different from the gray autumn sky around it, filled with menacing black clouds that flickered with electricity. Projected on the ground in front of the archway was a set of numbers. 29, and a timer that read 02:58:11 and seemed to be counting down. Was he dreaming? There was no way this was real. He’d heard rumors about the apertures, but never believed them, because it seemed too far-fetched to ever be true. Apertures, if he recalled correctly, were doorways that allowed entrance into different “what-if” universes — universes in which, perhaps, things would be different because certain events happened differently or certain choices were never made. Apertures were finicky, though — you can’t choose where you go, and if you want to go to any one particular universe, you just have to wait until the day that an archway displays that universe’s number. You also must pay heed to the clock. Kacper was once told that if you overstay your welcome in one of the what-if universes, there would be “dire consequences” — but he never really understood why, and the boy in his art class who had told him this seemed more focused on finishing the bottle of paste he was eating than finishing his story about the apertures. Now the timer read 02:55:36 — time was wasting. This could be dangerous, Kacper thought, you have no idea what might be in there! But then he remembered he didn’t care — what did he have to lose that hadn’t already been lost? Without hesitating a second more, Kacper glanced up at the angry sky, crossed the threshold of the aperture and entered into universe 29 for the first time. He was lucky this was the first universe he found. He never cared to explore any others once he saw what 29 contained. 17

October 12th, 2073, Universe 29. Stepping out of the glowing archway into the soft grass, browning in the autumn weather, Kacper smiled. Lightning flashed in the clouds above him, but there was no thunder to accompany it, and all the sky around the gateway was clear as it should be. He walked down the street that he knew like the back of his hand — it looked exactly the same as the one in his universe, after all. Striding up to her door, picnic basket and flowers in tow, he didn’t even get a chance to ring the doorbell before the door swung open and Samantha ran outside and into his arms. She was as beautiful as ever, and in their embrace, Kacper took a moment to take in her scent — the jasmine smell of her shampoo that he’d always loved, the hint of vanilla perfume that she never left the house without. She had her unruly black curls pulled back in a bun, a few loose strands framing her face. She wore nothing fancy, just a nice cardigan and some jeans, and it was perfect. Above all, she looked happy, and she looked healthy. The last time Kacper saw Samantha in his universe, her face was sallow, her body on the verge of breaking, and yet she still always managed to smile when he was around, and she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on — she always had been, and she always would be. Seeing her in 29, so bright and full of life — he could never get enough of the happiness that it brought him. He missed this. He missed her. Even with her in his arms, he missed her. But there was no time to feel wistful. The watch on her wrist read 14:03, and he could only stay until 17:00. As always, their time together was limited and they needed to make the most of it. Taking his hand, Samantha led Kacper through the house and out the sliding glass door in the kitchen to the backyard, tugging gently on the arm of his blue sweater that she loved so much — he had remembered she loved it, of course he had. On the way, she grabbed a pink checkered blanket and some dishes for the meal Kacper had brought. She had told him last time that she didn’t mind preparing the picnic, but he’d insisted. Kacper pulled open the door to the yard and followed out after Samantha, letting her cat slip through the door as well before he closed it behind him. The soft autumn breeze rustled the changing leaves, and some already fallen ones crunched under their footfalls. She spread the blanket out under the large oak tree and they both took a seat, the soft gray cat curling up beside them. Kacper emptied the basket, and Samantha poured the drinks. He’d brought sandwiches — chicken salad and veggie and hummus, Samantha’s favorites. He’d brought apples and blueberries and blackberries — no strawberries, Samantha was allergic. He’d brought roast turkey and prosciutto, swiss and provolone and gruyere — Samantha’s (and her cat, Ani’s) favorites. They smiled at each other for a moment, not speaking, just enjoying each other’s presence. 18

“I missed you,” they both said, and then giggled at their accidental synchronicity. It used to be like this all the time, carefree smiles and laughs, because they thought they had all the time in the world. They thought they had all the time in the world to get married, to have kids — they’d both agreed that two kids would be perfect — and to grow old together. But in that universe, in universe 0, life wasn’t as kind to them. In 0, Samantha got sick. For two difficult years after that, Kacper stayed by her side, promising never to leave her, but in the end, against what they both wanted, it ended up being the other way around, and she died when she was only 23. In 29, Samantha never got sick — but she never knew Kacper, either, because in 29, Kacper didn’t exist. Spending time together in 29 allowed them to be with one another again when both of their universes had seemingly decided against it. They wouldn’t talk about it, though. Kacper never told Samantha what had happened to her in 0, all she knew was that she died young, but he never told her how, for fear that it would be too painful for her to know about. This was the only secret between them, and she knew he was keeping the truth from her, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t think that she wanted to know anyway. They didn’t talk much as they ate, just shared smiles and occasionally passed Ani a cold cut or some soft cheese, which she happily accepted. Samantha kept a close eye on the time, seeing that after they had just about finished eating her watch read 15:14. She smiled to herself, seeing that they had almost two hours still remaining before Kacper would have to leave once again. Both leaning back against the trunk of the towering oak tree, Kacper holding his dear Sami close to him, they made small talk, discussing what they’d been up to since they saw each other last. This is what they did, what they always did. They talked about little things, about their boring day-to-day lives, about their new favorite food or song or television show, because if they talked about the big things, about the pain of their situation or the emotional strife of loving someone you can never truly be with, they knew they would fall apart. In the fading autumn afternoon light, a brisk breeze rustles through the trees, and Kacper and Samantha decide to head inside. They scoop up their trash and the soft pink blanket, and Ani leads the way as they head towards the door. Glancing out the window, Kacper breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that the aperture is still there waiting for him, angry gray clouds flashing and low rumbles of thunder growing louder as 17:00 draws nearer. He doesn’t want to go back through it, but he’s scared of what might happen if he doesn’t, so even as he enjoys his time with his beautiful Sami, he watches the clock like his life depends on it — because it might, who really knows? He wasn’t particularly attached to his life back in 0, not 19

since he lost her, and he wouldn’t mind at all just picking up and leaving it all behind to spend his life with his beloved Sami in 29. As they stood side by side at the sink, washing the plates and cups from the meal they’d shared, Kacper hummed a song. It wasn’t one that Samantha recognized, but she thought it sounded nice, and she smiled, before speaking. “Kacper? What happens if you don’t go back at 17:00?” she asked him, and he set down the glass he was cleaning and turned to her. She’d never traveled to other universes, as an aperture had never presented itself to her. She couldn’t even see the one that Kacper always came from, as that was his gateway, only he could see it. Samantha knew that she must have an aperture somewhere, that every day opens up to a different universe, but she’d never really been interested in searching for it. She lived a fairly nice life, and she wouldn’t want to leave the universe that she gets to see Kacper in. She’d never quite understood the apertures, but Kacper didn’t either, exactly. She’d just always trusted the time limit he told her and valued their three hours a month as if they were the most precious moments in her life, because they were, really. She wanted him to stay. More than anything else in the whole world, she just wanted her darling Kacper to stay. “I... I don’t know, Sami,” Kacper admitted, not meeting her eyes and instead choosing to focus on the shine of the tile floor beneath their feet, “I’ve just heard that if I stay, bad things will happen, but I don’t know anything for sure,” he told her, shaking his head. “Bad things?” she mused, placing a few fingers under Kacper’s chin to get him to look her in the eyes. He had the most beautiful hazel eyes, she thought to herself, before remembering the matter at hand. “I don’t know if it would be bad for me or for you or for both of us, but I’ve never really wanted to risk it and find out,” Kacper said sadly, “I’m sorry, I wish I had the answer, but I just don’t know,” he continued, and his beloved Sami gave him a small, sympathetic smile in response. “It’s okay,” she replied, her voice cracking a bit despite her attempts to fend off the tears that were forming, “I just wish you could stay.” Samantha almost felt selfish saying this, for even suggesting that perhaps they could take the risk of Kacper staying past his time limit, but she had a feeling that deep down, Kacper wanted the same thing. “Just so you know, Kacie, I’d... I’d be okay with whatever happens. As long as you’re safe, I don’t care what happens to me if it means that you could stay. I love you, and as much as I enjoy our monthly meetings, it’s... it’s just really hard. Even when you’re here, I can’t help but feel like I miss you because I know that it’s only a matter of time before you have to leave again. I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Kacper,” Samantha expresses, tears now beginning to escape. Kacper draws her into his arms, 20

and she rests her head against his chest as he strokes her hair in an attempt to console her that ultimately proves futile when he begins to cry as well. Samantha’s knees buckle and she slowly sinks to the floor, taking Kacper with her. For a while they sat like this, Kacper trying to stop his crying so he could comfort his dear Sami, Samantha trying to steady herself as she pressed her head to Kacper’s chest, comforted by the beat of her beloved’s heart. In the midst of all this, Kacper still remembers to look at the clock — it reads 16:47. He has a decision to make, he realizes, and he’s only got a few minutes in which to make it. “Sami, I don’t know for sure, but I think that since this is your universe and not mine, you’ll probably be the one that the ‘bad things’ happen to, not me, and I don’t know if I could live with myself knowing that I’m the reason you’re struggling,” Kacper tells her, his trembling hand moving to wipe the tears from under Samantha’s eyes. “I told you,” she whispers, desperation lacing her voice, “I’ll be okay. I don’t care what happens to me, and I won’t ever blame you for it, because I just want you here with me,” she cries, sobs wracking her small frame once again. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks his darling Sami for her confirmation one last time, his voice small as he forces himself to look into her dark eyes, red-rimmed from crying. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she whispers, shoulders still shaking with sobs, “please, stay. No matter what happens, we can get through it, yeah? I just want you here, Kac — please.” Kacper looks at the clock — 16:49. Normally those numbers would set off alarm bells in his head, telling him that he needs to start getting ready to head back to the aperture, back to his life of solitude in his universe, and yet despite the time, Kacper doesn’t panic. He feels fear, yes, at the prospect of something bad happening to his beautiful Sami, but maybe she was right — maybe they could get through whatever happened as long as they were together. After all, he said four long years ago when his dearest Sami fell ill that he’d be with her through it all, and he was until the very end — why stop now? Slowly, Kacper began to rise from the cold kitchen floor, bringing Samantha’s exhausted body up with him, and together they walked to the living room, Kacper turning the clock on the table face-down as he passed by. 17:00 came and went. The thunder had increased in volume to a near deafening degree, but only Kacper could hear it — it was coming from his gateway, after all. Kacper held his beloved close to him for a while as they rested on the couch as though he was trying to protect her, terrified of what would happen when the clock struck 17:00, but the only thing that happened was that the thunder ceased entirely, leaving not a 21

trace. Nothing bad happened, and they rejoiced, sharing in the first kiss that wasn’t tainted with wistful sadness that they’d had in years. Neither of them slept that night, too afraid of wasting a single moment that they had together. They stayed up all through the night, just talking, but this time, it wasn’t all small talk. They talked about how much they loved each other, about the future that they thought they could have together now. Kacper realized that the last time he felt this happy was when he was back with the Samantha in his universe, and he would cherish this feeling forever. October 13th, 2073, Universe 29. Kacper and Samantha went outside in the cold in the early hours of the morning to watch the sunrise. The sky was clear, not a stormcloud in sight. She made them tea and they sat on the grass, slightly damp with the fresh morning dew, and just watched, just basked in the sun’s warmth. It was chilly, sure, but with the two of them sitting next to each other, bodies touching, with Samantha’s sweet cat Ani nestled between them, they wouldn’t have felt even a blizzard. They spent the day like they had the night — talking about anything and everything or even nothing at all, just enjoying the sound of each other’s voice and the feeling of each other’s warmth. Kacper took to the kitchen in the evening to make dinner, and they shared their first meal together in 29 that wasn’t spent glancing anxiously at the clock — how freeing was that? For the first few days that Kacper got to spend with his beloved Sami in universe 29, all was well. He even almost forgot about the supposed “consequences” that would come with staying in the wrong universe for too long. Almost. October 18th, 2073, Universe 29. Kacper and Samantha had visited the shops this morning, picking up a few things at the grocery store after a trip to a clothing store to find some new clothes for Kacper — he still only had that blue sweater she loved, and his beautiful Sami was running out of sweatshirts that she could give to him to wear. Kacper had been afraid to go out of the house, afraid of others seeing him and knowing that he didn’t belong here, but everything was fine. He thought that perhaps the universes had decided to show him mercy and not punish them for breaking the rules, or maybe there were no consequences to be seen, and the rumors had all been just that — just rumors. Samantha told him to stop worrying, that everything was fine, that they could finally be truly content in their lives because they could finally be together. He tried to listen, but something in the back of his mind told him to keep an eye out, to not let his guard down, just in case. 22

