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Editorial Board Student Editors Johnna Calvillo Laurie Johnson

Student Designers Johnna Calvillo Laurie Johnson

Faculty Advisors & Editors Michael McMahon John Flaherty Paul Gaszak

egg | Tenable Robert Morris University Arts & Literary Magazine, 2010 robertmorris.edu/publications/egg twitter.com/rmuegg Facebook: search “RMU egg”

Editors’ Note It is our pleasure to present the tenth edition of Robert Morris University’s egg. While working on this edition, we learned that titles of the first five editions had chronological significance. We wanted to take to the opportunity of publishing the tenth edition to return to this tradition. However, we didn’t want to stay within the same conventions, so we chose a title that related to the numeric place in the series as well as the essence of egg as a literary and arts publication. According to the Random House Dictionary, “tenable” is defined as: a. capable of being held, maintained or defended, as against attack or dispute b. capable of being occupied, possessed, held or enjoyed as under certain conditions We chose “tenable” for the prefix “ten” signifying the tenth edition, as well as its application to ideas, knowledge and creativity. Creative minds – artists and writers alike – transform their thoughts into an expression with the purpose of creating something they are personally willing to stand behind. Writers turn their thoughts into words, painters form their ideas into an expression of paint and other materials on a surface, photographers carefully frame their vision in the pictures they take and manipulate, and so on…. This publication holds an assortment of these creative expressions that the creators were willing to stand behind by submitting the work. We would like to reciprocally stand behind this assembly of creative expression from the people who are Robert Morris University. Please enjoy Tenable. Sincerely, Johnna Calvillo & Laurie Johnson


A special thank you to... Michael P. Viollt President

Mablene Krueger Provost

Paula Diaz Dean of the College of Liberal Arts

artwork: Egg Clue by Ebony Alllen


The Once and Future Clifford Ratza

Standing Ovation Robert Hutchison

Where have all the “Great Men” gone? The heroes in your mind. We need them now to carry on, They seem so hard to find. Concealed perhaps when they appear, Once human just like us. Revealed in Wisdom’s future year, Though flesh has turned to dust. Greatness dwells in each of us, Awaiting the chosen call. So do what you must without a fuss, O’er time your stature grows tall.

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In My Eyes Tanginia Tasker So many people standing around. Some going left, some going right Some look as if they’re staring At an actual object. There’s really nothing much to it, Black and white is all I see. No main focus, no real subject I wonder... Did I miss it, did I look over it? In my eyes it is just another picture.

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Bridge Frank Samaniego Bridge, tell me what you have seen have you seen new lovers holding hands or old ones in endless fights. have you seen the rising and lowering of the tides. have you seen families on long summer trips or heard the laughter of little kids. have you heard the cry of a weeping widow or the cries of grown men going to war leaving their families behind have you smelled the smell of a freshly baked pie made for a grandmothers’ grandchildren and the smell of a hard day’s work on a beaten and tired man. do you connect all these people to each other or keep them farther apart?

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The Nerve of Youth Clifford Ratza

The Birth of the Egg Ebony Allen

Youth’s steely nerves a treasured gift, Bestowed in early years. It makes them sure and makes them swift, Protects them from their fears. Alas it does not last too long, Time wears it away. It goes when one’s no longer strong, And caution rules the day. So propose a toast – let Youth run free, Have their sights set high. Let them stretch and let them be, May that Spirit never die.

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Rain for the Walking Norb Pranger Droplets of water crash upon the pavement Collectively bigger than me, yet smaller in whole. I feel the burden of rain I feel the story it tells It tells a story of cleansing, It tells of a new beginning. It may be in misery, it may be in hope. But rain never arrives without a feeling. It ends many days and begins many nightmares, But rain may leave ever so slightly.

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Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down Melissa Kirk

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What is This? Jamahl DeBerry Big Giant Eyeball There you are staring at me And it’s kind of weird

What is it? Hala Daqqaq The light shines, Atop the heads, Through every strand of hair. I can feel the restlessness, I can hear the gasps of awe. Pale faces stare ahead, Anticipation lingers in the air, Like morning dew resting on a flower. Someone yells, “LOOK!” Heads snap, jaws drop, BEHOLD! There it lies... Every breathless person in the room Not seeing the same object, For beauty is not defined...

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Lonely Adventure John Edwards

Sonny’s Blues Joseph Tury

Standing here alone waiting for King To hear his sound echo in my head His voice starts to crack, raspy and bold Howling through a microphone almost as old I know these blues of which he speaks I feel his lyrics running through my veins, they’re alive Their sorrow minds and empty hearts talk to me The words more majestic than “Let It Be” Then Lucille’s strings start in with a harmonious tune Like the voice of a siren on a clear, cool day The rap-tap that echoes behind helps put me in a trance But you wouldn’t be able to tell with just one glance Amidst the sea at the House of Blues, no soul is lonely I’ll keep this in mind as I walk the streets home To a grave-like bed, so empty and cold That in this world, I am never alone

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This Cell Joron Evans Days… hours… seconds... They all fly away. But for now, It seems I’m here To stay. Behind these bars, There’s not much choice. It’s so easy to lose Your voice. Such it is, Of a misinterpreted indication. It leaves me here to wait For vindication. So Here I sit, Locked up Of my own accord. The alternative is more Than I can afford.

The Hand That Life Dealt Hope Hendricks I used to think that the Ace in a deck of cards was to be most trusted. I used to think people couldn’t change for the betterment of life. Yet throughout all my thoughts I was the one at fault. I loved and trusted blindly, I didn’t listen to the ones I loved most. Now look at me, I lost the one most dear. I can’t get you back, No matter how much I cry and pray. I can’t turn back the hands of time. The King left and came back, The Queen is now long gone, The Joker became me, As the Ace betrayed me. Yet remember no matter where I go, No matter what I do, Mom and Cornelia, I will always miss you.

Which is worse, I cannot tell. Only that my heart Is locked In this cell.

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College William Ramsey I get up every morning, hungry for the snooze button and five more minutes. My hot morning shower will be second questioned, As I scramble my mind for an answer to this homework before my next 8am session. Last night’s 12-pack tried to sprain my ankle as I ran through the kitchen to hit the door. Could have woken up in time for breakfast, but last night I decided to smoke just a few times more. Damn! I forgot my lighter, my keys, and my bus pass. Three pages, two sources, and one graph is what I have to bullshit for next class. An A here, a B there; if I got a C in math I still passed, so who cares? When’s this class going to be over? I’m starving. Here’s a cough and two yawns to another two hours of freshman reading about global warming. Finally class is done and I can start to try out lunch. Fast food, Ramen soup and a Pop-Tart for brunch. And don’t forget the cigarette for dessert, and some soda in a water cup for some burps. I just missed my train, and the conductor saw me coming. He must think waiting in the depths of CTA hell is pretty funny. But I’ll be the one laughing when they go broke and he loses his job and all his money. My college experience is very unique and procrastinated. Everything I do is last minute, but hey, at least I made it.

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The Door Brandi Ramirez Tonight is the night, I bid you farewell, Tonight is the night I dare to walk straight into hell. A doorway stands before me, Tall and dark, It just appeared before me in the middle of the empty park. Through the opening I can see the flames, The bright, red light in the darkness almost blinding me, A voice calls forth, telling me I do not need my sight to see. A chuckle rumbles through the dark, In my chest my heart races, I move towards the door a few paces. A smaller, weaker voice inside my head tells me to run. To run away, away from the door, But something keeps me still and I sink to my knees, onto the floor. I look to the skies, The stars shining bright, I stand, but it takes all my might. Something keeps me still, Something keeps in place, Something else inside me tells me to scram, post haste. The doorway widens, A scream can be heard, From above a shadow is cast, one of a bird. I look up to see a big black raven,

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He swooped down and through the door, A flame rose up, the bird no more. Instead, in its wake, A man stood, I would run now if I could. Tall and foreboding he walked to the edge, He stood before me his eyes a bright gold, A shiver ran down my spine, strong and cold. He tells me I do not need to fear, But in his voice, something different lurks, I think I can almost see him smirk. Something doesn’t feel right, Should I flee? I guess my adventure tonight was not meant to be. As he steps forward, I step back, The doorway expands behind him, big and black. Fear finally strikes through me, I think I’m strong enough to run, To my right, up rises the sun. Relief washes through me, The man lets out a short, sharp bark, The door disappears, and once again I am alone in the park.

