The Phoenix, 2020

2020

THE PHOENIX - GONZAGA FINE ARTS REVIEW

VOL. XXXV

The Phoenix 2020

Dear Reader, Welcome to the Phoenix.

Unfortunately, we cannot enjoy these rich pages in our familiar bustling homerooms.

This year has yielded tremendous loss.

So grieve.

Feel the ache.

We hope these pages offer solace. Some escape from the buzz of talking heads spewing out statistics and predictions, from sibling commotion, and from the longing to connect.

Find comfort as you glide from page to page.

Get lost in the strokes of a painting.

Wander among each word.

Explore the depths of a short story.

Jump from line break to line break.

Let this edition shake something loose in you. For now, more than ever, we must soak and heal in the ink, paint, and ichor of Gonzaga.

Henry Sullivan ‘20 Michael Kennedy ‘20 Editors-in-Chief

THE PHOENIX 2020 - Volume XXXV EDITORS IN CHIEF Michael Kennedy Henry Sullivan EDITORIAL COMMITTEE Dillon Arrigan Liam Downing Colin Gallagher Peter Mildrew Michael O’Reilly MODERATOR Dr. Harry Rissetto

SPECIAL THANKS Ms. Jennifer Carter, Mr. Joe Ross, Mr. Matt Duffy, Mr. Ciaran Freeman, Mr. Rick Cannon, Mrs. Helen Free, Mrs. Teresa Jackson, Ms. Mary Kate Kimiecik, Mr. Allan L’Etoile, Ms. Colleen McGrath, Mr. Bill Pierce, Ms. Kylee Piper, Mr. Joe Sampugnaro, Mr. Randy Trivers, Mr. Patrick Welch, Lucas Scheider Galiñanes ‘19, Ethan Tobey ‘19, Alex Gomez ‘18, Rylan Madison ‘18, Tommy Boyce ‘17, Quinn Aitchison ‘17, Luke Allen ‘16, Holden Madison, ‘16, Chris Hrdy ‘15, Kevon Turner ‘15, Matt Buckley ‘14, Joe Dahut ‘14, Christian Forte ‘14, Matt Druckenbrod ‘13, Dominic Plantamura ‘13, Andrew Richard ‘13, John Morabito ‘12, Aaron Clark ‘12, Daniel Sweet ‘12, Tom Robertson ‘11, Matt Weider ‘10, Johannes Schmidt ‘09, Will Felker ‘08, and all students who submitted art and literature for consideration.

POETRY & FICTION

Adam Uppuluri 8 Seamus Carroll-Gavula 9 Kadari Machen 10 Kevin Donalson 11 Quinn Fish 12 Adam Uppuluri 13 Michael O’Reilly 14 John Corso 17 Tre Mcguire 19 Luca Docking 20 Josh Maggiano 21 Jestus Johnson 22 Jack McKenney 24 Ian Miller 25 Gennaro Cardarelli 26 Quinn Fish 27 Robbie Dubay 28 James Barbour 29 Jestus Johnson 30 Gennaro Cardarelli 31 Will D’Albora 32 Gennaro Cardarelli 33 Ian Miller 34 Tre Mcguire 35 Gennaro Cardarelli 36 Tre McGuire 37 Richard Scott 38 Jack McKenney 39 Seamus Carroll-Gavul 40

Colin Bell 41 Luca Docking 44 Terrance Williams 45 Jestus Johnson 46 Robert Fragola 47 Tre Mcguire 48 Robbie Dubay 49 Liam Downing 50 Will D’Albora 52 Robbie Dubay 53 Richard Scott 54 Benji Garland 55 Terrance Williams 56 Gennaro Cardarelli 57 Stephen Cullina 58 James Barbour 59 Luca Docking 60 Luca Docking 61 Jack McKenney 62 Tre Mcguire 63 Christopher Cullen 64 Locke Sullivan 66 Erik Kessmeier 67 Jestus Johnson 70 Karl Butrus 71 Joe Redmond 74 Max Ciovacco 77 Jackson Baldrate 79

Cover Art: William Green The Last Page: Lucas Scheider Galinanes ‘19

ART

Jacob Bullock 82 William Green 83 Mak Krivka 84 Rodney Faulk 85 Jack Martino 86 Jacob Bullock 87 Sean Miller 88 Sean Miller 89 Guy Shoji 90 Colin Gallagher 91 Dillon Arrigan 92 Nolan Mooney 93 Liam Melley 94 Thomas Rowan 95 Gabriel Dorsey 96 Collin Watson 97 Henry Hultquist 98 Grady Lonergan 99 Will Thompson 100 Joseph Tramonte 101 Mak Krivka 102 Mak Krivka 103 Charlie Julian 104 Seamus DeVol 105 Henry Sullivan 106 Joseph Tramonte 107 Grady Lonergan 108 Donald Neidecker-Gonzales 109 Donald Neidecker-Gonzales 110 Charles Baisley 111 Luke Wood 112 Liam Thomson 113 Joseph Tramonte 114 Matthew Allen 115 Collin Watson 116 Brendan Lane 117 Luke Wood 118 Henry Sullivan 119 Mak Krika 120

Brendan Lane 121 Carter Selden 122 Carter Selden 123 Leif Hagerup 124 Charles Baisley 125 Carson Foley 126 Luke Wood 127 Luke Wood 128 Joseph Tramonte 129 Donald Neidecker-Gonzales 130 Luke Wood 131 Luke Wood 132 Henry Sullivan 133 Luke Wood 134 Donald Neidecker-Gonzales 135 Colin Gallagher 136 Charlie Julian 137 William Green 138 Max Stackhouse 139 Carlos Cruz 140 Seamus DeVol 141 Danny Diaz 142 Luke Elliott 143 Carter Selden 144 William Green 145 Owen Ellington 146 Joseph Tramonte 147 Danny Diaz 148 Collin Watson 149 Tripp Harris 150 Ethan Keough 151 Charles Baisley 152 Collin Watson 153 Marcos Egan 154 Joseph Tramonte 155 Luke Elliott 156 Drew Gorman 157 Joseph Tramonte 158 Jacob Bullock 159

DEDICATION Mr. Allan L’Etoile has spent a combined thirty-seven years on Eye Street as a student and teacher. In his over thirty years teaching, Mr. L’Etoile has helped students to become the best writers they can be. However, while his teaching will be missed, the energy and charisma of Mr. L’Etoile are irreplaceable. From his over-the-top costumes to his use of modern teenage slang, Mr. L’Etoile will live on as a legend figure in Kohlman Hall. Thanks for everything you have done for me and many other students Mr.L’Etoile. Happy retirement!

Take the first right on the 3rd floor of the art building and you will find Miss Jenn Carter’s classroom. Always bustling with activity, Ms. Carter teaches the young artists and photographers of Gonzaga. Over the years Ms. Carter’s students have submitted some of the best work The Phoenix has ever published. We thank you Ms. Carter for your dedication to the arts at Gonzaga, and for all you have done for the Phoenix. You will be missed.

Mrs. Tobin has been the Librarian at Gonzaga for twenty years. As Moderator of Gonzaga’s Campus Kitchen, she has spearheaded Gonzaga’s efforts to recapture food around our campus to feed impoverished elders blocks away from Eye Street She has mentored countless students, fed thousands of hungry boys, and read hundreds of essays. Through the Library, she provides snacks to the Poet and Writers Club, the primary engine of the Phoenix’s literature section. There is no one quite like Mrs. Tobin. She is one of those people that you only meet once in a lifetime. Hurray for Saint Tobin!

Poetry & Prose

WINNER OF THE 2019-2020 GONZAGA POETRY PRIZE

Battles of the Day Adam Uppuluri

I rise and zombie around the barracks, Soon enough it is time for deployment, Jump! Jump! Jump!

They call, Have a good day, They call, I sling my pack over my shoulders, Almost fall into blackout space, Wake Up! Wake Up! Wake Up! They call, Now what do you have to say?

They call, I swipe my face paint on, Sit upright prepared for combat, What’s for Lunch? How much? Any good?

They call, It’s never good, They call, I see the target, Crawling 40 minutes away, Ring! Ring! Ring!

We call, The day is over!

We call

8

WINNER OF THE 2019-2020 GONZAGA POETRY PRIZE

Us

Seamus Carroll-Gavula Melancholic fireworks crafted in secret on cold summer days Our conversations novels written without words Time spent not watching movies curtailed by silence Your name vibrating in my head We tried

9

WINNER OF THE 2019-2020 GONZAGA POETRY PRIZE

Why Protest?

Kadari Machen

My poem expresses my frustration with protests and how difficult it is for one person to make his voice heard and catalyze major changes. I was inspired to write this poem after we talked about The Laramie Project and the effects of protests in our post-play discussion.

How can one man’s voice have priority?

When the power is in the hands of the majority How do I have a say in my society?

If I’m not even heard outside my community Can one man really change a whole country?

Should I start a protest? Or should I start a riot?

I might commit a crime, like Pontius Pilate.

I want to be nonviolent, but that never makes a difference, Every day I see a different damn protest, it’s a repetition.

I can write my senator or send him an email, But over and over again, those efforts seem to fail.

My views don’t have a voice, I’m robbed of my choice, When I don’t have a say, how can I really rejoice?

