The Phoenix 2016-17 #59

THE

PHOENIX Literary and Visual Arts Journal

Eastern Mennonite University 2016 - 2017

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THE

PHOENIX Literary and Visual Arts Journal

Eastern Mennonite University 2016 - 2017

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Staff & Editors Editor-in-Chief // Justine Nolt Literary Editor & Visual Editor // Kate Weaver and Allie Sawyer Cover and Layout Design // Lauren Eckenroad Faculty Advisor // Kevin Seidel

Thank you to. . .

Everyone who submitted material Our faithful readers Our dedicated staff EMU’s Student Government Association EMU Print Shop

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Letter from the Editor As you flip through this 60th edition of the Phoenix, you will be impressed. You will see our contributors’ magnificent work and get lost in the stories they tell.

This particular journal, much like any gallery in a museum, will make you stand in awe of human creativity. Certainly their hard work was not without setbacks, restructuring, and starting over.

Anyone who has endeavored to make an artistic vision come to life knows the familiar feeling of frustration. On good days, the right words fall from the pen with ease, the paint meets the canvas with precision, every photograph has potential to be the best. But more often, sentences fall flat, and reality does not match the mind’s eye.

Creating requires a tremendous amount of grace extended both to oneself and the project. One of the hardest lessons to learn as an artist is the lesson of perseverance. Giving up is easy and discouraging, and it can be tempting to think of failed projects as useless and a waste of time. In these cases, we can appeal to Eastern Mennonite University’s persistent mantra of sustainability.

Furnished with two compost bins, our cafeteria allows us to turn our food scraps—the food we’ve given up on—into nutritious material for new growth. In the same way, first attempts at projects feed the fire in our minds. In our frustration with creative concepts, we can accidentally stifle new blossoms.

Instead, we must learn to let the things that come up short be stepping stones to greater heights.

As we move toward our creative goals, let us learn to celebrate each mistake. They are the fodder for beautiful things.

Justine Nolt, Editor-in-Chief

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Table of Contents Cover The Marble // Scott Eyre 1 A blind man staring at a starry sky // Diego Barahona 2 Sleepy Traveler // Robert Weaver 3 Home Part 1 // Nicole Litwiller 4 Home Part 2 // Nicole Litwiller 5 Sorry Mother // Scott Eyre 6 Early Mornings // Liesl Graber 7 Mirage // Luke Mullet 8 Juniper Springs // Macson McGuigan 9 Running Softly Towards the Night // Elizabeth Nisly 10 Strike // Robyn Cordle 11 Ouro // Ariel Barbosa 13 Stock Photo #7 // Dylan Buchanan 14 Vienna // Liesl Graber 15 Divinely Feminine // Justine Nolt 16 Attitude // Robyn Cordle 17 Palestine // Caleb Schrock-Hurst 18 Distance // Carissa Luginbill 19 Child’s Play // Andrea Cable 20 Ruined Childhoods // Savannah Olshove 21 Life on Mars // Amanda Williams 22 Snorkeler Silhouette // Macson McGuigan 23 Burning Stars // Savannah Olshove 24 Prague Skyline // Robert Weaver 25 Café Sperl // Kaitlin Abrahams 26 Breakfast at Pamela’s // Andrea Cable 27 Walls Beyond Feeling // Azariah Cox 28 Unstable Elements // Azariah Cox

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29 Quirk // Joaquin Sosa 30 Safekeeping // Naomi Scoville 31 Wait for Me // Liesl Graber 32 Dew Drops // Andrea Cable 33 Stuck Between // Carissa Luginbill 34 An Afternoon’s Trip Home // Caleb Schrock-Hurst 35 Portrait of Eliza Shwarz // Megan Good 36 Fleurs Mortes #2 // Rachel Holderman 37 Breakfast in Antalya // Scott Eyre 39 Emerge // Ariel Barbosa 40 a sound heart // Kaitlin Abrahams 41 Tree-ku // Justine Nolt 42 Home // Lauren Eckenroad 43 The 23 Psalm, NSHV // Caleb Schrock-Hurst 44 Mathias Church // Robert Weaver 45 Fiery Feast // Liesl Graber Awakening // Lauren Eckenroad 46 Vatican Tree // Robert Weaver 47 Sunset Chasers // Robert Weaver 48 Chimney Lickers // Robert Weaver 49 Deer // Scott Eyre 50 Yosie // Caleb Schrock-Hurst Arboretum Fountain // Julian Bussells 51 Oceans // Luke Mullet 52 Caribbean Sun // Macson McGuigan 53 We can learn a lot from birds // Megan Bishop Learning about carbon footprint in the cloud forest // Esther Ghale

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Diego Barahona senior Biochemistry major A blind man staring at a starry night sky A blind man staring at a starry night sky, does he see the light?