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The Woods Anonymous

An Eerie Dream Laurie Johnson

I walked a long time Until it was only me And the trees Gray sentinels Against a gray sky Hushed, frozen, still I am the only noise Sluggish steps and Labored breathing The snow is knee-deep Lying down, I imagine When they find out Mother will be crying Father will be silent I will be free As cold creeps into My clothes and skin I shake violently at first Then I feel nothing I am nothing I am so tired It’s been a long time Since I have slept Soon I will be as silent As these noble trees I follow their reach to the sky

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History in the Making Celeste Jones The right pair of shoes is a must in this game. It is important to have the right cushion to surround the feet the right way. Without the perfect grip on the soles, you would slide all over the court.

With my size, it didn’t help that I could never find clothes to fit me. My pants were inches too short and my sleeves never seemed to reach my wrists. I wore glasses all through high school, but Coach Smith made me get contacts when I got to college.

I know all about getting the wrong shoes. In my freshman year on Valley University basketball team, I discovered that buying the expensive and exclusive Michael Jordan shoes was the worst thing I could have done. On my first day, I tried to impress Coach Smith, but I slid directly into him. He wasn’t too fond of me. But I learned my lesson, and that would be the same day that I cashed in all of the opportunity and hard work I had put in for over four years. Later, I noticed Coach Smith in the stands giving me the thumbs up. That day, I would show him I was ready. That day, would be the day Sky Williams changed history! I was never really uncomfortable with my size. I was always taller than anyone in my family. I was also the biggest girl or boy in my school from first grade through high school. I think a lot of people around me felt uncomfortable with my height. Being a 16-year-old, 6’10” female was not something you saw every day in the small town of Justice, Mississippi. I was also the darkest girl in the school, which didn’t help with the African jokes I heard every day from my classmates. When I was 21, I was 7’2”. I didn’t think it was ever possible to get this tall. Though my grandfather was 7’7” and most people told me I looked just like him. My parents owned a small cleaning service on the outskirts of town. We struggled but made the best of every moment we shared. There was always a problem with racism in my small town. Race played a role when it came down to the “haves” and the “have-nots.” We were the have-nots.

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My grandmother said that my eyes told a story of strength from our ancestors and that my skin was as smooth as silk. She made sure that I was never caught up in self-pity. She taught me to love myself first and then everyone else would love me too. My grandmother had my mother name me Sky because she felt I came from angels up above to tell a story. It has been over two years since I laid her to rest. At the start of my junior year in college, I woke up one winter morning to a phone call from my mom telling me that grandma was sick. I told Coach Smith that I would have to miss a game to go home to be by her side. He understood and I was on the first train to Mississippi. I got home just in time to squeeze my grandmother’s hand and to tell her I loved her. She looked me in the eyes and told me to always look to the sky to see her cheering me on. I missed my grandmother, and as I laced up my shoes and stepped on the court to attempt the biggest thing that had ever happened in my small town of 2200 people, I wished she were there to give me a hug and the words of encouragement I so needed. The buzzer rang and the time was now. The crowd was laughing loudly and I felt like everyone was looking at me. The crowds in college were huge, but this was louder than I had ever heard. As I ran to the bench with the rest of my team, I could feel all the eyes of the world on my shoulders. The coach pulled us closer and told us to stay focused. We all put our hands in the center of the huddle and said, “Team.”

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Always Mireya Serna Before I could walk to center court to begin what would be the defining moment in my life, I glanced in the stands only to see my grandmother waving back at me. Nothing else mattered at that point. Everything was going to be ok. I stepped to center court and looked my opponent directly in the eyes. I could see the sweat streaming down his face. I was sure he felt the anguish of having to go against the first girl in history to play in the NBA. None of that mattered after the referee tossed the game ball into the air. I was able to tip the ball to Kobe Bryant and he went to the basket and finished with a power slam! That night, the Lakers beat the Orlando Magic 109-88! I became the first female in history to play with the best of the best. I finished with 12 points, 9 rebounds and 1 dunk. I felt relieved. And as I walked to the locker room designated for females only, I looked at the picture stamped on the door of the female figure wearing a dress, and I smiled. I smiled because I did the undoable. I broke the stereotype of what women are supposed to do and who they are supposed to be. I traveled into a world where I was not welcome and I survived. With all of the thoughts that ran through my head I could only think of one person. I know now why my grandmother named me Sky. She knew I would always be her dreamer!

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Always there for me Share secrets Share clothes Share laughs Every day together is unforgettable Always full of laughs Ready for fun Never a dull moment Life of the party Share shoes Share memories Share thoughts We finish each other’s sentences Laugh till we get tummy aches Talk way too much Always there for support Through the good and bad My girls The people I know will always be there Friends till the end

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Untitled Tanner Albaugh

Cloud Nine Alberto Ramirez

To whom it may concern, Try to find yourself… Search wherever you’ve been and where you are, and keep looking. Amongst those stars you might find it, or even that moon may hold your spot, Keep looking though, time has been halted – ticked to a stop. Ask me not to search myself, for I am no astronaut. The terrain has my feet bound Thus I tread a road much less traveled… to a world I’d prefer. But take me not as bitter, at best my mind is as open as the skies that reign over me, Forever changing for my eye to see If I should falter and change, my self would be quite astounded. Try to find yourself, I’ve already found me. Sincerely, Brandon T.

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Escape

A Hymn to War

Lisa Sharpe

Frank Samaniego

Trees, trees, trees Branches, sticks, leaves Whipping, gashing, and slashing at my arms. I can’t get away no matter how fast I run. Tripping, falling, crawling on the floor Ragged cuts, tattered clothes, jagged breathing As I start to slow down. My eyes are heavy, my vision blurred. Distant images start to stir. He’s right behind me He’s catching up I have to keep moving but my legs have had enough. Getting dizzy about to pass out A distant scream, a whisperd plea, I can’t believe it came from me. Pulse is racing, a feeling of hands, a gentle hush, as I’m helped to stand. It’s him, he caught me. Please strength don’t leave me yet. Head too fuzzy, I’m getting too weak I’m stumbling over my own feet. One chance, a pull, a twist, a pop and a moan. I’m not the one with a broken bone, I’m still running, he’s still coming My strength is about to give out Dead end, cliff end, water and rocks below. Tell me, if you had a choice which way would you go?

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The wind echoes the name of all the slain, the simple game known as war. A war from which no one stands to gain, it has brought only pain. Only destruction at the tip of this gun. Soldiers come and soldiers go. To where? The other soldiers pray to never know. Friends made only to be lost, no going back. All the lines have been blurred, all the boundaries have been crossed. They come home torn and scarred. Their memories haunting their every dream, replayed in their minds like movie scenes. The times won’t be soon forgotten. They will one day tell these stories to their children. They will sing this hymn to war and tell them of the horrors, Of this simple game known as war.

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Patience

Collarbone

Georgeta Vesa

Amber Alwin

I waited for you a long time, Doesn’t mean you can’t be mine. I searched for you with such a passion You gave me hope, strength and direction. You’re like a leaf blown away, I promised I’d find you anyway. The dreams of being your man Became a reality today. You’re the woman that I want, Your peaceful, green eyes Make me feel fulfilled. Trust me, I’ll never let you go. Our whole past doesn’t matter, We’ll grow old together.

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The Poetic Potion Delwin Furlow First, I had to show love & loyalty to be creating metaphors Afterwards, fate had to tell me who this potion was best suited for Safety’s first so I included an ingredient called discretion Focused at all times so I don’t catch a mental block infection Emotions go in one vial and logic in the other Combine the two, heat it up and let it smother Creativity is a must when you enter the lab Never overdose your work, give it a dab Be patient and let your ideas melt into the beaker Emotions and logic transfers the ideas into a speaker Never on the first try, do it again Tweak it to perfection so that it gets under people’s skin The pen, the paper, and the mind is the poetry in motion I have just released to you my poetic potion

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Crush Priti Patel Vague – as a Friday night Unable to explain How I can respect so vain In attention at the sound Of her name – Age is a factor Fortune is the attractor And my curiosity Is the matter, They cannot distract me No solution to un-attract me Unless of course Her words attack me But rose petals do not cut – And butterflies do not sting – Seems like a dream because These don’t exist in reality I develop a crush for angels Naturally.

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The Day’s End Rachel Story

Ethereal Intersection Johnna Calvillo

The coral sky glistens As the whole town listens, And the streetlights call the kids home. They crawl in their beds Their moms kiss their heads To let them know they’re not alone. The town goes to rest While the sun harbors behind the mountain crest And they all hope for the best Of what tomorrow can bring.

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Problem Solving Nathan Johnson

Lady Gaga John Krozel Jr.

I am a problem solver, But I think I met my match For I have found a challenge, I cannot overcome. A puzzle I cannot make, A mystery I cannot solve, A code I cannot break, A safe I cannot crack. The attributes of the one I love But not the greatest challenge For the problem is: Do I make the puzzle, Solve the mystery, Break the code, Crack the safe, Or do I let the challenge live on?

