Totem 2022 - Gannon University

2022

2022 Totem is Gannon University’s annual student-produced literaryart magazine containing poetry, short stories, prose, artwork, and photography submitted by the students, faculty, and staff of Gannon University. Totem strives to highlight the creative talents of those in our university community by sampling a diverse range of artistic media and perspectives.

All work is judged anonymously and on the merit of the individual work, and the work of the Gannon students is given first priority throughout the process. Totem is published in early spring of each year and is distributed free of charge throughout the Gannon campus.

Submissions can be delivered to the English Department or the Totem office, both located in the A.J. Palumbo Academic Center, or emailed to totem@gannon.edu by the end of the fall semester.

No part of this magazine may be reproduced without written permission of the artists and writers whose works appear.

Gannon University 109 University Square Erie, Pennsylvania 16541-0001 814.871.5886 www.gannon.edu

TOTEM 2022

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TOTEM 2022

Editors’ Notes Edgar Degas once said, “Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.” To my artists of the Art section of the 2022 Totem, this is the beauty of artistic expression. Although I like to sing, write, and journal, and I snap the occasional photo and consider myself a music buff, I wouldn’t consider myself an artist. But, allow me to celebrate you.

Anytime that you create something wonderful for others to enjoy, you are making the world a more beautiful place. I think in that sense, we can all be considered artists. Keep creating and romanticizing this life, especially when things get tough. You make people feel something: whether this be less alone, joy, comfort, challenged. The artistry of our generation and of our university continues to evolve with time, and I couldn’t be more appreciative of the digital photos capturing the beauty in the ugliness of the last two odd years. Continue to seek beauty, hope, and goodness in all you do, and never forget the impact you made at GU. Ali Smith Art Editor Things change, people change. I didn’t think I would be as involved with Totem as much as I was, much less finding myself now in a position of an editor, but here I am. Originally, I was simply under the title of “Digital Projects,” which, to me, was the online documentation of Totem and improvement of the website. To my surprise, I found myself in a course this spring, on digital writing, where it became the class project to do exactly my original job, although with more emphasis on the website rather than the archive. I would like to recognize this class, and everyone else involved in the rebirth of Totem in a digital space. Though it may be rough at the time of this original print, the revision of the site is a great advancement for the future of Totem and may pave the way for creators in the future to embrace new opportunities.

Oh, and to the contributors of this year’s Totem: I didn’t forget about you.

This publication wouldn’t have been possible without you. So, thank you. No, really. I mean it.

Josh Taylor Prose Editor/Digital Projects

II

TOTEM 2022

TOTEM 2022

Credits EDITORS

PROOFREADERS/STAFF

Adrian, Poetry Ali Smith, Art Josh Taylor, Prose

Emily Cummings Jillian Wells Varvara Liashenko

ADVISOR

POETRY/PROSE JUDGES

Carol A. Hayes Associate Professor, English

Carol A. Hayes Associate Professor, English

DESIGNER

Julie M. Ropelewski Instructional Designer, Center for Excellence in Teaching and Learning

Andrew Lapiska Experience Designer, University Marketing and Communications

Nicole J. Borro Tutor Coordinator, Nash Library

ART REVIEWERS

Faculty, Students and Staff campus-wide

SUPPORT STAFF Sabine Preuss-Miller

THE JUDGING PROCESS

Great care was taken to select the written and artistic works that are published in Totem. All work was judged anonymously on its literary and artistic merit. The judging panel for the written work consisted of an undergraduate student, a graduate M.A. in English, and a faculty member, who were not permitted to submit their work to Totem. The authors’ names were removed and each piece was assigned a log number. After reading and re-reading the submissions, the judges met and discussed each submission one by one to choose those that best represent the university. For the art, a mix of students and faculty members scored their choices of work, which also had the names of the artists removed.

Totem is grateful to every artist and writer who submitted their work this year. The submission pool is open to students in all majors, to faculty across the disciplines, and to alumni.

TOTEM 2022

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IV

TOTEM 2022

2022

POETRY

2

The Caravan Sherwin Bitsui

4

Among Maddie Bruce

5

Zyklon B Adrian

6

Match Made in Liquor Anna Brink

9

Drifting Thoughts Morgan Gilbert

10

At the age of ten Morgan Gilbert

11

Shatter Lia Eberlein

12

Deep Sleep Bailey Creager

13

Autumn Memories Adam Chen

14

The Continuous Rail Luke Bratton

15

The Math of Loving a Human Jaylen Conley

16

Trustworthy Love Priyanka Allam

18

Little Bottle Josh Taylor

19

I am content. Josh Taylor

20 Fat Girl Part 1 Jessica Belousov 22 Fat Girl Part 2 Jessica Belousov 24 name Adrian 26 ART 44

PROSE

57

CONTRIBUTORS’ NOTES

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

1

SHERWIN BITSUI

The Caravan The city’s neon embers stripe the asphalt’s blank page where this story pens itself nightly; where ghosts weave their oily hair into his belt of ice, dress him in pleated shadows and lay him fetal on the icy concrete— the afterbirth of sirens glistening over him.

We drain our headlights on his scraped forehead and watch the December moon two-step across his waxen eyes; his mouth’s shallow pond— a reflecting pool where his sobs leak into my collar.

One more, just one more, he whispers, as he thaws back into the shape of nihitstilí bruised knees thorning against his chest.

We steal away, our wheels moan through sleet and ash.

Death places second, third, and fourth behind us.

At home on the Reservation: Father sifts dried cedar leaves over glowing embers, Mother, hovering above cellphone light, awaits: He’s okay, never went out, watched a movie instead.

2

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

But tonight, my speech has knives that quiver at the ellipses of neon Budweiser signs blinking through the fogged windshield, and I text: I’ve only rescued a sliver of him, he’s only twenty-five and he smells like blood and piss, his turquoise bracelet snatched for pawn, by the same ghost who traded his jacket for a robe of snow and ice, before inviting him back into the Caravan for one more, just one more.

From Dissolve. Copyright © 2018 by Sherwin Bitsui. Used with permission of the author.

Sherwin Bitsui appeared as the featured poet at Gannon University’s English Awards Night 2021.

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

3

MADDIE BRUCE

among

the air out here is my breath and i am among the trees. they hold everything i’ve ever known. they hold my secrets my innocence the version of me that went untouched by those who’ve done me wrong. i want to go back and be her but then i wouldn’t be here. right now. among the trees, the trees that i’ve captured as their colors change, like mine, each year. together, we have undergone immense strife. and together we keep standing. strong. unmoving. still so much like we were but different. aged. but wiser. altered with our integrity still intact. i like to think of myself as one of them, standing and swaying, breathing and changing to survive what comes

4

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

ADRIAN

Zyklon B crack my ribs and let yourself in fill me with your poison tell me who you love it’s anesthetized suicide by your cyanide tongue

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

5

ANNA BRINK

Match Made in Liquor I. You prefer Jack Daniels, and I prefer vodka.

You are one to chug whereas I am one sip And I need you to know that whether I am dreadfully awake or peacefully asleep, that night comes back, knocking at my door with hopes of visiting me I always let it in…

I believe we were painted in the Renaissance era.

Classic, charming, too good to be true.

Hues of cream and soft blue belong to me, and to you.