Does the atrophic nerve still get blushed with arousal As five-hundred nanometers of pure solar passion Gently, Slowly, Subtly permeate the innermost locked-up chambers To amorously caress the solitary retina like a long-lost lover in the Dark?

An anhedonic man staring at his soulmate, does he feel love?

Does the presumptuously lazy hypothalamus still anxiously jump at the idea of a soft kiss On the lips?

A blind, burning star churning its guts in ecstatic nuclear fusion, lays down its eyes on a sleepy, pale, blue dot and sees A blind man staring at a starry night-sky.

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Sleeping Traveler // Robert Weaver

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Home Part 1 // Nicole Litwiller

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Home Part 2 // Nicole Litwiller

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Sorry Mother // Scott Eyre

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Liesl Graber junior English & Writing Studies majors Early Mornings Steam dances to the bergamot melody rising from my mug. It ribbons around my nose as I study the shadows lurking beneath the milk. There, something waits to be stirred. My spoon, floral as my grandmother, clinks awake the something.

“Good morning,” I say. “How do you like our tea?”

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Luke Mullet sophomore Mathematics major Mirage earth enchanted our faces slowly piece away mist your soul entire a place paced by mirages clear the space tear away the pages imagine and the lines fade we are for now pulled leaning and finite

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Juniper Springs // Macson McGuigan

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Elizabeth Nisly first-year Writing and Spanish majors Running Softly Towards the Night

I am running, and I can’t feel my legs. Well, I can, but they are like floating

appendages; are they really doing anything? My breath pumping in and out and the world flashing by tells me yes, I am running. I am running, I am breathing, the day is softly closing in around me, and I race the sun to the finish line. I round the final curve of the track, somehow both pounding and floating over the finish.

I want to fall down, but I cast my eyes upward instead. And that is when I see the sky.

Dusk had been slowly creeping up as I ran. But suddenly it is here, and the sky is a soft gray dove sitting on the nest of the world. Yet, miraculously, a bolt of pink sticks through. The fluffy down of the dove wisps around in stark contrast to the sharp pink line. It is as though God took a highlighter to the sky. And those mountains…How is it that the mountains are always there, always reaching bluely up towards the sky? And yet I look at them, once, maybe twice a day. I look at them with wonder almost never. I am small, I am so small, but I can see something enormous.

I heave in a breath of the soft evening air. My teammates bustle around me, stretching, cooling down, generally going about the business of the end of a hard practice. They don’t notice me standing here, transfixed by the sky.

And they don’t notice the sky, either. They don’t notice how the harsh pink fades to gray, or how the fluffy clouds are illuminated against a glowing backdrop.

They fail to see the jagged line of geese, calling out to each other, their cries echoing down to where I stand. Do you ever stare at birds, soaring so high in the sky, and feel as though you are one of them? And your soul, your bold, expansive soul, flies too?

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There is a life-giving chill in the air. I am rejuvenated.

I let out a gasp, or a gurgle, or some noise to indicate to my teammates that something amazing is happening over their heads. Yet they don’t look up until abruptly, the sun is gone, the highlighter has been erased, and the dove settles down for the night.

They ask me what I was staring at. What was I staring at? I was looking out the window to the heavens. I was catching a glimpse of something vast, something incredibly changeable, yet still a constant in our lives. I was breathing in the immensity that is always around us, but somehow, we never have the lung capacity to appreciate it.

“The sky,” I tell them. “I was staring at the sky.”

Strike // Robyn Cordle

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Ouro // Ariel Barbosa

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Stock Photo #7 // Dylan Buchanan

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Liesl Graber junior English & Writing Studies majors Vienna She wears a pastel mask, white vines curling around where her eyes peek through, trimmed in gold and marbled swirls of history.

