Lions-on-Line Fall 2018 Issue

Lions-on-Line (In Print)

Fall 2018 Issue

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Table of Contents The Old Man’s Song, Artwork by Grace Oppihle……………………Cover “Briefcase,” Poem by Natalie R. Puening………………………………...5 A Mother’s Love, Artwork by Grace Oppihle……………………………..6 “Clear Chains,” Poem by Elycia Edwards………………………………...7 “Vine’s Valliant Death,” Essay by Noah Borgdorff……………………..10 “Poetry for My Grandfather,” Poem by Austin Breiner…………………12 “Big Decisions,” Fiction by Leila Jaafari………………………………..13 Things Overlooked, Artwork by Hanne Driscoll………………………...17 “The Survival Guide for Heavy Chested Women,” Essay by Elycia Edwards………………………………………………...18 “Of Water and Fire,” Poem by Ariana Spencer………………………….21 “Mercy,” Essay by Olivia Davis-Callery………………………………...22 Reflections, Artwork by Grace Oppihle………………………………….26 “Blood and Love,” Poem by Mark Steinriede…………………………...27 “NAPPY,” Poem by Elycia Edwards…………………………………….29

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Briefcase Poem by Natalie R. Puening I have a briefcase Where I hold all my precious thoughts Where I whisper my dreams And stuff beautiful memories in its’ cracks But it got heavy With the weight of my thoughts With the scraps of wrinkled bitterness And I could no longer bear its’ weight Then you came along And you lifted my burden And you lifted my heart So we could make more memories

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A Mother’s Love, Artwork by Grace Oppihle

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Clear Chains Poem by Elycia Edwards Open your eyes Spend a day in our chains Living our life is a crime Enjoying the world isn't safe Eric Garner Illegally Choked to death by the fed's Over selling some loose cigarettes He couldn't breathe Michael Brown Being racially profiled Stop his hands are up don't shoot!

He just wanted to go to college Terence Crutcher Having car troubles led to the end of his route SUV stalled in the middle of the road He was unarmed, no gun and hands up Alton Sterling Selling CD's Shot several times while being held down No Justice , No Peace He was trying to make a living for his family Tamir Rice Playing with a toy gun Like a regular twelve year old boy Shot twice in the torso 7

He was just trying to have some fun Victor White Arrested for possession of Marijuana Frisked twice , shoved and given his miranda rights Into the back seat Before getting to the station Bullet wounds in his chest Claims say self inflicted But his hands were cuffed behind his back Rumain Brisbon His pill bottle was mistaken for a gun Father of four Body dropped lifelessly to the floor He instantly died on the scene Jonathan Ferell Accidentally crashed his car Went to the closest home for help Florida A&M University football player The woman called the police They apprehended him He was shot ten times Kimani Gray Adjusting his belt buckle Was mistaken for reaching for a gun Eleven rounds aimed towards him He was sixteen years old Steven Eugene Washington 8

Walking towards police Looked like he was reaching for his waistband Shot and Killed on the spot He was autistic What feels like Those chosen to serve and protect Would rather hurt and neglect us Disrespect and break us Then hide behind a badge for their own sake And blame us So please tell me If "All Lives Matter" Why are the Black ones still in Danger?

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Vine’s Valliant Death Essay by Noah Borgdorff January 17th 2017 is the date after the dash on Vine’s tombstone.

From January 24th, 2013 to January 17th, 2017, Vine served as a social networking app available for iOS and Android that allowed users to record and share videos of no longer than six seconds. It was a seemingly clunky idea that, in hindsight, follows Twitter’s model of a character limit.

Truncating users allotted time chiseled content to the bare bone of what was funny. The cultural results of this format are fascinating.

From the beginning of viral videos, shared experience was paramount. The 2007 internet phenomenon “Charlie bit my finger” may have been funny, but it was a lot funnier on an email chain with 467 of your closest friends. In the following seven years, as other social networks struggled to smoothly integrate video and video services struggled to integrate social components into their products, Vine found its niche. Vine took shared experiences paired with viral videos, and gave eager young creators a platform with a gimmick that forced the quickest punch lines we had ever seen. The majority of the app was used for regular social network content such as concerts, brunches and dinner dates, but the gold mine of Vine and its enduring legacy comes from the clips of people being caught dancing in their cars, pranks gone array, and only the best six seconds of a already funny 90 second YouTube clip. The Vine compilations that survive on the annals of YouTube is the footprint of Vine on the servers.

