Chrysalis Spring 2024

Chrysalis Literary and Arts Magazine

Chrysalis

Literary and Arts Magazine

Staff

Scout Lynch, editor-in-chief

Kiersten Jones

Abi Craig

Faith Markham

Johann Torres

Hannah Dix

John Kitterman, advisor

Judges

Emma Weatherley, Art

Suzie Kelly, Photography

Daniel Pravda, Poetry

Cameron MacKenzie, Prose

Ferrum College Spring 2024

Butterfly by Faith Markham

Cover Photo: Sunset and Pines by Katherine Grimes

Mattie Green

Where I’m From Inspired by

George Ella Lyon

by Mattie Green First Place Poetry

I am from red clay, from climbing ivy and creeping kudzu.

I am from a yard of dirt and stone. (broad forest canopy, blotting out the light).

I am from twisting gravel drive, the length littered with past and present projects rusting.

I’m from pickle ornament and hasenpfeffer, from dinners swimming in butter, after splashing all day in the pool.

I’m from “Dad’s sick” and “don’t talk about it,” from sitting amongst the trees, unsure if they are sanctuary or sanatorium.

I’m from mom skipping meals, to make sure we had enough, and eyes lit up when I saved her some. From “can’t afford it” and working at fifteen. Walking down winding dirt road, stopping at the creek, wishing it would wash me away. I am from ancient mountains, Memories fluttering like leaves on the breeze. I didn’t need to be strong, I needed to be safe.

place photography

Airborneby Cody Agnell First

OC Can You D by Scout Lynch

First place prose

When I was five years old, my maternal grandmother came to live with my family. It wouldn’t be until years later that I discovered that it was because she was on probation. At that time, weed was illegal in Virginia and to my grandmother’s misfortune, so was growing it in your apartment. During this era of having her at home, she watched my sister and me often. Whether she was teaching me how to make pancakes or watching me play outside in the backyard while she stood in the screened-in porch, smoking her menthol cigarettes, she spent a lot of time with me. She even shared her favorite hobby with me: meticulously cleaning and organizing everything she could get her paws on. One of my first core memories is sitting with her on the floor of my room, while we put my shoes into the organizer that hung from my closet door. As a kindergartener who didn’t know jack about aesthetically pleasing anything, I tossed whatever shoe I grabbed from the pile of mary janes and sneakers on my floor into the first pocket of the organizer that I saw first. “Sweetie, no no.” my grandmother stressed, “You can’t put them just anywhere, they each need to be with their match! See, they’re in love with each other, and you’ll make them very sad if you split them up from their partner.” “Oh God.” I thought, “How thoughtless of me.” What kind of monster was I? Tearing two lovers apart. In my head, they weren’t just shoes any more. They were sentient beings with thoughts and feelings. It was their destiny to be together, and here I was breaking them up all willy-nilly.

That’s where it started. Destiny, that’s what was on my mind. If I was counting the coins in my piggy bank and two coins were right next to each other in my mountain of coins, they were meant to be. I wouldn’t be the cause of tearing them apart. I imagined two little coin gods in the sky above me, watching and waiting for me to mess up. “Let’s see if she screws this up.” they’d say, “We’ll ruin her day if she breaks the coins’ hearts!”

Then the obsessions grew. The teddy grahams and baby carrots on my snack plate had to be eaten in a certain order, from top to bottom. The ones at the top were in line first, it wouldn’t be fair to them if I pulled a carrot from the bottom of the pile, they were in line first. Some all-knowing force would be sure to curse me for being unfair to my snacks. If I put my right sock on first, then my right shoe had to be on first as well. They got their hopes up to be first and I couldn’t let them down. As a kid, I always heard the phrase, “Step on a crack, break your

mother’s back.” I never really let that one bother me. How silly to think that my actions would magically result in something bad happening to someone else. Only I take the punishments for messing up. I paid no mind to where I placed my feet, I stepped on the cracks. Then, when I was in my early teens, my mother was diagnosed with a degenerative spine disease. She would eventually have to have three of her spinal disks replaced with prosthetic ones… “OH MY GOOOOOOOOD!” All of those cracks I thoughtlessly stepped on over the years! How could I? What had I done? I can never let my mother know it’s all my fault. I’m twenty-seven years old now. I still do not step on the cracks. If my right foot lands on the rug when I’m walking down the hallway, my left foot must as well. They have to have the same amount of steps on the same textures and types of floor, it’s not fair if I don’t give each of them the same opportunities. My actions have consequences. I have rituals, I have routines. I have a dog and two cats. When I leave the house, if I don’t find each of them and put my hands on their heads and feel their warmth, look them in the eye and make sure that I see them on their heads and feel their warmth, look them in the eye and make sure that I see them, I am convinced that they will poof out of the house and end up outside and get eaten by something or hit by a car. If I’m not sure that I checked something properly, I have to run back into my house. I’ll touch everything all over again and again until I know I did it right. I never give myself time for my rituals. I’m late to everything and I mean everything. What am I supposed to say? “Beastly sorry for my tardiness, I had to look my dog in the eye 5 separate times before I left my house so she didn’t die.” I manage a coffee shop, and have to control everything to stay in place. Don’t put it down, put it away. If my employees set the espresso pitchers down on anything other than the espresso machine, I fall apart. “Guys,” I’ll stress, “please don’t take the espresso pitchers away from the machine. This is where they live, they feel safe here, they don’t like to be away from home!” They probably all want to strangle me. My mother taught me to never ever leave the dryer running before leaving the house. A family we knew made that mistake once and their house burned down. Was it the result of an unattended dryer that just had a little too much lint that had built up in the trap, or some cosmic punishment for doing something you’re taught not to do? When I leave my house, I touch every burner, I touch the unplugged toaster, I press my hands against the oven door, feeling all of them for heat. I didn’t turn any of them on today but what if? What if some force turns them on just to punish me for not making extra sure?