And then you wonder why we don’t want to vote, We’re all slaves in the same boat.

I feel powerless, what’s the antidote?

I see protests every day, But nothing changes, I feel dismay Can one man really change a whole country, no way I thought this was a democracy, where’s my say?

10

2019-2020 GONZAGA POETRY PRIZE - HONORABLE MENTION

She Is the Oak Kevin Donalson

For my great-grandmother, Eloise King, and countless other unrecognized black women.

Uneducated and poor her husband no more Four children to look after Does she whither like an unquenched flower?

Or stand tall Like the oak tree?

She is mother and father.

The order in the court.

She is discipline and love.

She holds generation after generation on her shoulders.

But does she whither, like the dying flower?

Or stand mighty like the oak tree?

Rosa’s resilience, Coretta’s love, Mahalia’s praise, dance through her blood.

Consistently unrecognized yet, she rises, and stands forever strong, like the undying oak tree.

11

2020 PARKMONT POETRY CONTEST WINNER

My Escape Quinn Fish

My trusty orange ball rests in my hands

the worries of tomorrow gone.

Lunging to the left I bounce the ball off the wood

my teachers’ voices no longer ringing in my head.

I stop and prepare to shoot

my tests lose their importance.

The ball rolls off my fingers

my parents’ nagging quiets in the distance.

At the sound of that swoosh

all my problems are gone.

A round orange ball

the only way that I feel calm.

12

2020 PARKMONT POETRY CONTEST WINNER

Rollercoaster in the McKenna Center Adam Uppuluri

Some people fear the unknown stars, The unwalked with The unseen The unheard I looked away too, But then push, Fall, There, He sat in front of me, Me before him, Or rather him before me, Eating the same meal, Talked, an awkward conversation Ate, a quiet meal Uncomfortable, how we both felt

I felt the bumping in my seat, The breeze throwing back my hair, My stomach rolling around somewhere inside of me, Nigeria originally, he called it home Then Germany, And France And so many more, In that split second, The world froze around us, Like it was muted, No one else talking, No TV in the background, And after everything unfroze, Just Maxwell and me

My blood couldn’t circulate, My own words strangled me, But then he spoke, He told me about the clenched fist thrill of traveling, Like a rollercoaster, His journey went around the world, 13

Eden Michael O’Reilly

Emily was deep asleep, enveloped in her old world. She was struggling to pay the bills; she was relying on charity for food—until Ezra, the helper assistant built into her home, turned opened all the shades and started playing lovely music. “Good morning, Emily,” Ezra said in a calming voice, “Today is January 1st, 2183, and the time is 8:30 A.M. Happy New Year.” As she rose, Emily yawned and stretched out her tired body, groggily looking out her window onto the Chicago skyline—well, what was left of it. The mass array of skyscrapers, each of which show a genius architectural ability, had mostly blocked her view. She made her way to the kitchen and sat down. “Good morning Ezra,” she said with a calm yet robotic voice. “Good morning Emily,” it responded, “Today, I’ve prepared you Keto Churro Cloud Bread and an Adaptogen Latte for breakfast. Enjoy.” “What’s there to do today?” Emily asked as she began to eat her always-perfect breakfast. “Well, there’s plenty of free classes to expand your knowledge. There’s also the International Literature Fair at 4:00 P.M. if you wish to indulge a love for the arts in Washington, D.C. The LivRail leaves at 3:40 P.M., if you wish to attend. There’s also plenty of documentaries on if you want to stay home.” Emily thought for a moment. “Those sound boring, but I guess I’ll stay home today.” “As you wish. As always, if you need anything at all, just say so,” replied Ezra. “I’ll take a few ballons for a, uh—art project. Can I also get a bigger TV? I like the definition.” “No problem.”

The TV arrived a few hours later, along with the ballons. Emily smiled as she headed to the bathroom. She put the end of the balloon on the water faucet and filled it with water. Despite it being slippery, she was able to knot the top. She smiled. “This will be funny.” Emily walked out to the balcony as the glass door opened for her, barely noticing the government HelpBots mounting her new TV on the wall. She stood nervously as she held the water balloon over the edge. Her body froze. “Should I be doing this? I—” The water balloon slipped out of her hands and plummeted 14 floors down. Emily watched in despair as the balloon popped on the top of a passerby’s head and broke, dousing her with water. The woman looked confused and looked up with fascination as if an angry cloud decided to unleash its wrath on her suddenly. She only saw Emily, smiling back at her.

Emily walked back inside. Her smile turned into a snicker, and then a full giggle as she fell onto her couch. “That was… funny!” she thought. After she 14

calmed down, she turned on her new TV and looked through the series of documentaries. She wished there was still comedies playing like there were when she was a kid. Comedy, as well as the content that was generally considered “funny,” was gradually phased out of her society. It wasn’t illegal per se, just thought to be childish— a fad that was left behind in a society that was now exclusively focused on education and self-improvement. That wasn’t to say you always had to learn and couldn’t relax—like everyone, Emily could be on a beach in the Bahamas watching the sunset by the end of the day, for as long as she’d like. Too much relaxation isn’t encouraged—however. You may attract attention from the LifeEnforcement who would check up on you and see why you’ve decided to take an “alternative path” instead of “living the best life” and bettering yourself. As she reminisced on her past vacations and how they were cut short not to arouse suspicion, there was a loud knock on Emily’s door.

Emily walked over to her front door and peered through the eyehole.

It had to be LifeEnforcement. It was hard to tell because there were no standard uniforms. The man who knocked was wearing a flannel with jeans.

Emily took a deep breath to calm her demeanor and opened the door.

“Good morning Emily,” the leading officer said, “how are you today? What a lovely home! My name is Michael, and my partner is Abdul. May I come in?” “Sure,” she replied, “make yourself at home.” Michael sat down on her couch. “Let’s chat for a bit, Emily. I have some pressing concerns I wish to talk to you about,” he said with a calm, yet stern voice. Emily sat down on the couch next to Michael. She glanced over and saw Abdul checking around her home. “It’s just standard procedure,” Michael said with a smile. “We’re here today because of a certain incident that happened earlier, involving water.” “You mean the water balloon?” Emily replied. “Yeah, that’s right, what gave you the idea to do that?” Michael asked with a confused face, yet a fascinated tone. Emily looked away for a moment. “Well, I thought it looked fun. I got the idea from a documentary about the childhoods of the early 2000s.” Michael stared at her, blankly for a few seconds. “You thought it looked fun?” He replied as he shared a glance with Abdul. “Yeah, fun,” Emily replied innocently. “Listen, Emily,” Abdul said, taking the reins of the conversation, “you ruined that poor woman’s day and her phone. Stuff like this usually leads to bigger… events. Events like crime, or outbursts, or anything that could hurt your society, my society—our society, and the people around us. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” Emily looked down at the floor.

“No, I wouldn’t.” “Exactly,” Abdul said, “I know it sucks, I also thought it was… funny... but we all have to do what’s best for our society, right?” “Yeah, of course,” Emily replied. “Yes, yes, we do, which is why we’re asking you to 15

volunteer to come with us, just for today,” Michael said as he butted his way back into the conversation. “Okay,” Emily said, “that’s fine with m—” Abdul had suddenly injected a syringe in her carotid artery, and pushed a substance deep inside her that made her sleepy. “You got her saying this was okay on tape, right?” Abdul said. “As always,” Michael replied. Emily’s memory faded in and out. She was in a police cruiser… Then a wheelchair… she saw something that said… Laboratory? Lobotomy? Lobsteramy? She couldn’t make it out. Emily was home in time for dinner, just as the officer promised. Ezra prepared her something tasty, but she didn’t remember what. She just stared at her TV as it played her favorite documentaries until she fell asleep, where she dreamed of a perfect world, exactly like the world she already lived in.

16

The Woods of Camp Sinoquipe John Corso

Nestled deep in the woods of Fulton County, PA, between PA Route 452 (Boy Scout Road) and Little Aughwick Creek, lies a nature preserve nearly 100 years old. Therein lies a scout camp, which boasts a mantra, “75 Years of Building Men”. Sinoquipe Scout Reservation was where I spent the best weeks of my 6th and 7th grade life. It was a place to be free, to live one’s own life. Of course, my second year of attendance, there was a youth protection scandal that rocked our troop, much of the burden of which fell upon me, as a rising 7th grader, to deal with. After a rough night which involved an encounter with the state police at one in the morning, I woke up early by myself to watch the sun come up over the lake and find some peace and solitude in the middle of the strife.

There, at the lake, I found peace and serenity nestled in the shoals and the sand.

There, sitting on the cool grass, I felt the morning dew calmly relax my senses.

There, in the sky in which the sun had broken the low, wispy clouds, I saw my prior decisions play out in seemingly slow motion.

There, coming through my nose and seemingly into my mouth were smells of every kind, wafting from the nearby dining hall- tantalizing, as I had not eaten in 12 hours and had been up late into the night.

There, peaking over the 6000-foot mountain, I saw the bright orange sun, which came to dry up the tears that had fallen on the grass the night before.

There, the only animals that had truly witnessed all that had happened, the crickets, had finally decided to quiet their chirping and go to bed.