Our image reveals how Cupid gently poked me, yet, he was unaware of the blood that would later spill from me

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TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

II. I was reminded of my teenage years that night-my heart overflowing with innocence, and I recall when suddenly, casual conversation about college and siblings, was only a whisper beneath my horrendous giggling There I was, grasping your hand that was about twice the size of mine. You pulled me out the brown back door of your best friend’s house and we found ourselves beneath a warm summer’s sky.

Alcohol still stuck to our breath, we kissed mixing our two liquors together.

We became one with the Big Dipper, transcending our usually hidden feelings for one another.

No brightness of a star, could compare to the radiant affection I felt when touching your lips

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

7

III. One night, long after the night we shared, I let my thoughts run rampanttheir feet as heavy and loud as chatter at a wake. Yet, to my surprise, amongst the chaos, I caught one passing in its tracks: A single question I recalled that my professor once asked: “Is suffering needed to create art?”

And so, I asked you this.

“No,” you said, “but my favorite art is typically a piece that is the result of suffering,” you concluded You might like this poem then as I sit here with tears welling in my eyes, writing about you.

The keyboard is blurry now.

We are a match made in liquor, lively and drunk in the moment, but harsh like a persistent hangover You are ferociously in tune with the music you play, in fact, you strum your guitar chords so loud that you can’t hear the notes my sad heart plays.

You will break my heart a second time You are passionate about what you love, which explains why there isn’t any passion when you talk about me.

You will break my heart a third time All this time, I was hyper fixated on what our drunken moment could have blossomed into, a tulip? a rose? a marigold? but truthfully, we were only ever a match made in liquorI live and breathe from the words you spoke sober in the morning: “You are so pretty.”

8

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

MORGAN GILBERT

Drifting thoughts I hope the thought of me still drifts into your mind Smiling at memories from far off nights As if the thought of me is simply something you can’t let go of A smudge you just can’t quite erase I hope my name roles elegantly across your tongue as it once did That friends are still burdened with the mention of my name Deafened with the rambles of what once was Remembering once that my hand interlocked perfectly with yours That our souls have been intertwined In hours when you feel most alone I hope the thought of me keeps you company That you think of my hands as still holding on to some piece of you Relentless and unwavering I hope you have thoughts of me as I do of you

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

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MORGAN GILBERT

At the age of ten I remember her face She had sunken in cheeks Long but slender arms And thighs that have never met one another How much my young self was envious of her Everyday wishing I looked like her Wanting cheeks that weren’t so pinch-able Long slender arms that led into dainty feminine hands And thighs that have never greeted one another So much so to not even know of the others existence I cried to be like her I sweat to be like her I bled to be like her And to think it all started when I saw her on the playground across from me

10

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

LIA EBERLEIN

shatter life can be similar to a stained-glass window when a beam of light shines through and out spills an exquisite sea of colors on display for the world to see radiating all that is seemingly, and simply, good. just as easily as the beauty welcomed can this euphoria be broken and shattered into a million pieces by something as small as a pebble or as earth-shattering as a tidal wave allowing not color to pour but grief and reminiscence of what once was at points, we can get so caught up in the material, in what is fleeting and can so easily pass by this window without batting an eye failing to admire life’s everyday artistry failing appreciation of each day to think a stained-glass window something so harmless, that seems so simple at first glance, is so jarringly similar to life itself being so destructive, although so beautiful, yet is more complex for the human mind to ponder until it is too late.

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

11

BAILEY CREAGER

Deep Sleep It’s a marathon not a sprint, he would say.

As the carving knife massacred the braised pork.

As her snoring shook, From up in her den.

Losing consciousness when the task was done.

The not so hidden hydro vial whispering her name.

However so peaceful she was, Repulsive as dirt awake.

All by her own doing it was.

That last sip must have been exceptional, The high must have been first-class.

Incredible meals were made, Stinking up the cracks of the floorboards.

You’d smell its stench for hours.

Not good, not bad, thankful we were.

Never consuming the feast, Her bones would tell you so.

Maybe she wouldn’t wake up, And the hearse would come as we eat her meal.

The casket scrutinizing her Merlot teeth.

How terrible that would be.

To hear her last snore.

12

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

ADAM CHEN

Autumn Memories Once I’m in times like these, I think of backpacks, And golden fallen leaves, Silent petty sighs, And emotional heaves, Lonely worn-out smiles, Aged and tired beliefs.

The loving good friends, And bitter enemies, Exist in aged frost, And autumn memories.

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

13

LUKE BRATTON

The Continuous Rail I call the call, I make the sound, All other noises I’ve heard have drowned, Too loud is that noise to not be real, And night has fallen, so let us feel, Powerful is the piston that pumps the blood, The wind, the vein, the emotional flood, And strong is the wind that guides the sail, The ship, the sea, the continuous rail, It will power through ice and brush, Cutting through the freezing slush, No matter the ache, no matter the pain, Shoveling coal, to power the train, This train exists to spite the ship, The beautiful steel that fights to zip, No matter what, it will keep stowing, No matter what, it will keep going, And so will I, though the aches in my soul, With no one to guide and no one to shovel coal, My body pumps, by itself, Until it stops, and then in stealth.

14

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

JAYLEN CONLEY

The Math of Loving Another Human I’ve wanted to calculate the probability of me and you lasting, and I’ve found out that there is no chance of obtaining an expected outcome.

This is because you are an outlier, straying away five z-scores from the mean.

You are far from the average.

I’ve wanted to predict the solution to starting an (x,y) relationship, and I’ve discovered that we are not bound to a specific quantity.

I am the x, chasing a value of y that I can never reach exactly.

You are always running ahead of me and it is impossible for me to catch up, but we are a beautiful function.

I’ve wanted to calculate the probability of success or failure of you out, but quality has no size, no shape, only form. I cannot describe in words what I feel about you because the limit does not exist. Like finding a discrete number for infinity, it is undefined.

I can show you how we can grow exponentially by investing in each other and multiplying our legacy.

We can add to our family, create a union of my family and yours.

We will be subtracted from the earth one day, and so why can’t we reach for infinity with each other, and cross the great divide together.

My calculations could be wrong, but you never know until you experiment with probability.

My sense of compassion is a man with a map and a compass leading him north to find you.

I can never seem to describe the word love with categorical data, because how do you domain a universe?

How do you detain an infinite word that will last even when we cease to exist?