My house will burn down all because I didn’t check. My whole life, I thought this was anxiety. Thinking bad things are going to happen, that’s anxiety right? Recently, my psychiatrist asked me about how bad my anxiety is on a scale of one-to-ten. I told her about my fears. I told her about my level eleven anxiousness, and how it cripples me and controls my life. She sat with her fingers templed together, staring at me with wide eyes.

Surprise bitch, that’s OCD. I have to break these habits. When you’re twenty-seven, you can’t be seen leaping like a gazelle across the sidewalk. People will think I’m crazy, little do they know I’m saving my mother’s spine from turning to dust. That’s just it, little do they know. Little should they know. Little should I worry. Little me. Little five-year old, carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Little actions, and a fear of them leading to big consequences. I’m working on it. I just look at the stove top now, I don’t have to touch it. I simply say goodbye to my animals, they’ll be there when I get home. I count my coins one by one. I’m still cautious of my steps, maybe I’ll learn to change that habit. Or maybe I’ll learn to be ok with people watching me dance across the parking lot, avoiding the cracks. Sometimes, I’ll just slide my finger across the oven door, to be safe. I’ll poke my dog’s forehead, making sure she’s really there. I’ll eat the first carrot or apple slice on the plate. On occasion it’s ok to worry, just a little.

2nd Place Photography

GeorgeWilpurr by Scout Lynch

This is what I do instead of doing my homework.

by Anonymous 2nd Place Poetry

I think about you.

I think about how in love with you I am, And how the safest place on my earth Is in your arms. I look at the artwork I have of you. Others would call them silly little pictures, But in these art pieces I am trying to capture your soul. I want to keep you here. I want you to always be fresh in my memory, To freeze you in time Knowing only I have this version of you. Maybe I am selfish. I keep all of the art, And I only share pieces

Because the world does not deserve the perfection that is you. I pretend I am a person of just.

I say, “I am just this” or, “I just love you”, But this is a lie.

To “just” love you would be a dramatic understatement. It feels wrong to withhold the credit you deserve. You are art, an attraction that cannot be described. I will love you until I am nothing. And this is what i do instead of doing my homework.

Place Art

FloweringHeart by Eliza Lopes Second

I really do love my hair short

by Emily Bass

Second Place Prose

Do you remember when you cut my hair?

I was 14 and it was the second year in a row I had gotten lice. You were mad, like you always were when I got lice. And I was crying so hard I couldn’t breathe, like I always was when I got lice. I was bent backwards over the sink because I didn’t get in the tub like I did last year. I couldn’t look into your eyes for a week afterwards. And even though the edge of the counter was digging into my back, and you were pushing in the comb so hard I thought I was bleeding; I was still glad you had listened to me when I asked. My hair had gotten long which had only made you more mad because it made things harder than they already were. We had been there for thirty minutes already, you yanked my hair for the 12th time, not that the amount made it hurt any less, you were threatening to cut my hair. I had never styled my hair. I liked it long because it hid my face, and I couldn’t look people in the eyes. I had just started high school and it was the only thing that could protect me in that place. I had never once had short hair in my life. I remember begging you to cut it. After a while when you said my head was clean of lice, you sent me to bathe.

I looked into the bathroom mirror. My hair was choppy, cut just beneath my ears. And I looked into my own eyes for the very first time. I’m older now. I know how to look into my own eyes, I know how to look into yours. You tell me I should grow my hair out. I let your gentle hands stroke my head. I’m smiling at you. I remember crying so hard I couldn’t breathe, and your hands cutting me free.

SunsetinMD by Johann Torres

by Candela Perez Castellanos

Torres

So let us cherish what once was ours, In love’s embrace, like fading flowers. For though the night may seem so long, Love’s enduring light still shines strong.

Detail

Sad Love Poem by Johann

This is JusT To say

By Lana Whited

(a teacher’s tribute to William Carlos Williams)

I have deleted your paper that was in the dropbox. and which was on time and probably full of wit.

Forgive me. It was easy, and I am lazy, and want to avoid grading.

OntheStreet

by Scout Lynch

Serenity

by Sarah Gallagher

by Scout lynch

Butterflies never gave me much comfort my mom told me that a caterpillar has to go through its transformation all alone but I cannot do this on my own I writhe on the kitchen floor and wonder what creator would make this cocoon so painful what am i but a butterfly going through this alone

by Abi Craig Interior design render

Cocoon

TeenageBedroom

RememberingMyOldHouse

by Danny Adams

The Boogie Man

by Madison Cline

I am your Boogie Man

Catch me, catch me, if you can I’m in your closet, in your drawers

Why didn’t you do your chores?

I am the pale face of the moon

A secret spy in luscious June

I see your lovers coo and swoon

Will your wife be back home soon?

You tightrope dirty factory floors

How much more, how much more

Until your workers start to riot?

Take more profit? Go on, try it. They sway the rope where’er you tread

Will you fall or give them bread?

I watch through the TV, through the anchorman’s stare

As you chug one more beer and straighten your hair

You add it to your castle of bottles galore

But glass castles crack… is it really “one more?”

I’ve seen you, yes, the dutiful mother

A mask worn with care, unlike any other

You wear all the right clothing, all the right dresses

With silver and lace, pearls and tresses

You hate him, being bound, not being heard

But is there an excuse that can ever award

The anger you carry toward those whom you bared? They hide in the closet, neglected and scared

Behind closed doors when your children scream

“Mercy! Mercy!” is there such esteem?

You walk glamorous floors and ponder your fate

You think of your children… is forgiveness too late?

Too slothful to work until chores are done

Too lustful to face your wife and your son

Your grip is too tight on your mountains of gold

Your pride locks the key to your secret untold

Your gluttony makes the world feel much too light

Your wrath rakes shrill screams across starless nights

You all hate me and loath me, this voice in your head

You close your eyes tightly and fill up with dread

“Shut up, shut up, I’ll do as I please!”

You cower with anguish on your shaking knees.

“I’ve done nothing wrong…” you say to yourself And shove all your guilt to the back of the shelf. “Go away, go away, I’ve done nothing wrong!” You say over and over, your tiring old song.

You want me gone, you want me dead? Then carve me out of your own head

Choices, choices, what to choose I’ll always win and you’ll always lose.