There, seemingly bursting from the sun, I saw the light of a new day shine and cast its long, early morning shadow on to the trees.

There, blending in to an endless field of tall, green trees, a manmade structure, a dam letting water over, the noise of which clears the mind and blurs out the worries of the soul.

There, exposed to the breeze in the open field, I could feel the touch and slight chill of the cool air blowing off the lake.

There, illuminated by the sun, a land which had been the settings of an odd, nightmarish situation merely 5 hours before had somehow been re17

newed by the promise of hope.

There, the calm lake, unaffected by what had surrounded her the night before, ruffled back and forth, over and over, a perpetual constant.

There, in the grassy marsh, lingered remnants of the previous night’s foggy conditions, the last remnant of the darkness that shrouded the activities of the past night.

There, clouding my eye, were specks of gravel dust, coursing through the air from the early morning run that had just begun.

There, lingering among the marsh as well, were green frogs, in unison with the staff, in the way that they both were completely unaware, innocent, of what had happened just a few hours before. There, chirping, signaling to each other, were the birds, concerned more about survival than the complex issues I had to deal with, and yet still unruffled by the tasks that would befall them.

There, rolling on and off the shore, were waves, a steady force, seemingly unchanged by the cool, smooth breeze, or the moon, pulling it back and forth by the tides.

There, highly reflective in the morning sun was a flagpole, a gleaming rod with a large bald eagle on the top that would soon, as soon as the sun finished its course, hold the symbol of all of which I held and still hold dear, and that would keep the path which I had to walk much easier to handle.

There, floating invisibly through the air, were smells of every kind- from the mud that developed near the lake, to the leftover gunpowder from the shotgun range.

There, up the side of the mountain, a trail came into view- it winded up and down the mountain, eventually summiting- a long and winding path, that at the end of the day- a very long day, reached its goal.

There, across the span of the lake, I saw the great bounty of what nature had provided, and how everything worked in synergy, without fear of what might happen, and focus on what would happen- if nothing else, that wouldafter a day and night of stress and fear, might finally bring me peace.

18

Dear Kobe Bryant, you are...

Tre Mcguire

We were not ready to let you go but can one ever truly be ready?

A man for many a man of many The first one on the court and the last one off Just as you fell in love with the game we fell in love with you A kid from Philly you dreamed of being the next 23 but just as you did in every walk of life you took the extra step you became 24 You, Kobe are the standard Two tunnels leading to life to basketball Not seeing the end you embraced 3 A.M. workouts

You are the dream that lives on you are the legacy that inspires you, Kobe, will always be that kid rolled tube socks in hand eyes fixed on the garbage can Only now when that kid shoots he will say your name Growing four children you raised so many more In your final breath holding and consoling her you realized, an Oscar 5 championships 36 last-second shots were minuscule, this is what you loved most.

the journey more than the destination Fame exploited your achilles you hurt just like us every June 30th every allegation yet your will forged ahead

19

Dreaming of Heaven Luca Docking

The glistening ripples shone silver, sparkling the water.

And glowing green grass banked the river, And there was this bridge with glossed planks and an arched frame Stretching from one side to the other.

We were on that bridge, Trey and I. A dangerous tandem.

Spending a summer day with each other.

Then this caribou came strolling up the bank looking at us.

Why do you keep bumping into me?

Is there a problem?

I’m just going to keep pushing you away.

I guess it isn’t a problem.

Oh, that fresh air, and smell.

I’m not really touching anything, but I feel like this place is pulling me in and hugging me.

Wherever this is, It’s perfect.

The glistening water and The glossy green Grass and the hills And I’m standing here and Then I woke up.

And I’ve never felt happier.

20

Wonder over Regret Joshua Maggiano

There are so many times When I sit there and think About what I have done In instants, a blink Poor choices I’ve made That leave me confused Some I wish I could change I’m all but amused But I stop myself From digging that hole Decisions have consequences Yes, mine took a toll Yet everyone is forgiving And I’m the only barrier But in this strange way That makes everything scarier I’m struck for a moment And my eyes become open Because all is forgiven Since through God I’ve been chosen Regret has such power When it controls your thought But wonder has power Whether you like it, or not.

21

Letters To Jestus Johnson

1 Dear Coach and Malcolm X Whether you know it or not you are an underlying motivation in my daily life.

You could say that you were only my high school coach or that all you did was win me my first championship or maybe you were a Muslim who changed his last name to X so you did not have to carry the name given by a slave master and died fighting for our rights when white America was at its worst.

It doesn’t matter if you were just my high school coach or one of the few African American teachers I see daily.

Or if you were an ex-felon who fought for Black empowerment.

You both taught me to be better than what they said I could be, and be physically and mentally tough in this world.

2 Dear Father and Mother You taught me to carry our name responsibly in life and you taught me how to be a loving father and husband in life.

Or maybe your name was the first words I said in life.

As a mother, you taught me how to love unconditionally in life.

Whether you taught that “Life’s hard, you gotta man up” or to treat women with the utmost respect, you may only be an accountant or an administrator but you both stand by my side to be the best me I could be.

3 Dear Barack Obama and Martin Luther King, Jr You were the first to do what you did.

Many may have not approved of you but you gave us the courage to do whatever we want even lead our country.

Or maybe you died fighting for me to go to school with my peers 22

and taught me that some times you may have to turn the other cheek to show love.

Whether you were just a Black pastor from Atlanta, Georgia who frightened many with just your words or a Black man from Hawaii who was told he would never be able to become President.

You both gave me the courage to stand here and present this poem today.

4 Dear Young Black Men in America It’s not easy being you, me, us, we.

But my coach, Malcolm X, my father and mother, Barack Obama and Martin Luther King all taught me how to embrace being Black.

My letter to you asks only one crucial question: Who will inspire you?

23

An Elegy to Pop Jack McKenney

I have never met you though it seems I see you everyday usually as a pleasant yet bold Cardinal red bird.

Sometimes I feel your cardinal stare, and sometimes I hear you through the calming voice of my mother.

But don’t worry Pop. When the name Jack McKenney echoes through the caves and forests of our country, it will be known as the name of a man who loved those most vulnerable in our world.

No matter what I will always remember you and your beautiful cardinal red fur every day Pop.

24

Farewell Mr. Jones Ian Miller

Leo Jones was executed in 1998 for allegedly killing a police officer; he is today thought to have been innocent.

Goodbye Mr. Jones, Your mother will miss you She knows you’re a saint…

She would could she kiss you For 16 years, you missed Florida’s defeating sun They said it’s your fault— that you killed a man.

Your confession, coerced Your witness, recanted Your execution, painful Your death—final.

Goodbye Mr. Jones, Even though Jesus wasn’t there, I know it was your prayers, Leo, that relieved your friends and family and God— those who grieved.

25

For Love of Country Gennaro Cardarelli

For love of country, the wayward soldier bleeds alone.

He is enraptured

by Her faint and smooth siren’s song.

For love of country, the immigrant risks the murderous sun of the macabre Mojave.

He thirsts only for work, and endures the bite of the coyote.

For love of country, the picketer raises his fist to autocracy.

To him She is an ideal, an unwavering tower of threatened democracy.

For love of country, the farmhand labors the field.

His International Harvester putters out sustenance for Her sons and daughters to be healed.

For love of Her children, She embraces the world’s lost and lonely.

Held tenderly in her democratic shrine for the yearning pilgrim.

26

I Realize Quinn Fish

Standing by the metro, begging for hope.

Longing human interaction, Anything to get through the cold defeated day.

I approach Conversation strikes. “Great win huh?�

Our eyes connect Smiles begin to form Back and forth We talk like friends Just like that Our differences disappear And I realize

27

Knock Knock Robbie Dubay

Mac Miller, American Rapper 1992-2018 The pills deteriorate his physical state, resulting in addiction and anxiety.

He pops one after another.

His body strikes the floor, shedding death upon his life.

His family suffers with millions of others.

The whole community: astonished--sorrowful--contrite.

An ace in our culture, loved by the people for his talent.

Smooth yet stiff, his music impacted artists to come.

Drug abuse was overlooked, until his early death.

Drug overdose, illegal--idiotic--innocent.

Synthetic pills, demanding emotions and thoughts.

An amazing voice, we will never hear again.Â

28

The Train James Barbour

Some say there’s a station waiting on the other side.

On benches sit the shaken anxious people who’ve just died.

A train stops once a day, and you have the choice to board.

No destination’s given, and the train sits there ignored.

One or two rogue wanderers decide to take the chance, And once the doors shut tightly, the train starts to advance.

People at the station wonder what could lie in store, For soon enough they too will have to enter through those doors.

The station slowly fills until it can’t fit any more Madness grows and grows on those who don’t walk through the doors.

A new train comes and this time stops for longer than before.

By hoards, the station’s population enters through its doors.

The passengers are packed tight, but each one is alone.

When suddenly a bright light upon the train is shone.

The train stops, and in an instant, its doors open wide, They reveal an endless city wherein many wonders lie.

The station now lies desolate, with few men sticking ‘round.

They dread each train’s arrival, for they cannot stand the sound.

That the station fills and empties is a necessary fact.

But so it goes, there’s always those who query, but don’t act.