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Watching the Sky Michael Christopher Aragon I had been here before, many, many times, but this time was different. I was with a girl, an amazing girl, named Mari. I had brought her to my spot. I always ended up here to think about life and to observe the universe. The stars spread bright across the sky. The glow of the city formed a light cloud into the darkness of the horizon. In the sky I could make out various shapes and words. Bears, butterflies, snakes, houses, golf clubs, the letters of the alphabet. I could make out so many things from those stars. The forest seemed to take me in. I welcomed the sounds of animals and birds. But tonight I could not focus on myself or the forest. Mari was so beautiful. I could not believe she had agreed to come up here with me. As she sat on the hillside, her legs crossed, her face lit by the moonlight and city, her hair blowing in the wind, I could not witness a more beautiful sight. Then a butterfly landed on her arm. She smiled in surprise, then she looked at me. Everything about her was perfect; her face was so pretty, her eyes had a glow, her smile made my stomach flip. Other girls were pretty, but Mari did something to me every time I saw her. It was only fitting that not just me, but nature itself, would be attracted to her. Though maybe she was too perfect, I thought, especially for a guy like me. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “How did you find out about this place?” “My dad was a forest ranger, and he would take me through these hills. He showed me this spot.” I could not think of anything else to say. So I said, “Do you believe in aliens?” She looked at me like most people do, then shook her head. What a great way to be awkward, I thought. I began to explain how I had always thought that these lights were moving. I swear, a star would

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move here or there, in the slightest of ways. It wouldn’t be an aircraft because it would never keep moving. These lights seemed to hover. But at the same time, they would be so far away that I could tell if they were still moving. I recalled all the times I had seen lights in the forest. I was always scared because there were lights in the forest behind me. But they seemed to be only short flashes, so were most likely just passing cars. It wasn’t very often – I could count the number of times on my fingers – that I had been scared by the lights. “That’s very interesting, Michael. So do you come out here to creep out all your dates with alien talk?” “No, no, I’m sorry. You’re actually the first. I MEAN….the FIRST ONE... who I’ve talked to about aliens. Not my first date. Noooo, not my first date. I’ve been on many dates, many dates. But I usually don’t bring up the alien part. You’re the first date I’ve brought up here to this spot.” “That must mean something, no?” “You know, you’re really cute when you get nervous.” It was amazing: she leaned in and we kissed. I think I did pretty well for my first kiss. Being 15, I had surprised myself because I had thought I wouldn’t kiss a girl till at least 18. It was picture perfect. I could feel her lips; they were so soft. The wind seemed to pick up, as if it were meant for our kiss to happen. I could feel a glowing through my closed eyelids. I couldn’t believe kissing could feel like this. But then the wind became too strong, almost violent. The glow on our eyelids turned into a bright, blinding light. We stopped making out and looked into the forest, shielding our eyes and faces. At first, I thought we were caught by park rangers, but the wind gusts seemed too coincidental.

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The light dimmed and the winds slowed. A light from above shone in the field behind us, so we ran to check it out. We hid in the bushes and watched. The field looked like center stage on Broadway – it was so perfectly lit. There were no people. Only a wind. The wind began to inhale the field. I saw bugs and small animals being engulfed, like a vacuum, into the sky. We were scared, but amazed at the same time. She thought fast, faster than me, and she grabbed my camera out of my pocket. She began to video record what was happening. I stood and watched her and the field. After a minute, it was over. The sky seemed to close and the weather began to calm. I looked at her and couldn’t ignore what the wind had done to her. Her hair was everywhere. It was as if someone had taken a bottle of mousse and had blow-dried her hair into a mess. It was hot.

life. A little more than I bargained for, but we’ll figure it out.” I laughed. “Yeah, it was fun. We are still alive, right? Ok, goodnight, Mari.” We kissed goodnight, and I went on my way. On my walk home I could not believe what had happened. Not only the forest experience, but with Mari as well. I went home to my room and found a note on my bed. It read: We are always watching. Observing. Collecting. Retrieving. We watch in the form of a species. You now know. We cannot let you show others. This is a warning. Just as I finished reading the note, it disintegrated.

“Are you ok?” I asked.

I ran and fumbled for the camera and turned it on. I saw the first picture. A picture neither of us had taken. I could not believe it. I checked the other pictures. They were all the same. The same image. My other pictures were all gone, deleted. I had 1,000 copies of the same image. The video was gone. No one would believe us.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I got it all on tape. Let’s watch it.”

And what did this all mean?

We went back to our spot on the hillside and watched the tape. Over and over again. Raccoons, squirrels, bees, butterflies, and even a small dog were inhaled into the sky. She believed me now, even if I didn’t believe what I had just seen. Deep down I knew I was right about alien activity, but to see something like this...I could not believe it. This moment bonded us. We agreed to tell no one. We hugged ever so tightly. On our walk home, we continued to talk about how much we were in shock.

I fell onto my bed. Looking at my ceiling, I did not know what to feel. Scared, amazed, or thankful? I knew we did not take that picture. It was a picture of a moment in time, zoomed in. It was a picture of a butterfly. The butterfly that landed on Mari that night.

“Thank you for tonight,” Mari said. “I needed a little excitement in my

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Childhood Dreams Kelsey Johnson Childhood Dreams Where do they go? Do we discard them at once? Does anyone know? The Dreams of Policemen and Bakers and Vets are all gone at once. Maybe lost on a bet? Are they buried in the sandbox behind dump trucks and pails? Or drained in the bathtub with squeaky blue whales. Do they find us again later way down the road? Or were they just too much for us, a burden to load.

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Rob Kosin Contemplates a Safety Pin While Emerging From a Checkerboard Robert Hutchison

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Math Problems Stephanie Curney 12 boys intimate and 1 shared girl; A universe full of people, but 1 big lonely world. 3 boys loved and 8 boys played; 1 boy in progress while the others get laid. 4 boys got their hearts broken while the others didn’t give a care; The others had no feelings; they just wanted someone to share. Several tried to get with her but few turned down; But yet her feelings are the ones that hit the ground. 5 troubled relationships, 12 intimate friends and 4 one night stands; 1 tired girl and 1 new man. All failed relationships except 3 were successes; The only 3 that were put above the rest. 3 are still in love and tried to move on, But yet can’t because they’re stuck on What used to be which is no more. 1 stalker and 3 that can’t get over her; 2 like to pick and stir up whatever can occur. Too many boys in this one tell; So when she says “keep your legs closed” She’s directing this to all the females. She says this because she doesn’t want you to Take the wrong path; So take her advice or else you too, will be doing the math.

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Beautifully Blonde Ashley Ksiazek I love my life. Who wouldn’t want to be Me? I have gorgeous blond hair and I dress Preppy. My body is thin but it still Has curves. Other girls envy me, they have Such nerve. My boyfriend, Ken, is handsome, with Muscles to die for! Sometimes we argue But I always go back for more. Made of Plastic, dressed up by many. When it comes To jobs, I can have any. The city Malibu is named after me. I am Honest. I am modest. I am Barbie.

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Snowflake Priscilla Roque

Ba’hai Temple Laurie Johnson

A snowflake landed in my hand tonight Its perfection amazed me Its smiling beauty that spun from afar Completely dressed in a robe of white Left me wondering how it’ll get home tonight

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Epiphany of a Lifetime

I Am...

Leticia Mota

Eboni Berry

I was angry for quite a while It wasn’t just that single day that caused it. I remember seeing all the bad and evil rushing to my head at the speed of sound. My mind had its own speed, opposed body, running in slow motion, or so it seemed. As I collapsed I felt all the anger in my soul leave my body, evaporating like water. I yelled in pain, except this wasn’t pain I didn’t want to feel at that moment. The feeling was so overwhelming that when it came to an end, although I couldn’t physically do it, I smiled in my thoughts. There wasn’t a care in the world simply me lost in thoughts of joy and peace. It wasn’t the drugs, NO, this was a greater High. “Do you feel angry with your life?” She asked while holding her clipboard. I took a deep breath and replied with a grin on my face, NO. My days after that, for as long as they lasted, were of forgiveness, peace, and love. It wasn’t a love you feel for a certain someone. It was as if I saw everyone as brothers and sisters. I made peace with my enemies. I knew their faults as people and that they would continue to be people. Without hesitation, I took upon forgiving, not caring if their apologies weren’t real. I hold on to that feeling dearly for peace, love, and forgiveness can heal so many wounds.