Catch me, catch me, if you can You can’t catch the Boogie Man. I’ll worm my way back in again For guilt creeps into every man

ILikeWondering

WhatHappened

by Candela Perez Castellanos

by TJ Baker

I FEEL

by Candela Perez Castellanos

Grateful to feel something that it’s not usual to have. Half a year ago I wrote “I don’t feel anything” but a sudden cold has appeared and that sadness is now gone... And, damn, how good it feels! It happened for me to appreciate what I feel now.

Look at nature and feel it, hear its sounds and feel peace, the air on your face and the smell of freedom. Happiness represented in tears, inner peace that makes me free…

Not wanting that moment to end and knowing that I have something special. Before I was sad because people didn’t feel it; Now I am grateful that I can. I know many people don’t perceive it like I do because I was there: just living, not feeling.

The birds looking for the correct alignment, The water reflecting the beautiful sky of colorful sugar clouds, a duck creating circles in the water, the sound of the drops colliding against its being, the trees on the mountain like hairs in your skin, Me, like another animal, but conscious.

No,No,AMillion TimesNo

by Troy Smith

Inspire to aspire

by Katelyn Feiffer

Inspire to aspire. What does that mean?

It means to make yourself recognizable, Recognizable that people know you, Know you for your achievements and successes, Know you for how hard you tried.

Inspire not only for others, But for yourself, For your future.

Inspire to be the person that makes people have aspirations.

Inspire not only for others, But for your happiness and dreams.

Inspire to aspire others.

Inspire to make yourself gleam.

Inspire to aspire your fullest desires.

Inspire to prove what you are capable of,

To know your limits,

To test yourself,

To be able to know that you tried, Inspire to aspire not only others, But for yourself.

Inspire to aspire.

ISeeYou

by Corey Agnell

PeaceonEarth by Eliza Copes

by Tabitha Marable

EveningPond

by Mattie Green

Beneath Strawberry moon, in the middle of June, Small creatures begin to assemble.

Mice become men, in the wide-open glen, With excitement, they all start to tremble.

Fur is pressed back as mice brace to attack, Polishing long needle swords. Button shields wielded as all in the field is Preparing to view the accord.

Huddling ‘round, all the beasts of the ground, Enclose the fresh fairy ring. Challengers enter, the space in the center, And the needle swords all start to swing.

Rabbit ears twitch, and squirrels stare bewitched, As the mice all parry and thrust. Each captivated, with breath held baited, So none heard the tell-tale gust.

A swoosh and a snatch, as the owl makes his catch, And a button shield falls with a clatter. No mice become men, in that wide-open glen, For the animals all choose to scatter

ArtDoesn’tNeedExplanatoryTitles

by Candela Perez Castellanos

Strawberry Moon

tetris

by Scout Lynch

they say that playing tetris after a tragic event helps with how you process it.

after losing you, every block that fell made me smell red wine and hazelnuts.

all of the patterns started forming words that spelled out the memories that my heart held so dearly. the colorful shapes in tetris could not possibly build a display of how much i loved you but the care you gave me over time built up line by line and never disappeared.

i don’t know what great power there is in the universe but i know that there was a great power in you that allowed you to hold on so that i could say goodbye.

Speedwells by Gabriel Alvarez

CouragetheCowardlyDog

by Kiersten Jones

The Fool

by Kiersten Jones

The biggest reason for me to live is all the love I have to give. I can’t seem to catch a break; I always give and they only take. People can be selfish, mean, and cruel, but at the end of it all, I’m the one who looks like the fool.

NoSoyUnaSolaCosa

by Candela Perez Castellanos

by Danny Adams

hearTbroken Poem by Johann Torres

In the quiet moments, when memories roam, The heartache lingers, aching to the bone. A shattered soul left to bear the weight, Of love’s betrayal, of trust’s cruel fate.

GeeseFlyingthroughtheGrey

APageFromMySketchbook

by Candella Perez Castellanos

by Kiersten Jones

FerrumintheFall

The Legend of Soapy Smith

by Dave Campbell

Intro Bb

Bb

Listen to the legend of Soapy Smith

Eb Bb

From Texas to Alaska was the king of the grift

F

His mama named him Jefferson but Soapy’s what took Eb Bb

If he had you in his sights, you’d soon to be on his hook.

Soapy was a silver-tongued Confidence Man

Three-card monte and the art of the scam

Gold rush gangster ran the flim and the flam

He had a good eye and really quick hand

Chorus:

Eb

Oh take me down to Jeff Smith’s Parlor

Bb

Where a man’s soon separated from his dollar

F Bb

Where the Bunco Brothers rule from a soap box throne

Eb

Watch out now the Smooth Man’s coming Bb

Ain’t no way to win the game he’s running

F Eb Bb

A fool and his money will part when they’re going for broke.

When Soapy saw Sam Bass go out with a bang

Headed out of Round Rock and gathered his gang

Playing all the hustles up in Denver and Creede

Working angles off the gold and silver stampede

He opened up his suitcase down on the square

Fleecing all the sheep while he was hocking his wares

From Union Depot all the way to Larimer Street

From the old Grand Central to the Tivoli

Oh take me down to Jeff Smith’s Parlor

Where a man’s soon separated from his dollar

Where the Bunco Brothers rule from a soap box throne

Watch out now the Smooth Man’s coming

Ain’t no way to win the game he’s running

A fool and his money will part when they’re going for broke.

Watch out now the Smooth Man’s coming

Ain’t no way to win the game he’s running

A fool and his money will part when they’re going for broke.

For about a decade up ‘til 1895

The Soap Gang kept the town of Denver alive

A sign in Latin on the door said “Buyer Beware”

But most couldn’t read it and the rest didn’t care

Soapy had a heart, but it ain’t part of the lore

Giving to the church—and feeding the poor

Always told his gang—you leave the locals alone

When the marshal came knocking, he’d take care of his own

Oh take me down to Jeff Smith’s Parlor

Where a man’s soon separated from his dollar

Where the Bunco Brothers rule from a soap box throne

Watch out now the Smooth Man’s coming

Ain’t no way to win the game he’s running

A fool and his money will part when they’re going for broke.