Eventually, they will also venture on the train, Until they do, they’ll ponder, and they’ll wonder but in vain.

There is but one means by which to see the train’s direction.

Until one risks it all, he has naught to do but question.

But really, what’s the risk, if death is just the station?

Is there meaning to it all, if to stay THERE is true temptation?

Is the goal to leave the station, or simply to stay sane?

You’ll ask yourself these questions, when you sir, meet the train.

29

Who Is That?

Jestus Johnson

Who am I? Well I can only be who you perceive me to be.

I can be the Ignorant and dangerous black.

Whose only purpose on this planet is sports or solitary.

Or I can be the ambitious, lively, young African American man, whose goals are as intimidating as I look.

But you will never know, if you let the voice inside speak for you.

30

17 South Gennaro Cardarelli

A two lane country highway that goes through Virginia Route 17 cuts deep into white oaks and tired shadows.

Cars sing exhaust into the deep rural minds to fog the past.

The aging road is bordered by blink and miss-it towns, hiding their secrets.

Across the Rappahannock, Jim Crow peaks out of his slumber.

A boarded up window remains, a take-out window, for those who need not enter.

The beauty of the farms intoxicates 17’s travellers, most know nothing of what this land was built on.

Still they roll down South, away from the towns, hummin and strummin their off key song of chosen ignorance.

31

Chum Will D’Albora

I often think about your wonderless stares in all directions out of the deep round bowl.

Your sleek colors lit up the center of the table creating a sunset before my eyes.

Your color truly changed the mood of the room.

As the center of attention, you never asked for it.

I often wondered if it bothered you seeing everyone’s face pressed up against the glass of the bowl.

I’m sorry for raining hell on your abode it’s not cool to tsunami your bowl.

Joe, you will be missed Joe, you were a very good fish.

32

My Immigrant Gennaro Cardarelli

For my Tata who came to America by himself at 18. Tata is a familiar name for grandfather in Latin America.

PerĂş was old with spiritual drought.

The New World lost its luster.

Tata knew, he needed salvation.

Eighteen and alone he ventured without bullion to save him.

America was his ark.

While born citizens feared the quagmire of drafted weapons, Tata signed his name with pride.

His name was never called, but he sang liberty through his overalls and wrenches.

The salt of his brow paved privilege for his children, not himself.

Tata still smiles for his chosen homeland.

The calluses of his aged hands are the medals of his American dream.

33

Ode to Rascal Flatts Ian Miller

You raise transcendental lessons, release religion from Society’s jail, absolve time of its flirtation with infinity.

You are a band -- a bond You bonded my father to my son Generations will remember thy glory.

Midnight roads are less lonely, dirt trails more curvy, smiles less suppressed, souls more in Kairos -- with you Your literature plays: I-95, Route 1, I-64 Life is a highway Heaven, your concert

34

St. Louis and Washington, DC A Medley Tre Mcguire The place that made me is loyal to time A still blue, that luckily evaded evolution A home to day fall, night rise, and people cradling past and present ambitions The poster child for a brighter future Where people no longer intend to land but rather end up Here lies the truth in humanity The place that raised me embraces innovation A never ending song where no tune is similar A home where nothing sleeps and strangers roam in marvel A basket woven with hope and adventure reeking of opportunity The spokesperson of a free and just world Here lies humanity ignored

35

The Tapestry of My People Gennaro Cardarelli

I was carried by laboring memories.

The summation of distance and struggle for recollection.

Through my mirror, I am born of a thousand nations.

My eyes are full with tarnished conquistadors and extinct Incan memory.

I hear the echoing marches of moonlit men clad in Union blue.

The thunder of ancient lorica and scutum distract me from my reality, by my family memoir.

Legacy forms the storied cornerstone to support me.

Without appreciation, blood is trivia.

36

What’s the Difference Between Me and Him? Tre Mcguire

We both have a heart We both have a soul and conscience We both have feelings We both have hopes and dreams We both have skin and hands and feet and eyes and ears So I ask again What is the difference between me and him?

Why do I seem more deserving of opportunity?

We both have potential Only he is a victim of circumstance To no fault of his own Stripped to the simplest form We are the same We are both deserving of humanity Food, education‌ A home Yet I have and he has not Is this justice?

37

A Message to Athletes Richard Scott

The sweat, the cheers, the lights, the screams An unforgettable experience of physicality and embrace The approach many take to release anger and frustration The work, time, and focus into 48 minutes An opportunity to hoist a trophy to the skies The applause, the tears, the joy, the relief A moment no one can take from you An achievement only few can say they have received A paper some only dream to have A paper that turns your life to a new chapter So where will they take me?

To stadiums filled with many or a courtroom filled with few But why can’t I do both? Who can hinder my success in both?

The countless ounces of sweat will fade but the numerous hours of studying will only increase The brightly lit stadiums will dim but the courtrooms will only get brighter.

38

An Ode to Fearrington Jack McKenney

The blades of grass sweep against my feet.

I hear a loud bark in the distance.

I look around.

It’s just me And nature.

I walk further into the barren forest, like a lonely sailor battling against the thick, foamy waves.

The snow is thick yet I still hear the birds echo.

The hawks still fly with great pride.

I look back through the frost covered windows of my grandparents home.

I see myself in the living room, showing them my mvp award.

I see grandfathers face Transform into an expression of great approval.

It was where I learned to love to care to cherish.

It’s hard to explain the ache of leaving.

I take one last look at the weathered pine trees of Fearrington, North Carolina.

Soon it will be gone. the hawks will cease to caw and Fearrington will call no more.

39

Crowded Room Seamus Carroll-Gavula

locked in a room full- full of friends right? “yes, they are” their blurred faces creep away- yet why do they face away? “do they” running- are they afraid of me? Silence- did you leave too?

40

A Dystopian Wasteland Colin Bell

Pacing through the house. His gapped teeth biting his thumbnail profusely. Step step step step, then he would turn around and repeat. His name was probably known by everyone now, he thought. He started to sweat. It dripped down his heated head making his shirt wet. His armpits began to soak. Soon he started to look like he jumped in the pool. He grabbed a book and began to read. “National Wildlife” was the name of the book. It was the only thing in his one-bedroom apartment that could get his mind away, away from the Special Service.

John looked outside his window and the billboard read “welcome to Louvertown.” It looked beautiful. Why would I ever want to leave this place he thought. It was the only thing he has ever known. He loved it. While reading the book he begins to get mad at himself for trying to think for himself. He flipped the page and saw a safari. It looked just like the one in Louvertown, probably because it was he thought. Just as he flipped to the next page he heard knocking at the door. His mind started racing. He grabbed his Colt 44 and flipped off the safety. He was ready to die before he got caught.

Opening the door slowly hear head Billy whisper “hey Johnny, we need to talk.” A sigh of relief rushed through his body. They sat down and began to talk. “ So what do you want to do?” billy asked. “Who else knows’ ‘John said.

Billy looked scared, like an Antelope looks when it sees a lion. “ Just me I didn’t tell anybody”. “Ok so when do you want to escape, I found a way out, but we are going to have to leave in the morning”. “Ok, I am going to go get my stuff ready, I’ll be at yours at 3 a.m. Sharp.” Billy walked out without saying goodbye. It was go time for John. The clock struck 12, and he went back to the book. He started to read. Flipping page after page after page. The book was his escape. His escape from what he thought was the world. He did not want to leave his apartment because of the fear of the Special Service.

Realizing he smelled he got into the shower. He grabbed the soap and it read, “Brought to you by Johnson O’Hait.” John had much respect for this man and everyone did. He was the mayor and did a great job. John began to get mad with himself for betraying this man. The mayor gave him a job at Yahoo Pizza which he loved dearly. Little did he know, this man was evil. As he was getting out of the shower, he looked out his small little window and saw the Special Service walking down the street. He began to pace across his room again. He packed his bags tossing shirts and shorts across his room. Flying 41

up in the air was his beloved chain. He grabbed it and put the cold rusty metal around his neck. He threw the darkest clothes on and he was ready.

Sitting down again he started to read. The same book over and over again. He started to think about Billy’s face. John started to panic. He knew Billy didn’t keep his mouth shut. He looked at the time and the clock struck twelve. Soft tears began to run down his face. Rushing over to the curtain of his one small window he saw an agent with a scope staring directly at him.

He didn’t know what to do.

Grabbing his bag he fled. Running out the back of his apartment and towards the market where he thought the door to the outside of the town might be. He left Billy behind because he knew he was no good anymore and probably already caught. The tears ran faster down his face. Sitting behind the big booth in the back he saw the pizza shop. He thought back to all the memories he had there. He wanted to run out and grab Gina, Timmy, Phil, and all of his other friends to take with him. Lights began to shine up and down the pitch-black street of the west avenue. They were blinding and every so often flashing into the market. John carefully walked to the pantry whispering to himself “I have to get out they know.” Looking into the pantry he pulled out his lighter, his only source of light. He began to make sandwiches.

John didn’t know what was coming for him “meat” he whispered grabbing salami, ham, turkey. He grabbed cheese lettuce and whatever else he could put his hands on. In his head, he was thinking of a wilderness or a desert. He didn’t know what to expect out of the town. As he was shoving it into his bag a loud siren went off.