Her hair froths around her chiseled cheekbones, espresso brown with milk and apfelstrudel.

I want to inhale her steam, wrap my hands around her porcelain frame, ask her about the weather, why the world is so cold here.

I want to see her blushing cheeks, blue-bitten by city wind, and ask her what she is reading these days.

Her eyes slip shut, now, head propped against the wall.

She smiles as if memory is dancing beneath her eyelids, where she knows I cannot see.

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Justine Nolt junior Writing Studies major Divinely Feminine I talked to your mom yesterday.

She said you’re going home to Jupiter next weekend.

You guys are going to bake cookies with a pinch of moon and two cups of asteroid chips.

She told me your first post-partum giggle traveled out into the vacuum with a toss of your blue and silver locks.

Your first deep breath of

pink, shimmering gas,

filled your aquatic lungs

and taught your cells how to groove.

Neptune, nearby, heard the notes that emanated from your skin and still ring loudly! in our atmosphere.

Upon your arrival to our heavy planet, peaches had a purpose, ivy had your curls to envy, earth’s soil softened for your button toes.

Our world is waiting for you to take the crown and convict the beasts with warm, sour truth.

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Attitude // Robyn Cordle

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Caleb Schrock-Hurst junior English major Palestine The sky is falling up and I have no one to share it with.

Buses, driving left to right, are sent by the UN to clean trash off the streets in a country that doesn’t exist.

They are trapped in their ghost of a homeland imprisoned on a land they will not leave, though all that it has left for them is smoke, stitches, and solitaire, waiting for the next time they will lose, for the next humiliation.

We lock them in and pat our own backs when we visit.

Despite the pain, they sure know how to party.

Kill a fatted thing and press some grapes, fill a room with quarter tones and hookah, stack the plates of goodies till not all can be tasted.

Through the music and the magic I can taste the melancholy sour in a sea of sweet.

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Distance // Carissa Luginbill

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Child’s Play // Andrea Cable

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Savannah Olshove junior Writing Studies major Ruined Childhoods Santa’s rancid beard, a rabid vision in ruby festering of onyx clots, dull as the disdain in his chuckles when he dwells on his once snowy beard of varicose stains.

Dressed in the velvety skins of his victims, a jolly robust man, his belly filled with raw meat.

Mrs. Claus used to worry about his irritable bowel syndrome told him, gingers are more settling but Santa liked blondes, and decided to expose Mrs. Claus when Rudolph cut at the base of her neck with his laser eyes.

With a ho,ho,ho as eulogy he savoured memories as he plucked her trachea from her gurgling nape.

Even his old lady ain’t safe, when he crept into the crypts of deceased dreams. Sugar plums drenched in a sugary sweet disease.

Similar sweet to the pills he takes to cure his post-holiday anxiety. Save yourself, put out milk and ecstasy, and maybe he won’t kill you until you reach the South Pole.

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Amanda Williams junior Biology & Environmental Sustainability majors Life On Mars It ripples through the night, Lingering long enough to be heard, And then retreats into darkness To hide its warming glow.

Slowly, it glides through reeds, And finds its way to the bank.

Its feet sink in the mud, Staining its dark toes black.

Darkness over the face of the water Giggles and then goes back to sleep.

The stars twinkle and wave, inviting all who wander to wonder.

A spark of life attaches itself, and then it dies. It fades.

Swept away by the black sky, It sails into the still night.

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Snorkeler Silhouette // Macson McGuigan

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Savannah Olshove junior Writing Studies major Burning Stars Once I tried to find life at the bottom of a Jameson bottle, finding a cloud of your atmospheric dust instead. I could not orbit you anymore.

Polluting the air in a thick film, my skin is covered in silver scales.

Sometimes when I think of you I try to die in the shallow puddles on the street.

Again, and again, I jump in failing to drown and left with nothing but the rainbow wound of petrol spill on my starry rain boots.

Yesterday I tried to find happiness in your Instagram engagement photos— only to remember when my hands were soaked in your hair, as we wore each other like garments and burnt the sun.