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I am what you made me That’s what I answer to myself I am the pain I am the fire I am cuts within my veins, I am What is called nothing I am pain I am what you called depression Because you are my oppression There is no destination So I am his temptation Because I own my own operation I am the sensation Of life Because me and you have no association I love; I wonder I am the hearts Cuts deeper with an open knife I am fear That ends with an unloving tear That no medicine can cure I am change of the suicidal derange The heart that always seems to experience pain I AM…

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Speed of Light Kenyetta Porter

The Egg Orbit Ebony Allen

Time in a frame to hold the look of the view No one could ever break No one brave enough to try and tame it Too close to the start of the end, never as close to ending it Happy Helpless Hopefulness Clears Colors Constantly Less of twelve is more, but more of it disappears Ticks to sadness Tocks to its sphere No clue when its eternity; Circles to infinity Desperately Dazzling Doubts Idiotic Illusioned Ideals Hours are in bold Minutes slowly after unfold

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Tamales Alexandra Benitez It’s a tiny factory, here at the Benitez Casa. You see, we’re cooking together – Tamales con masa. We are all lined up happy and ready, Especially our Tamale taster, Uncle Freddy. Abuela Aldegunda is stirring the filling. Pork cubes in a Tomatillo-Serrano Chili. We fill the corn husks with the masa and pork. Then roll them and steam them, testing them with a fork. The smell of Tamales cooking starts to fill the air. Even the Novela stops, damn! We don’t care. All we want are our Tamales on a plate, Followed by a nice slice of Tres Leches cake.

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My Son Wendy Urquiza Day after day I do the same things School and work But throughout the day All I want to do is just go home To the only person who is a blessing Brings a smile to my face every time As if I was back in that room Back on January 28, 2006 When I first met you and held you in my arms for the first time You were 7.4 pounds and 21 inches long to be exact As I looked at you your smile captivated me From that moment I knew we had a connection A connection between mother and son that will last for lifetime That no one will ever understand That is why you’re my world You’re my son

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Combat Griselda Ponce

Obama Typography Todd Pierce

The darkness and emptiness that oppression has brought can only make me stronger despite my fears. Even after reminiscing with vivid detail the heinous circumstances that have brought me to this land I can’t help but wonder when autonomy will come. I’m shattered to dream or even think of what I lived. But somehow I know the future will break the chains that have held me captive for so long. I won’t be subjugated! All I know is that I won’t give up. I will fight, I won’t cry, I will strive! Thus; if obstacles come, the power I hold now will all overcome.

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A Mother’s Love LaTonia Sanders My load is heavy My step is light My mind is busy Thinking about how to make it right. I have walked miles without soles on my shoes. I have cried through the night until the sun rose. The bad days are like a bitter taste in my mouth My journey is not over, it has only just begun.

The first time I saw all of you, you took my breath away, I promised to take care of you the rest of my days. How I wait to hear from you at any hour.

The road is dark and I see no light The success of my children is sweeter than sugar Their smiles are like the fourth of July Their sadness can be like the death of a family member.

The other three are not that far behind I lend my shoulder for you to cry I grab your hand to lead you the way I am never out of reach

The depth of these blessings you will not know Just always remember you make me glow. I see how you have grown And it is better than I could have ever known.

So when your shoulders are heavy And you feel you cannot go on any further Just remember as always that I am here for you, your Mother.

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One of you are an adult now All proper, trim and bright Others have complimented you on your manners You always said my mother raised me right.

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4 Years of Every Season Soul Chanthala

Morning View Johnna Calvillo

The past 4 years of every season was magnificent Every corner stone was a different chapter Whether it was mile high standards To old generic brand raisins No matter what the outcome was I still found myself standing on top of the mountain by myself 4 years of every season And I still find myself in the darkest hole of the galaxy Staring in the eyes of my beloved Contemplating whether or not she is the one Every season the leaves change Not because they want to But because they have to As every rain drop comes tumbling down Each gasp of air becomes shorter and shorter For I must be cautious The ice can be slippery and hard Must I find my summery nights during the coldest and darkest times of winter?

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Ramblings of a Madman Martin Stoklosa The justification of any position requires the juxtaposition of two. The full story is never one sided but is rarely two sided. Confused yet? It’s the same as a coin. One coin, two sides. The two never meet but are connected by the one. Such is the relationship between ourselves and our souls. We rarely, if ever, remember about our souls. Why do we not feel our souls the way we feel our heart? Simple; they’re incomplete. We, by ourselves, are stranded and broken. When one soul meets another, we feel it in our very core. In fact, we sometimes feel the core itself. We need to realize that life cannot be simply trodden through alone. We can’t forget that souls reside in every single person. We can’t forget that everyone is human. We forget so quickly, but expect others to always remember that we’re human. Our emotions make us human. That’s what separates us from everything else. Lust is an instinct; love is an emotion. We need to stop viewing emotions as tools and play-things and start realizing that they’re alive. Emotions are alive in every single person, in every single situation. To be human is to feel. To feel is to be alive. To be alive is to be happy.

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Solace Joron Evans Deep, deep, deep down within… Lies a place of serenity, Away from sin. The winds, the waves, Never do they hold back. Of tears, No lack. It’d be easy to forget What peace means here. But, I won’t fall To this kind of fear. Amidst the words, The pain, The confusion of the storm… I cease to search for words That won’t form. All I know, all that’s clear Is this: My home now Is this web of solace.

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Happiness is a Warm Puppy Todd Byerly The boy wakes up to the sound of gunfire. The rarely seen gunfire that seems to have a purpose beyond pain; in this case, it is used to start anew. However, he is not alarmed; these are controlled shots, not even bullets worthy of target practice. They signal the start of a new day-more or less, a very loud, rude alarm clock. This all has always seemed odd to him. Stationed on a remote desert army base in New Mexico, a young boy on the verge of adolescence hastily rises from bed. It is nearly dawn across the base, and the sun’s rays slowly illuminate the boy’s bare wall, exposing the cheap plaster drywall with all of its numerous divots and holes. This is life on an army base, for him at least. Sleeping past six a.m. proves heroic for most. The boy shuffles out of bed and into the other room. “Dad?” There is nothing but silence. This is what he has grown to expect. Outside the temperature is unusually cool. A slight breeze drifts down from a mountain, creating a perfect draft. The sun is much more tolerable now. By midday these cooler mornings morph into a sweltering inferno. A wave of dry heat sweeps over the valley like an explosion of misery. How these recruits function in this heat must be chalked up to their desire and drive. Both are qualities that will take an individual a long way at a place like this. Yet, the boy possesses neither, though still he is drug along for the ride. He is a victim of fate. At an early age, he lost his mom, Claire, to cancer, and another close friend to a car accident. This all happened before his twelfth birthday, which was just six months earlier. Death and torment tag along like a bad reputation. It is a pest. His father, a Colonel for the

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United States Army, is, by no real fault of his own, an inept caretaker. That part of being a parent was always Claire’s job. He was always the provider. The loss of his wife is hard on him too, and he copes by diving into his work. What his work consists of, specifically, is anyone’s guess. His son assumes he is a sort of drill leader and tactics instructor. The boy’s day-to-day life is something similar to that of a retired person: five a.m. wake up, a morning full of puttering around the house, an early dinner, and an evening of apathy. Sure, he has his studies, but they are of little importance to his young mind. Any true enjoyment was sucked out months ago. There is always another base to go to, and another location more miserable than the last. His time with his father feels more like a prison sentence than anything else. Empty conversations, boredom, and a lot of “yes sir’s.” After a morning of moping around his small two-bedroom “home,” the boy finally sits down in an old recliner near the only window in the room. This “home” is better fit to be called a shack. The bare walls and lack of furniture don’t do the room any favors. At least fifteen of these “luxurious” shacks line the northwest corner of the base, each housing the higher-ranking officers and their families. Around this time his father usually comes back for a brief break from drills, though that’s not why the boy is looking out the window. His focus is a vulture flying overhead. Its large wings pierce the air as it majestically circles the shacks, in search of its next meal. Its soaring lulls the boy into an odd gaze, and he can do nothing but gawk. “I’m right here,” the boy half-heartedly remarks to the scavenger. Just as his attention drifts from the vulture to a nearby cloud, he hears the front door swing open. “Well, this sure looks like homework,” his father says.