The town had regular sirens go off in order to warn the town of storms. John started to put the pieces together, the siren was for people trying to escape. He looked up at the tome and it said 3 a.m. Billy was caught by now and he would leak the plan to the Special Service he assumed. He knew that he didn’t have much time. He started to tiptoe around the market.

Looking for the door out. He opened five or six before he came across one that read on the door “employees only”. He knew that this was the one. “It has to be,” he whispered to himself. Boom. The market door flung open. He was caught.

John walked out to the van, bawling, crying. His jacket was so wet it looked as if water was dumped on his chest. He got out of the van and walked through a door. A sign read over the door “the hospital.” John looked over and saw Billy in the room. He kept screaming “I’m sorry John I’m sorry, they told me everything would be ok if I told them.” Getting put into two chairs they thought their life was over. A cold needle was put into their necks.

And they were injected with fluid. Special Service officers told them goodbye, 42

and they both fell asleep. He was injected with a memory wipe, and his brain was reprogrammed back to normal. John woke up the next morning, not remembering anything. He opened his door and walked with Billy to work saying as he always does “what a beautiful morning.� He grabbed his gloves and began to make pizzas. Looking over into the market he smiled. He loved that place. It was his favorite place to eat.

43

Love Poem #6 Luca Docking

And true love seems momentous And love is spontaneous And it’s happiness Through the body it circulates Like a virus You can’t rid it True loves within me And true love made me Till death it does not part Vows keep and nurture Like a virus It festers inside you

44

Mama’s Boy Terrance Williams

Mom, without you, there would be no me.

Your love, your attention, your guidance, have made me who I am.

Without you, I would be lost, wandering aimlessly without purpose or direction.

You showed me the way to serve, to accomplish, to persevere.

Without you, there would be an empty space I could never fill, no matter how I tried.

Instead, because of you, I have joy, contentment, satisfaction and peace.

I look at you and see a walking miracle.

Your unfailing love without limit, your ability to soothe my every hurt, the way you are on duty, unselfishly, every hour, every day, makes me so grateful that I am your son.

45

My Dad’s Stepbrother Jestus Johnson

Elegy to my Uncle Ashleigh who was in the war Unc. Oh Unc. I don’t know what it was about you the booze Or the war blues But I don’t know what got into you.

G-ma still loved ya Aunt Bev did too, but nor me or pops know what got into you.

We tried to help ya.

We did all we could do I don’t know if it was the prayer or the care, but we don’t know what got into you.

Your time came to an end. your funeral wasslim don’t mean to hurt you. but I hope you rest in peace Knowing I don’t know what got into You.

46

No One Else Robert Fragola

The sound without sound only there when no one’s there to hear Because when a tree falls to the ground but no one’s around does it really make a sound?

When I am in Silence I feel like me, you see no one to listen to only me without a doubt To think, not to hear to break barriers to make what matters To Me Because when I’m with that tree and it falls quietly do I hear a sound? or am I a part of the Silence that keeps the tree silent When no one else is around.

47

No Place Special Tre Mcguire

Like most I also drift only I to no place special A simple place with a complex tune A song filled backyard melodied with the scent of aster A pond riddled with chords of ice As the ball strikes the backboard, a drum of peace The doghouse barks no more, an a capella The tattered swingset screeches like a misunderstood violin Breathtaking gusts of wind resurrect the recorder A snare from the window sounds Its dinner time I say goodbye, to an abandoned orchestra

48

Puck Robbie Dubay

Everytime we touch, magic happens.

Everytime I let you go, the uncanny appears.

When I hold you, I feel safe.

When I don’t, I’m lost.

Your beauty is when you soar, spinning like a pearl through the air.

Our love, shared for thirteen playful years.

Soon to come to an end.

Farewell pal, I will miss you.

49

Scars and Dog Treats Liam Downing

A hideous, snarling creature maliciously stared at me. Poised in anticipation, its innumerable needle like teeth glistened while its smooth, tan fur heaved with its forceful breathing. Drool dripped down the monster’s pointed muzzle and puddled at its sharp claws. My right foot nervously twitched as I stared at the beast with fear shining in my eyes. I desperately poked at the sides of the demon in an attempt to ward it off, but the measures only incited the animal’s defensive behavior. I was at the mercy of the savage’s whims and it understood the power it held over me. Suddenly, its forceful jaws snapped in a blur of color and a sharp pain slashed my face. The beast’s incisors ripped my right cheek from the side of my nose to just below the corner of my eye. Blood rushed to the open wounds and gushed from the tear. Defiance now gleamed from the monster’s beady eyes and its stubby tail pointed upwards with confidence while sharp, taunting yelps followed the attack. Disbelief and a myriad of questions filled my confused consciousness.

How could such a small creature cause so much damage? Why would a Chihuahua attack so viciously and unexpectedly? Were all dogs like this?

This encounter convinced me that all dogs were bloodthirsty creatures.

My nine-year-old self reasoned that I was the victim. Whenever I went to a friend’s house or my family went to a party, I found myself cowering behind my dad or a piece of furniture as the family’s four legged member happily greeted everyone else. My irrational fear of dogs festered for the next two years. Finally, my family had enough of my senseless terror and in January of sixth grade we drove through the snowy hills of West Virginia to pick up a Goldendoodle puppy. He had wavy, orange fur and floppy ears, large paws tipped with little claws, and a tail that curled up toward the sky. Despite his friendly exterior, I was terrified of the eight-pound fluff ball that my family affectionately named Finn.

My sole contribution to Finn’s care was to feed him. I diligently tried to keep his bowl filled twice a day, but the little devil did not make it easy. He nipped at my prancing heels as I carried the bag of food to his bowl. Too scared to train him to wait patiently beside his bowl, I decided to combat Finn’s assault from a different direction. I flanked the slumbering enemy and sneaked to the closet that held his kibble. I then retreated to his bowl and carefully opened the bag, making sure that the seal did not crinkle. I attentively poured the pellets into my hand to muffle the sound of the falling 50

food and then transferred it to the metal bowl. Despite my best efforts, the attempts to surprise Finn usually failed. A loose piece of kibble always clanged into the bowl and made Finn aware of my futile attempt. In a panic I unfailingly scrambled to fall back from the bowl, but my heels were already pinched by the ferocious jaws of Finn.

My obvious fear of our tiny puppy prompted my parents to enroll him in training classes at the pet store. I reluctantly went with my sister and sat as far away from all the dogs during the first few sessions. Finally, my sister forced me to train Finn during one of the classes and there was no escape. Slowly, I looked down at Finn, who met my gaze with his brown, almond shaped eyes.

He shifted in anticipation and his tail wagged impatiently, as if to tell me to give him a command. I took a treat from my sweaty palm, showed it to Finn, then tried to command him to sit with a motion of a dumbell curl. I was so nervous that the treat felt like it weighed one hundred pounds in my petrified arm. A thousand different scenarios rushed through my head. What if Finn didn’t listen? What if he bit my leg? What if he bolted, ripped the leash out of my hand, and ran out of the store?

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tried to lift my hand again. I pushed all of the awful thoughts out of my head and suddenly my hand was lifted and Finn miracuously sat back on his hind legs. In victory I flipped the treat to Finn and grinned giddly. I told Finn what to do, not the other way around.

As I continued to train Finn, a strange transposition of roles revealed itself. Training, which was an enjoyable way to interact with my puppy, transformed my attitude toward fear. Finn required me to be demanding yet patient, confident and composed in times of anxiety. If I failed to do so, my lack of control would be reflected in Finn’s actions, much like those of the little beast that traumatized me so long ago. Although our traditional roles of owner and pet remained the same, Finn became the master who molded me.

51

Someone from the Past Will D’Albora

Jaw dropping Heart stopping I can’t keep my eyes off you.

Your brown canyons suck me into a starry gaze.

My heart accelerates when I see your smile.

Shining like a diamond ring your personality captures my feelings.

It touched my heart when I was young turning me into the man I’ve become.

I don’t see why you hate themevery inch is God’s perfection.

“Your scars are really gorgeous” You need to accept them.

52

Strong, Independent, Funny: A Hockey Story Robbie Dubay

I shell the defenders off me, knowing the pain I will front.

They repel like flies, one after another.

I’m on one’s own, eye to eye, with the last line of defense.

I pull the biscuit back, and put it where momma hides the cookies.

Smirking at the tendie, I giggle.

He gazes at me as I celly hard launching a flaming arrow at him.

I chirp him while calling him swiss.

53

The Difference Richard Scott

We see people every day Nod heads, wave hands, shake hands Hellos, hi’s, good afternoons, goodbyes Things like this can make a person’s day But have you made a difference?

Dwelling in a society built on a foundation of media, power, knowledge, and money All these provisional things that shape our lives Things that dominate our time and things that construct our decisions and actions But have we made a difference?

There are people in need not just in poverty but in opulence too Those who need more than a head nod or a hello People who value kindness and effort more than a follow back or a couple hundred likes We can make this difference

54

The Ripple Effect Benji Garland

While I was complaining You were adapting How can I do that?

While I was adapting You were accomplishing How can I do that?

While I was accomplishing You were conquering How can I do that?

