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Resonance is created based on submissions from Mount Aloysius students and vetted by a review board comprised of students, staff, and faculty. Housed by The Belltower student newspaper, Resonance can be found online at:

Elizabeth Ditty ........................................................................... 8 Alex Hyer ............................................................... 7, Back Cover Marra Balmer ............................................................................ 3 Evan Hughes ........................................................... Cover Image Kelsey Allison ............................................................................ 7 Brenda Sanner .......................................................................... 6 Antoinette Yorty ................................................................... 6, 10 Rachel E. K. Cain ................................................................ 4, 10 Arielle Confer ......................................................................... 8, 9 David Snoberger .................................................................10, 11

“Resonance happens when your mind and heart come into sync.� - Ravindra Shukla, A Maverick Heart: Between Love and Life

Faculty Advisors Jessica Jost-Costanzo Christopher Burlingame Student Review Board Antoinette Yorty Amanda Carrion Cheyanne Marsh Design Courtney Edmundson Kalyn Blake

Submissions The Resonance review board seeks short fiction; short, creative nonfiction; poetry; photography; and photos of fine art each semester at mid-term. Submissions from any undergraduate or graduate student are welcome. Please send all submissions to:

Front Cover: Evan Hughes, MAC Starry Night, Colored Pencil; Back Cover: Alex Hyer, Mountie View, Glass-on-glass mosaic

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Permanence by Marra Balmer

Black coffee and a slice of banana cream pie. All the waitresses, clad in reproduction poodle skirts and roller skates, knew him and his order. Even the young ones with cover up dotted faces and lips too red or too pink knew what to get him when he slid into the first seat at the counter. He had become a part of the diner, just like the Crosley jukebox in the corner. She had been a part of the diner too. Coffee with two creams and cinnamon sugar and a hot apple dumpling topped off with Praline Supreme ice cream. “Southern thing, it is, cinnamon in my coffee and pralines on my dumplings,” she had told him. Why, in their fifty-five years of marriage had he never asked her if that was true, or if she was just pulling his leg. Too late to find out now. They’d met here, back when radio was a form of entertainment and putting people on the moon was crazy talk. As he lifted his mug to his lips, he heard a giggle erupt from the corner. A girl leaned across the vinyl booth and dabbed whipped cream on a baby-faced boy. “You said you wished you could start shaving,” she said, sampling the strawberry sundae between them. He had to smile at the youths, because he had sat in that same booth once, with a giggly girl on a warm spring day. Sipping his coffee, he thought, maybe some things, like the Crosley jukebox or how the cream in the banana cream pie never melted or something even as silly as young love, never change.

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The Two Sisters by Rachel E. K. Cain

Once upon a time, in a small village far, far away, there lived two sisters. They were the same age, and were tall in stature. One had hair like the shade of a golden sunset; her name was Noajere the Fair. While the other sister had hair like that of Mother Earth, drinking in the warm sun; her name was Neleharet. Noajere liked to ride her pure white mare, Keetobara. She often frequented a nearby grassy meadow, where she would occupy her time by reading books and writing poetry. Her dog, Bari, was always at her side. Neleharet preferred to sit by the window, or fireplace if there was a chill in the air, and mend their various frocks and things. After the chores were finished, she would call her hound, Ymar, and saddle her own dark brown mare, Dnomar. They were often found in the nearby forest, riding down different paths never yet explored. Their lives went on like this for several years. Until one fine day, Noajere dressed in a long, yellow, homespun dress with delicate blue and red flowers embroidered on

bodice. Holding her mount steady, she addressed the woman, “I am Neleharet of Etteloken, pray tell me thy name?” The stranger’s voice was likened to warm honey, rich and the hem. She took her horse and sweet. “Forgive me, I did not her loyal dog and set out. Neleharet meanwhile dressed in a long mean to startle you and your friends. My name is ...I am called dark green homespun dress with Queen Neliame the Good.” gold stitching. “Your Majesty! Why are After she was done with her chores, she grabbed her brown you here alone? Where are your cloak, for it was near autumn, and servants?” Neleharet inquired. “I gave my servants some went into the forest as usual. Not time off, one needs that every long into the forest she spotted once and a while. Come ride with a path in the woods never yet me a ways.” The Queen turned traveled. Glancing up at the sun’s her horse and rode next to Neleposition, she reckoned that there haret. was still plenty of daylight left. “Are you all right, my She went without delay onto the Queen? You look rather pale.” path. The particular wood was like “The doctors fear I do any normal wood in any forest, not have long to live. Oh! If only but yet in this section there was a shroud of mystery that hung in the Farmirian were here!” “Who is Farmirian?” air. “He is my son. You see, a Suddenly, from around long time ago, when he was still the bend, came a figure on an an infant, he was kidnapped. My ebony horse. The person was brother wanted and still wants the wrapped in a midnight blue cape. throne for his own son, you see. A patch of sunlight came through So when he had the chance, he the forest just then and fell on hired someone to take him. A ranthe rider. It was an older woman, som note never came. We never with a queenly grace about her. found who did the wretched deed, Through the opening at the nape of the neck, Neleharet saw a richly but six months later, my brother told me that there was no hope for brocaded gown with jewels and my son, and that he was...dead! precious stones incrusted on the