Took it to Alaska on the SS Queen

Seattle up to Skagway riding the steam

Preying on the tourists just a fresh off the train

Living large like he wore the Mark of Caine

From clergy to the politicians, deputies, too

Soapy paid ‘em off, had ‘em part of the crew

Calling the elections like a cue and a ball

They all knew his Parlor was the real City Hall

Oh take me down to Jeff Smith’s Parlor

Where a man’s soon separated from his dollar

Where the Bunco Brothers rule from a soap box throne

Watch out now the Smooth Man’s coming

Ain’t no way to win the game he’s running

A fool and his money will part when they’re going for broke.

A hot July night in 1898

Along the Juneau Wharf he was handed his fate

Vigilantes cleaning up the new frontier

When Soapy took his Winchester down to the pier

Frank Reid yelled telling Soapy to stop

The two came to blows that turned into shots

Jesse Murphy wrestled Soapy’s gun from his hand

Turned it on Soapy and murdered the man.

Oh take me down to Jeff Smith’s Parlor

Where a man’s soon separated from his dollar

Where the Bunco Brothers rule from a soap box throne

Watch out now the Smooth Man’s coming

Ain’t no way to win the game he’s running

A fool and his money will part when they’re going for broke.

Whether it coincidence or just happenstance

5 miles away the US Army was camped

Vigilantes couldn’t risk the truth getting out

That Murphy shot Soapy while he lay on the ground

The newspapers made a hero right out of Reid

But insiders knew Murphy finished the deed

They buried all the facts, covered up from the start

Jesse Murphy shot Soapy Smith right through the heart

Oh take me down to Jeff Smith’s Parlor

Where a man’s soon separated from his dollar

Where the Bunco Brothers rule from a soap box throne

Watch out now the Smooth Man’s coming

Ain’t no way to win the game he’s running

A fool and his money will part when they’re going for broke.

BarnQuiltonaBuilding by Mattie Green

Bug’sPerspective

by Candella Perez Castellanos

Music by Sarah

Gallagher

Music is a community

It is found family

It is comfort in the darkness

It is the sounds found in silence

It is the calm in the eye of the storm

It is a form of self-expression

A way to express how you feel

Without using words

Music is more than just sounds

It is serenity

It is peace

It is an escape of reality

Music is all of this

And so much more

QuackingintheSun

by Kiersten Jones

Brandy by Gabriel Alvarez

AgentofChaosatRest by Danny Adams

GeeseintheParkby Kiersten Jones

Cat by Johann Torres

ElephantDaysby Katelyn Feiffer

I Wonder If People

by Candella Perez Castellanos

I wonder if people… … look at the water ripples formed by the wind. ... like the sound produced by dry leaves when stepped on. ... get excited smelling nature. … want to touch every special plant they find. ... admire the touch of cold on their faces. … ‘s souls are filled when they felt all of this. Because in my case, it makes me tremendously happy; it fills my soul; and it has saved me in this life.

Caracasby Gabriel Alvarez

We Knew by

Kiersten Jones

I’m still trying to figure out why we even bothered… taking the time to get to know one another when you knew when I knew when we both knew that this wasn’t our forever

PinkandOrangeSky by Sarah Gallagher

AloneandConfused by

Layla Newman

There I was alone and confused

Unsure of where to take my next step

Not knowing if the path I take will lead me further down

Or not knowing if the path I take will lead me further up

As I spin around in circles and think to myself where I could go wrong next

Thoughts keep flooding in one by one

They fill me up and I drop to my knees

Wishing they could all go away only to find more will come

Times like these I wish I could die

Yet times like these give me a lesson to learn

Never knowing what path I will take leaves me confused and leaves me alone I want to be bold and take the next step I want to hear someone say you got this I need to know that what I’m doing is right

Instead of giving up on life I’m putting up quite a fight

As I stand here confused and alone spinning in circles I decided to take my first step

As I walk down the path step-by-step

I see a light shining at the end like those movies when someone goes off to heaven I keep walking towards it, and I reach my hand out

It pulls me into its warm embrace

And tells me that everything’s going to be okay and that I will be okay It puts me back into the center where I once was

And tells me to try again

With that being so I try again

Instead, I don’t hesitate I just go for it

I push away thoughts and I keep fighting knowing that I will be okay

by Kiersten Jones

by Alexis Bennett

Gradient by Scout Lynch

FlameAbovetheWater

ThisTime

by Kiersten Jones

You see, the first time when you weren’t so sure about me, I made the mistake of chasing you, but by the second time when you weren’t so sure about me, I decided to chase myself instead. As they say, “Fool me once, shame on you… Fool me twice, shame on me.” And I have decided there will be no shame on me this time.

by Cody Agnell

LookDownSometimes

ABitoftheWorld

by Katherine Grimes

AluminiumRose

by Kiersten Jones

To My Love

by Mattie Green

I’m not a polished athlete. My figure has some squish. But it can grow our children’s souls, If that is what you wish.

I’m not a docile flower, Posed delicately in the dew. There’s too much fire in my soul, Though I’ve laid it bare for you.

My eyes don’t sparkle like the sea, (though I babble like a brook). These orbs resemble mud puddles, But solely to you they look.

I’m not the joyous warbler, Whistling from woven nest. My melody rests within the heart, That’s beating in your chest.

I’m not a precious gemstone, Caressed in costly gold, But mine’s the hand enclosed in yours, As the two of us grow old.

My spirit isn’t sticky sweet, Like honeycomb unclaimed. To you alone my soul belongs, But I’m keeping my last name.

I can’t promise you perfection. It’s not written in our vows, Though I’m yours till time runs out, Or as much as is allowed.

While the list of things I know I’m not, Could circle ‘round the Earth. I thank the Lord above again, Somehow you see my worth.

(ForBillB.)

by John Kitterman

On the porch the air is cool

But it’s ninety degrees on the other side Of the vertical flag tacked to the gutter And memory. The sun blinds And dark clouds already fume in the west Like samurai on horseback.