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Prague Skyline // Robert Weaver

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Kaitlin Abrahams junior English and Writing Studies major CafĂŠ Sperl We have come here. We are not sure why. The red and grey of the original upholstery does not match my grey sweatshirt or her red lipstick. (Two lovers, lost in rainy Wien.) The man, in a black trench coat, holding his black umbrella out, & steering with his black briefcase (undoubtedly some famous Viennese author), steering towards a seat, is surely more at home. But he has not yet found a seat. We have.

(Two lovers, lost in Wien.) The waiter has a mustache and he makes me nervous, speaking only German, handing us a menu we can hardly read. The author is still circling. The mustard yellow walls have smoke stains. But we have found a seat, and our backs are to the walls (two loves, lost in Wien). We are here because there was no room left in the hipster book cafe across the street & there was a couple kissing on the leather seat (two lovers, lost in rain) by the window that made us uncomfortable. Our lips have not yet learned to touch (two lovers, lost in Wien) but our lips have learned how to sip the foam; how to tip the white porcelain up till it is tickled by my beard, till it is smeared with her red lipstick (the upholstery does not match) & so it appears that we have found a thing in common, that we have found a way to touch the rim of this place, this old and smoky city, this bright reflecting mirror & the clearness of the glass doesn’t startle us anymore and the silver tray does not impress, even the chandeliers speak our language, for light

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speaks to all humans, and we (two lovers in Wien) we drink our melanges, we drink our water, we spoon out the foam (two lovers, lost) the foam, the fog, the mist (we don’t know where the writer is now, maybe he has gone home) and we see that it has stopped raining, That we (two loves, lost) are sitting side by side and it is time to pay. But we aren’t leaving. We are leaning, grey sweatshirt towards red lipstick and red lipstick towards grey, away from the upholstery and we aren’t leaving (two lovers) and we aren’t leaving (two loves) we are learning to taste more than fleeting fog, more than spilling smog, more than melanged foam.

Breakfast at Pamela’s // Andrea Cable

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Walls Beyond Feeling // Azariah Cox

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Unstable Elements // Azariah Cox

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Quirk // Joaquin Sosa

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Naomi Scoville ‘16 alumna Safekeeping The woman isn’t a woman but an island, dressed in muddled green nakedness, clutching her stony waistline.

In winter the ferryboat passengers grind their heels into her back, pointing corn dog fingers at the faded freckles on her left hip, the geometric seaweed shapes on her right earlobe.

They adjust bucket hats and visors and fold discount tickets into fanny packs strapped to their stomachs for safekeeping.

When they leave her, tripping over the lip of the boat and lamenting the January sand, she thinks it might be nice to visit Greece.

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Liesl Graber junior English & Writing Studies majors Wait for Me I drizzled red lace across the lawn, leaving a trail for you to follow back to where I perch in my scowling silks, stirring coffee gone cold, my lips splitting around a long-stale smile, my mind manufacturing the patience my soul cannot withstand much longer.

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Dew Drops // Andrea Cable

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Stuck Between // Carissa Luginbill

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Caleb Schrock-Hurst junior English major An Afternoon’s Trip Home I walk on streets I thought abandoned, concrete over ancient stones.

Boys on bikes wheel away, their laughter white in the winter air.

Stray dog packs hop from trash to trash, searching for something deemed unneeded by higher beings.

They are rewarded for their diligence. Bones snap.

Here, the trees grow out of pavement, and pavement grows into houses.

The world, it seems, is being squeezed.

One side of the monstrous clamp is settled snugly on Jerusalem, the other is somewhere in the pacific, I assume, pushing.

Earth will give in eventually, and from the poles will burst lava, red, hot with fading life.

I wrap my khafia tighter and watch my feet.

I move the dust but do not change it.

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Megan Good first-year Undeclared Portrait of Eliza Schwarz

William wiggles his thumbs and the rosary in his chubby hands falls to the

floor once again. He laughs, his whole body shaking. I smile coquettishly, until I catch the glare of the painter Friedrich hired. Stooping to pick up the rosary, I say, “William, dear, you need to hold still now. Mummy will give you a treat if you behave yourself for Monsieur Fournier.” William flashes his big two-year-old smile at me, his nose wrinkled and his big blue eyes so, so wide. “Ookie?” he says.