The late social networks stamp on the culture however, is a snapshot of its user base and their generation.

Vine was extensively, but not exclusively shared on its parent app, Twitter, who acquired the looping video service prior the launch of the app. Originally created as a message board for co-workers to decide where to get lunch, Twitter has beginnings as humble as any tech giant. But after a hot start, Vine struggled to grab advertising dollars. Soon after, Instagram introduced a video function, causing Twitter to struggled to turn their cash flow positive. Ultimately, Twitter executives made the decision 10

to kill Vine. Overnight, this choice turned Vines most classic videos into a symbol of online martyrdom. Most of the public outcry logged as tweets.

Droves of fans who had adapted Vine quotes into their nomenclature grieved. They aimed their anger at the out of touch corporation that could not let a good thing be without finding a way to monetize the beloved meme machine. The end of Vine immortalized the existing content as the viral videos of the age demographic that was 12-24 between from 2013 and 2017. In actuality the app died slowly as Twitter removed features and blocked new content. But to all Vines loyal sons and daughters, the app had taken its final loop. Since then these videos have received a spotlight since it became clear that they were the last of their kind. For people in that age bracket, watching Vine compilations on YouTube is now comparable to watching old family videos. I find solidarity in the brief life of the app and how it encapsulates so much of a generations collective sense of humor in six seconds increments. Perhaps it is true what they say, you either die a martyr of corporate greed or live long enough to see yourself become a bastardized version of a once great platform. Vine had a tragic death, but I am grateful it could rest peacefully before being infiltrated by parents or, more seriously, used as a tool by hate groups. It is better to have laughed and lost than to never have laughed at all.

RIP VINE 1/24/2013 – 1/17/2017

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Poetry for My Grandfather Poem by Austin Breiner Life is beautiful as it is Just the way you are born Death is the fear among us The fear you are afraid of You are like a flower It is born And it grows And just keeps growing Until it sees Its last moment Death is upon its way It’s just waiting for us It’s all gonna happen so soon And then wash away But that’s why you grow and make a better life And you become stronger To regrow better and not worry what’s on its way Because life will always be beautiful as it is.

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Big Decisions Fiction by Leila Jaafari Woosh! A cold wind sweeps under the waistband of my hoodie and down my neck. I trudge from my car onto campus on a sludgy Thursday after Valentine’s Day of my senior year of college, cursing myself for parking so far away. As the sliding door to the lobby wheezes open I steal a glance at my girlfriend of almost three years, Leah, whose head is currently deep in a beat-up paperback novel, oblivious to everything going on around her. Dressed in a flowery yellow dress along with black tights and fluffy boots, Leah looks like she has run off the pages of a fashion magazine. She looks up and gives me a smile that could outshine the sun.

With one hand she pushes her cat eye glasses farther up her nose.

“GOOSE!” she squeals and envelopes me in a bear hug that is so tight it could crack a rib. Leah is just an inch shorter than myself so I always get a whiff of her shampoo, which smells like vanilla. “It’s too cold outside.”

She takes my hand and we start walking toward our university’s tunnel that is used to for days such as this.

We meander across campus, trying to regain feeling in our extremities. I, not being much of a talker, genuinely like listening to Leah’s stories or the synopses of whatever book she’s reading currently.

Being an English major, this means she’s constantly reading for class and for fun. Leah is currently in the middle of a detailed description of the novel she’s reading for a 19th century literature class and I allow myself to zone out and just watch her face light up like it does when she’s excited.

Her amber eyes sparkle and her cheeks become rosy. A lock of her coppery hair falls over her ear with all of her gesturing.

I remember when we first met in a freshman seminar class. Leah was a force. She started the initial conversation after a month of class together that led to us becoming friends. The girl she had been sitting by hadn’t shown up in a week and Leah thought she dropped the class. Instead of asking to sit by me, she had plunked herself down in the chair beside me 13

and stuck out a hand. Leah Marie Jasper. She had the hands of a model, thin and soft. I flushed a beet red before sputtering Isaac Scott Graham.

In the proceeding weeks Leah told me all about herself; how she’d moved five times before turning nineteen the previous summer, that she loved Ed Sheeran since she was eleven, and how she had failed getting her driver’s test twice before finally getting her license. The rest of the semester progressed swimmingly, Leah and I had lunch together every day and texted constantly. Finally, after our final exams, I asked her to go to the zoo’s Christmas light display with me the following week. We’d been dating ever since.