When they returned to Samantha’s home, the kitchen was a mess. The spice rack had been knocked over, and the floor was covered in its contents. The cookbooks on the counter had all toppled over. Dishes that had been drying beside the sink had crashed onto the floor and lay there in pieces. Kacper was terrified. What had happened? Had there been a break-in? Had some wild animal made its way into the house? Was this the universe expressing its anger? Was it — “Are you kidding me? Ani, I told you that you’re not supposed to climb on the kitchen counters, this is why! What a mess,” Samantha exclaimed, placing their bags on the table as she assessed the scene. Kacper was stunned. He was in a panic, and his darling Sami seemed unbothered, if not just a bit frustrated, having immediately decided that her sweet cat must have been the culprit. As if she could read his mind (or perhaps it was his panicked expression that gave him away), Samantha placed a hand on Kacper’s shoulder and asked, “What are you so worried about? It’s not too much of a mess, it shouldn’t take too long to clean up, what’s wrong?” “You’re sure it was just Ani?” Kacper asked her, trying to hide his anxiety as Samantha met his eyes. “Yeah, she gets into trouble sometimes, it’s not that big a deal. Are you always this nervous? I’ve never noticed before,” Samantha muses, but Kacper doesn’t reply. The nervousness was a habit, you might say, that he’d picked up after his dear Sami in universe 0 had gotten sick. He’d become on edge, watching her carefully to make sure that she was doing alright and jumping at the smallest sounds she would make, wondering if she was in pain, if she needed help. That Samantha had died two years ago — why was he still like this? Maybe it was a sort of protective instinct. If that was the case, he didn’t mind the nerves, because perhaps they helped him keep his beautiful Sami safe. “Well, let’s try to get this mess cleaned up, yeah? While I get started could you please put the groceries in the fridge?” Samantha asked, and Kacper nodded, doing as she said. He moved rather slowly, in contrast to his thoughts that were moving a mile a minute. They got the kitchen cleaned and Samantha continued on as though nothing had happened, and Kacper tried to get in that mindset as well, to try and calm his racing heart. Something wasn’t right here. But his darling Sami was okay — maybe it was just a coincidence? Kacper hoped so, dear god he hoped so. Ani never curled up at the end of their bed that night — as a matter of fact, they didn’t remember seeing her all day. They wouldn’t realize that until the next morning.

October 19th, 2073, Universe 29. Samantha was worried. She loved Ani, and she’d never run away from home before, so what had happened? Where had she gone off to? She and Kacper visited the houses of a few neighbors, asking if they’d seen the darling feline, but no one had. While making their way back to Samantha’s house, Kacper’s heart sinking continuously lower as he wondered if perhaps Ani’s disappearance was another consequence of his abandoning the aperture, he noticed his beloved Sami had begun to fall behind, walking slower than he was. Was she — was she limping? Oh no, Kacper thought, no, no, no, no, no. “Sami? What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” Kacper asked, trying to hide the worry in his voice as he had been the past few days. “Yeah, sorry. I think I might have slept wrong, my hip kind of hurts. I’m only 25 and I feel like I’m 70!” she said with a small smile, before wincing a bit. The pain had only just started, but it was getting worse quickly. “On the right side?” Kacper asked voice growing louder as he began to panic, “In the front?” “Yeah, how did you —” she stumbled as she approached her front door, and Kacper grasped her arms gently and helped her ease down onto the porch, “— how did you know?” “This can’t be happening,” Kacper whispered to himself, his eyes already stinging with the beginnings of tears forming in them, “I’m so stupid, I can’t believe I did this, oh my god, this is all my fault, I’m so sorry Sami, I’m —” he was spiralling, his words becoming nonsensical as Samantha struggled to make out what he was muttering. The sky darkened above them, but his dear Sami didn’t seem to notice. “Please don’t do this,” Kacper begged to no one in particular, but directed his teary eyes up towards the sky that was rapidly filling with angry black clouds, “Do whatever you want to me, but please, don’t do this to her, she doesn’t deserve this, please —” “What’s happening, Kac? What’s your fault? What’s —” “Sami,” Kacper mumbled, his tears now flowing freely, “I never told you what happened to you, did I? Back in my universe?” “You told me that I... that I died two years ago. You never said how. Why? What’s happening?” Samantha replied, her words interspersed with winces at the growing pain in her hip. “This is how it started, Sami. You... you got sick, so sick, and this... it started like this,” Kacper whispered, not daring to look Samantha in the eyes. “I have to go,” he said under his breath, then loud enough for her to hear him, “I have to go.” “What do you mean you have to go? If I really am sick, you can’t 24

just leave me here, please!” Samantha cried. “I think this is the ‘dire consequence’, Sami. I’m not supposed to be in this universe and now because of me, you’re dying all over again,” Kacper said through tears, “but it’s too fast now, way too fast, and it’s just going to get worse,” his voice dropped to a whisper, as thunder began to rumble from above. “What day is it? Maybe on the twelfth of next month, your aperture will open up again and you can go back home and things will go back to normal,” Samantha said, desperately clinging on to the hope that this could all go away. Kacper looked at the watch on Samantha’s wrist. October 19th, it read. Twenty-six days until the twelfth would come again. Samantha cried out as the sharp pain in her hip only worsened, and she was having a hard time staying focused because of it. “It’s too fast,” Kacper repeated under his breath, “you don’t have that much time.” “What do you mean?” Samantha asked him, “Kac, what’s going to happen to me?”she whimpered, holding onto Kacper’s hands as tight as a vice. “It starts in your hip, but then it’s your leg, and then it’s your lungs, and then you can’t breathe, and then you —” he stops, not able to say that the next thing to happen to his beloved Sami would be that she’d die. The lightning is flashing brightly now, too brightly, and every time it happens Kacper is temporarily blinded by it. The thunder is growing louder, so loud that he’s yelling, even though he knows Samantha doesn’t hear the thunder — it’s from his aperture, whatever may have happened to it, he’s sure of it. He looks up at the sky as it becomes impossibly darker, and he begins to shout at whatever may be up there. “What do I have to do?” he screamed, his throat feeling raw from crying, “What do I have to do to stop this?” The thunder was so loud now that he could barely hear his beautiful Sami next to him, crying. He never liked to see her cry. “Do you want me to go? Just tell me that if I leave, you’ll stop this! Please! Do what you want to me, but please, take this back, stop hurting her, please!” Kacper shouted at the sky until he could do so no more, but as the thunder somehow grew more deafening still, a thought came to his mind that was not his own, and told him that he knew what he needed to do. He held his beloved Sami in his arms one last time, being careful not to hurt her, as the pain had already spread down her right leg and her chest was starting to feel tight, not just from the crying. He looked into her eyes, irises as black as the storm clouds swirling above him, brimming with tears but still so, so beautiful. He kissed her 25

one last time, for a long time, desperately trying to imprint the moment into his memories so that he’d never forget what it felt like to kiss the love of his life. “I love you,” Kacper said, voice just a whisper that he was unable to hear over the roaring from the skies, but she heard him. She heard him, and she’d replay those three words over and over again in her mind for the rest of her life. “I love you!” Samantha shouted, hoping desperately that he could make out her breathless words over the thunder he was hearing. He could. He could. Standing up slowly, face turned up towards the angry sky, Kacper lets go of his beautiful Sami’s hands for the last time. He turns in the direction where the sky is the darkest, and he runs. He runs as fast as his trembling legs will allow, hoping against all hope that he can be gone before Samantha’s time runs out. He runs for what feels like forever, not once daring to look back, until the clouds are no longer just in the sky, but all around him on the ground, as well. The thunder is the loudest it’s ever been, and the lightning is so bright and so frequent that Kacper can no longer see anything but the flashes of white light. He drops to his knees and presses his hands over his ears, heaving as he tries to catch his breath, but the clouds are thick, and it’s making it hard to breathe. He tilts his head up towards the unforgiving sky one last time, a voice in his head telling him that he’s almost done it, that she’ll be okay, that her life will soon return to the way it was, and he cries. He feels heavy as the clouds start to swallow him up, eating him whole, and he cries. — Megan Elizabeth Slaughter ’22, Nursing

Horizon

Jessica Profilio ’20, B.A. in English

Sunset in Baltimore

Djeneba Sidibe ’20, B.A. in Biology

Horizon Lines As the sunset and the Horizon draws its line. I see the sun, peaking at me over its blanket, it’s bright blossoms eye winks at me as it weaves its way through obstacles tall, and some dark. For a second, it’s silenced by the different trees that dance and wave their hands at me, almost as if they’re teasing the sun. But the bundle of joy comes popping out like a child running wild. See its radiance, beauty and blinding nature places one at awe. She is the fairest of them all. It soars way above, dancing through the sky but at night she hides her face from the night disastrous glare. Night is jealous because, it doesn’t have the ability to make someone bloom, and plants smile. Rather, it places things to rest like a bird in their own nest. As the morning dawn whispers through our winds its sophisticated yet simple and ambitious calls, Opens the eyes to world. A creation that dwindles from the master above, comes to warm the hearts to all those who love, hate, or fall. — Rochelle Thompson ’22, English & Political Science

The Depths of Nature She steps into character as her shadows crept with ease. Another silent night of weeping willows dancing in tune with a gentle breeze. Her soles thread the soft earth in the path of leaves falling upon the snowlaced departure. And to her surprise, she finds the sweetest harmony for the dawn of an unforeseen new adventure. Time evades her conscience as she is drawn to the wonders of nature. — Chavonne Bowen ’20, B.A. in Physics

Autumn thick fog pressed down on her shoulders like the ethereal weight of forgotten dreams a strong wind hallowed her out and left the soul standing bare as a deciduous, grounded in layers of time but the sun still chose to dance on her skin and glisten off the dewy grass, she watched each blade; bending, not breaking, as they slipped beneath naked soles and tickled high arches a child’s laughter building in the swell of plump cheeks escaped a stale smile, the scent of the ocean enveloped her like no lover ever could, she continued — Bria Keyonna Foster ’21, Modern Foreign Language