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

15

PRIYANKA ALLAM

Trustworthy Love రుచ ి చూశ న ా య ్య ా న ీ ప ర ్ మ ే ఎంత మధురమ ో న ే రుచ చ ి ూశ న ా ు ఇక వ డ ి లన ే య ్య ా న ీ అద ్భుతమ న ై పర ్ మ ే ను వ డ ి చ ి ి న ే ఉండల న ే య ్య ా నన ే ు నల ీ ,ో న వ ీ ునల ా ో ఉండుటకు ఎంత ో ప ర ్ యస ా పడ ్డ వ ా య ్య ా ఇక క ర ్ స ీ ్త ే న ా యందు జ వ ీ చ ి ునద ి అన ్న న శ ి ్చయతల క ో ి నన ్ను నడ ప ి ం ి చన ి ందుకు కట ో ్ల ద ా ి స ్త ోత ర ్ లయ ్య ా మ క ీ ే వందన ల ా య ్య ా 1. న ీ మహ మ ి ను కనబరచుటకు ధర ద ి ర ్ ులను య న ె ్నుక న ొ ి ధనవంతులుగ ా మ ర ా ్చ ె ద వ ే ా నన ి ్ను మహ మ ి పరచుటకు, నన ్ను య న ె ్నుక న ొ ి ఇంతట ి కృపచూప న ి ందుకు కట ో ్ల ద ా ి స ్త ోత ర ్ లయ ్య ా మ క ీ ే వందన ల ా య ్య ా 2. “న క ీ ు ఇష ్టున గ ి ా ఏల ా జ వ ీ ం ి చల ా .ో .” అన ి న న ే ు చస ే ే పర ్ యత ్న న ా ్న ి చూస ి సవ ్ యన ా నవ ీ ే న ాక ు బ ధ ో ం ి చి నన ్ను మ ర ా ్చుకున ్న గ ప ొ ప ్ దవ ే ా ఇంతట ి వ ల ె కట ్టల న ే ి బంధ న ా క ి ై కట ో ్ల ద ా ి స ్త ోత ర ్ లయ ్య ా మ క ీ ే వందన ల ా య ్య ా 3. పర శ ి ుద ్ధ త ా మ ్ అభ ష ి క ే పు శ క ే ్త న ి ి నప ా ై దం ి చి న ీ వ ాక ్యపు ల ోతులల ో ఉన ్న ముత ్య ల ా ను, వజ ర ్ ల ా ను న ాకు ఇచ ్చ ి నన ి ్ను ప ల ో న ి జవ ీ త ి న ా ్న ి న ే జ వ ీ ం ి చల ే ా చస ే ి కర ్ స ీ ్తు బ డ ి ్డగ ా ఈ ల క ో ంల ో వ ల ె గ ి ే కృపన చ ి ్చ న ి ందుకు కట ో ్ల ద ా ి స ్త ోత ర ్ లయ ్య ా మ క ీ ే వందన ల ా య ్య ా 4. రూతు ల న ో ి ధన ీ మనసున ి ఎస ్త ర ే ులన ో ి ఉపవ స ా పర ్ ర ా ్థన శక ్త న ి ీ ఇశ ర ్ య ా ల ే ు పర ్ జల స ్థూలల న ో ి జయ న ా ్న ి సముయ ల ే ు క ి ఉన ్న ా అద ్బుతమ న ై జ ్ఞ న ా న ా ్న ి న ాకు ఇచ ్చ న ి ందుకు కట ో ్ల ద ా ి స ్త ోత ర ్ లయ ్య ా మ క ీ ే వందన ల ా య ్య ా

16

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

I tasted how sweet your love is Can’t let go of your wonderful love anymore You have worked so hard to be in me, and me in you for leading me into the conviction that Christ lives in me Millions of thanks and thanks to you 1.

To show your glory God chooses the poor and makes them rich To glorify you, for electing me and having mercy on me Millions of thanks and thanks to you 2.

“How to live according to your will” seeing the effort I make The great god who changed me For the priceless bond of home Millions of thanks and thanks to you 3.

The anointing power of the Holy Spirit descends upon me Give me pearls and diamonds in the depths of your word Make yourself live a life like yours For the grace to shine like your child in this world Millions of thanks and thanks to you 4.

The humble mind of Ruth The power of fasting prayer in Esther The conquest of the people of Israel Samuel’s amazing knowledge Millions of thanks and thanks to you

Translated from the Telugu with Google Translate.

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

17

JOSH TAYLOR

Little Bottle Little bottle little bottle Can you hold the rain And the storm down deep within With locks and links of chain?

Little bottle little bottle Can you hold the flame That eats and eats and eats away The air who laid so tame?

Oh you hold so many things No one wants to see Away from me I smile free There is no catastrophe.

Little bottle little bottle I place you in my heart Your lid sealed and label out Hoarding you is my art.

Little bottle Little bottle Please stay and do your part Don’t slip and crack from my stumble And sp il l Dr Ra ea H gi ry e ng Bl l Re ue p d Drib M Pidd Muck le e le Murk MurkyMurkyMuckleMurk MurkSnivelMurkyMuckWeep SobMurkRageMurkStrikeMuck MuckScreamMurkyScrape It’sMurkyAllOverMurky ForMurkMeMuckMurk Little bottle little bottle You are my only way To hide my mess within my chest So I can seem okay.

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TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

JOSH TAYLOR

I am content.

How long should the silk be that adorns my figure as it flutters in the breeze?

The lie keeps things simple.

How far should the brush fall as it sails to the floor atop my snarled hair?

The lie keeps things easy.

How many eyes should look upon me in adoration or detestation as I travel past?

The lie keeps things pleasant.

Should I cry out to the moon, for its power to twist humans into horrors?

The lie keeps things normal.

Should I stand to the wrath of countless axes and swords forged with an alloy of whispers?

The lie keeps things peaceful.

It keeps me happy.

It keeps me safe.

It keeps me satisfied.

But the lie keeps me deceived.

It keeps me upset.

It keeps me afraid.

It keeps me yearning to be honest with myself for myself.

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

19

JESSICA BELOUSOV

Fat Girl Part 1 My stomach Has angry lines Showing my descension Into hell, A place where I cannot see my self worth Or beauty.

When I walk My body jiggles Shaking in fear Of other peoples eyes.

My chin hangs low And swings Indecisively.

My face is wide, My cheeks full And I hate it.

I look on in envy to the girl Who is flat And almost any item of clothing Is baggy for.

I can’t stop myself from staring At skinny girls And admiring how beautiful they are And how beautiful I was And hating myself more and more Because my body has extra.

It is plus sized I want to subtract it I want to be a size zero I want to weigh nothing No matter what I eat Or do Or wish at night The scale disappoints me As it reads numbers I’ve never seen Associated with me

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TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

I used to think 200 pounds was a lot Now I’m just waiting for 300 My body weighs the amount of two Individuals, Two people in one When people experience body dysmorphia they usually see themselves as fatter than they are.

When I look in the mirror I see someone who is skinny.

I see who I was And it is only when I look at pictures of myself I realize how wide I am The weight of it all Hits me at once And I cannot breathe.

Who is that fat girl?

I have been afraid of that title my whole life Yet I’ve never really been fat till now I hear echoes of my cousins teasing me, “Fat girl can’t get me” “Look at fat girl running” Snickers at the table After my uncle said “Of course she finished her food first” Or when he said “It’s okay she’s not hungry, she doesn’t need any more food” And every time I want to eat something Extra or more I hear my aunt, “Maybe you should eat salad instead” I want to crawl into my rolls Hide behind all my layers Let the fat protect me Like it’s supposed to.

I want to be happy I want to love my body I want to be confident But the weight of it all Is just too much

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

21

JESSICA BELOUSOV

Fat Girl Part 2 Why can’t you, Like the ancients In countries across The globe, Assume my weight Is me Plump with joy.

When you look at me Why can’t you notice My rosy cheeks And childhood essence?

Baby fat Has grown To layer me In protection From my fearsThe ones you created.

My rolls Keep me warm In the midst Of your cold presence.

My presence Is quiet But large.

My steps are loud And confident, Even when I am not.

Pictures of younger me Come to haunt my vision.

They are someone I wish I could look like, Even though it was a look I also once despised.