Leah giggles as I kiss her hand. I run my thumb over hers, the nail painted in a glittery purple. Her other hand stroking my high school class ring with rested on a chain around her neck that I had given to her a year ago as a place holder for a promise ring. Another memory washes over me.

Shortly after making us official did I learn that Leah loved to dance.

I’d heard our school was holding a spring formal that April I jumped on the opportunity and bought a pair of tickets. We met at our local aquarium, she wore a milky white dress and leather pumps. We slow danced all night. When I was walking her to her car I got so nervous that when I went in to kiss her I hit her nose. She giggled, kissed my cheek, then got in her car and drove away. Even though I was sure we were done, Leah acted like nothing was wrong on Monday so I took it as a good sign. On the last day of our freshman year I finally got the first kiss right.

We pass the Humanities hallway, Leah stops by the bulletin board to survey the upcoming week’s events. The Commuter Council was offering shuttles to the local ice-skating rink on Saturday, Campus ministry was having mass on Sunday, and Community Outreach was advertising the annual mission trip to New Orleans. The ring glints on her collar bone. I remember exactly what I said when I gave it to her on her twenty first birthday. “I love you so much. I know that we haven’t known each other that long, and I know we’re young. But I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want us to grow old together. I want us to continue 14

being partners. I want you to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see before I fall asleep.”

We round a corner and go up a flight of steps. Leah talks to a bunch of people and I see the appearance of her toothy smile. Recently I had thought that her smile had left for good. The memories of the past fall hit me like an oncoming train. Leah had tried her hand at being a Business minor to assuage her parents fears of her not getting a job after graduation with an English degree alone. Leah lasted until mid-September before realizing that the anxiety that had developed with the classes wasn’t worth it.

After dropping the business classes Leah developed guilt that she had made the wrong choice. I had been there watching her soul break apart, slowly with spider web cracks, like a glass window before it shatters completely. She’d stick her face in my neck and would cry. I just don’t feel like anyone listens to me but you. Everyone just thinks I’m being overdramatic. She told me the week before she finally dropped the business minor. I was so helpless watching her cry like that and feel so small. I wanted to protect her but there wasn’t anything to protect her from. Leah had been seeing a psychologist weekly since Halloween, and was seeming to be back to normal for the most part.

I had been batting around when exactly to buy Leah a real engagement ring since Christmas. I decided that today was a good a day as ever. I’ve been saving up for over a year and have a good chunk at the ready. I had asked her parents for their blessing when Leah was getting ready for our date last week and they both seemed excited. Leah knows that I’m going to propose sometime in the future, but as long as it isn’t on a holiday or graduation she’s okay not knowing the specifics. The wheels in my head start spinning as I formulate a plan.

We cross the classroom lobby and duck into a hallway. Leah stops in front of her classroom. “Meet me after class?” Leah chirps batting her eye lashes and threading her arms around my neck.

“Oh my gosh. I have to help my dad with yard work babe.” I feign surprise. “I am so sorry I totally forgot to tell you.”

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Leah rolls her eyes and huffs. “Okay but are we still on for tomorrow?” she cocks her head to the side. I nod. “Good.” She pecks me with a kiss before slipping into class. I retrace my steps to the lobby and head to my class across campus, not breaking my stride to text my dad to meet me at the mall later that afternoon. * After a good two hours of my dad and me combing the local jewelry store I had found the perfect ring. A sterling silver round cut solitaire ½ carat diamond. I even got the inside engraved with our anniversary. I pick Leah up and take her to dinner at a local Italian place. The entire time we’re eating I can feel the ring burning a hole in my pocket. Leah looks at me concerned. “Are you okay? You’ve barely touched your food. You look awful.” She clutches my hand. I nod.

“I’m fine” I take her hands after she checks my forehead for a fever.

After the dinner is cleared away I order dessert. “Babe.” I nudge Leah’s hand. She had been glancing over at the snow that had started to fall.

Before she can turn I slip out of my chair and kneel in front of her.

“Leah Marie Jasper will you marry me?”

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Things Overlooked, Artwork by Hanne Driscoll

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The Survival Guide for Heavy Chested Women Essay by Elycia Edwards Find Your Correct Size Having big boobies is a struggle. Larger than coconuts and a tad bit smaller than basketballs, plus they need to be correctly supported. You need the perfect fit to support those bad girls so discovering your right size is critical.