“Yes, a cookie,” I respond, “but you must be good.” He pouts imperceptibly, then resigns himself to his fate. I return my gaze to the clock to count the seconds ticking by. One. Two. Three. Ten. Seventeen. Each moment seems to last an eternity. My best clothes itch me in places I hadn’t even known could be itched.

Friedrich had insisted that I wear them. The whole thing was his idea, having a portrait done of William and I. He thought that it was high time, since our rise in fortune was nearly a year ago. I told him that he was being silly -- that portraits were unnecessary signals of wealth and power. He told me that William and I would sit for the portrait.

My eyes wander from the clock to the big urn full of white gladiolas. Mary

serenely gazes back at me from her burnished palace, her patience steadfast as ever. I doubt she ever had to sit for a portrait. Outside, the bluebirds are twittering around the bird feeder that William helped me make this morning.

One lands on the wooden peg, snatches a morsel of suet, then darts away towards the tall, cool trees shading the banks of the stream. I imagine sticking my toes into the chilly water while watching the sun glitter across the water’s surface. At the old place, Friedrich would take me down on late summer afternoons to have picnics. Usually, we would both end up soaked. Now he won’t even let me out of

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the house. He says that the outdoors are neither a safe nor a proper place for a woman to be. I wonder if he even remembers what it used to be like—what we used to be like.

When he told me of his Uncle’s fortune, I had so much hope. Hope for

William, and hope for Friedrich -- that he would finally be happy with his prospects in life. I knew that money would not solve our problems, but Friedrich’s joy was so contagious that I could not help wondering if maybe, just maybe, it would make our lives a little easier. What I did not realize was that he would sacrifice our love for the facade of success. Now he spends all his time in his study, working the accounts. William is an annoyance, not his son. And I can’t even remember the last time he looked at me as if I were a woman and not just his wife.

I stare out the window in this way for what seems like hours, turning and

turning the thoughts in my mind. Suddenly, a voice breaks through my stupor.

“You are wandering again, Mrs. Schwarz,” the nasally, condescending voice of Monsieur Fournier drawls. Reluctantly, I return my gaze to the back of Monsieur Fournier’s easel, banishing all thoughts of the past from my mind. Instead, I focus on the comforting weight of my son in my arms. At least I still have him.

Fleurs Mortes #2 After the work of Carol Goldmark // Rachel Holderman

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Breakfast in Antalya // Scott Eyre

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Emerge // Ariel Barbosa

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Kaitlin Abrahams junior English and Writing Studies major a sound heart i am trying to break my heart open to see what it’s like inside will it be like a geode, like a pocket-watch, like a nut? will it click smoothly or crackle up into bits?

— when it breaks, that is, what sound will it make? or perhaps i should just ask you to do the breaking for me for perhaps, that is the only way it works for maybe, you can’t break a thing if you live inside it

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Justine Nolt junior Writing Studies major Tree-ku Plunge your roots into the wormy world! It’s nice there.

Dark and silent, still.

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Home // Lauren Eckenroad

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Caleb Schrock-Hurst junior English major The 23rd Psalm, NSHV I lift my eyes to the hills though I should be watching my footing.

Where does my help come from if not from my friends, strangers I’ve known forever?

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I feel quite alive, and rather sunburnt.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me as I follow water flowing upwards to the ancient city.

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Mathias Church // Robert Weaver

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Liesl Graber junior English & Writing Studies majors Fire Feast I hold a purple tulip to a flame and fire eats, then licks the petals dry.

Its mortal corpse the croaking tongue will maim and bruise, its crispy wisps of life deny prerogative to bloom. With trembling lips a dirge escapes the orange silhouette, the mournful groan of torturer, unclips the weary head from drooping neck, so wet with agony. And with a plop, the task completes. The tulip now returns to dust, a heap of blackened ash that swims and basks in waxy light, the flame in guilty lust.

I sniff the death that swirls inside my nose, then sacrifice an unsuspecting rose.

Awakening // Lauren Eckenroad

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Vatican Tree // Robert Weaver

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Sunset Chasers // Robert Weaver

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Chimney Licker // Robert Weaver

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Deer // Scott Eyre

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Caleb Schrock-Hurst junior English major Yosie From flowers and tears he fled, trading the low country for the Holy Land, flat and fear for hills and home.