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“Sorry. Sir, I was just..” “No ‘sorrys’ now. Just get back to your work. I came back to grab something.” His father heads to his room and comes back with a file folder. He looks at it for a moment, then whisks past his son. He is gone before the boy has a chance to say anything. These types of moments are the extent of the contact he has with his father. He is nothing more than another order. He is the face behind the demands, which is probably why there is more resentment than anything else in the boy’s heart. After a fleeting moment of contemplation, the boy returns to the window. He sees lines of men running past the first aid barrack, and still more men running beyond that. Everyone seems to be running. This gives the boy an idea of his own: join the party. “Some fresh air is in order,” he says. He straps on ill-fitting boots, and grabs a hat as he walks out the front door. It takes his eyes a couple minutes to adjust to the brightness, and soon he feels like just another soldier. Mind you, he is dressed in nothing more than sweats and a white T-shirt, but nonetheless, a soldier of boredom.

looks up, and again, the vulture is overhead. It seems to mimic his movement. “Well, I’m right here,” he says. The bird’s piercing eyes stare back. The boy lies back in the sand, looking at the sky and his new friend. “I wonder what his name is?” He reminisces about his mother, and how she used to do this with him on warm summer days when there was nothing better to do. He closes his eyes, and for a second, he is back home in Virginia. He hears the rush of the tide swishing back and forth. The air feels the same as it did. The soothing aroma of salt creeps into his recollection. They are all comforting feelings long forgotten. Now he lives in lethargy. He has no real friends, and no true hobby or activity to enjoy aside from daydreaming and napping. The longer he continues to lie there, the better he feels. It is relaxing. The sun’s powerful rays are no match for this kind of tranquility. He feels okay about being bored out here. Back in the shack, it is always a guessing game when his father will burst through the door and catch him neglecting his studies. Here, he can lie back in the sand and drift away. “Is this what drugs are like?” He remains there, eyes closed, as he drifts to sleep under the blazing sun.

“All right, men, line up, fall out,” he says. He fake-salutes a line of cacti that line his shack. This type of mockery makes him feel better. He wanders to the back of his shack, drawing a line in the sand with his foot. Countless small snakes and reptiles scurry under each step. He hears another round of gunshots. Since he is outside, they seem louder.

Thirty minutes later, he is woken up by a stern nudge on the chest. He looks and has to adjust his eyes to the shadow the person casts over him. It is his father, glaring down at him.

“Jesus!” He shouts. “We have watches, you know.”

“Uh…no, sir. I ju..just went outside for some fresh air.”

As he walks farther and farther from his shack, the noise from the base is less and less of a distraction. Above him he hears a bird squawk. He

“Air, huh?”

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Please tell me this is some kind of experiment.”

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“Yes, sir. It’s stuffy in there.” The boy gets up and brushes the sand off his pants and smiles up at his father. He is not smiling back.

“What is it?” “Well, it was my father’s. Now it’s yours.” He pauses.

“Get back inside before I lose my temper. Today is not my best.” He marches back to his 4-wheeler and drives off.

“I have no need for it.”

The boy obeys and trudges back to the shack. He kicks off his boots and plops himself back in the chair for more window gazing. Sure enough, that same vulture is right outside the window. The boy is surprised it didn’t try to eat him as he slept. For whatever reason, it hovers above his shack for most of the afternoon. It seems to be waiting for some kind of death.

The boy looks at the item. Its weathered finish is appealing to him. It is like holding ancient treasure. He is, however, bewildered as to why his father gave it to him. It is a bit out of character for what is otherwise an aloof and isolated man.

The sun is setting, as the boy wakes up in the chair from an unexpected nap, his second of the day. He quickly looks out the window to see if the vulture is still there. It isn’t. He isn’t even sure why he wants it to be there.

“Well, sure. Just take good care of it. It’s old.”

His father opens the door and briskly walks inside. He never was a man for heavy conversation. They are essentially two strangers living together. “How was the rest of your day? You get that homework done?” “Yes, sir.” He keeps to a minimum direct eye contact to avoid being caught in his lie. His father looks at him and gives the closest thing to a smile his son has ever seen. He reaches in his breast pocket and takes out an old timepiece.

“Does it still work?”

“Thank you, sir.” He thinks nothing more of it, and whisks off to his room to look at it in detail. His father continues to sit in the other room, simply staring out the window like his son had done most of the day. By then, dusk is nearly upon them, and the two wash up for dinner and walk to the cafeteria together. As to be expected, the meals on base are a far cry from gourmet. “Slop” seems to be an appropriate term amongst the men. Tonight, the menu consists of meat loaf, green beans, a baked potato, water, and a dinner roll. In somewhat of a cheerful mood, the boy and his father sit down in a corner of the cafeteria and eat in near silence. The boy is sporting a childish smile most of the meal. “Why are you smiling so much, eh?” The father cracks his own slight smile as he speaks.

“Here, this is for you.” “No reason. I’m just kinda happy, sir.”

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“And why are you so happy? What’s your secret?” The boy sits there for a minute before saying anything. “Naps,” he finally says. The father chuckles loudly. “Now, if only I didn’t have to work all day.” He sits there before a look of surprise sweeps over his face. “I nearly forgot.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out an old medal. He takes a final look at it before sitting it on the table and slowly pushing it toward his son. “What is this?” “An old medal of mine. I carried it every day since I got it, and I’m tired of it. I don’t need it anymore.” The boy looks over the medal with bewilderment. All these random gifts perplex him. Upon returning home, the two go their usual separate ways: his father to sitting in the chair, blankly staring out the window. He has been spending more and more time in his own room of late, which again puzzles his son. Usually he spends most of his free time out of the house, lounging with other officers and playing bridge.

The boy wakes up to the sound of gunfire. It is one gunshot, to be exact. And it is much louder than usual. In a frenzy, the boy shoots up out of bed and tries to collect his whirlwind thoughts. “Are we being attacked? Is that how things work in the Army?” He runs to his father’s door to find it locked. “Dad! Dad! Dad!” There is no response. Then a pool of blood trickles under the doorframe and flows under his cold bare feet. Its dark hue reflects in the moonlight, and illuminates an even darker shade of death. Shell-shocked, the boy stands in silent disbelief. He walks outside under the stars to get some air. It is a clear cool night and the brisk breeze bites at his nose. A few tears drip from his cheek as he sits down in the sand, head in his lap. A muffled Beatles tune can be heard from a neighboring shack. Its awkward melody sweeps into the night. The boy recognizes the title but the coincidence escapes him. There is an abrupt squawk overhead, and he looks up to see the vulture resting on top of his home, blankly staring back at him. Fate has caught up to him.

His son has never been scared of his father, but he is the type of man who demands respect from a very early age. His son always gives it to him. He dare not see the angry side of a father who seems nothing but angry to begin with. The boy washes up, and he is in bed reading a little after dark when his father leaves for one more round of drills. The boy lies there, ignoring his history book, instead examining the medal and the timepiece. Outside, the dark valley begins to give way to the animal nightlife. A pack of howling wolves can be heard in the distance. After an hour or so, he dozes off, the book still in his lap.

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Miracles Happen Monja Dereta

Ouef, Ouef, Ouef Robert Hutchison

I still do remember her smiley face Leaning over that dirty, green-brownish Wooden bin. She was big – four times bigger Than me. I took a rapid glance at her, And didn’t even bother hoping again That it is my turn to be blessed with love; That she would not desire one of my Siblings crying near me. So I got back To my lonely and miserable thoughts, And it was when I felt her wrinkled arms Cuddling my miniature brown body, That I realized she chose me. Now I Am crying, but I am happy. Thank you For adopting a two-month old puppy.

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In Your Eyes Melissa Kirk She remembers the first time she laid eyes on her. It was her eyes that captured her heart. They were so deep, so bright. She stared at her pictures on the social networking site for hours, thinking of ways to talk to her without being too forward. She would gaze through her pictures, placing herself in the position of other people in her imagination. And when they finally met in person, her eyes were so clear you could see your reflection in them, as if you were watching yourself drown from a distance. And when she spoke, her voice was so beautiful, like waves crashing against the beach. It was at that moment she knew she loved her. She realized that their relationship would be a big problem. Though most of society was accepting, there were still those who were against relationships like theirs; add into the mix that she had small children and she felt like she would end up a bad episode of The Jerry Springer Show. But being ever the optimist, she knew that their love for one another would prevail. They had a bond that was strong; they were soul mates. On their first meeting, they were finishing each other’s sentences, for gosh sakes, and they had only talked online up until that point. They shared so many of the same ideas, hopes, dreams, and goals for themselves that you would have thought they were the same person; and in essence, they were. They were two halves of one whole. They loved each other Truly, Madly, Deeply, Unconditionally. She was prepared to deal with whatever the world would come at them with, because she

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knew they would face it head on, together. She knew because all she had to do was look into her eyes, and everything would be right with the world. It was those eyes that helped her through her life. The custody battle with the kids. The job loss, the depression, the sadness, the suicide attempts. Times when her bank account was so negative she didn’t know if she would ever see any money. When she found the dream job, those eyes showed her happiness. When her dog died, she looked to those eyes for solace. Those eyes were her beacon; her lighthouse in life’s dark and raging ocean. She knew whatever happened, whatever they would go through, those eyes would be there. And today, as she walks toward the gazebo, surrounded by their friends and family, with the officiant standing next to her, she locks sight with those eyes. And in those eyes she can see her entire life flash. Their entire life flashed: all the happiness and the sadness, the joy and the pain, the sickness and the health, the things that had been and were to come, everything that had been through in a fleeting moment shown in those eyes. And as they celebrate their union, their life, their two souls, two hears and two spirits becoming one, she never stops staring into her eyes. It was those eyes who now owned her heart.