Go Bra Shopping No Matter How Draining It Is Hooha holder shopping is a daunting task that forces you to fantasize about not having boobs at all while staring into the never ending abyss of the bra aisle. A never ending rainbow of colorful boobie molds . The aisle of no return, literally because you can't return undergarments once purchased. But guess what, it's time you suck it up and look that bra right in it's cups and say," It's time for you to contain these hush puppies!"

Clothing Shopping Gets Worse That's too tight. That's way too baggy. That won't even go over the milk jugs! Whatever you love to wear might not be an option at times. Do you have a flat stomach or a rounder tummy? How about a curvy waist or maybe even built straight? Or perhaps a beer belly? Well guess what..?

None of that even matters because you gotta by clothes big enough to contain all of that "spillage" from pouring out either way, so your gonna have to go up a couple sizes.

Extra Support From the Most Famous Voluptuous Lady Herself Dolly Parton once said," Me jumpin' up and down? I'd blacken both my eyes!" This is a super important statement for all heavy chested women to 18

hear because yes, we have large melons but let's not let it put us down. It's actually something we can joke about!

Keeping the Girls Under-Wraps in the Workplace Trying to keep those girls concealed isn't easy, so you have to try to act natural. Beware, some other employees around you may find it hard to take you seriously but if your brain and work ethic are as large as your breasts then you’ll be just fine. Just establish your ground and don't let anyone underestimate you to just being a great pair of boobs. Because you’re more than that, you're a great pair if boobs that comes with a bigger brain and even smarter mouth!

Late Night Outings with The Twins It's normal to have some nights out with your friends and feel like wearing a little low cut blouse or dress to show off your hooters. I'm saying this because all women do, whether they have large or small boobs, but if you are going to be doing this (especially with larger breasts) make sure you are mentally prepared. Men will confuse your jugs for your face and make eye contact with nothing but the twins! And others might just make sly remarks towards not you but your boobs!

Exercise? More Like Painfulcise!

The only task that is extremely difficult to complete with huge knockers is exercising. With every quick movement your breasts may decide to swing opposite of whatever moves you are trying to do, resulting in agonizing pain because they're extremely sensitive. In order to attempt to keep them tame, you may need more than just one sports bra. Perhaps two or three would be more sufficient. After all two black eyes from jumping up and down would make thing worse on top of a sore body, thanks for that heads up Dolly Parton.

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Stretch, Stretch, Stretch It's no secret that it takes a good amount of strength and support to help keep your tata's looking fabulous. A lot of that strength and support comes from your back, therefore making sure you’re always stretching it out is a major key in minimizing back pain. Typically, the larger the breast the more frequent you are to having back pains so stretching out your back will give you some relief.

Live a Little Part of having big boobs is learning how to utilize them while also feeling comfortable. Don't spend your whole life in between bra straps sometimes it's ok to "free tit" it every once in a while. If you always wear a bra that's fine but sometimes you should take a breather brake. Go find an outfit that doesn't require one and spend the day uncupped.

Love Yourself Having big boobs is a gift and sometimes a curse, but the good outweighs the bad. The truth is, you have big boobs and that's just who you are. You should love and cherish the girls as if it was the last piece of fried chicken in the bucket. So please ladies, love your boobs and with enough TLC they will love you right back.

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Of Water and Fire Poem by Ariana Spencer Just like a river flowing, A fire ignites, a spark glowing.

The spark becomes a shower, Raining down with utmost power.

Sparks fly like ashes in a breeze, The embers burning, falling into invisible seas.

Waves crash, embers burn, A change in tide will take its turn.

An electric charge takes force, The flow of the river will take its course.

In a flash of blinding light, An electric current glowing bright, A shower of sparks Lighting up the dark, Explode into a raging fire, An ocean of flames, bringing out our deepest desires.

Our eternal fires, burning brighter than the sun, Explosions colliding together, not meant for a journey of one; Caught up in a whirlwind of sparks.

We only get one life, so we must leave our mark.

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Mercy Essay by Olivia Davis-Callery A place that mattered a lot to me was my high school. Many people hate their high school. Sometimes people were bullied, or they didn’t like the teachers, or maybe they didn’t feel like their school was teaching them the proper tools to have a successful future. But that wasn’t the case for me. I loved my school. I come from a giant junior high school where even the teachers didn’t know your name, didn’t care about you as an individual, and kids picked fights with each other over a seat on the student buses. Mercy was a huge culture shock. Here, the teachers knew my name, when my grades would stray from what was a normal for me, they would talk to me and see what was wrong, and the people were very genuine and it was rare to even get into an argument with someone. I enjoyed all four years of my high school career. I made friends, lost friends, found my calling, laughed, cried, and found my best friend. But I’m going to be writing about a specific day at Mercy, and it’s the day when all of the memories and emotions I had felt were coming to an end.