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TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

I am plus Because My smile adds To the light of the world.

I am Extra Large, Like my personality.

I jiggle And vibrate And move With the wavelengths No one can see I fill all my outfits To the brim.

Yet I still can’t fit The shoes You give me.

TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

23

ADRIAN

name an unwanted gift tied with a pink bow just three soft sounds that shred my tongue to red ribbons which drip down my lips my blood black mouth is raw again now it’s time to mend tie the threads and pull them through my name hurts me so I wish you knew

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TOTEM 2022 • POETRY

2022

ART

26 Perspective Nadya Makay 27

Childhood Daydream Ali Smith

28 Sub Sallom Lydia Andraso 29 NASA Ali Smith 30 Wild Willow Katey Dickey 31

Soft Nadya Makay

32 Two Booby Sunrise Lydia Andraso 33

Love Daisy Santosh Bhusal

34

Bengal Alison Benim

35 Serenity Nadya Makay 36 Clearing My Head Ali Smith 37

Bee Buffet Lydia Andraso

38 God in the Rough Ali Smith 39 Unspeakable Adam Chen 40 The Fruit of the Spirit Alison Benim 41

This is Erie Ali Smith

42 Magdelen Rose Lydia Andraso 44

PROSE

57

CONTRIBUTORS’ NOTES

TOTEM 2022 • ART

25

NADYA MAKAY

Perspective

26

TOTEM 2022 • ART

ALI SMITH

Childhood Daydreams

TOTEM 2022 • ART

27

LYDIA ANDRASO

Sub Sallom

28

TOTEM 2022 • ART

ALI SMITH

NASA

TOTEM 2022 • ART

29

KATEY DICKEY

Wild Willow

30

TOTEM 2022 • ART

NADYA MAKAY

Soft

TOTEM 2022 • ART

31

LYDIA ANDRASO

Two Booby Sunrise

32

TOTEM 2022 • ART

SANTOSH BHUSAL

Love Daisy

TOTEM 2022 • ART

33

ALISON BENIM

Bengal

34

TOTEM 2022 • ART

NADYA MAKAY

Serenity

TOTEM 2022 • ART

35

ALI SMITH

Clearing My Head

36

TOTEM 2022 • ART

LYDIA ANDRASO

Bee Buffet

TOTEM 2022 • ART

37

ALI SMITH

Gold in the Rough

38

TOTEM 2022 • ART

ADAM CHEN

Unspeakable

TOTEM 2022 • ART

39

ALISON BENIM

The Fruit of the Spirit

40

TOTEM 2022 • ART

ALI SMITH

This is Erie

TOTEM 2022 • ART

41

LYDIA ANDRASO

Magdelen Rose

42

TOTEM 2022 • ART

2022 44

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Diary of an (Ex-)Succubus Josh Taylor

50 Novel Excerpt, A Forgotten Cause Emily Cummings 54 Location, Locale, Sense of Place Chelsea Total 57

Contributors’ Notes

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JOSH TAYLOR

Diary of an (Ex-)Succubus Day 8 This is stupid. This little brat thinks that we can be “friends,” and so had the brilliant idea that if we both started keeping diaries that we could get along better. I don’t understand how a human could be such a moron.

Sure, Eisella’s a child of eight years by my judgment, but diaries are supposed to hold one’s secrets; to keep them safe from prying eyes and create distance.

I’m writing this because it’s the only freedom I have now. I used to be the Grand Mistress of the New Moon, the beauty who swooped down upon lonely mortals, providing them with the thrill no woman of flesh could even begin to deliver... and it only cost their soul. Sure, the drunkards were easy, but pathetic were their spirits. They were hardly filling, and made for even more pathetic spawn. I craved more. I refined my calls and my shows, and soon I had men and even women of wealth and the arcane lining up for their once-in-a-lifetime chance to sleep with Miss Liikyrha Blackmoon (the “Miss” and the “Blackmoon” were invented by the swine).

Now here I am like a filthy wench whispering into some paper by quill and answering to a literal child who can’t even pronounce my name.

She started referring to me as Lily! Lily! I despise the name. When I get out of this, I will burn every lily on the planet! And the cherry on top of this repulsive excuse of a cake is I have to write this in ink! Ink! What self-respecting fiend would write in anything less than blood? Hell, I’d even take squirrel bile over this shit!

This is what I get for cockiness, isn’t it? This is my hell away from Hell. I should’ve never dealt with an archmage, especially not one as ancient as him...

Sursamurn...

I will never forget your hideous name.

Day 10 As if the little girl and the ink weren’t enough, now I’m forced into some of the most atrocious garments I’ve ever seen. Actually, “atrocious” doesn’t even begin to describe how awful it is to have them touch my luxurious crimson skin.

Speaking of my skin, to start, they covered up almost all of it! The skirt may as well have sex with the floor it hangs so close to it. The socks seem to want their own night with me they crawl so far up my legs.

The white apron has to smother out the dark dress as though it didn’t do enough to censor my curves. The gloves must’ve run off from their abusive father with the way they strangle my armpits. And the head

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piece sits on my already pale hair like a parasite that will swallow my horns whole. This is an embarrassment of an outfit. It leaves nothing of me from the bedroom!

It’s humiliating. I’ve been reduced to a doll dressed like a servingwoman, and not even the arousing kind. Especially not with these frills.

These goddamn frills! They’re everywhere! On the edges of the apron, the bottom of the skirt, the ends of the sleeves, the wrists of the gloves, the neckline of the dress, the entire damn headpiece! And not a single inch of black lace to compensate! I wouldn’t be surprised if Eisella designed this crime against fashion. I asked her why I had to wear this garbage, and she told me that I looked pretty in it.

“Look pretty” my ass.

Day 13 At first, I thought the snotty toddler was going to be the worst part of all of this. I was wrong. It was her parents.

His-highness-lordship-godsent-holy-kingliness Oliver won’t take his eyes off me, and not in the lustful way I can exploit. My wiry, barbed tail so much as drifts past a doorway and he takes his sludge-green eyes and tries to pierce my glittering gold ones with a moronic glare. Today I tried to offer him some of my “special services.” It was then that my skin discovered that he had the wretched acid known as holy water.

Her-majesty-mother-caregiver-divine-queenliness Marian is just as bad, maybe even worse. For the past few days she’s been nagging me with her puss-bubbled lips on and on about how “her princess shall not be tainted by sinful practices blah blah blah” and trying to crush me with texts written in that disgusting black fluid. They’re all about how to “be a good maid,” as if I’m supposed to enjoy this slavery or the “lessons for nobility” I’m supposed to give to the brat. Her eyes are just as ugly and green as her husbands, much unlike the drowning blue of Eisella’s, so I suggested that she was more promiscuous than she tried to appear.

Then came more burning of my beautiful, delicate skin.

Hm... Burning... That could put a stop to this shouting about “the eightyear-old rightful heir to the throne of Aefir is the precious princess and shall be protected to be never corrupted by your kin yadda yadda yadda...”

It can’t be too hard; they are all but children compared to me. None of them have even survived a century! (And I’m stuck having to listen to the one who hasn’t even seen a decade... We’ll see how much longer that lasts.)