The heat blows the gentle Edge to my dirty feet, sweeping Ants and butterflies across the bricks

Back and forth in waves

Of blood and ice rivers

Shading the rocking chair.

Only a small triangle in a zippered pouch, It must be five by nine, Huge enough to drape a casket.

A hummingbird darts between the folding stars

For a gourd of nectar hanging from a beam

Where a thin stream of sawdust trickles to the ground. Wood boring bees are furbishing their home. It looks like it’s starting to sag a little, Maybe a trick of the eye but I should Spray it with poison before it cracks and takes Me with it. The can says The 27 foot jet kills on contact.

Messy in many ways

But isn’t it survival of the fittest?

Meanwhile the flag just keeps billowing Indifferent as a field of blue

And a languid cat on a rail

But full of ghosts flying in today

From Iwo Jima, the Canal and Hiroshima. Mud-caked and salt-licked and radioactive

They wipe their lips on the thin cloth

And speak as softly as the bird’s wings beat. It’s faint, but you can hear them if you know how to Tune out.

Relax, they say, we’ve got you covered. We’re the greatest and died for something so you Can keep on meditating and discussing the Gita And watching TV and anything you want Until the day Shiva turns up and Annihilates your ego.

Memorial by John Kitterman

by Kiana Somerville

Standing Ovation by

Kolby Ferguson

Echoes of Applause

So thunderous the earth shakes Then, sudden silence. AuroraBorealis by Kiana Somerville

PeriwinkleSky

The Grounding Countdown

by Layla Newman

Five things I see

Four things I feel

Three things I hear

Two things I taste

One thing I smell

These are what I tell myself before I sleep

To pray that one day I won’t have to anymore

To hope that my thoughts of terror will go away

And the urges to float their way along

As I lie awake thinking

Thinking about what life could be

What it feels like to be perfectly okay

To not want to feel numb or cry every day

But to smile without a facade

To be genuine about everything positive that comes to mind

Five things I see

Four things I feel

Three things I hear

Two things I taste

One thing I smell

This is what I do to ground myself

To come to reality in peace

To be okay in any way possible

But one day I will be okay and so will everything else

Knowing that one day I will be genuine about everything

To know that I can smile without a facade

To know that I will soon be at peace

SkullPainting

by Kiersten Jones

Appalachia

by Mattie Green

Along the banks red clay sits thick with earth,

Mountain valleys twisting along a ridge,

Young white-tailed Does arriving close to birth,

Crooked river rushing under wood bridge,

Willow tree drapes thin boughs across a pond,

Claret Cardinals flit ‘round large blue clear skies,

Soaring happ’ly into the great beyond,

Dusk falls and out comes Owl so old and wise.

Slowly, sly Fox creeps ‘round aged stumps and stone,

Countless fireflies dance ‘cross fresh tilled soft loam.

Woman, creaking, rocking ponders alone,

“Once all the trees are gone, then where is home?”

Slashing, ripping, mountain cover removed,

Log trucks keep on. Mourning Nature disproved.

LightThisWay

by Danny Adams

ThePassageofTimeWithMyDad by Candela Perez Castellanos

Glow by Scout Lynch

Monserrate

by Gabriel Alvarez

Stop The Rain by Scout Lynch

My partner and I have been dating for over a year now and my dad wants to know why I haven’t introduced them yet. The issue is, my partner is normal. They have normal parents, who are still married. They had a normal childhood, a normal high school experience. My partner has never even been tackled by the police, like some of us have been. The only weird thing about my partner is that they’re dating me.

I didn’t grow up normal. It’s not just because during my childhood I aggressively studied dragons as if they were real and tried to learn elvish after reading Lord of the Rings. It’s not just because as a kid I was obsessed with Alfred Hitchcock movies and dressed up as Norman Bates for Halloween when I was 10 years old. My family is weird. Both sides. We’re loud and competitive. On family game nights, our living room becomes a war zone, with treachery, secret alliances, and backstabbing. Sometimes, I am Switzerland and begging everyone to just get along. Most of the time, I invade Poland with no remorse or turning back. I brought my former boyfriend to my uncle’s house for Thanksgiving one year and he sat there with the same expression that you have when you’re in a foreign country and have no idea what the hell is going on but you smile and nod through it.

Recently, I went to visit my dad and my uncles. We all met at a Mexican restaurant and it felt like we were the loudest table there. Maybe it’s my anxiety, maybe it’s Maybelline. Halfway through the dinner, my grandmother fell asleep sitting up, with her fork still in her taco bowl. My dad and both of my uncles, not worried at all, pulled their phones out to get a picture of her. She jumped awake and they all groaned with the same passion as if their favorite football team fumbled a ball.

We realized that my grandmother’s blood sugar was low because she took her insulin too soon, and she needed something with sugar in it. My uncle ordered her a piece of cheesecake but she was still a little droopy. My Aunt Sharon pointed it out, saying “Greg, I’m worried, she is moving real slow” to which my Uncle Greg replied, “Well she ate that cheesecake pretty fast.”

We all laughed but I had that moment of realization that if I had brought my partner, they would have sat there dumbstruck. A shiny, innocent fool in a foreign country, surrounded by pure confusion at what the hell they could possibly be witnessing. We realized that my Grandma Kaaren’s blood sugar needed to be checked and she had to go home with my Uncle Chris, who was her caretaker. I followed my dad and my uncles outside in the rain. As I watched my grandmother get help into the car, her three sons making sure to make her comfortable, I felt the rain stop. I felt happy and relieved to see my grandmother receiving so much love, and physical relief that the rain had stopped. I looked over to see that my Aunt Sharon had actually appeared next to me with an umbrella.

From the outside, nobody feels what we feel or understands the love language that occurs among us. They see a loud family, teasing, using crazy hand motions, telling stories like carnival barkers. They don’t understand, or feel what I feel. The love from a not-normal family who stops the rain for each other.