I remember the day starting out like any normal day would. I woke up, rushed to get ready, and got to school ten minutes early like usual. I ran into Jessika, one of my best friends, at the Tech Wing entrance and we walked in together laughing and talking about some memes we both found last night. As we were walking down the stairs into the building, another girl who was known around the school for spreading gossip ran up to us and told us something big was happening today. She told us the Sisters in charge of the school were here. That’s never good. The sisters only show up when someone dies or something major was happening. Jessika and I shrugged it off and went to homeroom. When we got to homeroom and school started, instead of the pledge of allegiance or the morning announcements we were called to the gym for an important announcement.

We all filed into the gym in droves. It was strangely quiet. The only other time it was this quiet was when my friend Christina died. She was 22

my friend through freshman and sophomore year until we lost her to a brain tumor. The nuns came to give us the news of her passing and tell us her family’s funeral plans. That thought immediately set me on edge.

Once everyone was settled down in their own groups on the bleachers, we waited. The Sisters of Mercy were sitting in chairs arranged in one row, facing us behind a podium. We waited for ten minutes with no one saying anything. It created this tense stare off between the students and the nuns.

Suddenly my principle walked in and took his seat. The crowd of students erupted into hushed whispers. Then one of the nuns stood up and walked to the podium. We could hear the clack of her heels in the silent auditorium creating this impending feeling of dread. When she walked up to the podium, Jessika grabbed my hand tightly. I had no idea that what she said next would change so many people’s lives and futures.

The nun said they were going to tell us exactly what was going on as soon as she received a call from the nuns at McAuley. She told us that unfortunate circumstances had made it necessary to merge the two schools together. She finished her speech by telling us they had no official date, but the schools would most likely merge in two years. The previously hushed whispers turned to protests of outrage. As she went on to explain that I was a part of the last graduating class at Mercy, and the responsibility of creating a new environment would fall on the shoulders of the current sophomores, the crowd around me erupted into chaos.

People were angry, but more than this, there was a veil of sadness that draped over the auditorium. Most people were crying, Jessika was crying too. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt drops hit my shirt. The nuns anticipated this and some of the staff brought out endless boxes of tissues to be passed around the auditorium. They let us ask questions, but most people were in a state of shock. One girl shared her experiences of being bullied at McAuley and asked how the nuns were going to, if possible, prevent that. A few people booed and yelled at the nuns, ultimately, we couldn’t seem to change their minds. The sisters said they would remain at school all day to answer any questions and the counselors would be available all day to talk to people. Finally, they released us to go 23

back to class. Everyone walked back to class in a daze. I didn’t even realize how much it affected my teachers.

The entire day was not a good day. The teachers weren’t even told what had happened. They found out their jobs were in jeopardy as well.

The place they had served for so long was closing and they didn’t have any guarantees for the future. In my first class, the teacher was trying to radiate calm indifference. She was going to retire soon, so she had no qualms about the school closing. My next teacher had already cried in the class before, so she attempted to give us our lesson with a strained voice.

Finally, I had religion class with the happiest teacher in existence. He always smiled, he loved every lesson he taught, he would even buy kids lunch if they forgot their money. But today he just broke down in the middle of class. To see that scene was heartbreaking. Later when I went home, my parents were sad and angry. They hadn’t even been told. The nuns seemingly kept all this information to themselves at the last possible minute. Trusting no one but themselves, creating a storm of backlash within the Mercy community.

In the weeks to come, there was pushback. The parents were angry they weren’t told and had no say in what was happening. This school had people from the same families attend for generations. A crucial part of these people’s families has been closed, so it’s only natural people were upset. The principal had interviews with local media outlets. Somewhat famous people who graduated from Mercy commented on twitter. Some students tried making petitions to keep the school open and at least assure that the teachers would keep their jobs. But the teachers were forced to reapply for new teaching positions and we didn’t know the state of our school. We didn’t know if it would remain open for another use, be classified as a historic landmark because it had been open since 1916, or if it would be torn down. This set a somber mood for the rest of the year.