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Day 15 Turns out, despite all the shit I have to listen to, contacting the underworld is something I can still do without being smited by the wizard’s contract. I took some time in the night to contact an old friend of mine who specializes in... “accidents.”

Pmnuumeix is an asshole. He laughed at me for a solid ten minutes when he first saw me, giving me such flatteries as “waitress,” “pillow,” and “nun.” After tearing through the stupid gloves to remind him how deadly my claws were I told him my plan about a “kitchen fire” that was actually going to be kindled with some flames of the damned. He assured me it would work, killing everyone in the palace but the black flames would be a dead giveaway that I was the culprit afterwards.

Thankfully, that’s what I want. This meeting isn’t about getting away with it anonymously, it’s about getting in a position to set it into motion.

Day 16 Turns out, the precious little baby Eisella was really attached to those gloves I ripped. Watching her tears trickle to the floor was the most joy I’ve felt since I’ve been trapped here.

But her word, no matter how obscene, is still law, so I had to spend the entire day repairing the gloves by hand. No replacements. No magic.

Nothing. I swear, I could’ve milked an entire brothel in the time it took to stitch one of those fingers.

Day 18 This damn child only ever wants to ingest things that are cold. It’s always a popsicle, frozen juice, and so on. If I’m lucky, she’ll want something room-temperature, but how am I supposed to “burn” that?

Some of the servants (the vermin I am dressed as and lumped in with) keep giggling about that disgusting runt. They keep saying she’s in a “phase” where she really likes winter or something.

My patience is running out. Hopefully there’s something I can do with that...

Day 19 Perhaps the vermin know something, what a surprise. All it took was to suggest a frosted cookie to get Eisella interested. You know, for being supposedly so easily lured with candy, human children are a pain in the ass.

At least I had my ticket into the kitchen. All it took was some sugar, spice, and “baking” to finish the last meal for the princess on death row. Soon, I could have a feast myself.

I haven’t had a soul to sip on since Sursamurn because of all the ugly eyes watching my every move, and honestly, arson is not my preferred way to make dinner. Sure, the flames aren’t a danger to me, but unlike with “favors,” murdered souls like to slip away before I can slurp them up. But there were so many there that surely, I could snatch a few.

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Or so I thought.

I made my way back to my princess after I was certain the onyx flames began to dance across the kitchen floor. I remember twisting a smile as I watched the vigor drain from her face as the excitement over the “cold” treat began to crumble to fear with smoke pouring in through the door.

I began to drool as tears welled up in her eyes and screams began to leak through the walls. I was going to have a feast seasoned with terror, misery and anguish, and best of all this brat would be dead! I was going to be free and full! Any second then, the soul would float up through her begging, screaming mouth, and I could prepare it however I pleased, but I was ready to swallow it raw.

And then Eisella had to go and say “Lily, I’m scared.”

Those three words were enough to throw my body into an upright obedience. Like a puppet on its strings, I was telling her to grab her favorite things and carrying her out of the palace as the black flames consumed the castle and clawed for the sky with its red smoke.

Damn you, Sursamurn, with your filthy contract with its bullshit conditions! I had a feast right in front of me! I was almost back in Hell!

Damn. Never thought I’d say that.

Day 23 Lo and behold, this wench has relatives. Apparently, Sursamurn gave her a locket with the location of her aunt and uncle engraved on the back. Eisella claims it wasn’t there before, and I’d normally call bullshit, but with everything, my objections are pointless.

Now, it’s where she wants to go. And because the baby is scared, I have to keep her company the whole way.

Across. The. Entire. Goddamn. Continent. From. The. South. To. The. North.

I’ll swallow a child whole before “agreeing” to be a nanny again.

Day 24 With her “I’m scared” shit, there’s nothing I can do about Eisella. I took another stab at smothering her in her sleep last night, only to be sent flying into a tree when the pillow touched her mouth.

I don’t know what I expected.

Day 26 I hate everything. She keeps talking to me. She keeps trying to play games with me. She keeps asking me how I’m “so pretty”.

I’m sexy, not pretty dammit!

Day 28 So, the locket’s engraving, as she claims, keeps changing to give her directions. Given that, I’m baffled how we traveled more west than

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north, ending up in this shithole called “Razburg.” There’s nothing here.

No brothel, one tavern with ale weaker than aged human bones, and the few non-travelers here keep going on about the neighboring forest and the hunting they do.

To top it all off, Eisella wants to visit some stupid well so it can “make her dreams come true” or something idiotic like that. I only took the damn tourist (aside from having no say in the matter) so I could try to push her in.

No dice. I settled for drawing a picture and throwing that in instead.

Day 29 We were supposed to leave today, but I decided to reference a map before following Sursamurn’s “directions” again. Good thing I did. With the way she was pointing we were going to go east to a different town called “Solort,” again, barely moving north.

At least I look like an adult, and to her, I’m a genius. I suggested we cut through the forest to a small city called “Sarville,” saving us time and being a better stop anyway with more interesting things.

She made me promise to buy her a popsicle when we get there. She tried negotiation for once, and it’s even better that she’s awful at it! Maybe things will be a little less awful with this new “discovery.”

Day 31 Liikyhra five days ago doesn’t know shit! This is horrible! Not only do I have to contend with my very best friend, but now there’s wolves. And bears. And a feral vampire. And to top it all off: “I’m scared, Lily.”

“I’m scared, Lily.”

“I’m scared, Lily.”

“Lilith” would’ve at least been tolerable.

Day 32 At least there’s some respite and opportunity in that Eisella is human, meaning that I get a few moments each day where I can just be alone.

Today, it was the perfect chance for me to throw myself into a ravine we were passing by in hopes of waking up in Hell.

I just ended up with broken bones, bloody black cuts, and an “I’m scared” to drag my battered corpse up toward.

Day 34 I’m starving. Sure, after Sursamurn I can survive for five hundred more years, but I used to eat nightly. I could go for anyone right now. Even a filthy drunkard would do. We just arrived in Sarville, and it looks like I’d have plenty of options.

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But Eisella has started holding my hand all the goddamn time. How on earth can I get my fix if I have her strapped to my side? She won’t even let me take a sock off when we are in public!

And now she wants me to stay with her so she’s safe at night. Slowly, that sewage humans put in their maws is starting to look palatable.

Day 35 When Eisella went to sleep tonight, it was the first time I’ve ever seen her without the locket. She took it off and set it on the nightstand in the room we were staying in. My chance to figure out what was going on with it.

I was not expecting to see the crest of the lost kingdom of Vahri, the tips of two mountain peaks brushing up against a grand winged sun.

The crest of the arctic peaks, lost alongside the kingdoms of Tarthoon, Beuneun, Quae-Whull, and Jarshon.

Come to think of it, these five kingdoms supposedly caused the Great Spirit War thirty-three centuries ago, where the fiends were blamed by the celestial ferrymen for the mass-theft of souls they were expecting.

Truth is, Hell never saw those souls either, and many of us, myself included, began to doubt whether these kingdoms even existed, and wondered if the ferrymen were just being the pricks they always were, causing a war where anyone killed just forms again next dawn or dusk.

It’s a miracle in itself that it ended at all, much less on its own as both sides slowly gave up.

But if Vahri was real... I can only imagine how many souls there would be for the taking... and how powerful I could become if I consumed them all! There must be tens... no... hundreds of thousands somehow preserved in this world, and if they were mine... I could break this contract, murder this girl, live for countless millennia, and never have to answer to a human, a fiend, or even a celestial ever again!