We never found any evidence to prove that my brother did kidnap him, though, or even if he is still alive.” “So you think he is still alive and well, even though you were told otherwise?” “Yes, yes I do. About a year after the foul deed, I saw him while we were passing through a certain village. I tried to find out where he lived, but the people were travelers, and I never located them.” “How did you know it was him?” “He has an unusual scar on his wrist. When he was little, he fell on a stone and it healed that way.” “What does it look like? Does it resemble a misshapen ‘k’?” “Yes, how did you know?” “ “I know a young man about one-and-twenty who has such a mark.” “You do? Where is he? What is his name?” “His name is Faran. He lives near my sister and me, a few miles down the lane, riding at a light canter. His parents died when he was young, and he lives with a distant relative. I should see him nigh noon tomorrow. My Queen, if it is not too forward, may I bring him here to meet you?” “Yes, yes you may; bring

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your sister as well.” ”It is getting late in the day, may I take leave of you now? I must go and prepare dinner for my sister and me.” “Yes, I shall see you in the bend of the road where we met to-day, around half past noon tomorrow.” “Farewell, My Queen!” “Farewell, Neleharet!” Neleharet turned her horse and trotted down back down the path. When she came to the bend in the road, she stopped and looked back at the Queen and waved farewell. She then called Ymar and cantered the rest of the way home. When Noajere came home, she was told of all that had happened. The next day, instead of going into the meadow, both of them left for the house of Faran. They did not tell him what had happened; instead they asked him to ride in the forest with them. Neleharet went first, followed by Faran and Noajere. At the bend in the road, there was the Queen, on her ebony mount as before. Neleharet introduced them, and then let them ride and converse together down the path, as the two sisters waited. A good halfhour went by, when they were seen again, coming up the path. The smiles on their faces told

more than what words could utter. Indeed, the long lost heir was found! A month later, a Coronation banquet was held in his honor. It seemed as if the whole country was present. When they had a chance to converse, Faran informed Neleharet that she and her sister were to reside in the castle, if they wished. Years later, Neleharet and Faran were wed. She was known to be a good and kind queen, as well as a loving mother and wife. Noajere the Fair, fell in love with a handsome nobleman who recognized her true beauty, that of her gentle soul. Both were blessed to have many children. And they lived Happily Ever After. Except, however, for the evil brother, who was to be banished forever from the kingdom. Faran interceded, though, and was instead sentenced to live the life of a pauper for the rest of his life.

Alex Hyer, The Art of Procrastination, Wood Carving

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A Chance at Love by Antoinette Yorty

So complicated And inexplicable. How can you trust someone That you barely know? I can’t seem to figure That one out either. But I want to. I want to trust you. To believe everything That you tell me. Let’s pretend you don’t Even know how to lie. I try to read your eyes, But they appear to be A dark and empty abyss. I don’t know your expressions Well enough to read Your blank face And weak smile. Your body language is a riddle to me, That no matter how long I ponder The answer never comes to me, So I must believe Everything your say Or be a skeptic And lose a chance at love.