Autumn Whispers

Rebecca L. Malone ’21, Biology

Pollen Pouches

Rebecca L. Malone ’21, Biology

Dredging Patricia we were a secret your mother was the enemy and i loved you like a spy through winter nights at the fire i serenaded you and our friends then passed along the shell to another who bore my same name you were sitting lotus wearing a black shirt and a tan jacket blue jeans and a shiver i sat behind you my thighs forming a mug and like coffee, you flowed into every crevice my legs around you you reached down took my trembling fingers into your steady palms and declared “you are cold. put them in here to keep warm” as you silently brought me inside your jacket my arms around your chest wrapping you like a fur pelt my fingers cupping your breasts and I did not freeze as i held you that night and i held you there like your life depended upon me. once, when your employment was crumbling around you, we waltzed through the door with their paper and plastic i sang to you one night, trying to imitate the timeless recordings at the Cote D’Azure and it meant everything 34

in those spaces between being one and having to take you home and i sang to you like my voice would always wake you when i came home to an empty house you stayed with me we carried my world across a city you had begun before i had even arrived your tiny frame carrying your weight in furniture and boxes without the help of the terrified man who was afraid, for me, of you you came with me that night we loved bruised knees into a box spring you were a panther creeping across my floor as if stalking my flesh tearing into me when i drank from you pulling me in when i poured into you we washed away the stains of our sins praying the water would purify us dripping from the wall into torturous mornings and i loved you like you would die that night and i loved you like you were my heartbeat and i loved you like i could make you stay but the winter landscape snow melted into sullen rivulets of mountain tears the trees crying for you because i could not that day your mother appeared at my door she could only say “at least we know she’s safe” and she said that so convinced as if announcing it could somehow recall death and cancel it out 35

as if she were god’s messenger only appearing too late, and yet i would receive no ceremony there was no wooden box for me to lay you down no brown study over which we could mourn we could only visit you in those halls of sickness watching through the thick glass as your body paraded around in someone else’s smile i stood by that wall waiting for you to let down your hair waiting for a day i would never see walking into your room under close scrutiny i made you laugh i made your mother smile i made those younger imitations of you believe there was a chance they would get better and i prayed you would get better and i begged your mother not to exile me and i prayed you wouldn’t turn away and i begged for understanding and i prayed like i could bring you back — David D. Quinton-Schein ’20, M.A. in Cultural Proficiency Leadership in Teaching, ’22 Ph.D. Candidate Instructional Leadership for Changing Populations

Roller Coaster I hate roller coasters. The big climb up is only a reminder of the inevitable fall. And while others can scream, I can’t. It feels like I can’t breathe. I have my mouth open, Trying to voice my fear, But I make no sound. Like in my nightmares just before I wake. I try to scream at the horror But my mouth just ends up open and empty. I can’t escape the terror, I can’t breathe. I hate roller coasters. — Hermione Riggs ’22, Psychology

Summer Nights

Jessica Profilio ’20, B.A. in English

Pebble

Jessica Profilio ’20, B.A. in English

A Boring Summer The name given to this place was “Lower South Blisaft,” but everyone just calls it “The Slums.” While people here aren’t packed on top of one another like sardines, they were close enough to know about anything and everything happening around them. Children here are usually either working or lounging around the housing units in groups, which gets them yelled at by residents that are wary about them leaving trash and vandalizing their doors. A majority of the adults work monotonous office jobs or jobs no one else wants to work, but there are still a fair number of bums who live through their working wives and lounge around drinking ice-cold beers. It’s also terribly cloudy and bleak so even though there are some trees and miserable patches of grass that continue to be trodden on by drunken workers, there are no hints of vibrant green or any vibrant colors at that. The Slums wake up earlier than dawn since the parents have to travel long hours to reach the city, which reminds them every morning just how isolated they are from the rest of the world. But today Jaserah, the rebel with no plans for the future, decided to wake up alongside her mother who pinched herself believing she was still asleep. “You do know it’s summer vacation, right?” Her mother asked in Hindi with an oddly concerned tone as if Jaserah has gone mad. Jaserah chuckled and answered in Hindi, “Of course I know. I’m just trying something new.” Her mother continued to stare at her but instead of being mollified, she became worried that Jaserah might start causing trouble once the adults left. Jaserah could tell what she was thinking and quickly said, “I won’t do anything, I promise! Can a girl get no trust in this house?” All she got as a response was an even more distressed look, but the issue was dropped, and they both departed by going to their separate bathrooms and preparing for the day. Today, Jaserah spent more time thinking about which hijab she wanted to wear and chose her bright red hijab and clipped it up with a rose hair clip. She munched on her breakfast, cringing every time she got a bite of burnt egg, but she circulated from her egg to her paratha and then washed it down with her chai. But nothing could make her forget the shame she felt when she burnt it. Her parents came down the stairs and when her mother looked at her, her face quickly contorted into a worried expression. “Mama, are you going to keep looking at me like that for the rest of my life?” Jaserah asked, half-jokingly between bites. “Please don’t cause any trouble. The neighborhood has been 40

kind to you in the past, but I’m not sure how much more of your mischief they can take.” Her mother continued to frown while fixing her hijab, which was an elegant shade of purple that perfectly matched her calf length dress and low heels. A perfect businesswoman. Her father, of course, had no expression and said nothing, but judging from his posture and the way his eyes were fixated on her, Jaserah knew that he agreed with her mother. They left after kissing her on the forehead and she couldn’t help but feel irritated. She pushed herself away from the table and leaned on her chair, looking up at the ceiling. They didn’t even ask how I slept, or compliment my hijab, or even say anything about my burnt egg. She raised her wrist and started pressing the screen on her watch and waited for her friends to pick up the holo call. This holo call could be received using any device with the holo software, but it worked best on the holo watch which Jaserah had gotten as a gift. The first to answer was Lam, their hologram quickly displayed out of the watch as a standard video call screen. They immediately gave their signature devilish smile, “How did you just wake up, and yet, you already have food on your face?” “What…?” She pressed a button to see her camera and noticed she had some burnt pieces of egg-laying on her cheek and chin. She quickly wiped it off before looking back at Lam’s hologram to see them chuckling, “You’re such a dickhead you know that?” “Hey, I’m the one helping you here!” they exhaled. Onacona and Lashauna joined at the same time and they both laughed at how in sync they were. But Jaserah was fairly confused. “Why are you guys even awake right now?” She asked looking at the time on the clock. “I usually get up this early to have time to work out and meditate,” Lashauna responded, and this wasn’t surprising information since she’s the most productive person in the group. “Eh, I just decided to wake up early.” Lam shrugged, looking outside their window off camera, at the sun peeking out from within the clouds. Onacona nodded energetically, “I just wanted to wake up to see if I could! Maybe we should all try to wake up early like this.” Lam and Jaserah quickly rejected this idea while Lashauna giggled as Onacona began whining about them not being productive. “Hey, do you guys want to meet up at that playground?” Jaserah requested. “Are you talking about the abandoned one? Isn’t it dangerous over there?” Lashauna is not only productive but is the voice of concern in the group, which slightly annoyed Jaserah since it reminded her of her 41

mother. Jaserah smiled to ignore thoughts about her mom. “No one goes down there, and we won’t be playing on anything so we should be fine,” she said. The others hesitantly agreed because they felt like Jaserah was just pushing them to get into trouble with her again. They all made their way towards the abandoned playground that was situated near the outskirts of the borough on their hoverboards and hover shoes. The reason no one went over there is that it was too far from the houses for children to play, and it used to be a place full of drug dealers and gangbangers. Now though, it’s only home to wildlife and a few homeless people. Once they all arrived at the playground, they began talking about everything and nothing. They were only 16-year-old kids who haven’t started driving, working, or exploring the rest of the world, and their only knowledge of the world outside the Slums was through the internet and stories from adults. As they spoke to one another, the dynamics in their characters showed clearly: Lam was laid-back and listened more than spoke, but when they did speak it was a snarky comment; Onacona carried the conversation with Jaserah but he was animated and seemed so interested in everything that his eyes seemed to sparkle every time someone spoke; Lashauna also stayed quiet but she giggled and smiled sweetly when it fits, and Jaserah spoke passionately and moved her hands and arms as she spoke. “Oh, Jaserah! I forgot to say something before, but your hijab today is really pretty! It looks like it’s glowing!” Onacona practically yelled in excitement, and Jaserah’s brown skin created a slight blush. “O-Oh thanks,” she said. Lashauna added another compliment about her hijab which made her blush even worse, and before Lam could comment on it, she changed the subject. “We should do something fun! Something that will give us a great start for the summer!” “Like what? We can’t do anything in this shithole,” Lam grumbled. Jaserah side eyed them, but couldn’t respond with anything because they were right — as much as she hated when they were right. “Well, you guys know that new government building they built near here?” she asked, plan forming in her mind. “You know, to help our borough or whatever.” “Yeah, what about it?” Onacona asked innocently. “Let’s go check it out.” Jaserah gave a sly smile while looking in the direction of the building. It was silent for a minute, though the sounds of the birds in the trees and the squirrels fighting with one another in the overgrown grass, partnered with the squeaks of the old playground equipment, created an uncomfortable atmosphere. “Are you out of your damn mind? A government building? This 42

isn’t some side store or even someone’s place, this is some serious shit! We could get into some big trouble!” Lam quickly protested, stepping closer to Jaserah, which caused Lashauna and Onacona to step back in worry. “No one is in there right now anyway! Think about it; it’s a new building so they’re probably still trying to get staff and put stuff together! If anything, we probably won’t even be able to go in, but we might as well go check it out since it’s for us,” Jaserah retorted, stepping closer to Lam. The two stared each other down, postering at best, but Onacona steeled himself regardless before stepping in. “Hey! Let’s calm down a little bit, okay? We can just go over to the building and look around a bit, and then we can come right back and check out Lashauna’s newest robot!” Lashauna gave an uneasy smile and nodded while adjusting her bag that contained the tiny robot. The staring contest ceased, Lam breaking first, sighing. “We can go over there just to check it out, but we are not going inside. Okay, Jaserah?” Jaserah already turned her back to Lam and didn’t turn around, knowing she would get upset because of their expression. “Yeah, yeah whatever,” she said. With that, she started her board up and rode towards the building with the rest following closely behind. The group has never gone this far from the houses, even with how far the school is. They began to feel a little nervous. Even though Lashauna was probably the most shaken, she made sure to check up on everyone so they wouldn’t be too anxious, her dazzling white smile matching perfectly with her green “tree hugger” shirt. Once they made it to the building, all their mouths dropped open in awe; they have never seen a building as clean white and huge as this in person — only in their history textbooks and on the news. There was no one around guarding the building, and there was no gate. “Did they just assume no one would come over here?” Lashauna wondered aloud and the rest shrugged. “Let’s go in,” Jaserah said, immediately starting towards the side of the building before anyone could protest. Once she made it to a side window, she took out a multi-blade she took from a bully and took out the laser tool, beginning to carve a circle that looked big enough for a child to crawl into. “You must be insane! You must have lost your damn mind!” Lam’s yells were hushed, and their eyes shifted from side to side, nervous beyond belief at this stupid plan. “Hey, maybe you should just shut the fuck up and let me work, because if I fuck up even slightly this whole window will shatter,” Jaserah mumbled. When she finished making the circle, she took out the suction 43