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Deserted Griselda Ponce

Moss Laurie Johnson

The intricate petals that flow through the creek Resemble the coming and going of peace. As the water runs, I can hear a soothing melody that comforts my soul. The massive forest that surrounds me is no longer my enemy but my protector. I’m no longer afraid to be alone in this obscure land. Yes, solitude is still my faithful companion And soon enough she will become my disloyal deceiver. Yet, I can’t let go of her because she’s provided me with my most cherished desire. She has brought me comfort during my sorrows and rapture throughout despair. Loneliness has been there to hear me and keep me safe. She has never asked questions or judged my mistakes. The sweet scent of lilies engulfs the air; leaving me breathless along the way Lonesomeness! You have bestowed me sovereignty!

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this weekend was. Kate Le this weekend was being with amazing people who put their arms around you without expecting anything in return. this weekend was erasure’s a little respect, trying to out do the speakerbox, beer slushing in hand with friends, while everyone enviously watched you enjoy life for 3:34. and if i should falter, would you open your arms out to me, we can make love not war, and live at peace in our hearts....don’t you tell me no...don’t you tell me no... this weekend was sweetest day, with balloons in supermarkets that read, happy sweetest day. a half halfhearted greeting from the reason you wear your short skirt and as an afterthought hearing, “oh and happy sweetest day”, and looking over where they didn’t bother to get out of the car to open the door for you and asking yourself what happened to the last 3 months of your life, and how do you get it back? this weekend was slipping substances under bathroom stalls so you can subdue the beer, that you used to subdue what sat on your left that you used to subdue ..yeah, that. but only that didn’t get subdued, and you end up with the left on the right, with that bar tab, with that substance in your belly, as you glamorously allow to pour head first into a toilet, only wishing it wasn’t all of the subdues that you were expelling..and wishing it was ...yeah, that. but the toilet scene came a day late. and the expelling came a “don’t walk me to the door” moment, slamming the car door shut and a “i won’t let you hurt me anymore” text to, yeah, that, moment, even before you had a chance to slam your own door. this weekend was rushing home to go to the supermarket to make dinner. laughing. and getting help with the dishes...and watching a movie while sipping on white merlot and asking yourself, “if i run out

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of wine, should i open up the other bottle?” a wine bottle carelessly left on a counter 3 months ago, awaiting to be sipped after a hard day... and then sighing in relief when you didn’t have to make that choice. and then laughing loudly at yourself for your sentimentality, pretending it was because of something that someone said. this weekend was about not making eye contact because you know that inside you are a hot mess and you are trying to find this happy medium you’ve heard about. and “i love you” holds its value for the extent of its words. and “you’re so great” means “you’re so great, for now.” and trying to prove that wrong, only to be proven right over again. this weekend. this weekend was crawling into a friend’s bed and wishing it wasn’t the friend. hiccuping the pain that seemed so tangible, and trying to grab it so you can choke its life out. and knowing that the cause and the cure is the same source. and no matter how many times you explain through snot and tears, it’s not going to get better if you don’t let go... this weekend is letting go. of the dark spaces that no longer has room to breathe nor light to shine upon. and you got all the answers you needed. it’s admitting now that there’s nothing else you can do but await for the rest of physical stuff to disappear, but knowing that you have to let allofthis disappear before the stuff does. and even if it doesn’t go silently into the night as you wish it would, find a place for it, like you found a place for the.. the stuff. this weekend. this weekend was every thing it needed to be.

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Collars Vernita Brown-Higgins

Rising Johnna Calvillo

As I entered the city, I felt a sense of pride, Still feeling energy from the sweat that gathered on blue collars, The collars that hugged the necks of men, women and even children, Those very same collars that built communities separated by viaducts, Rich in ethnic history and culture; But not so in hospitality towards outsiders, Those collars danced; When glottis lips reverberated different languages and tones, In homes, they collected scents of aftershave and pomade, Liquor, cigar smoke and the lingering aroma of meals made, Oh, how those collars longed to be in the shade, After blood, sweat and heat caused the color to fade, In the workplace, they accumulated, Oil and grease, Remnants of viral disease, Iron deposits and chards of steel, Molten tin from the welding wheel, The stench of death and the dead, Paint laced with carcinogen lead, In flecks and chips, Also poorly burned diesel and coal particulates, Chemical burn holes and dust from asbestos, But collars today are clean and pressed, No longer busy in monuments of work—only a desk, They sip cappuccinos and live in factories turned condos, Hmmph. . . I can still see the Brownstones and Bungalows, Stressed from work overload, They are but ghosts from the past, But I still appreciate them. . . Those collars.

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Manifesto of Infestations in Urban Environments of the Narcissistic, Parasitic, Demolishers of Sanctuary Kevin Rose I drive through the Southside (in any city).......................... and I see the SAME SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!!! They don’t see it? You don’t see it? You don’t WANT-2-C IT. You don’t want to admit that you are in the SAME universe where IT exists. YEAH, like I need to explain what IT is.

BLIGHT

(Broken windows, vacant lots, potholes, junk cars)

NIGHT

(Gang violence, No jobs, kids without toys)

BCUZ of – CRAK – SMAK – JACK – M.J. MD–MTV– NBA LOGOs and SHOES THAT FLY ............................................................SO FLY ....................... IN and OUT of the SAME sunless sky.

FLIGHT

(not me, but these, from the scene) HELP – TALENT – FUNDS – LEADERSHIP – CONCERN Nobody’s fault but everybody’s object lesson to Unlearn, We teach responsibility but refuse 2 take IT. Take IT however you like IT. Like This........ A RAP. I write it, $$SELL it, SPLaaaaSH MY face IN and OUT of every African mud hut to the Crown Heights row houses of Brooklyn, NYC,

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I owe, NOT to you, 1 flat dime, LIVING THE LIVING HELL.... They can take you to jail an’ you can recite each and every line as an anthem to your solidarity with me. So rise I, ascending on the smoke of cremated dreams. Keep dreamin’ bcuz when you WAKE UP you’ll have 2 CLEAN UP the {unstaunched (wasted potential)} cesspool. ABANDONED FORSAKEN AND DISCARDED (on the basis of no value in the tax base regardless of those souls longing for a crumb of concern to fall down from America’s dinner table of affluence)! WHERE IS THE APPEAL??!! (For voiceless hostages held captive in this squalor?) SMASH THROUGH THE DOOR And rescue the tender fondling youth imprisoned, shuddering inside, held hostage by an apathetic age!!! IF NOTHING ELSE, bring sweet fragrant blooms to them and line the beds on which they rest perhaps to cease a dismal stench from choking LIFE, LIBERTY, HOPE, BELIEF out of their formative thoughts and imaginations,

please!

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Untitled Kate Le

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Misanthropy Rising Elliot McClendon My secret is finally out. The villagers are on their way here. They know now what horrors I have committed. I cannot stay here any longer. I have to leave: just as last time. I am always on the run. I’ll never live in peace. This curse will not let me. The beast lying dormant shuns me from humanity. I must live as a shadow, disappearing once they find out what lurks beneath.

For weeks I travel north. My senses are heightened. I move across the frozen tundra and the wild forest unfettered by the hindrances of my past. Humanity has turned me away. It fears what evil I have wrought on this world. I seek solitude in this frozen land: a place to live in peace among wild beasts. That is what I am now. The soul of a man consumed by a beast.

I make for the woods. There is no sound: nothing but the wailing of the wind through the pines. The villagers have given up their pursuit. They know not to follow a wolf into the woods. They wish me gone because they fear, but no one dares try to hunt me. I will leave this place in peace. I wish no one harm. I only want to live peacefully among people. I am a doctor; I want to help people. I want to heal and to make this world better. But this damn devil’s curse will not allow me.

I have wandered this vast wilderness for months now, surviving and delving more and more into my altered self. I feel the beast manifesting itself even without the manifest of a full moon. My features become more wolf-like with each passing transformation. My fingernails now almost claws. My teeth ever more canine. Come nightfall, I slip unnoticed into towns, past their sleeping inhabitants, unaware of the evil that stalks among them. I come for supplies. What little humanity I still feel craves the attention and affection of his fellow man. I dare not trust myself to live among humans once more.

