Chrysalis: 1990

cover painting by tony perez drawing opposite by shannon !owe

chrysalis

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the literary & graphic arts magazine offerrum college

Table of Contents Fiction CONTRIBUTOR William Albrecht Something in Common

PAGE

30

Poetry Guy Byrd Jazz Sextet Study

2 37

Greg Craddock Her Habit

3

Cheryl Barakey Surprises A Spell for Spring Joe Hill Arcade Game

6 36 7

CONTRIBUTOR

PAGE

Holly Dunkum Robe of Life Black Dragon

10 15

Shirley A. Stanley I'mHere J'm NotHer Biology

28 41

Janine Martin Death Comes Knocking /Tried

14 17

Tonja Limburg Clay of Life

22

Carol Quinn A Parent's Love

24

Randy Kelley The Last Time Out

25

11

CONTRIBUTOR

PAGE

Amy Hsu Nights ofPoverty

39

Elizabeth Schmick A-Choo!

43

Art Tony Perez Shannon Lowe Hollie Winston Mark Dowsett Mindy Hunt Christina Cappelli Janine Martin Tonja Limburg

Cover Logo Title Page

4, 13, 19,20,27,34 8 9 16, 18,42 21

CONTRIBUTOR

Susan Catlett John Elkins Alan Kidd Kathy Kull Lora Hicks Erik Hubley

PAGE

23 29 38 40 28 37

Photography Eddie Clyburn Joe Lotts Kristin Clous Sandy Forbes

1 5,35 12 25

guy byrd Jazz Sextet on the 7th Day Rhythm de Bop, A night at the Blackhawk.

Will the man never stop?

To the casual beat I hear it man, Pretty sweet.

Perculator Perculating Spilt on the tile Stain for the week.

What you wanna do?

It's nine teen Fifty-eight "Mambiso Mambo!"

Here's the peak, man.

Listen to this . .

Dizzy's got it!

Yeah. Pass the cup.

photo opposite by eddie clyburn

1990

page2

greg craddock Her Habit She picked up the monkey and couldn't put it down.

She became the drug queen, made of leather was her crown.

The days and nights turned into one long trip.

On swift water traveled her lonesome ship.

None of her friends could believe how she changed.

Her life was different, things had been rearranged.

She didn't want a prom dress or a trip to the coast, Razor blades and needles were what she needed most.

She loved her new hobby, and never once paused, To think about the pain and suffering she caused.

She helped kill a cop, and a kid that got gunned down on the street.

Tears in the church and red blood on the concrete.

Mommy couldn't save her, daddy never tried, She walked through her world alone, and that's the way she died.

In her eyes were fire and ice as in her new bed she lay, No more worries about where to sleep, she found a new place to stay.

When her mother cried for her, she didn't make a sound.

She lay in total silence as they covered her with the cold ground.

acrylic opposite by mark dowsett page 3

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1990

page 4

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cheryl barakey Surprises

photo opposite by joe lotts

1990

I sit on the stairs in front of the house in the middle of the wheat field, waiting, waiting, for a surprise.

I'm waiting for a surprise to come.

I sit on the stairs looking looking into thin air just waiting, waiting, waiting until I can't wait anymore.

I know it's supposed to be something good, like candy or ice-cream but I don't know what.

I hope it's something I like, like chocolate-covered cherries or peppermint sticks.

I hope it's something big, like five gallons of Oreo ice-cream or a humongous banana split.

I wonder what it is.

I hope it's okay.

Why hasn't it come?

Where could it be?

What could have happened to it?

Could someone have robbed the car it was in?

If it was ice-cream could it have melted?

Could the person that was delivering it be lost?

I've been waiting waiting for a long time now.

Where is it?

Where could it be?

Oh, please come, please come soon.

I'm still waiting. page 6

joe hill

Arcade Game In a dark room I stay Using computer graphics and music trying To get you to play.

I wait for you to give me Your change So you can play Your game.

And I try to destroy you In a dark room.