tool and pulled the piece of glass out carefully, leaving an empty hole. Jaserah looked back with a big, goofy smile on her face and used her thumb to point back at the hole. “Who wants to go in first?” Lashauna looked like she was about to start crying any second and Onacona’s usual bubbly smile disappeared and morphed into a face of utter terror. Lam couldn’t even speak because they knew if they opened their mouth only screaming would emerge. “Jaserah… this is going a little far, isn’t it…” Onacona said almost running out of breath even though he’s been completely still since she started. Jaserah knew what she was doing could get her in a lot of trouble, but she had a reason for doing this, and she believed if they knew they would follow her lead. “Listen, guys, what has the government done for us? We’ve been thrown into this rundown, shabby, and just sad place because we’re seen as garbage. They put us down here because they didn’t even want to acknowledge that we exist! Yet they still want us to be obedient and cater to their every damn need,” she paused to turn her gaze into the building. “We deserve to riot. We deserve to show them what happens when you disregard your people. So, let’s do this not for us, but everyone in our borough.” How many more times will it just go silent like this? And after I said all of that… Jaserah thought as she died of embarrassment. “Isn’t that what Dante said in that show?” Lashauna cooed while fixing her glasses as if that would help her remember. “That’s almost exactly what he said,” Lam scoffed before rubbing at their temple. “If this is so important to you that you’re willing to say something so embarrassing, we’ll do it.” Jaserah whipped her head back to look at them and saw that they were all smiling, mostly defeatedly. “Yeah, we can’t get into too much trouble. I mean, we’re still only minors so the most they can do is put us in that new juvie place in the city,” Lashauna added. Jaserah almost felt like crying; she couldn’t help but think her friends are way too nice to her. Onacona stayed silent and just stared inside. “The government might not go easy on us. We’re all rejects and live in a forgotten place. Especially people like me…” He paused and averted his gaze towards the woods that lead back to the neighborhood. Since Onacona is Cherokee. He’s familiar with how the government treats his people, and though the Cherokee community is now rising and thriving, they are all still wary about getting involved with the government. Jaserah slumped in shame for forgetting this. “I’m so sorry, Onacona… I completely forgot about that. We can just head back,” she said making her way towards the trail. Onacona 44

quickly grabbed her arm and looked at the ground. “I’ll go. Maybe I can find something useful,” he said. He raised his eyes to look at her and gave his usual warm smile, “And it sounds fun!” At that moment Jaserah wanted to ask why they were so nice to her and why her parents didn’t show even a hint of this kindness, but she left it as only a thought. After crawling into the hole — with many complaints from Lam about how small it was — they started snooping around the room they entered. The room seemed to be primarily for lounging, where the superiors would drink their expensive liquors and talk about how they suspect their wife of having an affair while gloating about their own. Some bookcases lined the walls, but the teenagers got the impression that they would never actually be read; instead, the five large, plush love chairs and the coffee table placed exactly in the middle seemed the most important. Lam decided to test out one of the love chairs while the others ventured on, “I’ll catch up with y’all in a second. Imma just…” They trailed off as they began to doze off. They all went into rooms that interested them: Jaserah went into a room that contained different weapons and gadgets, Lashauna found the room that could’ve been the library, and Onacona went into the room that resembled the Oval Office. Onacona knew he couldn’t lose his temper, but simply looking at the desk that he knew would never sign anything to help his people or the borough made him sick. He began searching through the desk. He had no idea what he wanted to find. He just wanted something that would help him against this evil. All the drawers were empty or contained miscellaneous objects, except one. A file labeled “Mission Vix” laid in the drawer and it appeared to be calling out to him, so he slowly grabbed it. He practically ran to gather the others, and they all sat in the office staring at the folder. “I haven’t opened it yet,” Onacona admitted, practically shaking from his nerves. “Do you need me to?” Jaserah asked. Onacona’s eyes didn’t stray from the folder, “No. I can do it.” He gently picked up the folder and revealed the first page. It read: Reporting from station 254 in Moscow, Russia. The planet Mars has finally begun to show large bodies of liquid water and other signs of life that shows to be valuable for humans. We are aware that station 53 has been waiting to send humans to Mars and have already prepared spacecrafts and supplies. So, this is a message to say that you can commence in your plans… The others read with Onacona over his shoulders and stepped back before he closed the folder as if they had seen enough. “We need to take this,” Onacona sternly voiced and everyone else nodded slowly, wondering if the old Onacona is long gone. 45

“But… if this is true how are we supposed to go to Mars? We aren’t suited for space travel at all,” Lashauna mumbled, in fear that Onacona would take offense to her questioning him. “I mean my parents work in a lab in the city, and Lam’s uncle and mom work in that research building, which I’m sure to have some connection to the space corporation,” Jaserah said. As they discussed the possibilities, they could sense something — or somethings — watching them. They couldn’t pinpoint the direction this sensation was coming from, but it felt as if it was engulfing them. “Let’s just take this now and then we can talk about it when we get back to the neighborhood. The more we stay in here the more uneasy I feel.” Lam said what everyone else was thinking, and they all followed their lead as they went to the back door. Onacona had Lashauna put the file in her bag, which she quickly obliged to and gently settled it next to her bot. “Why not use the hole again?” Jaserah asked. “You’re outta your damn mind thinkin’ I’ll lunge myself through that thing again,” Lam responds half-jokingly and they both giggled. They were surprised that the feeling they had inside didn’t disappear once they got out, and they worriedly looked at one another before starting up their hoverboards and hover shoes. “Well, what do we have here?” They all froze. So, this is the person that was spying on them, but where did they come from? They didn’t see anyone inside, and if they were in there why did they wait until now to make themselves known? “It’s rude not to look at people when they’re talking to you, no?” The voice was smooth yet forbidding as if it was ordering the teenagers to turn around or some unspeakable act will be donned on them, so they surrendered. Never before have teenagers seen someone that looked so pristine, mysterious, and evil. This person towered over them with a thin, Cheshire grin, wearing an all-black spotless suit with a crimson red tie. They stood straight with their hands enveloping in front of them. “The Grim Reaper,” Jaserah whispered. “No, the Devil.” Lam corrected. “I am neither of those things, but I appreciate the compliments,” the figure said. They giggled softly, which made the group’s skin crawl. “May I ask why you children were side? I’m sure you’re aware that this is a government building.” Jaserah quickly came up with a lie. “No! No, we honestly just thought it was some fancy house someone built over here and abandoned. 46

I mean there’s no security or gate, so we just assumed…” The figure cut her off. “Then why is there a hole in the window? If you thought it was abandoned, you would’ve just gone to the front door. Also, you children came out of the back door, meaning you suspected someone may have been here.” She was going to speak again but could feel Lam’s side-eye telling her to drop it. “We’re deeply sorry for infiltrating this building. We’re just stupid kids who know no better, please don’t punish us too harshly,” Lam nearly pleaded. Somehow, the Cheshire grin grew wider, “Punish? Oh, no. On the contrary, I have been looking for some children that would be interested in an internship at this establishment,” he said. He started gliding to the back of the teenagers. “And I must say you all seem like fine recruits for the job.” He stopped behind Jaserah and lightly placed his slender pointer finger on her shoulder. “Especially you. You remind me of myself.” Jaserah couldn’t help but feel insulted, and she gritted her teeth to stop herself from saying her thoughts. She looked to her side, and the farthest from her was Lashauna, who had one hand in her pocket as if she was typing something. At that moment, Jaserah knew she must distract this figure. “So, who are you, exactly, and what do you do? You haven’t introduced yourself,” Jaserah asked. She looked to her right to see the figure pause at her question, and for a split second, the grin disappeared. It swiftly reappeared, but the intensity wasn’t the same. “I’m Mr. Williams. I’m one of the recruiters for this station.” A short and sweet answer. “So, if we’re recruited what would we be doing? Cleaning toilets? Sorting through the mail?” Jaserah started to feel cocky and smirked Mr. Williams. “I want you to know that my time is valuable, and I can’t just waste it on anything,” she said. She glanced over and noticed Lashauna seemed nearly done with whatever she was planning, and suddenly she felt a slender, yet heavy hand grab her chin and raise her head. It was cold. “Listen, I know you children have nothing better to do than steal and fight. I know you children will go back to your little pathetic homes and wonder what it’s like to live.” She could feel his grip tighten. “And I am here to bless you. I can change your lives for the better. I can grant you guys everything you desire. All you have to do is take this internship. Is that so difficult to understand?” Mr. Williams had a smile that others may have been warm but on him it was nauseating. Jaserah stared into his eyes and before she could even mutter a word, a laser struck Mr. Williams in his face causing him to falter back 47

into the building. Tracing the source of the laser, she saw Lashauna with a robot the size of a small stuffed animal on her shoulder. “Run!” Lashauna shouted before starting up her hover shoes and heading into the woods. No one hesitated and they all started up their gear and followed behind her. Mr. Williams began shouting orders into the air, and Jaserah looked back to see a group of people in all black suits following them. But they were running, and they were able to catch up to the group through their gadgets that were accelerating them at high speeds. “Go in different directions!” Jaserah yelled before diverging from the group with two agents on her tail. While the group was chased, they used different methods in defeating the agents. Jaserah used the laser connected to her switchblade, Lashauna used her robot, Lam made the agents run into trees, and Onacona hid in the trees with a large rock and smashed the rock into their skulls when he dropped down. After taking care of her agents, Lashauna tried to figure out where the abandoned park would be, and suddenly, someone grabbed her by the shoulder, cutting off the magnetic power in her shoes. When she turned to look at the aggressor, her body froze with fear. It was Mr. Williams, but his flawless face was no more. Where she had blasted him in the face, there was now an open area of wires, circuits, and glowing lights with faint sparks coming from broken circuits. The pure face was tarnished. “Don’t you think you should take some responsibility?” Mr. Williams chuckled, which turned into a belly laugh as he tensed his grip so much that Lashauna truly believed her shoulder would break. Her robot was practically dead because the battery ran out of life, so she simply surrendered by limping in his grasp and closing her eyes. “Hey, Robobitch! You better let her go or imma blow another hole in that creepy-ass face!” Lashauna’s eyes shot open when she heard Jaserah’s voice. Before Mr. Williams could even retort, a laser shot into the other side of his face making it completely tarnished, but he kept his grip firm on Lashauna’s shoulder. Rustles in the trees were heard from overhead and Onacona leaped down with the heftiest rock he could find, smashed it into Mr. William’s head, and then grabbed Lashauna before escaping. Jaserah stood over Mr. Williams as he lay defenseless and broken, and she snarled. “Why did you say I was like you?” Mr. William’s face was now purely wiring and bolts aside from one side of his mouth, which still showed a weak smile, “Your passion. I used to have that sort of passion also, and I thought I was doing the best thing with it. But really,” he paused, and his prosthetic eyeballs made 48

mechanical noises as they veered towards her, “Really I was just too consumed in my mind to see the reality.” She immediately blasted him the final time in the head between his chilling eyes and rejoined her friends. The walk back was silent, but Jaserah was okay with that. She needed the silence just like everyone else. Her hijab had dirt stains, and she lost her rose hair clip, but she couldn’t care less. Lashauna’s shirt also had patches of the Earth on it, but she still rubbed Onacona’s back as they ventured to the park. Lam did the same to Jaserah and instead of shooing him away, she put her weight into their touch and forced herself not to start crying. They didn’t check the time, but it felt like early to mid-afternoon, the time when the sun is the brightest, but, of course, the clouds stayed firmly in front of the blazing star. They stood in a corner of the park at first just watching the wildlife and the homeless chasing away the squirrels, which seemed rather familiar to them. Onacona opened the folder and read the rest of the pages, and his eyes grew in surprise. His voice broke the silence. “We need to burn the folder,” he said. “Burn it?! After all of that?! No, we are taking this and using it as we said earlier,” Jaserah responded with a blaze in her eyes. “There is an intelligent species that already lives there. Look.” He handed the folder to Jaserah, and she and the other two began reading from where they left off. He was right, the government was planning on colonizing Mars. However, Jaserah didn’t have a complete change of heart, “We can just co-exist with them! We won’t kill them off!” “Do you have any idea who you’re saying this to right now?! My people have dealt with this in the past, and I want no part in having this happen to another species!” Onacona boomed, this was the first time he’s ever raised his voice like that to Jaserah. Lam joined in, “Onacona is right, Jaserah. It’s not fair for us to go on some planet and start using their resources just because we don’t want to try and work on a better life here. Just give it up.” Jaserah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Were these the same people that live in her borough? The same people who lived here during the five months when there was no clean water? The same people who were forced to use books released nearly ten years ago for school? Why are they not caring for their community as much as her? She scrunched her nose in disgust and rage but her facial expressions slowly softened. “I am like him.” She whispered to herself. “That man. No, that thing said that I was like him. I think I understand him now.” 49