Next year I was a senior. We were happy but there was always an over shadowing feeling of sadness. We graduated to a huge sendoff. We saw all the things we loved in the school taken down. The fight song banner, the stained glass of Mary Magdalene, the mascot costume, and 24

even the Mary statue outside were taken down. We wrote a class song that was so full of emotion there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Our unofficial class saying was, “Saving the best for last.” In the end there wasn’t anything we could do. Mother of Mercy merged with McAuley. The Cincinnati Public School district bought the land. Most of the Mercy teachers didn’t get jobs at the new school. The principal retired after my final high school year. Everyone moved on, most of us went to college. I used to wonder if I would send my kids to Mercy. I wondered where Mercy was going to be in the next one hundred years. It’s funny how you never realize what’s important to your life until it’s gone. I never saw myself going to Mother of Mercy. I am protestant and it was a catholic school. It was an all-girls school and I had people tell me too many girls in one place are catty and mean. But it was the complete and total opposite. I felt accepted, loved, and cared for by Mercy and its community. Going there changed my life for the better. And even though it’s gone, I’ll always remember the people I met there and the lessons I learned.

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Reflections, Artwork by Grace Oppihle 26

Blood and Love Poem by Mark Steinriede We drink My husband and I We smoke some dope My husband and I We eat some pills My husband and I We argue I don’t remember What about I make him mad What did I say He pushes me down I get up I push him back He slaps me I slap him back He punches me I am out Where am I The room is white There’s a Doctor And my brother And the police I tell them It was all my fault I lost the baby It was all my fault 27

He has been arrested It was all my fault My brother tells me The police tell me The Doctor tells me It’s not your fault It’s never your fault When he hits you But I love him It was all my fault

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NAPPY Poem by Elycia Edwards When you tell someone their hair is nappy, trust me it’s nowhere in the slightest way a compliment.

What it sounds like your saying is, “Wow your hair looks like a hot unmanageable mess today.”

And, in my head, I say “Wow I know this B**** is not trying to come for me” Although dictionary.com defined nappy as tight curled or coiled hair Nappy has been used to degrade Afro textured hair for years.

Even statements like “nappy headed hoes” have been used to degrade black women for their hair.

Nappy is an offensive term in relation to the gorgeous hair that grows from our head.

So let’s get this straight Just because we don’t have straight hair, doesn’t make it nappy.

Just because we don’t have straight hair doesn’t make it any less beautiful And just because we don’t have straight hair doesn’t mean you can touch it!

Side Note: We are also aware our hair smells like the fruit section inside of a freshly stocked Trader Joe’s, so there’s no need to tell us again.

But since we can’t erase the word “nappy” from the English Language, we can at least change the definition. If black hair is going to be nappy, then what everyone needs to realize is: It is Natural - a gift given to us by our ancestors for us to rock with full confidence It is Attention Grabbing - Grown for all to see and many to look at in awe and glory 29

It is Pretty - Although every day you wake up with your hair doing something different, it’s still gorgeous in each and every way.

It is Professional - Have an important business meeting? Slay those edges and slick back that bun because your hair is so versatile. Or rock the fro and let flow!

It is Youthful- Your hair will always be bouncy, curly, coily and alive no matter how old you get.

So next time someone tells you or you tell someone their hair is nappy, remember N.A.P.P.Y is just an acronym for Natural, Attention Grabbing, Pretty, Professional and Youthful.

Starting today, you can either get with the new definition or even simpler, don’t use the word at all.

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Submission Details Initiated in January 2005, Lions-on-Line is a literally collection of works by the students and alumni of Mount St. Joseph University published online with the cooperation of the Liberal Arts Department.

Lions-on-Line is published online twice yearly, during the fall and spring semesters. When our budget allows, Lions-on-Line goes “in print”. We take submissions during all twelve months of the year.

If you are currently a student or a graduate of Mount St. Joseph and you would like to see your work published, you may submit your work to LOL simply by emailing poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction or artwork to LOL@msj.edu. For full submission guidelines, consult our website.

Lions-on-Line is always looking for new staff members. If you’re interested in joining LOL, please contact faculty advisor, Elizabeth Taryn Mason, Ph.D. at the following email address: elizabeth.mason@msj.edu.

Editors and Staff President: Vice President/Treasurer: Secretary: SGA Club Rep: Assistant Editors:

Leila Jaafari Penelope Epple London Bishop Madison Axtell Noah Borgdorff Elycia Edwards Samuel Garrity Skyler Houser Amber Reinert Ariana Spencer Mark Steinriede Brian Wesley 31

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