While you were conquering I was watching Why? I was learning I was improving I was pushing I was working How? While we are conquering We are together Why did I doubt? rip·ple ef·fect /ˈripəl əˌfekt/ noun 1. the natural continuing and spreading results of an action.

55

The Stealth of Days Terrance Williams

Silence so deep I could drown.

Silence so hard I could hear the pin drop.

A silence of many parts.

The silence inside the broken hearts.

The silence of things we’ve forgotten to start.

It’s the feeling of sleeping when you’re awake.

It’s the darkness of sleep.

It’s not an enemy, but it’s the place where you can heal, where you can finally find light.

56

Uncle Joe Gennaro Cardarelli

My grandfather figure.

B. March 7, 1927, d. March 17, 2017 You stole away Saint Patrick’s day, from its naivety.

You were iron but you left only a stone, a hazy memory.

The North Star fell from the palm of God. How does one navigate without you?

Your funeral teared up with drops of molten silver, a mockery of pain.

You were intrinsic, the world now moves despite you.

57

Who did You Inspire?

Stephen Cullina

If yesterday was your last on earth, Who are the ones that would double take?

Who are the ones that would wallow?

Who would have their last day also?

Who would feel the missing piece Hate the timekeeper?

Who would show out With more than a picture?

Who could see themselves miles away?

As tension dropped, Who would realize their superficial strife?

Who would pursue a bigger picture?

If yesterday was your last on earth, I wonder, Who did you inspire?

58

Seatbelts James Barbour

the school bus today is blades and the moments insults time blares a thick and burly sound and buries the snooze in my head trudge through the heavy or park in the grief, happens to everyone, never to me. today I reach for the seatbelt and tug on its absence hoping, but hope alone can not secure me to the leather but my friends can only comfort me because they don’t have seatbelts either

59

Curb Hopping Luca Docking

Reverse back to what used to be.

When The Group ran together.

When we were spontaneous and dangerous, When everything clicked.

When we breezed the days and cruised the nights, When nothing could stop us.

Nothing except time.

The clock rounded.

Days we spent together, weeks, months And now, Years spent apart.

It’s sad, really.

But what can you do?

Flip the page and start a new chapter, sometimes think back to all that laughter And realize what once was is no more.

60

From Midway to Reagan in a Boeing 747 Luca Docking

The graceful glide stays, the glossy cabin glows.

Over the earth and under the stars, Gazing.

She skips the clouds and Skims the air.

She soars over everything, smooth as a hair Landing isn’t for a while, no one seems to care.

We’ll just keep our windows open, and stare.

61

Abandoned Jack McKenney

I walked by the once towering structure Emotions.

Thoughts.

I remember the endless sports debates Times of joy.

They flood my head immediately.

It was once a place of pure joy and bonding.

A place of good food and laughter.

It was a place where I could escape my life.

Now, it sits Like a dead carcass.

It’s still alive It feels dead to me.

I walk Further down the street with Burt.

I see the park, I see the court.

I still see the drips of sweat on the court.

I see the field, and the thousands of fly balls we threw to one another.

I see big mike, running along the field, barking very loudly.

But that’s over now I stand up I watch Man, does it go along fast

62

Thank You Training Camp Tre Mcguire

Mercersburg, Pennsylvania Eyes red as the blades of grass that hold my cleats in bondage Pulses pounding lungs withered, reaching for nourishment The whistle blew bringing me back to life Briefly, I resented your call to me I hated my answer to you My vision impaired by clouds that never appeared like the sun, I prayed to be rescued Still, the horizon calm as time, I acknowledged your beauty You were home to restless nights and will power that strangled thoughts of weakness or independence Just as I did many times before I fell in love with you You give me hope, that swallows any sign of doubt.

63

Anaphora Christopher Cullen

There was the nostalgic feeling of arriving and having the cool air being the first to welcome me back.

There was the endless swimming and exhaustion involved while playing tree tag with my cousins.

There was the rock hard water smacking my vulnerable stomach after I fall for what seems to be years.

There was the thrill of sneaking out to hang out with my cousins for just another hour or two.

There was the discomfort of wearing shoes that were two sizes too small so I could play basketball.

There was the utter pain having to walk a mile in the blistering heat with a severely sprained ankle.

There was the looming shadow of sadness that crept through my mind as I remembered all of the people my family has lost and the memories that will never happen.

There was a small ray of sunshine as I reminded myself that they were in a better place and had no more pain.

There was the cramped feeling of being trapped in the car for the four hour drive.

There was the silence of the weekday mornings that made me feel free of 64

being controlled and being able to be in charge of myself.

There was the fear of slapping my neck on the water as I try to do a flip as requested by some of my best friends.

There was the stillness of the water as I sat on the dock, speaker playing my music and a fishing rod casting into the endless depths of the lake.

There was the exhilaration of trying not to fall off of the floating dock as we played spikeball on it.

There was the pain of walking through the rocky driveway without shoes because I refused to wear them.

There was the struggle to keep my grip as my uncle Ned whipped my strained body around when he took me tubing.

There was the unstoppable happiness as I caught up with my older cousins on the sunny dock every weekend.

There was the excitement of learning how to play Home Run Derby, especially since the person who taught me was my Dad. There was the presence of proudness in my Dad’s eyes as I made my first catch in Home Run Derby, even if I looked ridiculous as I did it.

There was the courage that swallowed me when I ran to kick the can when playing kick can with the people who mean everything to me.

65

Epiphany Locke Sullivan

The boy wakes up bleeding with worry but then he looks out and lays his eyes on a star It calls him like a voice Closer He follows it Soon he finds himself isolated He stands outside the city and watches as the star advances and it detonates over the city More stars are launched and the soldiers parade into the city with metal sicks The boy feels alone but then he hears the voice

66

The Chip Erik Kessmeier

“You’re cleared for takeoff, captain. Bring something back this time why don’t ya?”

Jones strapped himself in as the ship began to rumble from the ignition beneath him. Across from him sat Chris, his partner of almost five years.

“Hey Chris, you think we’ll find anything new this time?” said Jones with a tone of enthusiasm even though Chris already knew the answer to that question. It was the same question the scavengers had all been thinking since they were hired by the government after the war.

“Well Jones, if we do find anything new, it won’t even be credited as our discovery, so what’s the point of looking?”

“What’s the point of looking? Chris, it’s our duty to provide for the government to the best of our abilities and report any discoveries to them.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the robotic countdown echoing through the hull as their ship prepared to take off. When the countdown reached zero, their seats began to rattle beneath them, and the ship was propelled into the sky, away from the nuclear wasteland once recognized as planet Earth.

While the ship was accelerating into space, the monitor in front of Chris and Jones lit up and displayed an image from the government, as it did before every mission.

“Rangers! Anydiscoveries made must be reported to us immediately in order to ensure your safety. Your service is what makes this possible! We must rebuild together!”

“Yeah right,” thought Chris, “our ‘safety’ is the last thing they care about, they’re just afraid of what we could accomplish if people didn’t listen to them and actually started to think for themselves.”

Their ship continued to streak through the sky as it approached the Earth’s atmosphere. As the hours passed, various images containing similar messages flashed on the screen in front of Chris and Jones reminding them to report any new discoveries to the government if they found any. Once the ship left the Earth’s atmosphere and entered space, Jones unbuckled his seatbelt and began to type in the commands to put the ship into orbit mode.

Chris sat in his seat for a few minutes before unbuckling.

“What’s the point of doing this?” he thought to himself. “My own partner can’t even see the truth behind these missions, why should I expect any67

one else to at this point? Even if we somehow find something new, as soon as we get back to earth, it will be claimed by the government, and honestly, probably destroyed.

“Those idiots wouldn’t know what to do with something new if they were the ones that found the damn thing.”

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Jones’s voice, “Hey Chris, we’re almost there, you gonna suit up?”

Reluctantly, Chris unbuckled and got up from his seat, climbed down to the lower deck of the ship, and put his scavenger gear on. Once they were both ready, Chris and Jones switched on their oxygen tanks and opened the hatch to leave the ship. Their eyes were met by endless fields of debris and weapons used during the war. All kinds of pieces of old equipment littered space for miles on end, the last remains from different ships and space stations used during the war.

“All right Chris, you know the drill, meet back here in an hour. You want left or right this time?”

“Whatever man, you pick, I don’t care.”

“Ok then, I’ll take left, see you soon.”

Jones flipped the switch to his jetpack and disappeared into the debris.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Chris said to himself as he switched his jetpack on and took off into space.

For a while, Chris’ search was just like all of his others. He would fly around through the debris finding nothing but broken pieces of weapons and bit of old ships that had been destroyed. As he was about to turn around and head back to the ship, something in the distance caught Chris’ attention.

He couldn’t make out exactly what it was, but he could see a blinking red light.

“Well that’s something new isn’t it,” Chris said to himself curiously. He flew over to it and discovered that it was a small computer chip, seemingly still functioning. Chris tucked it into his pocket and flew back to the ship so he and Jones could go back to earth.

When he arrived at the ship, Jones was already there getting it ready to fly back to Earth. “There you are Chris, what took you so long?” Looking at his watch, Chris noticed that he had been gone almost twenty minutes more than he was supposed to.