Her passion and faulty reasons were causing her to believe that it’s all right to invade Mars, force them to share their land and resources, and exterminate them if they deny them otherwise. She was becoming the monster that ignores her home. “Onacona you are right. I am so sorry I tried to overlook your feelings when they are completely right and justified. I should know better than to try to take something that is not rightfully mine. I’m sorry.” Jaserah choked back her tears and hesitantly raised her head to look at Onacona, who was already crying. “It’s okay,” was all he could muster up before walking to a person leaning on a tree who was smoking a cigarette and asking for a lighter. He returned to the group with a lighter, and they all relocated to an empty garbage can where the ceremony would take place. He lit the file and it almost floated into the bin as if that were its home. The group watched as the file became overtaken by the flames. Then, for the first time in what seemed like a decade, the clouds parted to introduce the sun, and the rays lit up the ghetto to show the green of the trees and grass. And as everything became overtaken by the rays, Jaserah bawled. — Trinity Soto ’23, Biology (Pre-Med)

Low

Alycia Hancock ’23, Biology

A One-Sided Chat with M. de Silento

Chinwendu Nwokeabia ’19, B.A. in Mathematics

Remember the Seeds Where should I start? How should I say it? This hatred that I now see, how can I speak of it? This hatred that started like a seed thrown in the street Somehow it managed to live In our streets, this seed of hatred managed to grow and take root And look, it’s now fully grown into an Iroko tree A tree with poisonous roots Roots that have also managed to spread To spread deep down into the soil of our homes, our communities, our nations Some people are trying to cut the tree Others are watering the tree The rest are watching Then there is a few trying to uproot the tree Is it not too late? The tree has born fruits Fruits whose seeds have fallen into the ground The buried seeds of hatred are not dead They are just incubating In due season, they will hatch A forest of hatred will spring forth This forest of evil will spread Should the people let the whole earth be infected with the seeds of hatred? Or should the people excavate the seeds with love and cut the root with forgiveness? I don’t know. It’s up to the people! But one thing I know: whatever the people choose, their offspring will answer for it — Nice Y. Mutshipayi ’19, M.A. in Nonprofit Management; ’21 Ph.D. Candidate Instructional Leadership for Changing Populations

The Art of Humanity This empty canvas proclaimed to be a creation of God is as light as a feather, gentle as an elephant, and tediously layered. My mind is a gallery of agony and desire. His compliments fill my emptiness steadily. I ruminate often about how his next stroke will make me greater. 5 Contact with each bristle exposes my shine and thickens my surface. I noticed regret and error in his bright ingenious eyes. His diluted palette secured the void in my frame. He shades me roughly to intercept my glow. His efforts to cloak my flaws have deceived his critiques. 10 My saturation, his admiration, my aspiration, swayed me to believe that each laceration was making me more luminous. It took 18 years for me to realize that no man on this earth could make me malleable or worthy. But my disparity would. Art is not similar, yet comparable. 15 He said I was unusual, yet extraordinary. Not because I am unique in his eyes, but because I was created in his reflection. I now know that his palette was never perennial and could be emulated. Now I am an artist and the world is my canvas. 20 — Shabria White ’23, Political Science

You Must Launch Out into the Deep Launch You must launch out into the deep and reach beyond the break. There’s more to life than what you think! For life is what you make it! Hurts and pains, wounds that stain, you must let them go because if not, they’ll hinder you from your growth. You must launch out into the deep and reach beyond the break. There is more to life than what you think! For life is what you make it! Hope waits patiently. Reach out and grab it, and never let it go! For if you do not, then how would you ever, ever know! That you must launch out into the deep and reach beyond the break. There is more to life than what you think! For life is what you make it! — Nakia McKinley ’20, M.A. in Leadership in Special Education

Mouse Cortex

Djeneba Sidibe ’20, B.A. in Biology

Askal

Gerriza Balmes ’20, B.A. in Behavioral Neuroscience

My Black and White Thoughts Black and white Black and white I see everything in black and white Not by race as you may think But as ideas, theories, and thoughts Black and white Black and white One way or another I see things one sided Never gray Nor boring But rather in variations of Black and white Black and white My mom says I can never see the middle Seeing the middle requires more than just being open Its easier to be Black and white Black and white So that I don’t have to expose myself To pain To suffering To denial To disgust Black and white Black and white It’s a hell It’s a haven Its for devils Its for angels Black and white Black and white Its democrats and republicans Its love and hatred Its ying and yang Its thinking I’m going insane with all these contradictions Its black and white Its black and white A mantra repeating in my head For the scientists to comprehend 58

But for the philosopher to ponder How can we be so hypocritical in one society? Yet so resolute in our thinking? Black and white Black and white If I were to let myself experience both sides To be open and fully open I would be exposed Like a nerve Like a cut Like myself Can I do that? Can I lay it all down on the line? Can any of us? Can we show our true colors? Mixtures of black and white Vibrant whites Darkest blacks Moderate grays Swirls and patterns All different Yet alike Or will we go back to our Black and white ways? Waiting for the days For these to no longer exist Where we can understand each other Achieve peace Achieve kindness And achieve understanding Black and white Black and white — Kristina Pickering ’22, Biology

Ever Watchful

Rebecca L. Malone ’21, Biology

Spring Rebirth

Rebecca L. Malone ’21, Biology

Lavender Today I planted a lavender seed And thought of it constantly, Learned everything about it So it’d grow like a bond between friends, Today I watered a lavender seed And cared for it deeply, Talked to it aloud With words of praise, Some days it seemed to reach for the sun itself, Others it appeared shriveled and weak. But today I have a lavender plant, Still growing yet far from where it sprouted, I cut away at it by day and bask in its beauty by night I’ll forever carry a piece of lavender with me And call it by my name — Bria Keyonna Foster ’21, Modern Foreign Language

Insatiable I watched as the charcoal-colored smoke rose and gathered into enormous clouds. These obsidian clouds dominated the sky and only continued to grow as the embers below jumped from tree to tree. The ball of flames in the sky retreated. The sea of flames became the only light for miles in the dark night. The wind worked as an accomplice, Spreading this fire until everything in sight had felt its warmth. The fire prowled closer towards me, An undeniable excitement swirling in my stomach. A gust of heat encircled me and warmed my insides. Suddenly my eyes began to water. My body bent forward and released several hacking coughs. The asphyxiating stench of ruination overwhelmed me, and my captivation ceased. The unforgettable taste of dead earth on my tongue. The malicious hissing rang in my ears. All excitement vanished, and I turned and began to retreat, Still dealing with the effects of my close confrontation with the glowing beast. Enchantment quickly morphed into fear. The fire greedily hijacked the life from surrounding objects to strengthen its own. When revisiting the field days after, I walked on the burnt land formerly covered by the sweltering blaze. Still, heat omitted from the singed earth. I stood in the center of this scorched patch of earth and attested that nature had devoured itself. — Amirah Arafat ’20, B.A. in English

Smoke & Mirrors cigarette ember heat draws past my teeth drifting away into the misty evening black sky twilight street incessant questions in my mind but never in my mouth planted firmly in my resentment fear and insecurity burn tears across the flesh-cape of my soul all this, when once, you called me “Eliot” And we wonder, who waits for us at the other end of the line? whether the line of ants, the telephone, or the line at the grocer there are nights I lose sleep over things I have done there are nights this process of doubt, remorse, malice, complacency, and, yes, even forgiveness is too exhausting and I find my pillow before i find serenity always, on these nights, i wake up tired and sore because I am hurting and I am scornful and I am afraid and I am angry and I am in love with you and I know I did everything i could and I know your mother would rather die 64

than realize she is wrong about me these lips once breathed love upon your name these hands grasp at the fears that torture and tear the thoughts that keep my eyes open even three days since sleep i drew questions trying to get to know you, but, instead, i pushed you further from my sight you deny me twice in person, walking away toward some piece of a peace of mind mingling with liars lying to lovers and others who lie for them you demand i address you by your name but i don’t know who you are so if this ink is my liar-smile then your name shall stand because your smiles were lies all along did you lie when you said you love me? did you lie when you made love with me? with what do i fabricate these memorials to your words? is this your exorcism, having named me your demon? “your left ventricle your right lung your softest parts?” fingertips grow calloused when run ragged tired worn with age plunging below the surface but nothing is sharp enough nothing is strong enough to dig these maladjusted malignancies from beneath my thumbs to allow me to release this tightrope from which I fell but now hold so close in the hope you might ask me to dance once more 65

though i accepted the position of dust puddle in the shadow of your closet, you walked away allowing me to be inhaled by the vacuum of a silent telephone and a barren doorstep i commit sins in our bed in our room with your photograph still in my top-drawer next to our poetry and our memories still rumbling around in my head so I run from the skeletal remains of this house hoping to find solace in the echoing chambers of bare walls forming empty rooms which will be Mine stale air and smoke-stains will run as I try to move on as I pretend to roll along with all of this rolling behind me like tin cans on pavement if you want me to stop, speak up. tell me I am no longer the reason for which you live and I will burn incense for the death of those dreams you know i am strong enough because if you lie to me i promise i will believe but words of hope followed by blank pages breed chaos with which I can do nothing 66

but scream angry words at myself in failed attempts to learn how not to love you — David D. Quinton-Schein ’20, M.A. in Cultural Proficiency Leadership in Teaching, ’22 Ph.D. Candidate Instructional Leadership for Changing Populations

Perfectionism She seems delightful, as she encourages you to come to her with her aesthetically pleasing manner. She promises success, happiness, joy, and peace. She guides you into what she thinks is best. “I am your friend,” she whispers. After all, she knows your secrets, your fears, and your goals. She has been with you through the good times and the bad. Take a closer look though, for as you work and as you dream, she calmly states, “You are not good enough.” Nothing you do seems to please her, and the more you hold on to her, the more she cuts into the beauty of your fabric. The room of your mind that was once a place to call home is now a place you fear to enter. You seek comfort elsewhere by doing the things you love, but soon, her scarlet words leave an imprint on your being, reminding you of the failure you have become. It is only when you remind yourself of how far you have come, of the achievements that you have won, and of the One who has carried you, that you see that the promise of success, happiness, joy, and peace are found in the progress, the adventures of the climb, and the support of others who love you. Sooner or Later, the dye her words no longer have their scarlet effect and in that place that you once feared, you can now dream, breathe, and be again. As you go about your day, learning, growing, living, and reflecting, you find joy in your actions, happiness in their successes, and peace in the results, for you know you did your best, and that you did it out of Love. So now, you come to know that she was not your friend and following her would lead you to your end. There are days when things feel perfect and days when you will fall down, but every day, you will grow stronger and hopefully a little wiser, and your joy, happiness, success, and peace can then be found. — Terrice Stewart ’22, Nursing 68