It happens the same way each time, with each town. I come as a force of good. I arrive with the praise of everyone: “Thank you for helping our community,” they say. My knowledge helps a community thrive and blossom. I always have hope that each town will be different, that my life will finally be a restful one. Alas, things are always the same. Once the moon waxes to full I lose all semblance of humanity. I shed my mortal flesh as I am renewed. I take on a new wolfen form. I do not remember the actions…but I know they are of my own doing. I awaken alone with not a shred of clothing, yet I feel no cold. I await nightfall to return home. Tales of missing people circulate. They never find them. My other half is good at covering his actions. The other townspeople never suspect...not until more and more friends and family disappear. I do my best to cover my actions. I try my all to create convincing alibis…but for only so long can I keep so a large a ruse a secret . And then I must leave.

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Isolation has changed me...my morals altered by my banishment. I no longer exist as a man nor a beast. I am a monster. Humans fear me. Animals fear me. I am an abomination. I exist as a plague on this earth. My existence is no longer clear. Why am I here? Why was I bestowed with this curse? Me, someone once of intellect and respect, banished and altered...cursed to destroy my own kind and doomed to live alone. It is not fair. I grow resentful of humans. Mortals and playthings. Such fragile existences they lead. Their lives swept from them with a simple swing of a claw, or crunch of the jaw. I live in exile while these inferior beings live in luxury. I live in the wild, hunting for a meal. They eat their meal at tables with utensils and family, with dignity. Such action a ritual I took for granted. I now eat like a dog. Exiled by a world too afraid to accept me.

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Sting, By Bleeding Out Kayhan Erdogan

In due time resentment forms to hatred. These bags of flesh mock me. Unappreciative of the lives they lead with their family and companions. I bide my time in my solitary home among the woods. Someday soon I will show the human race how fragile it is. I will show them the monsters they fear. They will know of my existence and acknowledge their weakness before their end. No longer in hiding shall I live out my days. The world will feel my hatred with the tearing and ripping of sweet succulent flesh between my fangs and claws. I will be the blackness that swallows this world in darkness.

A stinging blow A hurting in space He who thinks he holds justice, standing in my face Seeing red as the world goes black Waking up as the sun goes down, a pounding in my head Like the military firing off a round Dried blood in my lip, A gash to my hip And my heart, missing another chip... People would never think he would break down on me I was always the strong one you see Fighting for my life Fighting for the last breath at night Fighting for my right Yet it’s all gone, you lost this night

92 | egg

tenable | 93


For My Mother Ashley Bliske

Petal Effect Alberto Ramirez

Although it has come time for me to walk independent in this world I remember the days in your arms I would curl. Looking out the window of this desolate apartment I sit And wish you were here to laugh with, cry with Just for a bit. Sometimes this time apart Weighs heavily on my heart. I know letting me go was rough for you It was a melancholy time for me, too. Remember, you will always be my mother, my best friend And my warmest thoughts and love to you I extend.

94 | egg

tenable | 95


That Special Some *Thing* Shalonda Hood-Alexander I can sit and tell you all my secrets And you’re the type to remember everything I say From putting something in my calendar or a memo, You are there through anything and everything You are always by my side when I need you Close to me or on my hip, You are there with me when I go to sleep And by my side when I wake up Lying there looking so calm and still, When I have my roughest times You are always there to consol me As in getting me in touch with the right people, You are the one I run to when I need to smile The one I look to depend on to have fun If it’s not a game, it’s a humorous message, Even though people say you are a square I believe you’re more than just that; you have 3 dimensions, I hate to push your wrong buttons Because you will freeze up on me, What else can I say? My mother even adores you, What would I do without you? My cell phone

96 | egg

The Old Me Andrea Lane Trust me I didn’t always look like this Seven days a week for Eight hours Stuck with the weight of the world on my shoulders, I did nothing to deserve this madness Being pressed upon like raw cookie dough No longer represented by a brand Unfit and tired is what I’ve become; Now lacking confidence and respect No one takes a second look at me Clean with the smell of genuine leather, Black with white stripes and a 3-inch heel I was branded by bold capital letters A gloss that could make people stop and stare I was always the center of attention Full of life and feeling superior Glance at me now, I’m no longer pretty.

tenable | 97


Perfection Shane Reid I walked into Beverly Lanes, I heard the excitement of people yelling, And the sounds of pins cracking. I ran over to lane 16 to see what was going on, What I saw was my best friend bowling in his league, With eleven strikes in a row. I watched him step up onto the approach, Along with hundreds others who were watching his every move. And his knees shook like an earthquake. He started his approach, to the foul line, The ball rolled out of his hand, While everyone began shouting and screaming, That my friend could bowl a perfect game. The ball hit the pins, Pins went flying everywhere, All ten went down. My friend began shouting, “Yes I did it!” And everyone was cheering for him. As I went down to shake his hand, I saw myself, inside my friend, I remembered how I felt, When I bowled my first perfect game.

98 | egg

I’m a Pro Stephen DiSanto When you flip the lid I get excited, You push my button and just turn me on, Once I boot up I am ready to go, My screen is glistening like the morning sun, Colors vibrant and bright on my LED Cinema Display, One click of my mouse and IWork for sure, Safari is fast and there’s no looking back, The whole world is at your fingertips, There is no PC that could beat me, Thank God I’m a Mac, and a Pro at that.

tenable | 99


New Beginnings James Oliver & Renee Malone

Contemplation Amber Alwin

Like a seedling, I too emerge from the darkest depths. Ignorant to a new world, so it is with caution that I take my steps. Strong, yet so fragile - for society’s false airs whisk me to and fro. Firmly grounded, I beseech the sun and God to shine upon me that I may grow. Stronger and stronger, higher and higher for the world to see. Sprouting out leaves and fruit like a tree. Alone in the world I’ll never be. All the beauty around me rich with gold, And I shall bear the fruits of knowledge in which you may partake. Provide refuge in the arbor of my soul for humanity’s sake. Witness my many rings -------- my bling-bling. Judge me not by my skin, my bark, which is dark. My tatts, my carvings, my engraved marks. For my limbs will be forever extended to all. The birds the bees, the ills the goods, the weak the small, the big, the tall. As the years go by our bark grows stronger like the bonds of time all through the day and night maintaining our love and beauty for all to see to remember us by The magic from a seed, to a plant, to a tree brings you and me together. Forever –

100 | egg

tenable | 101


I Am Legend... And She, My Epic

You Only Live Once!

Delwin Furlow

Never let anyone else decide upon your dreams, The fairytale movie life isn’t what it seems, Strive, stay positive, and focus on what works for you, Because after all this is what you have to go through: Negativity, friends, foes, downfalls, arguments, and even embarrassments, Nevertheless you can’t avoid difficult obstacles; you can only face them with reality, Let determination take over your fears, Let dedication take over your insecurities, And let motivation take over all the possibilities, You have one life to live.

She is the ink upon the scroll which illustrates my masculine element. A testament of truth, righteousness, and wisdom; the personification of my relevance. Nations beneath her feet, for in my footsteps she stands. Possessing an unyeilding dominance, yet I am legend, I am man. I am the conviction in her eyes when words are spoken. The boldness in her stride, the tasteful garments she’s cloaked in. That bares only respect, dignity, and authority, the rune which comprises my signature. Placing the hieroglyphs of love upon her neck, transfiguring her into breathing literature. Communicating my truth unto the ears of the masses. As I burn incense in her honor, inhaling the hashish until it becomes ashes. Until in reverence bow my eyelashes. She, the sole conqueror of my heart, the Queen of Queens. I, the true victor of her mind, the King of Kings. For I am her end….. And she my means.

102 | egg

Jamia Lawson

tenable | 103


Indulged in Mediocrity Kevin Russell

Purple Lush Alberto Ramirez

I’m surrounded by mediocrity, the shallow ends of the world around me swallows the complex thoughts of a young man. Masking him as a child in a toy store, with the wants of the next thing he sees. Not caring about quality, but rather the rapid satisfaction that will eventually get old. Thus leaving this young man more confused than a child who thinks every man might be their father. I’m completely surrounded by mediocrity.... then there’s her

104 | egg

tenable | 105


For the Love of Soccer Maricruz Nuñez The day Andrew, Frank’s son, was to be born was supposed to be the best day for the Sawyer family. However, Frank’s wife, Ellie, gave birth to a daughter on February 12, 1966. Ellie was happy, but Frank could not hide the disappointment. Ellie asked Frank, “What should we name her? We only had a name for a boy prepared because that is what the doctors said I would give birth to?” Frank’s voice was filled with disbelief, but he managed to say, “Andie.” She weighed seven pounds, had black hair, and her father’s green eyes. Frank grew up as a soccer fanatic, which led him to play soccer in high school, college, and try out for the pro’s until he blew out his knee during a tryout game. Ever since then he couldn’t watch a game, look at a soccer ball, or mention the game. He was twenty five when he blew out his knee trying out for the 1959 Kansas City Wizards team. He met Ellie five years after that incident, and they have been together ever since. As the years went by, Andie grew older. While in elementary school she showed interest in soccer while in gym class. The gym teacher suggested her parents put her on a team, but as soon as the subject was brought up, Frank avoided the rest of the conversation. Ellie noticed that through her years in elementary school, Andie enjoyed the game, but didn’t want to do anything to upset Frank. Andie knew her relationship with her father was not the best, but she loved him and she knew he did too. It got to the point where Andie asked Ellie, “Why does dad hate that I like soccer?” Thus, Ellie thought it was time for Andie to know her father’s story. Andie was now a young woman: 14 years old and about to enter Lincoln High School in Kansas City. Andie and Ellie were sitting down in the kitchen when they began to talk about Frank’s past. “I only heard your father’s story from your grandfather because Frank would not want to talk to me about it at all,” Ellie told Andie.