Forget about being hungry, Liikyhra, and forget about giving “favors” anymore. A buffet beyond your most twisted dreams is out there, and it has your name on it. For now, prepare a lavish breakfast of icy sweets: popsicles, frozen juice, the works.

Anything for you... Eisella.

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EMILY CUMMINGS

Novel Excerpt, A Forgotten Cause “Would you like to accompany me, Julia? A messenger boy from the office has just rung and relayed that Mr. Kingsman received a notice from your father. He wants me to come down to take a look at it.”

Julia glanced up from her book that she couldn’t seem to concentrate on and found Caroline in the sitting room entrance, bonnet, wrap, and traveling boots on and ready to go. It was the day after her visit to Eliza’s and she was trying her best not let full blown panic overtake her.

Caroline’s proposition wasn’t the most thrilling but what was she doing here? Sitting on a chaise, staring off into the distance without really seeing anything and occasionally glancing down at her book, that’s what. She may as well have been perusing Italian for all the sense the words made.

“Of course, Caroline. It would be nice to pay a visit to Mr. Kinsman. Just let me get my bonnet.”

The day was uncharacteristically warm with late April sunshine and though it would be a substantial trek, she knew the fresh air would do her good and give her strength for her conversation with Caroline that evening. There was no getting around it; she wouldn’t be going down south and she needed to tell her stepmother.

As they made their way to the front entryway where her bonnet hung on its peg, Julia tried to put on a sense of normalcy that was just out of reach. Her attempt to act nonchalant only resulted in her tangling the ribbon of her bonnet into a hopeless knot and she could feel her cheeks filling with color as Caroline took it from her and worked the ribbon out of its crinkled mess.

“I think a walk will do us good, don’t you? You seem piqued, my dear.”

Julia could only nod her agreement; she didn’t trust her voice.

The walk down wasn’t unpleasant as she attempted to stay engaged in Caroline’s gossip but when the conversation turned to her father and his gripes about life in Washington, she was fully invested. All the while her anxiety was lurking on the periphery, just waiting to come crashing down on her again. When they reached the imposing three story building and made their way up to the law office on the second floor, she tuned it all out when she discovered that the conversation between Caroline and Mr. Kinsman concerned the workings of the office and had nothing to do with Washington politics.

As her gaze wandered absentmindedly, she caught sight of Matthew’s strawberry blonde head through Mr. Kinsman’s office window. Her eyes followed him to the small office in the far corner that he shared with another of the clerks and a ludicrous idea popped into her head. It was

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utterly preposterous, mad even. But she had no options left; she was desperate and this was going to be her one last effort.

She was keen to get to Matthew before she lost her nerve and when there was a lull in the conversation, she turned to Caroline.

“May I say hello to Mr. Eaton? I wanted to see how he’s doing since it’s been some time since his last visit.”

Caroline gave her a slightly pained looked but nodded her consent.

Julia bobbed a quick curtsy to Mr. Kinsman and walked as slowly as she could toward Matthew’s office. She could feel perspiration beginning to prickle in her palms under her gloves and her heart was racing. What she was about to ask was bordering on scandalous. She took one more deep breath and rapped lightly on Matthew’s open door.

“Come in . . . oh, Julia, what a pleasant surprise,” he said, his signature warm smile spreading across his face when he looked up from his documents and recognized her. That warmth turned to concern when he took in her countenance. She could only imagine what he saw in her expression, but she couldn’t seem to stop contorting her mouth into one pained twist after another. “Is something the matter? It’s not your father, is it?”

“No, no Papa is well, thank goodness,” she replied, trying to slow her words so that she didn’t appear completely unhinged. “But I am in need of your help with something.”

“What is it? It must be important.”

“Please hear me out before you dismiss this. She paused and his quizzical yet open expression encouraged her to continue. “My brother, Fletcher, isn’t able to accompany me on my missionary trip. I won’t be able to go if I don’t have an escort.”

“That’s awful, Julia. I can see why you’d be disappointed. But I can’t see how I could help you with that.”

“Well, there’s one way you could help . . .” her voice trailed off and she was unable to finish the sentence, too embarrassed to say the words.

He studied her for a minute, his head angled to the side and she knew he was working through what she’d just asked of him.

“Are you suggesting I accompany you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. As if uttering the words out loud would make her suggestion more real somehow.

“It was a thought. I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t desperate. But I am. My father has informed me that the Senate is close to deciding on the president’s proposal. If I don’t go now-”

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She couldn’t seem to keep the words from spilling out of her, like a waterfall rushing over boulders and unable to control its trajectory to the pond below. Fortunately, his next words stopped the deluge cold.

“That’s impossible, Julia, and you know it. I’m not your brother and it would be inappropriate of me to travel down there with you. If that got out, it would ruin your reputation.”

But not yours, of course, she felt like saying but wisely kept that thought to herself. It was all so unfair, this double standard that she’d dealt with all her life. What had been mere annoyance was now directly impacting her ability to help others and it made her so furious, she saw spots bursting in her vision and she had to talk herself down before she forged ahead into the second part of her ill-constructed plan.

“Well, the Moores have never met Fletcher. They’ve no idea what he looks like. So in that respect-” “What, now you want me to impersonate your brother, too? To lie to these good people and convince them I’m someone I’m not? I thought you had more sense than this, Julia. What you’re asking for is too much.”

She could feel the combination of shame and embarrassment creeping red and hot up her neck. Of course this is what his reaction would be; it was that of any self-respecting man to a young girl’s misguided request.

She murmured a stilted apology as she turned away from Matthew, willing herself not to cry as she saw Caroline making her way over to her.

“Hello, Mr. Eaton. I hope you’re well,” Caroline said above Julia’s shoulder.

His affirmative answer was as steady as ever but there was an edge of coldness that hadn’t been there before that made Julia’s heart lurch in her chest. She had pushed the boundaries of their growing attachment too far and now she didn’t know if they could come back from this.

“That’s very good to hear. We were just in for a short visit and should be heading back home. Are you done talking with Julia?”

“Yes, Mrs. Webster. I think we’ve said all we need to each other.”

The note of finality in his voice made Caroline’s eyebrows rise slightly but she didn’t pursue it. She had taken care of her affairs with Mr. Kinsman and Julia could tell that she was ready to return home. For once, she shared her stepmother’s sentiments entirely and couldn’t wait to bolt out of there.

“Good day, Mr. Eaton,” she got out with effort, not daring to raise her eyes to his face as she turned and bobbed her head in farewell.

“What was that all about?” Caroline asked her as they emerged from the law office and turned toward home. Storm clouds were beginning to billow on the horizon and Caroline set a brisk pace so as not to get caught in the downpour that was sure to roll in soon. “He seemed rather stand offish, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he did. We had a disagreement about something, unfortunately. It may be some time before he calls again.” It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t exactly a lie, either.

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“And what did you have a falling out about? You two seemed to be getting rather close.”

Before Julia could come up with an actual fabrication, a threatening boom of thunder sounded behind their backs and raindrops began to sprinkle the air. This had all the makings of a fierce Boston squall as the wind picked up and nearly took Caroline’s bonnet with it.