Drizzlin’Rainbows by Katelyn Feiffer

SunsetonCampus

by Layla Freeman

Clouds by Gabriel Alvarez

LifeThroughtheWindow

by Hannah Dix

Almost

by Kiersten Jones

Crazy that we were in love once. Against the world, just you and me and now you’ve become my almost, my ‘it just wasn’t meant to be’ my woulda, coulda, shoulda been. Still thinking of you… but only every now and then.

TheLovers

by Kiersten Jones

Grandfather Federico

by Candela Perez Castellanos

Knowing that I haven’t accepted it…

Death.

What does it mean? Why is its existence the absence of being?

I know you would love to read this, Grandpa. And that you would tell me that you had to read it more than once because everything has a lot of detail.

I have memories with my grandparents from when I was little, and I hope that feeling of happiness will never be forgotten.

I hope you see what I’m writing.

I like to think you’re in a better place, seeing us.

I like the intrigue of believing that life is just the beginning.

I am so lucky…

I have enjoyed you to the fullest.

I was always afraid that when you left I would regret not having written or called you more. But I did everything I could and I enjoyed you to the fullest.

…I just don’t get it.

Are you watching me?

You are no longer there (but within us yes, your memory is still here, and that is why I write: so as not to forget). Your body has stopped moving. Do you feel something?

I am sad, but I think I am because I know I should be. However, I still don’t understand it. I admit that it’s difficult for me to assimilate. It intrigues me, tough. I want to investigate about it. But as my mother

told me when I was little: “we won’t know until it happens to us, and why worry then? If there is something later we will know…”

With tears, I imagine that you can read this, and that you know how much we all love you.

Because what I have left is hope.

Hope that at some point I will feel you again.

My godfather, my grandfather, you were always a great idol for me, although your way of seeing life today was different from mine, I understood you. I know that your youngest son was a person you were very proud of. You trusted him and you loved him. Here, among you and I, I already knew that he was your favorite… and he has earned it. I like knowing that he is my wonderful father, and that I look like him.

I try to imagine what you felt when you left us: a very deep good night? I guess you felt like you wanted to rest, and without feeling anything too strange, you fell asleep forever. I hope you saw that light that is spoken of in some cases close to death, and that your soul truly lives on. I wish you weren’t too afraid…

I don’t understand it, I really don’t. I don’t assimilate it. But even from heaven you teach me how to think, and I’m learning a lot about life, grandpa, really.

I loved that you called me Candelita, and from what my parents told me I felt that Flavia and I were one of your favorites. You were too, and I hope you felt that way. It makes me so happy to know you were proud of me and that you knew I will get far.

Now I look at the sky to look for you and I smile; go to nature to feel you and life present; and I will continue writing and fighting in basketball, studies, and life.

Come to my dreams, please! So I can see you again.

You will never die because my father is an artist, and so am I. The art that never dies and that I hope will be found in many years. You

always tell me that I wrote very well, but I got that from you and your elegance.

Without assimilating it yet, writing to you to know what I feel in this life.

You will never be forgotten, this is a way of doing so.

Your granddaughter Candelita, who loves you and admires you, forever.

Katelyn Feiffer

Falls-ViewMemory by

GorgeousChaos

by Candela Perez Castellanos

My Once Upon a Time Role Model

by Layla Newman

Seventeen years of a role model for me are gone From day to day, I admired and learned Not in a creepy way

But more of a I see how you do it this way

High school came around and you changed You went from this annoying brother

To a guy that fell in love with a plant

To a guy that cannot hold a serious conversation

To one that won’t say I love you unless it was said first I find out about all things I have never known about you I sit there falling apart watching you roll downhill

I don’t try to but seeing this version breaks me

I see myself taking the same steps you took

From lying to anger to halfway telling the truth

From my ADHD taking over and steering me off the road just like it did you

To my impulses getting the best of me I have been compared to you so much

I guess having you as my role model payed off But now I wish I never found the things out You let the bad things take you over You let impulses screw you over and win

I just worry that one day you will not be here And just like that I will never see you again

That I love you will never be said from your mouth anymore

Or a hug will never be hugged I just want you to be safe and learn to climb back up to the top

I just want the role model I saw when I was five

The role model that was more interested in Legos and bugs

Than the role model that fell in love with the bottom of a hill.

TheJourneyBegins by T.J.

Baker

BreakintheSnow

by Samantha Reinhart

Family Poem

by Johann Torres

From generation to generation, the flame does pass, A legacy of love that lasts forever. For family is not just blood and bone, But the ties that bind in heart and home.

by Scout Lynch

MonochromaticCat

Cupid Love

by Hannah Dix

My love for you seems so far but so close. The way you make me feel I have felt once With another but sadly, he is no longer in this world. When you left, the world started feeling very gray and dull. I smile when I see a text from you. My heart pumps more blood for you when you’re around since Cupid keeps shooting me in the heart.

You’re like the food and water I need to survive on. I love you and hope we have a future together.

by Kiana Somerville

Popcorn

by Mattie Green

“Now ya wait till the count of four. When ya get ta four, ya know yer done.”

“Oh really? I’ve always used three.”

“Hmm. I s’pose three would work. We’ll try it.”

A single, glowing light illuminates the cherry red of the countertop popcorn maker resting on scarred butcher block. Cold from the kitchen’s hardwood pushes persistently through my socks. Across from me, my uncle peers over wire-rimmed glasses as he unceremoniously dumps kernels and oil in the silver chamber. He continues discussing the intricacies and technicalities of ideal popcorn popping technique, seemingly unaware of the December chill. I shiver as I glance at his faded shorts and bare feet, and oblige him with another question.

“Hmmph. Well, ya see...”

The gruffness of tone belies his delight. Eyes twinkle as he continues his drawl to the chorus of kernels exploding in the background, occasionally punctuated by a rogue grain pelting the glass. The sounds slow until the three second milestone is reached, at which point the machine is stopped. In the sudden stillness, my mind wanders to memories of previous winters.

“Dad used to make popcorn for the birds,” I offer in the lull.

“Yeah. He got that from mom, but I never really did that sorta thing.”