Constructed Beauty

Gerriza Balmes ’20, B.A. in Behavioral Neuroscience

How Do We Describe Her? Strength in her hands, healing in her arms, power in her tongue, beauty in her heart. How do we describe her? Man calls her woman! We call her friend. GOD calls her forth as Daughter! The nurturer, caregiver, organizer and rib taken from man. How do we describe her? Man calls her woman! We call her friend. GOD calls her forth as Daughter! She is the image of Jesus Christ! The queen of her family. A shining light to her children, and the strength of her man! Rise up beautiful woman and be all that God has called you to be! Your chains are unshackled and you are set free! Be not content with someone else’s definition of you. Be not content until you are happy with the unique person, as God has created you! How do we describe her? Man calls her woman! We call her friend. GOD calls her forth as daughter! Rise up beautiful woman and be all that God has called you to be! Your chains are unshackled and you are set free! You are the source; you are the key! To unlock and fulfill your destiny! Now you must fly! Fly! Fly! Until eternity. — Nakia McKinley ’20, M.A. in Leadership in Special Education

Grace Grace means: 1. Simple elegance or refinement of movement 2. Courteous goodwill To me, Grace means grandma. The only real idea of what “grandma” looks like, acts like. The only grandma I’ve experienced. To me Grace means making your own lasagna sauce, It means $20 for riding you up the street because you’re better than any taxi. Grace means a check for your birthday, It means a new pair of earrings every time you see her. Grace means birds, bright red Cardinals, It means bus trips to Walmart and red MaryJane shoes that make the other ladies envious. Grace sounds like stories of crazy old women, And a long list of doctors and medications you hear every time you visit. Grace means Grandma, and Grandma sounded like “I love you.” Grandma may have lost her voice, but when she got it back, Grandma sounded like an annoying neighbor, Like her old self, Like can you rinse off my teeth. Of all the things Grandma sounded like, one thing stuck the most. “I thank God for you every single day,” And now Grandma sits up in Heaven with God in her brown leather chair, And I thank God every day that I had a grandma like that. Grace meant Grandma, And Grandma means so much more. — Jessica Profilio ’20, B.A. in English

Defending Black Womanhood Nikita Carter ’22, Communication Arts & Art Therapy

Reconciliation Her choice of euphemisms is like deep bullets Ricocheting off the tip of her tongue. The shells thunder the accent from her mother tongue. Her creativity of words is a source of comfort to counter the bitter pain from ten-year-old tear stains. Words with their little toes pitter-patter in utter chaos across the floor; Running here and there away from the page source. As survival steps in through the creaking door order has been restored; O’ Hear ye! Hear ye! Attention to all toes! Her story through history begins to unfold. The rhythm in her penmanship is swift and precise like the smooth swivel of the Westerner’s gun I grapple for words as her eyes trail me across the room. My courage has failed me yet again. Now I anxiously grapple for the air that it has abandoned me Like the ticking of the great clock. It trickles new fear into the pounding heartbeat within me And these minutes have run off hurriedly to meet the hours hidden beneath the sheets. The sunlight creeps into every crevice and corner Avoiding our glances. And now I see her fading in and out. In and out Of our shared space of encounter Her praised ebony skin, her shining curly natural hair. Her pride and drive have been ironed out here and there Her memory of the island breezes and welcoming touch have receded. I can see her but I wonder if she ever sees me? — Chavonne Bowen ’20, B.A. in Physics

Untitled I am a nurse It’s more than just my career I have the power to help heal The ability to dispel fears Providing comfort through the tears I am a nurse It’s more than just one profession I’m a guide to help provide direction A teacher preparing lessons Security providing protection Like social work making connections I am a nurse It’s more than just my occupation or a means of compensation My care transcends any location Supporting those who fought for our nation I look beyond reasons for probation & help those recover from devastation...addiction & hurt I care & for me this is more than just work This is my lifestyle ...I am a nurse — Yahira Jaen ’20, B.S.N.

Woman The warmth in her smile the loving touch of her hand, the kindness in her heart, From God as it changes a man. WOMAN! The prayer warrior in the home, the hands in the body of Christ She opens her mouth with wisdom and it destroys all strife. WOMAN! The hand that rocks the cradle, God’s hands rule the world WOMAN! She trains her children in the way they should go, so when they get old, they will apply and live what they know. WOMAN! Who is this fearfully and wonderfully made creation? This is God’s chosen vessel that will influence the nation. WOMAN! Give honor when honor is due, Give Honor to the precious Holy Spirit inside of you. WOMAN! — Nakia McKinley ’20, M.A. in Leadership in Special Education

Subtrahend I can feel these curves falling slowly and rising like the sun toward a mid-winter’s day I look out down the street and across this suburban landscape and everything is flat stretched out warped in your direction as if you are a star as if you are the center of my universe as if you are the essence of my very being as if you are GRAVITY, itself... but you can’t be you are more than that. you are the math. me? I am simply words. trying to make sense of you, trying to understand you, i am tearing myself to pieces each an offering to you peeling layers of skin praying for your blessing i am tearing myself to pieces for you. trying to find the infinite trying to find the infinitely small trying to show my world to you I am tearing myself to poems trying to be sonnet trying to be predictable so you can meet me at the end of my final, rhyming couplet but I guess I do not rhyme with you I am fragments trying to be haiku trying to be senryu 76

trying to fit all these things I need to say within three simple bars i am fragments you are the math and i know there is a hole in my heart in the shape of your smile but I know I am still whole without you i am tearing myself to pieces for you offering them to you offering them to these teeming multitudes giving away parts of me without diminishing in value because, Subtraction, you are not here. I am trying to swallow every drop of life i can bring to these lips but still, i fear I am withering away as i give away parts of me and you are not here to sew me back together to make me the sum-total of the man i wish to be you are the math I am simply words I am simply that scared, 17-year old boy sitting in calculus struggling to make some sort of sense of you but you are indivisible. you will never be less than you are right now to me you will never fracture 77

as I have done as I am doing for you You are the math and I am trying to remember and I know I can’t multiply without you because I am not even a fraction of the man I want to be because I know I am not even a fraction of the man you want me to be but still i am tearing myself to pieces, trying to break down this praise chorus into the phonemes and morphemes I can rearrange so I can one day speak your name so I can one day scream your name I am tearing myself to pieces for you you are the math I am simply words I just wish I could have been the numbers so you could make sense of me. — David D. Quinton-Schein ’20, M.A. in Cultural Proficiency Leadership in Teaching, ’22 Ph.D. Candidate Instructional Leadership for Changing Populations

Untitled First, there was you. And me. Then, there was you and me. I told myself I didn’t need anyone, But you wriggled your way into my heart. I let you stay there and eat away at me. I loved you. I thought you were the one. I told myself, we had a future here. Guess I lied. I should have noticed all the red flags. All the mean words. All the ways you wanted me to change and become just like you. You told me to change everything about myself, from the clothes I wore to the things I said, to the friends I spent my time with. You told me “if you loved me, you’d do…” I should have ran away. You made me question everything, but not in a good way. But love is blinding, and I chose to see the good. I kept the rose colored glasses on. And the red flags seemed not to appear. Until...you turned. That’s when the fights started happening. The name calling. The going back and forth. The blaming me for everything. I’d go throughout my day, anxiety eating at my soul and sadness trying to control me. I didn’t recognize you. I’d get home from work and take off the fake smile. It all felt so hard and it still does. But time is passing and I’m stronger now. The flashbacks hurt. The “what could have been” hurts. The fact that we were supposed to live together, it all hurts. Through the hurt, I’m trying to do things for me. Because of you, I realized how much love I can give someone. I realized my potential. I’m doing things for me now. Never will I let any man come into my life and say those things to me. As hard as it is, I’m doing me. And I’m going to love me. — Zena Zangwill ’21, Accelerated Certification in Teaching

Locke

Jessica Profilio ’20, B.A. in English

Great Souls Die

Alycia Hancock ’23, Biology

Elegy to Syria My Mighty, Ancient City On a mountain top That’s where I stood before, The provinces of his body revolted. Admiring the golden globe Peering down upon his residents, Now he is scattered among a hundred cities. Gusts of wind Used to dance and sing in its turning, Not displace dirt over the dead. Joyous sounds Echoed through the land, Until the rumbles erupted from the shrill shellings. The sun will rise in the east And I will stand again, Back in my mighty, ancient city. — Amirah Arafat ’20, B.A. in English

Hail to the Green White Green Life began on this planet Way before we wrapped ourselves in blankets The big bang theory or evolution Or even that God put us on this planet Which ever you want to believe The fact still remains that we are here today But where did humans originate from, some may ask From the north, south, east, or west? To them I say, we all came from one central location One of the biggest continents that exist today The birth place of all of human creation Africa yes Africa is the place of which I speak It may be just a third world country to some But to me and all who inhabit it Mama Africa is what it should be called So many countries are harbored on this continent So, NO we do not all speak African There are over 100 different dialects Which goes to show that we are not bleak Out of the 54 countries that make up Africa There is one that resonates with me the most That country is Nigeria The birthplace of my ancestors I am of the Igbo tribe Long live the chief We are proud of our roots Through some may call us brutes We do our best to thrive and stand tall For that is all you can do, with the cards we were dealt So, hail the motherland of Africa Hail the homeland Nigeria Hail the green white green For she is my queen Long live Nigeria Africa….Forever — Chukwudozie Enweze ’21, Pharmacy

Bethlehem’s Juice Stand

Micah Castelo ’18, B.A. in English & Communication Arts

The Holiest Word She always thought of him as a peacemaker. He would sit around the dinner table, listening to their arguments before chiming in, pointing out whatever good points they were each making, then reminding them to settle down and enjoy the company. And, he taught his little brother how to avoid fights and make friends with bullies, so it made sense to her when he came home one night and said, “Mom, I’m joining the Army.” And, I didn’t ask her, but I’m pretty sure that when she first raised that boy to her breast, she had no idea she’d be here today. I have a suspicion that when she washed his cuts, there was no way she could have imagined that she’d give this talk. I have a thought that even as that new son of hers boarded the plane, she was pretty sure she and I would never meet. And, on the day he came home, she was probably beyond the concept that I would shake her hand, but there was that day, as she stood at her sink, washing dishes and listening to CarTalk, the doorbell and two officers delivered a message that every mother dreads they will ever hear: Her son had been killed in a bombing in Baghdad. In the photographs, his flesh is barely marred by the shrapnel, but the Xrays show the twin balloons of his lungs, ripped open by the expanding shockwave from the blast. Doctors and nurses call it the “white butterfly;” the calling card of suicide bombers. And a few mercifully short days later, when she shook the hand of his honor guard brothers-in-arms pall-bearers and listened as they said how hard it is to carry this when their hands are tied by a government with mixed motives and bad ideas that was when she put it all together and realized that for his honor, she has to give these talks. And so she tells us we are a good people surrounded by a culture 85

of war and commercialized violence where the media mocks protests in an effort to perpetuate collective numbness toward manufactured consent, she says “Every capitalist in this room should own stock in the company that manufactures gold stars because we are all shackled in the stocks of a country that manufactures Gold Star mothers.” She reminds us of the one Congressperson who voted against both World Wars who insisted we prevent the creation of more Hitlers, but then she demands, “What are we doing about the ones already in power?” She begs us to study mindfulness, because as a nation, we are so addicted to war we cannot seem to prosper unless we’re profiting from killing the children of brown people somewhere overseas and there has got to be another way. She says, “Yes. There is.” She says: Question. Choose. Vote. Talk to ten people you’ve never met and ten others you know disagree with you and start a dialogue toward new policy. And I ask her, what’s the point; How can we sow her tears and reap a new nation? How can we take the blood from all our hands to paint the image of change? How we can tackle this task? And she assures me it’s simple. She says, “Success depends on you, so...” — David D. Quinton-Schein ’20, M.A. in Cultural Proficiency Leadership in Teaching ’22 Ph.D. Candidate Instructional Leadership for Changing Populations