“Never mind; we can talk about this later. Let’s hurry before we’re soaked through the skin. I can’t have another cold like the one I had last month.”

Julia had never been more thankful for the rain as they ran to stay ahead of the torrent. *

*

*

*

“Your disagreement with Mr. Eaton earlier today must not have been as detrimental as you thought. Oh really, Julia. Why would you start that now? You’ll be cleaning up until midnight.”

At the sound of Caroline’s voice, Julia looked up from the cake she was trying unsuccessfully to make, flour seeming to coat every flat surface of the kitchen. She liked to fancy herself a baker when she was ill at ease and while her ventures turned out in the end, the process was always messy. That evening, she couldn’t even manage to crack the eggs without there being shell in the batter and she had been digging the white shards out when her stepmother surprised her. If she was being honest, this went beyond nerves. It really was all an attempt to put off her conversation with Caroline until the next morning, a mere twenty-four hours before she was supposed to depart.

“I may have bitten off more than I was expecting,” she admitted sheepishly. The tip of her nose itched from the flour and she couldn’t do anything about that until she cleaned the egg yolk off her hands.

Grabbing a cloth hanging from a peg on the wall, she cleaned herself up as best she could. “What do you mean regarding Mr. Eaton?”

It was only then that Julia saw the calling card in Caroline’s outstretched hand, and she turned as white as that small rectangle of paper. She came around the table and took it, her heart high in her throat.

“The courier dropped this off only a few minutes ago. Uncommonly late, if you ask me. It seems he wants to call on you tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be out to Mrs. Ingram’s for dinner which is an engagement I can’t break.

I trust you can handle entertaining him yourself.”

With an uncharacteristically sly wink, Caroline sashayed out of the kitchen with an over the shoulder reminder to clean up. Julia had no idea what to think as she sank onto the stool to the right of the back door, her hands trembling as she turned the card over. A hastily scrawled message was in the bottom corner, so innocuous that she, too, almost overlooked it. I’m in was all it read.

This is an excerpt from a novel currently titled A Forgotten Cause which is nearing the end of the editing process. It’s a work of historical fiction centered on Julia Webster, the daughter of renowned United States Senator Daniel Webster and set in the late 1820s and early 1830s. She has learned about a piece of legislation (the Indian Removal Act) and is trying to determine what she can do for the indigenous people who will be affected if the legislation passes. In this excerpt, she tries to come up with an alternative plan to travel down south which involves the nephew (Matthew Eaton) of one of President Andrew Jackson’s staunchest supporters.

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CHELSEA TOTAL

Location, Locale, and Sense of Place Geographer Yi-Fu Tuan suggests that a place is an object to dwell and touch. There are three distinctions about perceiving place. They include location, locale, and a sense of place. The location of a place indicates exactly where it is. The latitudinal coordinate of the house I grew up in is 41.431650; the longitudinal coordinate is -78.562340. If someone were to plug these coordinates into Google Maps, the search engine would direct them to 271 N St. Marys Street in St. Marys, Pennsylvania.

The front of my house sits at the intersection of Atlantic Street and N St. Marys Street. It has a driveway that can be reached by turning left down Oilwell Street. Both N St. Marys Street and Oilwell are one-way streets.

The quantifiable space between 632 Sassafras, my campus address, and my house address is one hundred and twelve point six miles. It would take me approximately two and a half hours to drive to my house. 271 N St. Marys Street is more than a house address in the United States. It is where my childhood home stands.

My childhood home is a place; therefore, it has locale. Locale is the material, social, and relational sense of a place. The image from Google Maps shows a three-story house with sixteen windows. The windows have black shutters and white windowpanes. My home has a porch whose roof is supported by three evenly spaced white pillars.

Connected to the left of the house is a large wooden deck. My house was built on a grassy hill, and the deck was put in place for a homeowner to enjoy the view. It was built up high and required railing because of its distance from the ground. Since the deck was elevated off the ground, there is an abundance of space under the deck, which is where my family stores firewood and where my cat runs to hide whenever he successfully escapes. The image from Google Maps is outdated because the deck is now a barnyard red instead of a maroon. My backyard is enclosed by fences that are painted a similar ugly red as the deck. I am fortunate to have a porch and a deck that are used for outdoor recreational purposes like grilling chicken and sunbathing on the deck’s carpeted floor.

The locale of my childhood home extends to the inside of the house as well. Excluding the grimy basement, there are three floors to my house.

The first floor includes the living room and kitchen. My family shares our meals together at the kitchen table. The kitchen is modest with tile floor. There is also a small bathroom in the kitchen. We gather for quality time in the living room. The television hangs above our mantle and fireplace. For reasons unbeknownst to me, the fireplace is unusable.

To the left of the house’s front entrance is the staircase leading to the second floor where most of the bedrooms are. Since the steps are so creaky, I can distinguish by the pressure of their steps which of my

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family members is using them: my sister’s steps emit a rhythmic sound because she takes her time using the staircase; my mother holds onto the banister and is light on her feet, so her steps are soft; my father’s steps sound tumultuous, as if he is an elephant charging at a lion.

Once you reach the top of the steps, you will find my bedroom to the left of the staircase. I left my bedroom in disarray with clothes all over my unmade bed and my closet is still wide open. My parents’ room is much more organized. A beautiful wooden vanity stands against the wall across from their bed. I liked to sit on their large bed and use the tall mirror as I fixed my hair in the mornings before work or school. The guest bedroom is next to my parents’ bedroom. Guests rarely stay the night, so my mom converted it into her closet and yoga room. Beside the guest bedroom is another bathroom, and to the left of the bathroom is a door leading to the third floor where my sister’s bedroom is. Her room is either freezing or boiling because it is so close to the roof of the house.

The door to the attic can be found in her room, as well as the cat’s litter box.

Every place has a subjective, emotional sense. The sense of place is the emotional attachment one has to the place. I have a deep emotional connection with my home and to the memories attached to it. My home is light blue in color. This color conjures images of sea and sky and is associated with feelings of stability, freedom, imagination, and sincerity.

My parents are very affectionate, loving people who raised my siblings and me in an environment that promoted the values associated with light blue.

In the backyard, there used to be a swing set and a wooden playset with a yellow slide. These wooden structures were built one hundred and ten years ago by my neighbor’s grandparents, the original homeowners of my house. When we were little, my sister and I would play all the time on these playsets. We made up our own games on the swing set.

One of them was a game where we would each swing and try hit each other’s legs with our legs. Whoever was left with the biggest bruises won. I won once and for all after I broke my left arm when she pushed me off the swing. Angel and Jade, two neighbors around our age, would come over all the time to play in the backyard. I have fond memories of pretending we were pirates and sailing along as if the playset was our pirate ship. Now that the swing set and playset are no longer there, my backyard feels smaller—emptier— because my childhood world was those playsets.

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Angel, Jade, and my sister, the girls I would play with, created a sense of place in my backyard. Our home is decorated with themes of the sea; a ship figurine that was hand crafted by my grandfather is hanging on the living room wall. The décor of our home reinforces my love for the sea because my family loves the sea. I also associate ‘under the deck’ with my cat escaping because that is where he thinks I cannot reach him. My cat created a sense of place because I think of him every time I walk past the space underneath the deck. My parents made our house a place of refuge. Their presence has made me feel safe and accepted, so I associate those positive feelings with our big blue house. The goal of this is for me to understand where I am and where my home is. If I focus only on quantifiable measurements like space, then it will not be possible for me to understand where I am.

