deaf
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M A G A Z I N E SPRING/SUMMER 2017
The
Rosalyn Watson Top: Pencil, ink on paper Bottom: Oil on canvas
Artist: Rosalyn Watson Charcoal on paper
Artist: Olivia Hunter Oil on canvas
Cleaning the Attic
Zachary Abbott
I have an hour, perhaps a little less, To sit here on the porch and read, Poems left in this old shoebox, Some written from canoes; Others, dressed in flapper skirts. When I read them they blush and confess That they are much older than me That my reading them must only be in jest They profess that in their time they knew men of esteem
Men unlike me: ad men, bank men, Military men, architects, and engineers Mannered men with audacity and temerity Like John, the journalist, who wrote to Alice On a stolen sheet of blank newsprint how he, An orphan, got a job at the Chicago Tribune Before the war; before boys became toy soldiers Wrapped in newspapers Buried in shoeboxes.
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GiveEveryMan Thy Ear but Few
ThyVoice
As artists in a modern day society, we draw influences from the classics. Shakespeare is known for his multifaceted, complex plays and sonnets, inspiring playwrights, actors, writers, and the like. We seeked out deaf artists who were impacted by Shakespeare’s work. Jennifer Nelson is an English professor and Ethan Sinnott is a Theatre Arts professor at Gallaudet University. They were kind enough to share some of their work and their experiences with Shakespeare.
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By Sofia Syed
The Little Match Girl On a misty night in December Your Christmas gift to me Nutcrackers and mice and dancing snowflake humans twirling before my eyes-
Go ahead. Twist that knife again, right between my ribs. Trace the jellyfish scar on my belly. Slide it into my gut.
My first match blows out.
Yes, it still hurts...but I won't get so angry like I did before.
New Years Eve for everyone else But us? Always our "Christmas Eve". An empty jar and a promise to fill it with only our happiest moments this year(You stopped filling it six months later...) My second match blows out. Our third “Christmas Eve�: a new and empty apartment waiting. A promise of happier memories yet to come(Just wait for it, doom only six months later...) And the third match blows out. Overhead, this rain should be clean, white snow. Instead it is just pain coming down in buckets.
What anger? What memories? Dust. All of it. It has been years already since our life together fell out the second floor window, to seek refuge in a sodden corner of the curb, Sidling up next to those alley cats out back. No one wants them, they are just rodent control kinda sorta useful to have around kinda sorta worthless disposable unloved You said, through crocodile tears, "I didn't want it to be over." It was my last match. -Anonymous
Photographer: Bobby Moakley
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Photographer: Lorian Jones
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Kel wearing a Forever 21 crop top and a vintage brocade and velvet jacket.
Modern Maia a fashion editorial
Styling: Maryah Arzola Photography: Mengqian Luan Illustration: Marilee Williams Graphics: Long Nguyen
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