Catholicism

Lindsey Pytrykow ’22 English & Secondary Education

Ferris Wheel I wake up at 5 Wipe crust from eyes My body is as still as a portrait Contemplating if I should leave my canvas I feel regret with every stretch With every step towards the light My body cries for the comfort of my sheets To hide from today’s struggles and escape last nights’ mistakes The problems I don’t want to engage The Morning Prayer that won’t leave my lips My petitions and confessions are tied to a cinder block I can barely send one pass my ceiling It is now 6 a.m. The sky is as dark as my expectations of the day The mirror reflects my insecurities Reminding me of how depression looks By 7, the Sun’s slumber ceases Giving sight to a shaded world But I am in fog and I see smoke I feel clogged can’t see hope

It’s 8 a.m. I’m sitting in my cubicle Daydreaming about better days My eyes staring at the clock Hoping my side eye would intimidate time to go faster It’s 5 p.m. and it took a while to get here But not so fast says Baltimore traffic I can’t help but notice the similarities of traffic and my life Feeling stuck in the same place Barely moving It is now 5 a.m. Life on a stand still Hitting the same cycle with little amusement I want to get off this Ferris Wheel — Eddie Bennett ’20, M.A. in Contemporary Communications

Where the Lines Cross

Katie Cardinal ’20, B.A. in English & Environmental Sustainability

Conquer

Jessica Profilio ’20, B.A. in English

The True Story of Peter Pan We all know the story of Peter Pan. There once was a young boy named Peter Pan who never grew up because he lived in Neverland, a magical world that remained hidden beyond the second star to the right. This boy often traveled to the modern world, usually London, to find ordinary people, kids like him that wanted to stay youthful and carefree all their lives. Kids like Wendy, John, and Michael. They saw Neverland, swam with the mermaids of Mermaid Lagoon, smoked pipes with the Indians, and met the Lost Boys. We all know what happened at the end of the story of Peter Pan. Wendy and her brothers went back to London, and eventually, she grew up to have a daughter named Jane, who also ended up going to Neverland. However, this is the important part…merely because it was all a lie. In fact, Jane never existed because Wendy never made it out of Neverland. None of the girls that Peter lured in did. This is the true story of Peter Pan. I would know because I met him and ventured into Neverland myself. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an amazing place. But it also has a dark secret. And so does the naïve, red-headed boy that the Disney movie makes out to be funny yet caring. It all started in London — naturally. I didn’t even live in London. I was just there on vacation and I missed my plane back home ‘cause I was too lazy to get out of bed. I wasn’t even in a cool townhouse like Wendy was — I was in a crusty hotel. Who knows why Peter Pan even showed up at my dusty window that wouldn’t even open until I kicked the screen down, hoping I could sew his shadow back on for him? I have to admit, it was a pretty good ruse. I fell for it; thought he needed my help and my awful sewing skills. I was blinded by his charm and good looks. Peter taught me to fly. Apparently, I was the slowest learner out of all the girls he’d met. I figured it was ‘cause the ship of happy thoughts in my head had sailed long ago and it took Peter a while to make me laugh. I finally thought about killing him when I suddenly started flying. I guess that was my happy thought. We flew across the dark London skies towards the second star to the right. Peter originally wanted me to bring my baby brother. He kept on insisting even after I explained how much of an annoying twerp the kid was. Tink — the curvy, blonde pixie who always followed Peter around like a dog and became red as easily as she became jealous when Peter took my hand and guided me out the window — had sprinkled dust over my baby brother, with the sole purpose of annoying me, but as soon as the 92

twerp started flying, I tied him back into his crib with a rope. I’ll never forget the aghast look on Peter’s face, that look of horror. He’d asked if I liked kids and I gave him the cold truth, that I hated them. Who knows why he proceeded to take me to Neverland? When we got to Neverland, I nearly died after Tink had arranged the Lost Boys to shoot me down with rocks and slingshots. Luckily — but not so lucky for a particular pixie — I’m a tough gal who hates to have her pride undermined. So, I pretended to fall from the sky and Tink came rushing to watch my death. That’s when I grabbed her and — actually I don’t remember what happened next. All I know is that she became dizzy and wouldn’t wake up. So, I hid her tiny body in the sand before the Lost Boys and Peter could find me. That’s the story of how the infamous Tinker Bell died. Back to the story of Peter Pan… I was brought into Hangman’s Tree, Peter’s hideout and Peter went through a long, boring spiel about how he wanted me to be their mother and tell them stories. I told them exactly what I’m about to tell you. I told them that they can fuck themselves ‘cause I don’t wanna be their mother just ‘cause I’m a girl, that I don’t know any stories, only ones that would make them have nightmares and come crying to me at night, and that Peter can take his misogynistic, patriarchal mindset and shove it up his — That was when Peter dragged me outside the hideout, away from the watery-eyed Lost Boys. I was surprised he didn’t scream at me. It looked like he wanted to. But he looked like he wanted to cry more. He simply turned his back against me and started pacing around. Under his breath, he was asking himself where Tink was. I had to bite back a laugh. When Peter turned back around, I saw something in his eyes that I’d never seen in anyone. I won’t try to describe it because it’s sort of painful to remember. I’ll just say it made me feel really bad, super guilty for being such a bitch to him, Tink, and the Lost Boys. Peter started telling me how the boys needed a female figure to look up to, a girl who can bring out their gentle side. They were becoming way too rowdy. The one dressed as a sifaka even tried killing the one dressed as a flying squirrel. I told him that was awful but that it was wrong to assume that all girls were gentle and that their sole responsibility was to tend to children. He didn’t understand any of it. I told him to go to college. By the end of our conversation, however, I yielded to his wishes. He guilt-tripped me with those adorable brown eyes and his annoying but admittedly cute child-like pout. I agreed I would stay and be the Lost Boys’ mother under one condition: that he gives me a tour of the entire 93

Neverland. He consented without hesitation and said he did the same thing to all the other girls he brought to Neverland. I laid out another condition: that he quit talking about the “others” he’d brought from London. Over the span of just a few days, I grew accustomed to being the Lost Boys’ mother. They found my non-British accent funny. And I learned I was actually a decent singer after singing to them every night before they fell asleep. Peter would watch from his low-rise throne in the center of the hideout, each time with a captivated countenance, wondrous eyes that looked lost in nature. Afterward, when the boys were fast asleep, he would whisper a thank you into my ear and then proceed to his curtained side of the hideout. I was a bit disappointed we didn’t sleep in the same room. One night, I joked that we should sleep in the same room now that I was their mother and he was sort of like their father. Of course, Peter didn’t get it, and I cursed his stupidity and my own infatuation with him. I just brushed it aside and said I was going up to get some fresh air. But almost immediately he cut me off, stopped me from getting my bear fur coat he’d made me, and said it was dangerous to wander around at night. I was surprised he even understood the concept of danger. I didn’t see the reason why, but Peter knew Neverland more than I did so I figured I should obey. Maybe nighttime in his world was dangerous. But it didn’t feel any safer inside the hideout. That night, when I was trying to fall asleep, I began to hear whispering. It was soft yet loud enough to arouse me from my pre-slumber. Initially, I thought it was the Lost Boys, probably awakened by the smell of one of the lemur-dressed boy’s pungent farts. But it couldn’t be the Lost Boys. The whispers sounded like…girls. Naturally, I got out of bed and looked around. Peter must’ve sensed my wandering presence because he got out of bed to check on me. I was sort of embarrassed to tell him what I thought I heard — one, because we both knew I was the only girl in the hideout, and two, because on the first night, I told the Lost Boys a scary story and Peter said the boys wouldn’t be the only ones terrified if I did it again. Now that I think of it, it sounds like it was a threat, but because Peter didn’t exactly understand what threats were, I figured he was concerned that I would be scared at night. It was a dumb thought. I told Peter that I was homesick, which wasn’t exactly a lie. But I didn’t want to leave Peter all alone. He needed me. Peter said that he understood, though I don’t think he really did — he was from Neverland and even though he traveled to the modern world often, he always came back…with other girls, I reluctantly reminded myself. He played his pipe 94

for me and it put me to sleep instantly. He played so nicely. The following morning, Peter gave me a tour of Pirate Cove — the one place I’d actually been looking forward to the most, the reason I wanted Peter to give me the tour. He planned to play a prank on Captain Hook, who he claimed was his arch-enemy. Apparently, Hook was always trying to kill him, but Peter only wanted to do harmless pranks on him. Today the plan was, Peter explained, to draw him into a rowboat and into the mouth of Tick Tock, the crocodile with an alarm clock in its mouth. I tried not to roll my eyes at his boyish excitement over their useless horseplay. We were on Hook’s ship and Peter was somewhere else while I was exploring what looked to be Hook’s office. That’s where I saw it… Lying on top of Hook’s desk was a thin book with messy, cursive scribbles inside. It was hard to read but perfectly easy to understand. From the looks of it, the names in the first column, one set of dates in the second column, and a second set of dates in the final column, it seemed like Hook was keeping track of when something happened for each of these named people. What that something was… I looked to the last of the list and saw my name. In the second column was a date that I thought would have been from a few days ago. It turned out a month had passed since the day of my arrival to Neverland. And in the final column, it was blank…because I wasn’t “deceased” yet. My heart started pounding outside of my chest. I wondered why I was looking at a list of dead girls, the dates of their arrivals, and their deaths. I was on that list. I needed to understand. I flipped to where the pages were separated by a divider and encountered what initially looked like scribbled, bottomless triangles. What I was really looking at were family trees. The first family tree had Wendy Darling’s name and two vertical lines jutting outwards. Under the first line was “Tootles” and in parenthesis beside it, “Skunk.” Under the second line wasn’t a name. Instead, it read “Girl” and in parenthesis, “Deceased.” It didn’t take me long to register what was and had been happening since Wendy Darling first came to Neverland. The attractive, manipulative redhead was luring girls into Neverland to impregnate them and produce Lost Boys…and he was killing off the girls. I became furious and immediately remembered that I was on that list. I was next. Except I wasn’t really. Because I would be ready when Peter tried to make his move on me. After Peter was done, we flew back to Deadman’s Tree. On account of Peter not knowing where Tink was, he’d had to use his emergen95