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Contributors’ Notes ADRIAN

Senior, English name Zyklon B

PRIYANKA ALLAM

Masters, Information Technology Trustworthy Love God always allows hurdles into human lives just to make him/ her stronger but never stops in expressing His LOVE. My mother, Shobha Rani Allam, is my inspiration.

LYDIA ANDRASO

Environmental Engineering Bee Buffet Taking photos connects me to the natural world in a special way. During the height of the pandemic, I needed a distraction, so I made friends with the bees that were feasting on the sand cherry tree in my front yard. Being able to zoom in and freeze time taught me a lot about their world and gave me a break from mine.

Magdelen Rose On my trip to Oxford, England, I was lucky enough to walk through some of the colleges.

I shot this dewy rose in the quad at Magdalen College and imagined that C.S. Lewis, a Magdalen alumnus, would have enjoyed similar blooms in decades past.

Sub Sallom This photo was taken at Coventry Cathedral in Coventry, England and is one of my favorite photos. The church is such a gloriously beautiful place, filled with spectacular artwork; it can be almost overwhelming. As I was

walking through, I noticed light from the stained-glass pooling under a row of stacked chairs. I quickly stuck my camera lens beneath the them and was rewarded with this mysterious shot. (I bet you couldn’t tell what it was at first glance! ) Sometimes, the less obvious beauties bring more joy.

Two Booby Sunrise I took this photo of two brown boobies while I was on a GIFT course in the Bahamas. I woke up early to hike up to North Point on San Salvador Island and catch the sunrise. I was lucky enough to capture these two sea birds surveying the morning sea.

JESSICA BELOUSOV Senior, English

Fat Girl - Part 1 and Fat Girl – Part 2 These poems are about how I have gained weight and my feelings about it. There’s a lot of conflict with the plus size movement. Positive and prideful feelings of not wanting to show one’s own body or other bodies. However, there are still negative feelings and still the persisting image of health and beauty being skinny.

ALISON BENIM PA Program

Bengal This was created on scratch board and is symbolic of power coexisting with gentleness.

The Fruit of the Spirit This piece was made with colored pencil on canvas board and inspired by the Bible verse Galatians 5:22-23. There are nine pieces of fruit to represent love, joy, peace, patience, kindness,

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goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

It is a visual reminder to be encouraged and walk in the new hope of Jesus

JAYLEN CONLEY

Math, Secondary Education The Math of Loving Another Human

BAILEY CREAGER

LUKE BRATTON

First year, Philosophy and English The Continuous Rail The poem is about how no matter what else is happening, we must keep pushing like a train through the winter.

ANNA BRINK

Senior, English (Literature Track) Match Made in Liquor This piece was inspired by a summer night that I shared with someone I’ve known for years who means a lot to me.

The creative process in writing this was just to let my words flow and then to edit, edit, and edit some more!

MADDIE BRUCE

Senior, English

Among I wrote this poem while sitting in the woods behind my house while I was going through a hardship with a close friend.

While sitting out there, I had a feeling of immense safety, like I was among old friends who also experienced the changes I was going through.

SANTOSH BHUSAL

Graduate Business Analysis Love Daisy

ADAM CHEN

Freshman, Biology Autumn Memories I thought of the poem in Autumn and I thought about how my time in high school had been such a big impact in my life and how now that I’m in college, I’ve finally put that part of life behind me.

Biology, Pre-Med Deep Sleep

EMILY CUMMINGS

Alumni and Student Services & Communications Specialist Novel Excerpt, A Forgotten Cause This story began as a short story for my senior thesis class in History all the way back in the fall of 2009. I had always hoped that I would be able to turn it into a novel length project someday and it’s been very surreal to not only meet that goal last May but also to have completed a second draft this February. I hope to soon share the entirety of Julia’s story and journey in novel form.

KATEY DICKEY

Senior, Social Work Wild Willow When selecting symbols for this mural in the Honors office, I really liked the willow tree because I had read about how it can bend and adapt to grow in a number of unique shapes without slitting or fracturing.

In many ways, this represents the ability of our honors program to provide a flexible and resilient community for Gannon students, even amidst hard times like the pandemic.

The globe in the largest hot air balloon represents our being pulled upwards, to a higher standard, by our global awareness.

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LIA EBERLEIN

Sophomore, English shatter I originally wrote this poem in middle school. I found it one day and messed around with it, and “shatter” came to be.

MORGAN GILBERT

Junior, Applied Exercise Science Drifting thoughts I drew my inspiration for the poem “Drifting Thoughts” from late nights when you can’t sleep because someone is on your mind and you hope deep down that you are on there’s.

At the age of ten For my poem “At the age of ten,” I drew my inspiration from my earliest memory of when I started to compare myself to my peers and what became my first standard of what I deemed beautiful.

Little Bottle “Little Bottle” is pretty straightforward. It started in the dead of night when I was contemplating the phrase “bottle up your emotions,” which I am guilty of. I began to hear a rhythm in my head and hopped on my computer, and the rest was history.

Diary of an (Ex-) Succubus Liikhyra was originally a concept for a Dungeons & Dragons character, complete with her “bond” to Eisella.

However, I eventually came to the conclusion the duo would not work well in a real game, but I still liked the dynamic and wanted to do something with it. I intend to continue the story in the future, maintaining Liikhyra’s fiendish perspective

CHELSEA TOTAL

Second year, Biology Location, Locale, and Sense of Place Most of our lives are spent moving from space to space.

Human beings have the capacity to produce and consume meaning. In an outside classroom, I took Dr. Aaron Kerr’s Environmental Ethics in the fall semester of 2021. This essay is an exercise in understanding three distinctions about perceiving place: location, locale, the subjective, emotional attachment of a place.

NADYA MAKAY MBA Program Perspective Serenity Soft

ALI SMITH

English, Secondary Ed Childhood Daydreams Clearing My Head Gold in the Rough NASA This Is Erie

JOSH TAYLOR

Fourth Year, English I am content.

The title of “I am content.” is important; “Content” refers to satisfaction or complacency. I wrote the poem to express my struggle with my identity. After all, embracing the truth takes courage I lack, and demands a label I do not have.

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TOTEM 2022

Colophon Totem 2022 was designed by Ali Smith, Art Editor, and Andrew Lapiska, Experience Designer and University Brand Manager in Gannon University’s Marketing and Communications department.

This year’s Totem artwork is comprised of digital photography, colored pencil drawing, scratchboard, painting, and multi-media art.

Artwork was reproduced in CMYK builds.

Headline text is set in Proxima Nova Condensed and body text throughout is set in Yorkten Slab.

The cover was printed on 80# Accent Opaque Smooth Cover with a softtouch coating; artwork pages are printed on 100# Endurance Silk text, and text pages are printed on 80# Accent Opaque Smooth Text.

The layout for Totem was created with Adobe InDesign CC 2022; photographs and artwork were prepared for publication with Adobe Photoshop CC 2022.

This journal was printed by the Gannon University Press. The cover was coated and the books were assembled by McCarty Printing, Inc. in Erie, Pennsylvania.

Funding is provided by Gannon University. Totem is distributed free of charge.

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