I see my father scattering the popped kernels along the snowy deck, and hear his pleased chuckle when feathered friends come to dine. The twinkle of Christmas lights in the next room blur and Dad’s laughter fades, now replaced by the clinking of a metal scoop.There’s a rustle as the popcorn is dumped from scoop to large plastic bowl. The kitchen settles as the memory fills the air, surrounding us like a worn quilt made years ago by hands long passed.

A final, quiet clang echoes through the air as the popcorn maker door closes. Together, my uncle and I shuffle up the steep wooden steps to join our kin.

Dad hasn’t made popcorn for the birds in years.

by Johann Torres

PeaceofMind

Cracked

Mirror: Jasmine

by Emily Bass

The textile mill down the road was on fire. Jasmine was watching the flames roar from the balcony of her apartment. She tapped the phone in her pocket. She wasn’t who they would normally call to investigate fires, but she was the closest detective.

“You’re in uniform?” Vanessa said as she slid open the door, handing Jasmine a cup of tea. “I thought things had been slow lately?”

Jasmine took the tea and chugged it, before shoving the cup back into her sister’s hands. Ness didn’t even blink, she just set the cup down on the table next to her.

“Things have been slow. The fact that I’m hoping to get a call for this is pathetic!” Jasmine glared at the flames as if her will could make them hotter. “It’s with that damned new vigilante running around! The mob likes to lay low and observe them.”

“Well, I for one, am glad you’re getting a break.” Ness said matter-of-factly. “You’re starting to run out of shirts that don’t have bullet holes in them.”

“Sorry that clothes don’t mend as quickly as I do.” She said off handily.

Ness bumped her shoulder. “Look, your favorite hero’s here.” Jasmine looked closer and sure enough, V was there. Pulling civilians out of the building and handing them to medics.

That was one thing Jasmine couldn’t get over, how Ness could always spot V before she could. She was a highly trained detective who had spent the last 10 years looking over her shoulder and catching criminals. Ness bakes cookies and holds the door open for people and works as a secretary at the city’s news station.

Jasmine starts to bring it up, despite knowing Ness will say something like intuition or ‘because our names both start with V’ or something equally dismissive. But the look on Ness’s face makes her hesitate.

She doesn’t know why she hesitates. Ness isn’t making any strong facial

expression that would be attention catching. Jasmine tries to remember what she was going to say. She can’t. She turns back to fire following her sister’s gaze.

Then it clicks. Her sister’s expression isn’t odd in itself, but it’s an odd way to look at someone. Especially a vigilante, a hero she called him.

It eats at her. The way only subconscious feelings can.

She can’t help flipping through the emotion it could be; love, hate, interest, boredom. They don’t fit.

She tries to work backwards. How do civilians feel about vigilantes, about hero’s.

“Have you ever met him?” Jasmine asks. She doesn’t need to subtle, Ness tends to be honest when asked directly. Straight question, straight answer. Vanessa tilts her head toward Jas, but she doesn’t look away from V either. “We’ve made eye contact before?” Ness says half smiling, like she does when Jas talks to her while she’s getting ready for work. She’s met him. Worse, Jasmine thinks, she knows him.

It’s like another piece clicks into place.

“Hmm. You got a crush on him?” Jas says it like a joke, but really, she wants to grab her sister by the shoulders and scream.

Vanessa still doesn’t look away from V, but her eyebrows crinkle in confusion. “Um. No. You know I’m not really…like that.”

It’s true, and the relief makes her visibly relax. At least that’s still consistent. Ness’s eyes flick towards her and she laughs.

“Afraid he was the one?” It’s the small change in her eyes that happens, when she glances at Jas versus looking at V, that let her know she’s on the right track.

“I can’t have some guy whisk you away, who would pay the other half of the rent?”

“And who would feed you and clean up after you’ve covered the carpet in

blood again. You’re lucky I can pass that off as oil.”

“I get it! I’m not a functioning adult.” And after a moment Jasmine also adds “Sorry about the carpet.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes fondly and the moment slips in silence. She goes back to watching V. It’s odd the way Ness just finds him, like she just knows where he is and doesn’t need to search for him. No, not like she knows, she does know. He’s a consistent object in her mind. Jasmine turns to focus on V, hoping he would give something away.

V had rescued 48 people, who had been working the night shift. He had most likely rescued everyone in the building. One of his powers was allegedly intangibility, so fire would have no effect on him. A man was hugging him as he sobbed. V hugged him back in an almost parental way, despite the man being clearly older than him. Other people, victims, had come up to thank him. He smiled at them gratefully and excused himself to give a statement to the police. The same police who should have been arresting him but wouldn’t because he was a hero. V was humble and professional in a way that reminded Jasmine of how Vanessa was at work.

Was he already like that or was it a sign he and Vanessa were close enough to have their mannerisms wear off on each other?

V waves goodbye to the police and, instead of walking into an alley to disappear into the night, he stops and looks directly at them. Jasmine grips the steel bars of the balcony. He isn’t looking at them, he’s looking at Vanessa.

Vanessa hadn’t even moved. Like it was normal for a super to look directly at you without warning. They stare at each other for a long moment. Vanessa lifts her hand to push her hair back. V moves with her, pushing back stray hairs that had wilted in the heat. They both blink and V slips into the alley while Vanessa’s gaze shifts back to the now ash turned building.

“They took care of that that fast, huh? Just under 45 minutes.” Ness said like she hadn’t had a staring contest with a known vigilante. Maybe V was a clone or some secret lost twin. He could look like Vanessa if he didn’t have the fangs, the claws, or the demon eyes.

Maybe he didn’t look all that much like her after all.

Jasmine sighed and reminded herself to tone down her detective senses. It wasn’t an unusual form of silent communication, not any more than wiping your face to tell the person across from you to wipe theirs. Ness was most likely looking at him because she admired him. He was a hero after all.

“It looks like they call Michael instead of me.” Jasmine pointed down toward Detective Michael Santiago, who had just tripped out of his car. “He’s smarter than he acts.”