Try to drench you In doom.

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drawing by mindy hunt

1990

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holly dunkum

The Robe of Life Woven in and pulled throughout, the Cloth of Life is made.

The rough and sparkly thread spun out is used or left to fray.

Its mesh is folded, cut and sewn, and made, with love, to stay.

The robe of cloth and that of thread is brilliant as the day.

drawing opposite by christina cappelli

1990

page 10

shirley a. stanley

I'm Here I can't heal your wounds I can't chase away your fears I can't stop the pain I can only dry your tears I'm sorry you got hurt And I didn't mean to let you down But it's something you are going to live through You won't die or drown Right now it seems the end of the world You can't find any hope or joy But this too will pass Love is a feeling, not a lost toy

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chry salis

painted photograph by kristin clous

1990

page 12

janine martin

When Death Comes Knocking When Death comes knocking, knocking at my door Will I open the door and embrace Death as a long-lost friend who was never quite forgotten but always on the surface of my memory?

Or will I run and lock the door and hide underneath the covers of my bed and listen to the knocking, knocking on my door until it becomes the beating of my heart, trying to escape its gilded cage to fly away into the night?

What will I do when Death comes knocking, knocking at my door?

acrylic opposite by mark dowsett

1990

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holly dunkum Black Dragon Bond of gold Legend told of evil hate and deed.

Scale of green Never seen an oath upon the creed.

Breath of fire Maiden's pyre an awesome demon-seed.

Dragons rise Scorch the skies behind the black moon's lead.

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Janine martin I Tried I tried to write a poem . . .

To show the way I look To express the way I feel To help me heal.

I tried to write a poem . . .

To let go some of the hurt To shed some of the tears threatening to drown me inside.

I tried to write a poem . . .

To fill some of the loneliness that eats away at my insides and hides the lies from prying eyes.

I tried to write a poem . . .

That would tell about me and set me free to be a person who could be loved.

I tried to write a poem . . . acry lic opposite by janine martin

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acrylic by Janine martin 1990

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tonja limburg

Clay of Life The clay you mold is Like the flesh of life It holds its shape until It is rendered defenseless Beaten and molded until It can give no more Its sustenance is ungratified It is overworked and Unamused.

acrylic opposite by tonja limburg

1990

page 22

carol quinn A Parent's Love Bumps and bruises as I learned how to walk, clinging to my Dad's leg too shy to talk.

3:00 a.m. feedings, numerous readings, of classroom presentations, birthday celebrations, prom night and dates, college tuition rates, always on the rise, I never realized how wise, my parents had to be, to raise a kid like me.

Adding many grey hairs to both my Mom and Dad's head, not always realizing this until I'm lying in bed.

This is a time when I think of everything they've done, for in my heart they will always be number one.

drawing opposite by susan catlett

1990

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randy kelley The Last Time Out Autumn afternoons have come and gone, Four straight years have passed right on.

Battles were fought upon the rock pile, But one thing's for certain, We'll leave here with style.

We came here as boys, But leave here as men.

One thing is true, We'll return once again.

Not as players, But Blackhats at heart, One thing for sure, This team will not part.

The thirteen seniors will stray far away, But the friends that we met, Will be here to stay.

This is the end of our black and gold days, But oh how we have learned, In so many ways.

photo opposite by sandy forbes

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shirley a. stanley I'm Not Her I'm sorry I'm not her My voice is that of a dropping pin I'm sorry I'm not her My eyes don't make your head spin I'm sorry I'm not her My touch doesn't make you feel warm I'm sorry I'm not her My glance doesn't make your insides swarm I'm sorry I'm not her I can't kiss you and make it better I'm sorry I'm not her That's why I wrote this letter

1990

drawing by Zora hicks

acrylic opposite by mark dowsett

page 28

Something in Common by

William Albrecht

"Ma, are you awake?" Gene asked.

"I'm awake. I havP been all night. My back hurts me so bad."