I ask him if he would ever leave and he laughs, smiles and says, slurring his ‘S’s in the way only native Dutch speakers can, that this, this, is his home.

He is not wrong, but is he right?

If only the bad guys wore camo and carried assault rifles, instead of volunteering at libraries and wearing glasses that constantly slip down their aging noses.

Aboretum Fountain // Julian Bussells

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Luke Mullet sophomore Mathematics major Oceans light passes unbounded retracing the stars imperfectly seeking the imperfect open to the whims of the way the waves retreat and return the depths move merging converging surging never constant far off but intimately present

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Caribbean Sun // Macson McGuigan

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Megan Bishop junior Early Education major, pre k-3 We can learn a lot from birds We can learn a lot from birds, in simplicity.

We can learn a lot from birds by what they get to see.

A cardinal’s sign of hope or a loved one that’s passed on.

A dove, a gentle spirit of the peace that’s not all gone.

An eagle that soars high and makes independent trips, Yet love birds that stay side by side and need companionship.

But look at all these birds and their commonalities, With open wings they freely soar, not to race, but go with ease.

There are no walls to keep them out and they live in any tree, And they’re never forced to up and go and take their family.

We can learn a lot from birds and how they live so free, If we all saw hearts as precious life, what a world that this would be.

Learning about carbon footprint in the cloud forest // Esther Ghale

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Biographies Kaitlin Abrahams is a junior majoring in English and Writing Studies and minoring in Honors.

Last semester, while on cross cultural, she took advantage of the coffee culture in Vienna, inspiring the piece called Café Sperl. In addition to reading, writing, and consuming mass amounts of caffeine, Kaitlin’s hobbies include hiking, travelling, star-gazing, painting, and petting small furry animals, preferably cats.

Diego Barahona is a wanna-be poet who hides himself behind the ‘objectivity’ of the natural sciences but secretly highly admires the ease with which artists capture the fundamentals of existence. Given this, he studies the chemistry of life during the day and writes short little lines at night on his phone when nobody sees him.

Ariel Barbosa is a Sociology and Bible and Religions double major. She is a woman still figuring out the answer to the question “who are you?” -- always seeking, sometimes knowing, never finished. Jesus, weird people, Old Bay, wisdom, and good tunes... these are a few of my faaavorite things.

Megan Bishop wrote “We can learn a lot from birds” while on the Middle East trip about all the ongoing hardships between Israel and Palestine. “As I was overlooking Hebron, Israel on a rooftop, I saw many soldiers and military bases. As my heart was conflicted and confused, I looked up and saw a flock of birds fly over my head. It made me think of the freedom birds have and how people have symbolism associated with birds which made me think of how we can learn a lot from birds— freedom, peace, and love.”

Dylan Buchanan is a junior, double major in Digital Media and Photography with a minor in Communications. His goal is to someday work in the field of digital media, whether it be with a major U.S. company or owning his own photography business.

Julian Bussell is a Linden, Virginia native, and is currently a digital media major and journalism minor at Eastern Mennonite University. An avid baseball fan, Julian currently plays on the EMU baseball team. In his free time, Julian enjoys playing/watching baseball, writing, and watching That 70s Show.

Andrea Cable is a sophomore from Johnstown, PA studying Business Administration while minoring in Accounting and Digital Communications. She can’t live without laughter, her guitar, and coffee. Someday she hopes to make a difference through her photography.

Robyn Cordle is a ‘16 alumna who studied Philosophy and Theology.

Azariah Cox is a senior studying Photography with a minor in Digital Communications.

“Photography is a blessing that God has placed on my life and I thank him every day for giving me this talent. I have met so many people through this gift and I am not giving up one bit. A wise man once told me, ’Show the world your gifts and never take them for granted.’”

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Lauren Eckenroad is a senior double majoring in Photography and Digital Media. She loves frolicing through wildflower fields, snowboarding, thunderstorms, hockey, and adventures. After graduation, she hopes to find a job that helps her pursue her dream of opening her own business.

Scott Eyre is a graduate of the photography program at EMU. He currently serves as the Lead Residence Director in Cedarwood Residence Hall as well as being the Athletics Photographer for EMU Athletics. His work has ranged from capturing National Championship sporting events to a series of panoramas in the Mediterranean. Scott loves the challenge of using his photography to tell meaningful and moving stories.