Ness gave a little laugh and took Jasmine’s arm, nudging her back inside. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Jasmine let her, because she decided if she should feel guilty for trying to find something that wasn’t there or to be afraid because something was there.

Vanessa goes to wash their cups while Jasmine finally changes out of her uniform and into her sleeping clothes. She catches a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. She pushes a stray hair behind her ear and freezes. It was that look. It was the same look.

Vanessa looked at him like she was looking at herself.

Jasmine walked stiffly back to her room. There, she stood in front a board that had red string connecting different cases to different pieces of evidence. In the corner there was a single photo of V. She only had 3 pieces of evidence connected to his photo. Nothing serious, just something to make it look like she had at least attempted to do her job. His case had never been a priority for her or anyone in the department. She pulled out a photo of Vanessa from her wallet. It was from her birthday last year.

Jasmine took a breath and with a piece of red string, connected Vanessa and V together.

biograPhies

Judges

Suzie Kelly is an artist, designer, and pixel pusher in Johnson City, TN. She also runs the Johnson City Zine Fest. You can find her on Instagram @thesnooze.

Cameron MacKenzie is the author of an historical novel about Pancho Villa and the short story collection River Weather. He lives in Roanoke and teaches at New River Community College.

Daniel Pravda is a poet and photographer in Nofolk, VA where he teaches at Norfolk State University. He is the author of two books of poetry, A Bird in the Hand Is a Dumb Bird and Normal They Napalm the Cottonfields. He’s the frontman for the band The Dunes.

Emma Weatherley is an artist from Vancouver, Canada. Her professional career has included work as an oil painter, muralist, and set designer for theatre. Her inspirations lie in the natural world and cultural history. Now she specializes in barn quilts, a contemporary folk tradition of decorating barns with painted quilt squares.

sTaff

Abi Craig is a senior art major with an arts of industry emphasis from Martinsville, VA. She is interested in an interior design career.

Hannah Dix is a sophomore theatre arts major from Axton, VA.

John Kitterman is a professor of English and the temporary advisor to Chrysalis.

Scout Lynch is an English major, editor-in-chief of Chrysalis, and a member of the Boone Honors Program from Baltimore who lives in Ferrum and likes to crochet, cook, bake, and write, including Dungeons and Dragons campaigns.

Kiersten Jones from Roanoke is majoring in music performance. She enjoys reading, painting, writing, playing bass guitar, singing, and watching true crime.

Faith Markham is a sophomore from Salem, VA majoring in education with an English emphasis.

Johann Torres is a senior from Silver Spring, MD who is majoring in criminal justice.

oTher ConTribuTors

Danny Adams from Vinton is Ferrum’s night-time library assistant. He has published three novels as well as short stories and poems in magazines including Appalachian Heritage, Asimov’s Science Fiction, and Strange Horizons

Cody Agnell is a freshman from Tullahoma, TN. He enjoys going to sporting events and taking photos for athletes and teams to post on their social media. He is also on the wrestling team.

Gabriel Alvarez from Maracaibo, Venezuela, is a psychology major and a music minor. He is on the tennis team, and he enjoys playing piano and guitar.

T.J. Baker is from Australia and is in their last year at Ferrum as a theatre arts

Alexis Bennett is a freshman from Roanoke who plays on the softball team.

Emily Bass is from North Carolina and loves to travel, She is a business management major who has a habit of writing in beige prose.

David “Chopper” Campbell is an assistant professor of English and coordinator of the Journalism Program. He is also a member of the band Kerosene Willy and author of the novel Beandog Mourning.

Candela Perez Castellanos from Madrid, Spain, is majoring in psychology and arts of industry. She is on the women’s basketball team and enjoys drawing, writing poetry, reading, skateboarding, traveling, and spending time with family and friends.

Madison Cline is a senior who spent last summer at Busch Gardens for an internship in horticulture.

Katelyn Feiffer from Fredericksburg is majoring in nursing and plans to pursue her doctorate. Her hobbies include anything outdoors, softball, and binge-watching movies.

Kolby Ferguson is from Lynchburg, VA and plays football. He is majoring in applied mathematics and he likes to write prose, poems, and songs.

Layla Freeman is from Rocky Mount, VA and is majoring in music performance with a minor in theatre arts. She loves to hang out with her friends in her spare time or buy copious amounts of Squishmallows.

Sarah Gallagher is from Albrightsville, PA, She is a freshman majoring in music with a minor in secondary education.

Mattie Green is a creative hailing from Callaway, VA. currently majoring in graphic design. In her spare moments, she enjoys crafting, dreaming, and the company of her family and pets.

Katherine Grimes is a professor of English and the Chrysalis advisor who is on sabbatical this semester.

Victoria Hood is finishing her associate of arts degree and planning to begin work on her B.S. in psychology. She is on the volleyball team; photography is also one of her passions.

Eliza Lopes is a freshman majoring in agriculture from Altavista, VA.

Talitha Marable, from Halifax, VA, is a business major with a minor in psychology who enjoys taking pictures, especially of nature. She says that looking at a sunset or sunrise brings her a calming feeling and she feels her photo in the magazine this semster is the best one she took.

Layla Newman is in her first year at Ferrum. She writes a lot of slam poetry about her experiences and life encounters,

Samantha Reinhart from Rocky Mount is a business major with a marketing emphasis and a minor in equine science. She enjoys crafts, taking photos, and her dog Cooper.

Troy Smith is a senior and a theatre major from Chesterfield, VA

Kiana Somerville is a senior from Suffolk, VA majoring in criminal justice with an emphasis in forensic investigation.

Lana Whited is professor of English and director of the Boone Honors Program. She is author of Murder, In Fact and editor of The Ivory Tower and Harry Potter; the forthcoming The Ivory Tower, Harry Potter, and Beyond; and two Critical Insights volumes.

Acknowledgements

The staff of Chrysalis thanks the judges for sharing their time and expertise; the Integrated Programming Board for providing contest prizes; and Jill Adams, the Undead Poets Society, and The Iron Blade for their help with ths semester’s coffeehouses.

ThisistheEnd by Scout Lynch

Ferrum

College Spring 2024