“Oh… uh, must have just lost track of time, sorry about that. Let’s head home.”

“Sounds good, you find anything new?”

“Nope, just the same endless fields of debris.”

Chris didn’t tell Jones he had found something because he knew that if 68

he did, Jones would tell the government, and he would have to hand it over.

“Oh well, we’ll try again next week I guess,” said Jones as he switched their ship out of orbit and programmed it to fly back to Earth. The ride home was quiet, both men were tired from their searches, and Chris didn’t want to talk too much because he was afraid Jones would keep asking him about the things that he saw while searching space, like he does every time they complete a mission. Soon enough, both men were shaken by the thud of their ship landing, signaling that they were back on Earth. Both of them unfastened their seatbelts and exited the ship, walking back to their stations to report another unsuccessful search.

“Well Chris, I’ll see you next week,” said Jones and both men walked back to their cars after reporting their mission.

“See you then, Jones.”

Chris entered his car and began to drive back to his apartment, the same style that everyone lived in. The government officials built the apartments when they came to power so that citizens would believe that the new government would take care of its people, and, as an added benefit, new apartments kept maintenance issues to a minimum.

Once Chris entered his apartment, he pulled the chip he found in space from his pocket and placed it on his table. “Alright, let’s see what’s got them so afraid of you,” said Chris, as he began to download the contents of the chip onto his personal computer. Within seconds, Chris started to understand why the government did not allow the rangers to keep anything they salvaged from space. All he could do was watch in disbelief as images and videos of the current government planning to start the nuclear war that nearly ended the world filled his screen.

69

Ode to the National Communist Against Athletes Jestus Johnson

Thank you.

Before I met you, You were always on my mind.

My only goal in life was to join you along with many others, You manipulated.

Freshman year began.

I could almost smell you getting closer to me but my vision became clearer.

You took control of me.

My brain My body My decisions, and I would do it all again because it was you, or nothing Senior year came.

I witnessed the horror you caused but I was still excited for what God had planned.

I climbed mountains to meet you I signed the dotted lines.

If God allowed me to live for 18 years I ask you get me through 4, But again Thank you.

Rest In Peace Bryce Gowdy, Georgia Tech commit, who committed suicide.

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Triple Threat Karl Butrus

The atmosphere was just, gray. As the world practically disintegrated around and beneath the young man’s feet, uncertainty surrounded him. It was just a few decades ago that the world was just doing alright; everything was normal and safe. Tarius was determined to find the solution and resolve the...problem. Being born and raised in Denver, Colorado, Tarius enjoyed his youth with his parents and two older brothers. Everything was simply normal, people were working and going to school, athletes were training and playing their biggest games, world leaders were guiding and plotting, and everybody was enjoying their lives. Fast forward to the present, everything changed. That “normalness” is gone now. Now, everything is twisted and dark, with destruction down every path and direction. The year is 2094, and the young man, Tarius, is almost 17 years of age.

This all started in 2035 when the war began. The war was named “World War III” because of constant disagreement and verbal conflict that occurred practically between every continent. All of the countries, including the powerful ones, decided to end the sweet talk and take things to the next level. Before the world knew it, panic and chaos arose. Smaller countries were decimated and wiped out. The stronger armies took thousands and thousands of prisoners of war. The world was a living hell. If the world was at war, where would the bystanders live? People were forced to live in places like Antarctica, just to have a safe place to stay. Germany was burning down, America with gunfire everywhere, Russia filled with explosives, just to name a few. The world’s population was decreasing heavily. People pleaded and protested for peace, but nobody listened. The armies would shut them down and punish them for protest, denying peace. It was a total free-for-all. There would be a few allies here and there, but they would eventually be shut down.

This mindset of being on top of the world was seen by all the countries in the world, for there was a lot of power at stake. If your country was to win this world war, they would practically own everything. Many people prayed for the war to be over soon, but what they didn’t know was what was hiding soon after…

In the year 2055, exactly twenty years after World War 3 had started, a disease was reported spreading around Asia. China seemed to be its birthplace. Approximately six months later, an outbreak happened. The population of the whole world fell drastically in just a short period of time. Panic 71

was a daily meal for the common people, in fact, there was so much panic to eat that all there was to drink was fear. Then, fear became uncertainty.

Shortly after, uncertainty turned to the desire to die, for people could not live in the world anymore. This disease was described as a sickness that turns a human into an “infected animal.” The infected would contaminate massive areas with mass amounts of people, raising the counts of infected drastically.

Soon, the infected outnumbered the healthy. People hit with this disease were no longer people. The virus was called Chronic Wasting Disease. Originally, this disease only affected animals, but somehow made its way through humans. The infected could not think rationally anymore. They only had one thing on their mind - to eat the noninfected. They are referred to as the “walking dead,” or more commonly, zombies.

Tarius at least thought his childhood was alright. You see, Tarius and his supposed “family” were actually used as test subjects in a government organization facility to test how happy people would be without knowing there is an outbreak or war going on on the outside. In these facilities, life for these subjects was tested to see how people can find happiness without ever knowing the bad things. This may sound beneficial, but that’s not the point. The people who created these test facilities are called the “overseers”, and they were the ones who actually caused the war and the outbreak. They believed that there is overpopulation in the world and that they didn’t like the way it is, so they decide to restart and run it themselves.

The facilities are dark and cold. Like prison cells, facilities were used for seclusion and could drive a person insane with the lack of outside interaction. Various torture and brainwash methods were used to make these people forget about what is going on. These people, turned prisoners, truly had no sense of reality. Tarius, however, found a way to resist the brainwashing. He had found an antidote dropped carelessly by a security guard at one of the facilities that restored memories and he used it to see what was truly going on in the world. He soon learned that his family, and his life as a child, was simply staged and not real. Overcome by his emotions, he ran as far as he could. He learned all about the mishaps and chaos going around in the world by himself alone and vowed to make things better. He did not want to standby and watch the world crumble beneath him. His main goal now was to take out the overseers and restore peace and justice to the world.

Tarius knows how bad the situation is and wants to change it but the task is near impossible due to the fact that the population has been wiped. He is now left to fight three huge evils: the zombies, the countries at war, and the overseers. As Tarius walks his path, he thinks of his plan and starts gathering members. He truly is the world’s last hope, as he seems to be the only one 72

who can figure out a way to restore peace and justice. The undead, militaries, and controlling government officials all stand in his way, but yet he still is determined to escape this dystopia.

73

Year 2541 Joe Redmond

The year is 2541, and the government pre-determines how much financial success you will have before you are born. My name is Cornelius and I seem to be the only one in this messed up place that realizes the flaws in the system. I woke up this morning for my pre-determined breakfast of 2 eggs and 2 pieces of bacon. I’ve been wrestling with my thoughts for months, I need to find a way out. The government has taken control of every major city besides Los Angeles, and I need to escape from Chicago and make it there unnoticed. I was one of the lucky ones, they told me I was going to be a doctor. Although I make a fine living, it is not the money I seek, it is the truth. At all workstations they have complete access to what you say and do, so escaping will not be easy. My first patient of the day was a common one, a minor wrist fracture.

“Hey how’d you end up here and I have to mop floors all day” said the patient.

“Guess we were just born this way”...

“Bummer we can’t do anything about it right?” said the patient.

“Yeah”.

That is how my day typically goes, patient after patient with similar minor injuries that I diagnose with a little small talk on the side. As my second patient came, the mood in the room was altered. My next patient looked at me like no other patient had. He was beaten to the bone and could barely move.

The nurse dropped him off swiftly and suspiciously hurried away from my office.

“Listen to me… you have to get out.. their system is bro..” as the patient was cut off as his heart stopped and he died. In shock I slammed a chair under the doorknob to ensure nobody came in. I could not believe it, I had to get out. I tried to keep my cool for the remainder of my day but I had to get to L.A. The government has all access in my home except for in my bedroom, at least I have some peace and quiet. I needed to think. My escape was ready to be put into action, just not tonight. I gathered what I needed: knife, sleeping bag, gun, canned food for a week, and water for two weeks. When I finished, I laid in my bed for hours tossing and turning, praying that my plan would work. I woke up routinely, and allowed my thumb to be pricked like I do every morning so the government always knows what is in my blood. They 74

track your blood for any drugs, nicotine, and alcohol. They post ads for not allowing any of these things, and the punishment is a $100 deduction from your monthly paycheck. I continued with my morning routine, got in my car, but did not drive to work. Instead, I stepped my foot hard on the gas, and made a break for it.

I had my path to L.A. mapped out and highlighted each obstacle that I plan to encounter. First, was the wall. Six guards greeted me as I was forcefully removed from my car to get screening and background checks over with, you are allowed 2 trips outside the wall each year, and I was using my first. “Where ya headed” said the first guard, “Visiting my mom, she lives out west, Southern California”. Two of the guards whispered among each other, and spoke out. “Alright, you don’t seem dangerous and your background check was clear. Now you know the drill, we’re gonna track you” and finally they stuck the chip in my forearm. They let me through, and I was on my way to safety. The trip was roughly 30 hours, with a couple obstacles I knew I was going to run into.