"Well I'm sorry about that. It can be hell to get old can't it?"

"Yes it can," she replied.

"Are you hungry?"

"I ain't hungry."

"For someone who is never hungry you sure do eat a lot. Food must be better than at that nursing home huh?"

"I'm not hungry!"

"Well that's too bad, 'cause you're going to eat anyway. I'm starting your breakfast and you, work on getting yourself out of that bed."

She watched as Gene turned and walked out of the room. It was obvious that he was irritated and before long she could hear pots and pans clanging like bells, calling for her to get up. That was the last thing she wanted to do and an exercise that was constantly forced upon her.

Looking to the side of her bed, the old woman surveyed the chair that was now the only real functioning part of her. It sat there with over-sized wheels and several little intricate gadgets that made it look rather sophisticated, something that would excite the interest of a child. However, she turned her head away. In no manner of speaking did the vehicle stimulate her curiosity.

It seemed like an eternity, and a painful one at that, but the old woman was finally able to get into the chair. After pushing the button and hearing the beep-beep-beep that followed, she was able to guide

1990

it through the doorway and down the hall with an impeccable skill. She stopped short of the kitchen near an entryway window and pushed the button.

"Ah, I see you're up," Gene said enthusi­ astically. "The eggs need just a few more minutes.

You wanna pull up to the table or wait there?"

"I'm just soaking up the sun."

"Fine, fine. That's good."

The morning rays did feel delightfully whole­ some. The house always seemed so cold, and this was a simple but welcome pleasure. She stared at the glass, straining to see sparrows as they snatched worms from the grass which was covered with beads of morning dew. Looking over, Gene noticed her dull concentration.

"Papa always said that the early bird gets the worm.''

"What? she appeared to be caught off guard.

"I said Papa claimed that the early bird is the one who gets the worm."

A simple grin came over the left side of her face.

"He sure did. He said a lot of things. He also said that birds of a feather flock together. Remember that one?" she inquired.

Gene sensed that his mother was trying to make a point. As to its nature, he was not exactly sure, but there was a sense of urgency in her voice.

"Ah Papa! The great Louisiana politician," Gene commented. "It's a �onder he did as well as he did with all those profound cliches of his. Must have been his eccentric personality."

For a moment there was silence as Gene emptied the contents of the frying pan onto a small plastic

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plate.

"Pull up to the table, breakfast is ready," he said.

She complied with his directions and guided the chair to the foremost part of the table. Sitting on the corner was a morning copy of The Washington Post.

The front page indicated that there had been an economic disaster in the stock market, but she felt nothing could be as bad as the big one which took place God knows how long ago.

"Your daddy was a good man. He worked hard and took good care of me. All of Baton Rouge loved him."

"I loved him, too, Ma. Now I have to get ready for work and you need to eat your breakfast."

"Isn't anybody gonna eat with me?" she asked.

Gene stopped in his tracks as his patience was growing thin.

"No, there's no one here. Look - " "I ain't hungry," she interrupted.

Damn, woman listen to me! You claim that Papa was a good man, that he worked hard, an<'l he took good care of you. What do you think I'm trying to do?''

Silence elapsed as Gene walked in small, aimless circles while rubbing the back of his neck. It was obvious that the situation was getting to him.

"Don't you see? Marion and I are doing our best," he paused. "Every day, I drive from Burke to D.C. in order to get to work. At night, Marion works at Fairfax County Hospital. This is how we earn a living and it is barely enough to cover the bills."

Tears began swelling in her eyes. One by one they fell onto the bib that covered her flannel nightgown.

"I'm sorry that there isn't anybody to eat with you. I just don't have the time right now."

"I'm lonely," she sobbed.

"I know you are and I told you that when you left the nursing home," Gene reminded her. "You are a fulltime job. Now eat. Marion does't need this

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aggravation when she gets home in an hour. She's been putting up with it for almost a year now, and frankly Ma, I don't know how much more she can take."