Esther Ghale is a Nursing major and she lives in Harrisonburg . She does photography on the side because she loves capturing special moments and memories!

Megan Good is a first-year student from Harrisonburg, Virginia who has not yet declared a major.

When not running or doing homework, she can be found reading, cooking, hunched over her sewing machine, or at home, playing with her sister’s baby goats. Megan’s short story, “Portrait of Eliza Schwarz” was written for the Introduction to Creative Writing course.

Liesl Graber is a junior studying English and Writing Studies. She believes that “anything can be poetry, if you look at it long enough.”

Rachel Holderman is a junior majoring in Photography and minoring in Studio Art. She loves working with her hands, from painting and ceramics, to graphic design on a computer, to cooking or working outside, she enjoys it all if it means that she get to create something beautiful (or edible).

Nicole Litwiller is a second-year Liberal Arts major with a focus in Psychology. She has always loved looking at and creating art. It has been a source of peace and stress-relief for her. She enjoys admiring beauty in the world and trying to recreate it in her own way.

Carissa Luginbill is a ‘16 alumna who is currently the Residence Director in Maplewood. She was assistant leader with Jerry Holsopple this past summer (2016) on the Lithuania Cross Cultural.

Carissa enjoys being outside, being with friends, and art. “‘Distance’ was taken at High Knob Fire Tower on a sunset hike with friends. ‘Stuck Between’ was taken in Lithuania.”

Macson McGuigan is a senior Environmental Sustainability and Digital Media student from Berryville, Virginia. Macson specializes in photography and video production as a means of digital storytelling. In his spare time he enjoys snowboarding, hiking, spikeball, kickin’ it with his lady-friend, and listening to Africa by Toto.

Luke Mullet is a second-year mathematics major from Lucas, Ohio. He enjoys writing many forms of poetry, but usually writes free verse because it allows him to play openly with his imagination. Luke composes original music pieces for many of his poems.

Elizabeth Nisly is a first-year student. She double majors in Writing Studies and Spanish, runs cross country and track, and is a pretty big fan of sunsets.

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Savannah Olshove is a third-year Writing Studies major from Staunton, Virginia. In her free time, she enjoys writing comedy sketches and crawling under shrubbery in search of hedgehogs.

Caleb Schrock-Hurst is a junior English major from Harrisonburg , VA, with minors in Music and History. His hobbies include reading, Super Smash Bros, pondering the world’s problems, and playing and fangirling soccer and tennis. After graduation next year he plans to do something constructive with his life.

Naomi Scoville is a December 2016 graduate of EMU. A full time 10th grade English teacher and a sometimes writer, Naomi lives in Lezhë, Albania. She wrote “Safekeeping” after a visit to the Gulf of Kotor in Montenegro.

Joaquin Sosa enjoys creating chaotic, beautiful forms which reflect on identity and life in general.

Robert Weaver is a junior Photography major with a minor in Business Administration and Theater. His formative years were spent in Baltimore, Maryland with many travels to hither and yon with his family of nine. His current passions are photography and theater. He is most relaxed by the idea of a good cup of coffee and a humdinger of a book at his fingertips.

Amanda Williams is a junior Biology and Environmental Sustainability double major. She enjoys writing about the possibilities of what could exist and the beauty of this universe. Some of her hobbies include breeding guppies, watching Naruto, and saltwater fishing.

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Colophon The Phoenix, Volume 60, was produced by the staff at Eastern Mennonite University (EMU) and was printed by EMU’s Print Shop in Harrisonburg, VA. The cover and interior layout were designed by Lauren Eckenroad. The books contain 64 pages and all body copy was set in 14pt Georgia. Titles were set in 16pt Georgia Bold Italic. Author names were set in 16pt Didot. The Phoenix was produced using Adobe InDesign.

Want Your Work in the Next Phoenix?

Please send all submissions to phoenix@emu.edu. Include your preferred print name and attach all works with respective, clearly specified titles. Although we accept untitled submissions, we strongly suggest titling your work for clarity.

Submissions are limited to eight per person and may consist of writing and art. If you are interested in becoming a staff member, simply attend a meeting or email us for more information.

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