Brenda Sanner, A Winter’s Day, Photograph

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My Angel by Kelsey Allison

These bright red carnations will look nice beside the small American flag, placed next to the white marble stone. Red was his favorite color. It’s hard to believe it’s been almost five years since the last time I heard his loving voice. His voice was deep, but yet so soothing. I wish I could hear it one more time, but I know that I will hear it again one day when the lord calls me home. My husband, or my angel as I call him, lost his battle with cancer on March 20, 2011. Heaven received one of its best angels that day. He gave me 58 wonderful years of marriage and four beautiful children. My life has been better than I ever could have dreamed, because I had him by my side. He was the love of my life. We began dating when we were seventeen, but unfortunately he was sent to Korea for the war in 1951, just six months after we had started dating. I promised him I would wait for him, and that’s what I did. After he returned home in 1952, we decided to get married. We thought there was no reason to wait any longer because we both knew we were soulmates. My father was not too thrilled with the idea, but he knew there was no stopping me. In the early afternoon on February 10, 1953, my father walked me down the aisle to the man of my dreams. I still remember the loving look in his eye as I made my way down the aisle towards him. After what felt like forever, we both said I do. At that moment our lives began. After being apart for a year, getting married, moving across the country, buying a home, four children, nine grandchildren, and 58 happy years of marriage, I said goodbye to my best friend. As I stand here looking at these red carnations I recall all of wonderful memories together. Even though the rest of my time here will be spent without him, I know he is watching over me. I know I will see my angel again one day.

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Writing Frees My Soul by Elizabeth Ditty

I need to create initiate duplicate produce. take this energy all of it and make something. anything, everything. something worthwhile. unrecognizable. to get the feelings out. the sorrow, the anger the confusion the worry the fear the loneliness the exhaustion the dread the guilt the stress the tension and anxiety that consume me. build these feelings into something.

anything, everything. meaningful and strong short, long. I need to get the feelings out. the tension boiling in my chest. vomit the feelings out. I’ll create initiate replicate and produce a controversial masterpiece. a conversation piece full of wonder, hope & despair. a word, a weapon, a design, a rhyme, a flashback in timeget out.

out of my system. get out. let it flow get out. out of me. it’s own pace. get out. no perfect order no reason no rhyme abstract, yet organized. words.words.words and feelings and thoughts. escaping my soul entering the world away from me. my creation, manifestation, a deep, dark, bright, big vivid and mighty loud and scary EXPLOSION!

Above: Arielle Confer, Clownfish on a Wall, Pastel on Paper; Below: Arielle Confer, Leopard Gecko on Cotton Fiber, Photograph; Right: Arielle Confer, The Soul that Lies Beyond, Photograph

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Ours by Antoinette Yorty

He left me with nothing, Or could it be something? No, I don’t think so Because that would be lucky. And luck never visits me At least hasn’t in years But it’s haunted my dreams And rung in my ears. How could I be so very vain, To think things could be different, To think things have changed. He’s moved on and out Left me in the dust Empty handed, cold hearted With no on to trust. This has happened before I am left with the scars. It will happen again, But what’s mine is ours.

Moving On by Antoinette Yorty

Haunted by the ghost of someone who still lives He really tried But I still lied And took all he had to give. I can feel him watching me, The pain in his gaze that used to be lively. The memories echo the halls The rise, the climax, the fall. It’s not his fault, I apologized. “It wasn’t you, it was me” I swore every time. He will never comprehend Just how hard it was to leave But I needed space, room to breathe. He deserves someone better, happier, saner. He is the angel, not me, no brainer. He will find someone else, that I am sure And come to forget me As the others before

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Opening the Tome of Genuine Love by Rachel E. K. Cain

Let us sing a joyful strain Dance in the verdant meadow String gauzy ribbons from young trees Gather the poor from the streets Light candles when the sun bids us farewell Then we’ll join in the fairy’s sweet song Celebrate, for love has been found A bounteous feast for all For the wise are humbled The youth are still finding their way Joy abounds in many a heart Peace affixed on miens No sorrow or pain on any furrowed brow For love is truly a prize The old who once loved so deeply Always will until their last breath Advise the young who hastily give their love And then weep when their darling flees The wisdom they bestow is beloved by all The ancient speak of an obscure lasting love, like a Gilt tome adorned and illuminated with precious stones

Left: David Snoberger, Lancaster Fourth of July, Photograph; Top: David Snoberger, Boardwalk Uniforms, Photograph; Middle: David Snoberger, Forest Sunset, Photograph; Right: David Snoberger, Mounties at Home, Photograph

Though the night may end Moon and stars fade into the dawning day Candles extinguished by the breath of the wind People venture back to their abodes Music fades into the myst, fairies vanish A banquet may be depleted of all delight Nevertheless, Love withstands the centuries

Spring 2016 Resonance Magazine  

A publication featuring photos and writings by Mount Aloysius students.

Spring 2016 Resonance Magazine  

A publication featuring photos and writings by Mount Aloysius students.