I have been on the road for 9 hours, my eyelids are drooping heavily. I needed sleep, but since the government has taken over all major cities, violent gangs decide who is allowed on these roads. I approached two posts arough 100 feet high and men guarding the highway I needed to use. I planned this… I planned this…. My head was racing, I grabbed half of whatever cash I had and hoped that could help. I slid the cash under my seat, slowly rolled down my window and prayed for the best. “Who are you”, shouted the brute who I assumed to be in charge. “My name is Cornelius, I am a doctor, from Chicago, I need to get through. “Where you headed” he asked. “Visiting my mother, she lives just outside Santa Barbara ‘’. I nervously waited for his response. All the lights went out, and someone opened my door with a gun pointed at my face. He told me the story of an elder in their group, sick and in need of help without checking into the system. He said he did not believe my story and asked if I was going to L.A. I quietly nodded and told me I could get through with no problems if I could bring this woman.

I now had a companion, helping me through the last half of my journey.

I was a doctor, but a doctor without his materials can give just a mere diagnosis. She had internal problems and a quickly rising fever. However, I knew there was still going to be a problem around the California border. We drove and made small talk, she was born out of the system, and the government had no trace of her existence. In my head I dreamed of that life, for the last year I have been planning this escape. We drove onward, and the dead silence of the ride drained my energy. I saw the border, I could taste freedom. Six robotic looking men approached my vehicle, and I advised the woman to 75

remain calm and follow my lead.

The first man calmly knocked on my window and asked if he could check my car, and see identification. I gave him what he asked for, my hands were shaking on the wheel. “Where ya coming from” he barked. “Um, Chicago sir” I said nervously. “And who would that be on your right, she doesn’t look too well” he replied. “Oh yes, that is my sister, she is terribly ill and I am taking her to Santa Barbara, our mother wants to see her before she passes”. Please buy it… please buy it… I thought in my head. “Step out of the vehicle please” said the guard. “Yes sir,” I replied. We got out of the car and stood on the side of the road as every inch of my car was explored for any evidence that I was doing something wrong. “Hmm… looks good to me, just uh, stay in Santa Barbara you hear?” he said. “Yup, of course, thanks for the help”. We got back in the car, and were let through without problem. 100 miles left in our journey, and I swore I was dreaming.

My body surged with excitement, the 20 some hour drive all of a sudden fleed my memory and I was ready to start a new life, a real life. We approached the heavenly gates of Los Angeles, seized with happiness, we told the people at our gate our story. They opened up the gates and we drove through. The place was not what I imagined at all, a dark factory was the first thing I saw, and black skyscrapers loomed above. What is this sick joke, two fully armed guards shot at my windows as we both ducked. We were yanked out of our cars and…

Never disobey the government, we will find you, we trick you, and we will kill you.

76

Anaphora Max Ciovacco

There was the fear of the unknown as the small car made turn after turn up the rugged mountain.

There was the joy of watching the beautiful white snow fall upon the seven-thousand foot slope.

There was a feeling of comfort as I strapped on my tiny boots and clicked into my skis after so many failed attempts.

And then the chairlift comes, sweeping me off my feet and into the cold and snowy winter sky.

There was the feeling of astonishment as the magic chair pulled me through the cold wind and foggy sky.

There was the warm balaclava draped across my face, battling the freezing and snowy conditions.

There was the nervous feeling of shifting weight from my right side to my left side as I first exited the lift.

And then I shoot down the hill, forgetting to turn or stop, for I am unable to feel my face.

There was the yearning for another try, another swing at the savage mountain that had defeated me on my first ever run.

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There was another cold ride on the lift, and I shot down the hill once more, for I could not turn with the wind rushing across my face.

There was the embarrassment as I made my first turn and fell sideways, sliding across the mountain.

There was the comfort of my mother approaching me on the slope and helping me retrieve my ski.

And then we walk into the beautiful and toasty Simplot Lodge, as I feel my face sighing with relief as the heat rushed back into my body.

There was the thirst I felt, not only for a cold beverage, but for another chance to battle the mountain.

There was the pain I felt in my tired legs, matched with my eagerness to better my skiing ability.

There was the developing fear of the terrain park, and all of the injuries that come with it.

There was the sight of the park every run, haunting me with all of its rails and huge jumps.

And then I work up the courage to try it, and I slide across the hill to the top of the park.

There was a sharp pain, as I flew off of the first jump and landed straight on my back, screaming out for my mom, as many young kids do.

And then I finally got up, and I made it back into the car.

There was the feeling of pride, as I had completed a full day of skiing for the very first time.

78

Take Me Out to the Ballgame Jackson Baldrate

There was the crisp fall breeze sweeping through the air, making it just chilly enough to be uncomfortable, but no one would rather be anywhere else.

There was the unmoving traffic all throughout the city, each road congested with cars filled with anxious and agitated drivers on their way to the stadium.

There were DC residents walking, moving a little bit faster than usual, admiring the city that was hosting the biggest event in the world that night.

There was the sea of red filling the Metro, bubbling with excitement, and there was constant talking that echoed throughout the Metro tunnels.

There were the incessant and deafening chants that rang out in each and every metro car, “Let’s go Nats!�

There were the bars and restaurants being filled up with people with every television tuned to the same channel.

There were the ticket lines to get into the stadium being spilled out into the street, every fan eager to be let into their paradise for the night.

There were the rally towels, a souvenir for the moment, and a fitting representation of the rally that the team had gone through all season.

There was the mouth-watering smell of stadium foods: hot dogs, popcorn, and pretzels, but lines too long to even consider buying some.

There were the seats that were nearly filled almost an hour before game time; not one of them would be empty that night.

There was the setting sun leaving a magnificent orange-purple glow in the sky, indicating the beginning of a night dedicated to one thing: baseball.

There was constant noise within the stadium, everyone hoping for a win for the home team.

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There was constant interaction between all baseball fans alike, talking strategy like they were the manager themselves.

There was the opening strum of music, a single chord that rang throughout the stadium and silenced everyone while capturing their attention.

There was the booming voice of the PA announcer saying “Nationals fans, are you ready?”

There were the players who were introduced one by one, to the background of Avengers Music, fitting for their role in tonight’s game: superheroes for the city of DC. There was the breaking point when all the excitement boiled over, every fan in the stadium screaming their support for the team, letting everyone know that they were ready.

There was the mayor of DC standing on the stage and beginning the night with a resounding “Play ball!”

There were tens of thousands of unique voices, united as one, pouring their hearts and souls out for that one game, that one team.

There was the crack of the bat, the signal for a long night of baseball ahead.

There was the crisp fall breeze sweeping through the air, making it just chilly enough to be uncomfortable, and no one would rather be anywhere else.

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Photography & Studio Art

Jacob Bullock

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William Green

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Mak Krivka

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Rodney Faulk

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Jack Martino

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Jacob Bullock

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Sean Miller

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Sean Miller

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Guy Shoji

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Colin Gallagher

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Dillon Arrigan

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Nolan Mooney

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Liam Melley

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Thomas Rowan

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Gabriel Dorsey

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Collin Watson

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Henry Hultquist

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Grady Lonergan

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Will Thompson

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Joseph Tramonte

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Mak Krivka

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Mak Krivka

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Charlie Julian

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Seamus DeVol

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Henry Sullivan

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Joseph Tramonte

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Grady Lonergan

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Donald Neidecker-Gonzales

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Donald Neidecker-Gonzales

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Charles Baisley

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Luke Wood

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Liam Thomson

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Joseph Tramonte

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Matthew Allen

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Collin Watson

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Brendan Lane

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Luke Wood

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Henry Sullivan

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Mak Krivka

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Brendan Lane

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Carter Selden

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Carter Selden

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Leif Hagerup

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Charles Baisley

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Carson Foley

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Luke Wood

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Luke Wood

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Joseph Tramonte

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Donald Neidecker-Gonzales

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Luke Wood

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Luke Wood

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Henry Sullivan

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Luke Wood

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Donald Neidecker-Gonzales

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Colin Gallagher

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Charlie Julian

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William Green

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Max Stackhouse

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Carlos Cruz

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Seamus DeVol

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Danny Diaz

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Luke Elliott

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Carter Selden

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William Green

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Owen Ellington

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Joseph Tramonte

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Danny Diaz

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Collin Watson

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Tripp Harris

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Ethan Keough

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Charles Baisley

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Collin Watson

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Marcos Egan

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Joseph Tramonte

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Luke Elliott

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Drew Gorman

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Joseph Tramonte

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Jacob Bullock

Spring Forth Lucas Scheider Galinanes ‘19 find the platitudes of peace Resurrected pulsing eyes and waking lens and the soft tinge of a sun too soft to hear a refreshing crispness unearthed the air stark like cool water Oh green do tan me with thy emerald facets embrace my notions a pearlescent ode resplendent a verdant primavera a cultivated bloom a relapse into bliss stop thy claims do beckon the blessings of a haven undone and re-folded lie back in the call of a petal flecked away do give such unconfounded bestowments such pleasing perfections oh leaves and flora feigning intrigue don’t beget illusion let me bask in the clarity of an unfogged mirror twin beads on a blade of grass dressed as dew rejuvenation and a reprieve admiration lavender that smells of peace and bird song

2020

THE PHOENIX - GONZAGA FINE ARTS REVIEW

VOL. XXXV