Gene turned and walked away. She could hear him as he bounced hurriedly up the stairs. She bowed her head and acknowledged the crucifix as her religion dictated to her. Slowly, she picked up a fork and began to eat the cold food as she had been told.

Gene was in a hurry. He didn't have time to change sheets or empty the bedpan and had left his mother in front of the window.

"Gene would never desert me," she mumbled to herself. "He's a good man and he takes care of me just like his daddy did."

The sun felt warm and she was extremely relaxed. Her eyes closed and suddenly Gene was a young boy again.

"Whatcha got there?" she asked.

"Couple of crawdads I caught in Farmers Creek," Gene replied.

"Oh Lord! Get them out of the house and go upstairs to wash up for dinner," she commanded.

"And be quiet. Two boys from the navy base are here. They're shipping out again in the morning and they need their sleep."

"Yes mam."

He turned and walked out the front porch door.

She smiled to herself. He was definitely her pride and joy because they had something in common.

They belonged to each other. Sure, she took care of four others like him, but they did not belong to her.

They were the result of an earlier knot that had come untied. However, she knew that his father was a good man. He was strong, honest, and important in the state of Louisiana. The perfect Irish Catholic as well as a devoted family man.

Dinner was more interesting than usual. It was always that way when the navy boys were around.

Gene and the others enjoyed listening to their stories, and she loved the idea of having the family

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together at dinner. It was important and helped keep the unit strong. Papa would have been there if he could, but he had a family to support.

R-R-Ring went the telephone. She flinched, realizing that her neck was sore and that the sun had moved from the window. The phone continued to ring but she could not reach it. Even if she could, it wouldn't be of any use because nobody could under­ stand her. It was very difficult to talk when one side wasn't functioning. Her back gave her extreme pain and she decided to try to get into bed.

The adjustment process had not been very easy.

The chair was low to the ground compared to her bed, and she strained her left arm trying to pull herself up.

"Damn thing. Looks more convenient than it really is," she mumbled. "They ought to just let me lay here."

Just as she said this the door opened and there was the sound of jingling keys. The short quick steps indicated that Marion was home, and the cursing under her breath let the old woman know that she was not in a good mood. After several minutes of fuming, Marion entered her mother-in-law's room.

"Have you been fed?"

"I ate hours ago," she replied.

"Oh, it hasn't been hours, give me a break," Marion declared. "What about your pills, did Gene give you your pills before he left this morning?"

"I don't know nothin' about any pills," she replied.

Marion began scrambling around like a cat on a hot tin roof. Her white uniform highlighted the red that now grew on her face.

"I can't believe it. I can't believe it," Marion began shouting. "I work all night, and that man can't even remember to give you your pills or empty that damn bedpan! Why does he expect me to do it all?"

"He was in a hurry," the old woman attempted to say.

"Yeah! Yeah! Well I'm in a hurry too, I'm in a

1990

hurry to go to bed. I'm working the graveyard shift again tonight."

Marion stormed out of the room like a mad hornet. She could hear her as she clamored about the kitchen, and she closed her eyes in a vain attempt to block it all out. It wasn't that she despised Marion, rather she sympathized with her. It couldn't be easy to take care of the sick all night and then come home to another one in the morning, but what could she do?

Her train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a lifting phone. She knew that Marion could only be calling one person. They didn't have much of a social l.ife. They were far too busy for that.

Suddenly, Marion began shouting.

"Can't you do anything for her?

"I work all night long and then have to come home to this mess. Nothing is done. It's all left up to me."

For a moment there was silence as Gene was responding. The old woman felt cold, and she knew that this time the temperature of the house had nothing to do with it.

"Of course she's like a child, what do you expect?

She bitches and gritches about the food, she doesn't do anything or have anyone to talk to, and of course the care here is less than adequate."

There was another pause. Her blood seemed to have stopped flowing.

"Now that really makes sense.â&#x20AC;˘ I'II just get a second job so we can hire a private duty nurse to suit her needs. Besides, if that's really what it takes, she'd might as well still be in that nursing home."