cy pixie dust for the past days. I told him he should just invade the place where pixies normally lived and steal their dust. Peter said he couldn’t do that to Pixie Hollow because Tink was his best friend. Out of a little jealousy, I said I didn’t understand and Peter, with his stupid jokes, told me to go to college. That made me laugh. But the thought of what he’d been doing with me, keeping me around, unknowingly or knowingly seducing me, just to create a production line of silly, immature Lost Boys sobered me into a dark place. I walked into the hideout and saw the Lost Boys jumping with excitement to hear the story I promised to tell them. My heart ached to know who they were, motherless boys from the modern world now living under a dangerous unearthly boy who murdered their mothers. I needed to save them. I needed to kill Peter Pan. I told the Lost Boys I was too tired and retreated into my room. Peter was out, apparently planning another prank on Hook, who he learned was hiding out in Mermaid Lagoon. After making sure the Lost Boys were busying themselves, I pulled out the book I stole from Hook’s ship, a book the pirate had made himself. It was about Neverland, its history, its landmarks. I turned to the page on Deadman’s Tree. Everything I read confirmed my speculations. The voices I had been hearing were the dead girls, the young mothers of the Lost Boys. The grounds around Deadman’s Tree were scattered with their ashes, their poor, cremated bodies. My hatred for Peter was growing stronger by the second. By the time Peter got back, the Lost Boys were asleep. I made sure my lamp was off when he came down, thinking he would think I was asleep. Somehow, he sensed I wasn’t — or it’s possible, he’d intended to wake me. He knocked gently on the wood beside my curtain before walking in. He must’ve seen me reaching for my lamp in the dark. He said not to, that I might wake the Lost Boys. I tried to hide the fear in my voice when I said okay. My eyes adjusted to the dark quickly and I saw Peter sit the way he always sat, cross-legged, by my bed. I asked him how his prank on Hook went. In his usual delighted tone but this time in a whisper, he said it was successful. But he was a little disappointed when Hook didn’t explode like he always did. The man simply said that Pan would get what was coming to him. Peter was confused by that and I didn’t attempt to explain it to him. Anyway, Peter’s mind was on something else. He told me he also went to Mermaid Lagoon to break up with a girl he’d been seeing. I was surprised he understood the concept of love. This is why I became appalled when he started applying that concept to me. I had an interesting personality, he told me, something he’d never seen in 96

anyone before. I was serious around overly excited children and brutally honest around him. I wasn’t like other girls he’d met — he apologized for bringing up the others again, which I found quite sincere. The other girls always seemed to fall head over heels for him and joined his and the Lost Boys’ childish activities. Peter had always seen them as playmates, no one serious. Especially because they were girls and he didn’t know how to be serious with girls. Not until he met me, he said with his eyes steadied on mine. Even in the dark, they seemed to twinkle. Earlier he had gone to Mermaid Lagoon to end things with a mermaid he started seeing a few days after he met me. He had started developing strange feelings with me around and he went to the mermaid for advice. Instead of carrying out those feelings with me because he knew I would have to go soon, Peter explained, he tried to fall in love with her. But it didn’t work. I made him feel like an adult, Peter said. He’d lived so long as a little boy. He was in a young boy’s body because Neverland didn’t allow anyone to grow up. But his mind was still capable of development…and my presence finally pushed his desire to fully develop. He asked if, when I return home, he could come with me and grow up with me. I hated that I felt flattered…because I hated him. If I didn’t know any better, I would have fallen for it, for all of his stupid, hurtful tricks. I got out of bed and knelt in front of him. In a soft voice, I told him yes, and then waited for the euphoric look on his face before I drew the dagger I had found in Hook’s office and slashed it across his throat. Before exiting the hideout with all of the emergency pixie dust, I scattered some of Hook’s capsules all over the ground, which would leak out all of the contained poisonous gas by morning. It was better for the Lost Boys not to come back with me only to find out their mothers were in ashes and their father, a headless corpse, in the godforsaken world of Neverland. I flew all the way back to my crusty hotel in London before deciding I can just fly back to my home country for free without having to buy an airplane ticket. By the time I made it home, I had exhausted all of that cursed, red-headed boy’s pitiful pixie dust. I went straight to my bedroom to go right to sleep. I would figure out the concept of time the following day or when I didn’t feel like dying. Sleep had almost overtaken me when I suddenly heard a knock at my window. My skin ran cold as I thought the impossible had happened, that Peter rose from the dead to haunt me for what I did. In my head, I briskly prepared a whole spiel to defend myself about how I knew he was practically kidnapping girls from London, having sex with them, forcing 97

them to bear kids, killing off the girl babies, then cremating the young mothers themselves. I got up to check my window and found a folded note. On the front, there was a feather taped on top. I removed the feather and saw the drawing of a hook. Captain Hook, I guessed. I opened the note: “Thanks for the help, dear. Still can’t believe you actually fell for it. Signed, Captain Hook.” My heart stopped and the folded paper fell out of my hand when I realized what I did. That book, those charts, the family tree, the voices in the hideout — none of it was real. Hook had pranked me into killing Peter Pan… Peter. He really did love me. He really did want to come back to this world with me. “Shit…” I swore under my breath. — Rhea Lynne Melgar Guzman ’19, B.A. in International Relations

Life From the Dead

Nice Y. Mutshipayi ’19, M.A. in Nonprofit Management; ’21 Ph.D. Candidate Instructional Leadership for Changing Populations

Winter Night

Lindsey Pytrykow ’22 English & Secondary Education

100

Rainy Day Canvas I sit and listen as the rain as it hits against the white, wooden, chipped, and tattered window sills I can smell the thunderstorm from my bedroom As the wind swooshes against the trees, making their own music and their own drum beat The thunder crackles in the distance like an old-time movie Authentic and pure... one would think I’m in a rural area This 1964 house stands As the storms build with aggression, but a hidden gentleness The sound of the rain strikes the tattered white wooden window sills Thunder crashes like drum cymbals ringing in the distance It calms then rises again like beach waves Aggressive but hidden with a type of gentleness Still the rain slams to the ground in a diagonal pattern Some may find it frightening but when I look at how it blends against the summer scenery, full of bright vibrant flowers and green plants It almost seems like God is making a water color art work on a huge canvas Hard for me to see the picture now but it sounds, looks, and feels... beautiful — Rochelle Thompson ’22, English & Political Science

101

I am home. The grey cobblestone path shimmered in the beaming sun. It’s greenery filled with red roses and honeysuckleThe grey cobblestone path was every child’s dream. I wanted so bad to walk it, but mother used to say it was not safe for a childFor the cobblestone path leads into the forest. On a dreary summer day, I put one foot in front of the other and found myself standing on the edge of the cobblestone path. The smell of sweet flowers consumed me. My skin was greeted with a warm hug from the hot summer air. My ears heard the soft hymns of songbirds in the tall trees before me. This was feeling of my grandmother’s hugs, This was a feeling of comfort, This was the feeling of being at home. I began to follow the path into the forest, Deeper and deeper I go, Darker and darker it becomes. I heard a rustle in the rose bushes, Wait... where are the roses? Where is the smell the sweet honey suckles? The trees have become so thick, I no longer see the sun. I turn around and walk back to get home. Wait… I have already passed this tree, I remember because this tree looks like it’s smiling at me. Are they laughing? Are the trees laughing at me? I began to walk quicker but the forest has gotten thicker. Am I going deeper? I am supposed to be going back home. My heart starts to flutter, my blood runs coldIs that a person in the distance? Please help I am lost, I yell. No answer. I try to run but my hands and knees hit the ground as I trip over the uneven cobblestone. Spiders- I see spiders crawling toward me, I look up to see the trees smiling. Smiling at me? Why won’t they help me? I scream in fear as the spiders begin to swarm. But wait… where did they go? The spiders are gone. I hear laughter in the distance. The sounds of children fill my ears. I can almost see them playing. 102

I get up and try to run toward them but wait… where did they go? Am I relieved that they are gone? or am I sad that I am once again alone? As the day grows darker, so does my mind. I want to go home. Mother always told me to never walk the cobblestone path. You are home, whispered the trees. You were home all along. — Tahlia Douglass ’23, Art Education

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Rawabi’s First Family

Micah Castelo ’18, B.A. in English & Communication Arts

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Your Destiny Do you know you have a Destiny? You’re Destined to be what God has created you to be. You’re destined to win. You’re destined to succeed. You’re destined to change the world, can’t you see? He is the source. You are the key to unlock and fulfill your destiny. You make the difference; you are set free! Your purpose and passion Attract light for others to see! For you once was lost, but now you are found. You once were blind, but now you can see! Do you know you have a Destiny? Get up soldier and get back in this race. I know this journey of life can sometimes be a slap in the face! Rest assured, with God at your side, he will eliminate the unnecessary Torment, fear and pride! Do you know you have a Destiny? You must stay on track, you must succeed. Others are watching, so please take heed! — Nakia McKinley ’20, M.A. in Leadership in Special Education

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Hidden Kites are beautiful. I love how high they fly into the sky. Love how the wind so easily takes the kite higher and higher. Like how the kite is free and tethered at the same time in the sky while held by string. My life is like a kite, Everyone holds me down as I try to escape the ground. — Hermione Riggs ’22, Psychology

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Hold On For those who have not heard about human trafficking, read this. Though I have not experienced it myself, I have placed myself into the shoes (mentally) of those who have. Before you read this. Take a minute to pause and think about everything you know about human trafficking. When you are done, see if you think the same way. Panicked Is my brain. Scared Is my soul. Shattered Is my body. Bleeding Is my heart. Words Can’t fill me. Love Kills me. Don’t know Where. Don’t know When. Or even if Someone Or Something Will save Me. But I have To keep Holding On. — Kristina Pickering ’22, Biology

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Cultivating a Friendship Cultivating a friendship is that really hard to do? Well, just think about it — it is really up to you! What are you willing to invest? Is it your time of self-centeredness? Are you willing to sacrifice your love, time, energy and talents too? A change life, changing lives, it certainly will not hurt you. Cultivating a friendship gives a little more of yourself, unconditionally sacrificially, willing, whole heartedly, if you give nothing else! Cultivate a friendship with showers of encouragement, words of wisdom, kindness and unconditional love. Because when you give of yourself unconditionally, you are glorifying the heart of God above. For the heart of God are the souls of men. I encourage you to cultivate your friendships. Give a little more of yourself unconditionally, sacrificially, willingly, whole heartedly, if you give nothing else. Don’t put off until tomorrow, what you can do today. Tomorrow is not promised, and it just might be too late! Glorify God in Heaven today. Cultivating your friendships in every way! — Nakia McKinley ’20, M.A. in Leadership in Special Education

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Vastness

Rebecca L. Malone ’21, Biology

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arenas negras en tenerife Angelie Singh ’21, International Relations & Spanish

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Daily Heroes We all have days when we cross path with heroes A word, a smile, destinies intertwine We don’t know each other but I wanted to say thank you. You don’t know how much you changed my life You don’t know how close I was to giving up We don’t know each other but I wanted to say thank you A word, a smile, without realizing it you made the magic happen A compliment, a hug, without realizing it you made my day Because of you, my flame reignited. We don’t know each other but I wanted to say thank you. *Inspired by a song: Soprano - À nos héros du quotidien — Djeneba Sidibe ’20, Biology

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Tranquility

Rebecca L. Malone ’21, Biology Cover Art

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