Tears began swelling in her eyes. and she felt faint.

"Gene, I'm your wife. For better or worse. That's the common bond you and I share. She is your mother and you have to figure out what to do with her. I'm sorry, but I can't do it any longer. It's in your hands. Goodbye."

She heard the phone set down and the pounding

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of Marion's feet as she ran up the stairs. By now the tears had soaked her flannel nightgown and she eventually fell asleep. This time no dream would intrude upon her unavoidable reality.

When she awoke, Gene was standing over her bed. Nothing was said, but for some reason or another he resembled his father more than she had ever noticed before. The crows feet highlighting the corner of the eyes, the bald spot on top of his head, and the tired, worrisome look on his face were all characteristics of the late, beloved husband she had once known. Gene rubbed the back of his neck and turned to walk out the door.

"The responsibilities of the nuptial state can be as burdensome as that of the political state," she said.

Gene turned around. This time he was caught off guard.

"Was that another one of Papa's profound

sayings?"

She couldn't help but chuckle.

"No, �o. That one belongs to your mother," she assured h,m.

He grabbed his mother's right hand and noticed its icy feeling. Tears were in his eyes as he bowed his head to his knees.

"Then you understand?" he asked.

"Gene your daddy would be proud of what you have done for me."

"I'll visit more often, I promise," he assured her.

"That is if you want me to."

"Of course. I love you."

"Ah, fine," he said wiping the tears away from his eyes. "Dinner is almost ready."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know. But you got thirty minutes anyway."

Gene stretched his arms as he walked out the door. She was positive that she heard him sigh an expression of relief.

D

acrylic opposite by mark dowsett

drawing by janine martin page 33

chrysalis

page 35

ch ry salis

cheryl barakey

A Spell for Spring One drop of dew glistening off the petal of a red rose.

Bunches of baby green leaves dangling in the soft breeze.

Scents of honeysuckle enveloping the nearby region.

Clusters of colorful daffodils popping up here and there.

Invisible rays of sunlight filling the air with warmth and .. shadows creeping up behind chosen people as they emerge outside again.

photo opposite by joe lotts

1990

page 36

drawing opposite by erik hubley

1990

drawing by alan kidd page 38

amy hsu Soirs de misere Nous nous defaisons des soirs de misere a mesure que nous donnons l'assaut a la Bastille et chantons la Marseillaise et faisons marcher en uniforme.

Donnez-nous du pain et du poulet parce que nous avons faim.

Renvoyons-nous la rigueur et laissons Rousseau chanter nos limes affamees.

Nights of Poverty We get rid of the nights of povetiy as we storm into the Bastille and sing the Marseillaise and march in uniform.

Give us bread and chicken because we are hungry.

Let's give away the rigor and let Rousseau sing our hungry souls.

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shirley a. stanley

Biology The science of life, that's for me Something for me is as easy as A, B, C, The heart, brain, and bones are for real Not gallivanting after some blonde whose love you want to steal It's true I couldn't get up in front of people and sing a song And I couldn't lecture calculus all day long I couldn't write fiction and magazine articles for a living Or get up and preach love, salvation, and thanksgiving I couldn't starve like an artist with oils and clay And I don't have the patience to watch thirty kids a all day Give me a note pad, a knife, a pencil, and a pig Biology, the science of life, that's what I dig

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drawing by Janine martin

1990

page 42

elizabeth schmick

A-Choo!

Love is like sneezing ...

You never know when it's going to hap pen until it does.

,.

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Chrysalis Staff Elizabeth Schmick Editor-in-Chief Leslie Dering Art Coordinator EditorialAssistants Kathy Skeen Leslie Shipp

Kristin Clous Dana Swift Lynn Hallman Sponsor Dan Gribbin

Thanks to: Bev Thornton Jane Stogner Jeff Glasgow Len Lindsay

John Hardt Ed Cornbleet The Iron Blade Jim Flanagan