106 | egg

Ellie began with the story, “Your father enjoyed and lived for the game his whole life until the pro tryouts. He played in little league, high school, and college. He loved watching the games as much as he enjoyed playing. Soccer was his life, Andie. Then, when he got the chance to tryout to play for the professional league, it was a dream come true for him. He went to practices and counted down the days to the tryout. So when it finally came, it was blue shirts against orange shirts. Your father was a striker for the blue team and a defender kicked right at his knee. Then, soccer became part of his past.” Andie was left speechless, but managed to say, “I understand everything now. All the times he would tell me to turn off the television when I watched the games, the times I would tell him Chelsea is my favorite team, or even asking him to let me play. The disappointment and anger in his face makes sense now. But, mom, I enjoy this game as much as he probably did. I really want to play, and I don’t want dad’s past to affect me.” At that moment Frank walked in and said, “You are not playing, Andie! And I don’t want any more talk!” “Why can’t you let the past go and understand me?” Andie argued. “It will just ruin your life like it did for me. It gets your hopes up, makes you dream, and then makes your feet land back on the ground with the harsh truth!” Andie took a step to the kitchen door and said, “What happened to you does not have to happen to me. I’m joining the team when I get to high school, with or without your permission.” Andie ran to her room. Finally, school started. It was 1970 now, and Andie managed to make friends and seemed to enjoy her classes. In biology class Andie met Karla. Karla had short curly hair, dark brown eyes, and was the goalie

tenable | 107


on the soccer team. In gym class she introduced Andie to James. James had brown eyes, a slim figure, dark brown hair, and was very athletic. He was a striker for the boys’ soccer team and was as big as a fan of Chelsea as Andie was. Karla and James both told her to try out, but Andie told them about her father.

With that he understood what it was and what had happened before he got there. He said, “I can’t believe you signed it, Ellie!” “She didn’t. I did, son,” Dan said. “Why would you?” After you know what it did to me?”

“You shouldn’t have to hide your talent and passion for the game because of your father’s past,” James said. “You are talented and play really well—I’ve seen it!” Karla agreed and added, “We have both seen you in gym class and we saw you the other day at the park playing with some guys. You are a good player!” On the way home, Andie kept thinking about what Karla and James told her earlier. She went back to school and talked to the soccer coach and asked if it was too late to get a form to sign up. They had a long talk in Coach Durham’s office, but the conversation concluded with Durham saying, “One of your guardians has to sign the form to let you play.” Andie knew that would be a problem. Tryouts were on December 1st. They were to be held on an indoor field in the Kansas City Soccer Dome. This was two days away. When Andie got home her grandfather, Dan, was in the living room with her mother. They were watching television and Andie told them she had to talk to them before her dad got home from work. Andie told them about the soccer team, the conversation with her friends and with the coach. She said, “So can you understand where I’m coming from and sign the form? I only have until tomorrow to turn it in.” A few moments later, Frank stepped in and saw the paper in Andie’s hands and the happiness in her face.

108 | egg

Dan got up and said, “It’s time you stop living in the past. You enjoyed that game as much as Andie does now, and it is time you let her live her dreams. She loves that game as much as you did, and part of me still thinks you do, Frank.” With those words Frank stormed out of the living room. Andie didn’t care. The next day at school she told James and Karla what happened, while the three of them walked to turn in the form. They went to classes and Andie could not hide the happiness and excitement from her face. During lunch, one of the girls from the team, Ashley, sat next to James. She told James and Karla, “You might want to tell your friend to watch out at tryouts tomorrow because I am the best on the team and you both know it! I’ve been MVP in the outdoor league twice!” She laughed and walked off. Both James and Karla told Andie not to pay attention to her, but all that did was make Andie more determined than ever. Finally, tryouts came. When she got to the dome, Andie began to feel the nerves. Some of the guys from the boys’ team went to see the tryouts, so James went to support Andie. They started warming up, ran a couple of laps, and did some drills. Andie did well in everything, and Ashley wasn’t so happy about it. The final part was a scrimmage game and Andie was placed as a striker. She had confidence in herself and managed to score two goals.

tenable | 109


Coach Durham liked what she saw and thanked and congratulated all the girls for trying out. Tryouts concluded with Coach Durham’s final comment, “The list of the girls that made first and second string will be posted up tomorrow outside my office. Enjoy the rest of the day!”

support our daughter.” While they spoke, Andie stood at the top of the stairs listening to every word. She couldn’t help but to feel sad. Frank went outside making it very clear when he said, “I’M NOT GOING AND THAT’S FINAL!!”

Andie invited Karla and James over for dinner. Even though Frank was not too fond of the conversation topics, he managed to keep calm. Soccer was the only topic at the table: from tryouts, to Chelsea, to tryouts again. The next day, Karla and James waited for Andie close by Durham’s office. When she finally arrived they went to check the list. Andie and Karla scanned it looking for their names and they both managed to scream, “WE MADE FIRST STRING!” James congratulated them both and they went about their day from class to class.

Andie went into her room and cried herself to sleep. She ate breakfast and before leaving for school she told her mother and grandfather she will see them at the game. She reminded them it was at four that afternoon. Her father managed to leave early to work because he did not want to see Andie or to hear Ellie or Dan persuading him to go to the game. James walked Karla and Andie to the locker rooms and wished them good luck. As they were getting ready, Andie couldn’t help repeat, “I’m nervous, I’m nervous, Oh man! I’m nervous.” The coach told them to line up and start walking out. As they neared the exit, Andie could hear the crowd yelling and reminded herself to think positive and to let all the nerves go.

At home Andie’s mother and grandfather celebrated the news with a dinner prepared of Andie’s favorites: Caesar salad, lasagna, and red velvet cake. Deep down, Frank was proud of Andie, but did not want to show it; instead he stayed serious throughout dinner. The next two and a half months were full of practice. During the winter they practiced in the gym or the dome. In spring, practice moved outside to the school soccer field. It was now 1971; Andie was very dedicated to school and soccer. The first game was scheduled to be March 23 against Rawhurst High School, their long-time rivals. The days seemed to be going by so fast with practice and homework to be done. Ellie couldn’t convince Frank to go to the game. All Andie wanted to do was show her Father her passion and love for soccer on that field. “She went ahead with everything without my permission,” Frank said. “I explicitly told her: NO SOCCER!” “This isn’t about you, Frank,” Ellie said. “It is about us being there to

110 | egg

The team filed out and she spotted her grandfather and mother sitting next to James. Andie smiled and waved. Frank was in the shadows, watching his daughter walk out. He managed to let the past go while taking a long drive to the place where soccer ended for him. As Andie walked to the field to take her place, Frank noticed the number on her jersey: 4. That was his number when he played, the only number he ever wore. It was game time. The referee blew the whistle and Andie took the first touch and pass. Lincoln High had some good opportunities, but Rawhurst shut them down at every chance. The same went for Rawhurst. Frank watched how talented and passionate his daughter was. Both teams were battling to make the first goal and when it was half time the game was tied 0-0. During the fifteen-minute break, the coach talked to the girls about some plays and encouraged them to try their best.

tenable | 111


Fearless Amber Alwin The next half began and throughout the first twenty minutes passes were made, shots were shot, shots were blocked—and it was still 0-0. Then, Andie got a pass from across the other half of the field from Ashley, and as Andie ran with the ball, the defender from Rawhurst slid. At that point she tripped Andie, causing her to fall on her right knee. Andie grimaced in pain, and Frank ran out from the shadows to his daughter’s aid. Andie could not believe her eyes and neither could Ellie, Dan, Karla, and James. Andie managed to get up and hugged her father in tears. She told him, “I’m fine, dad, I can do it.” Frank told her how sorry he was and said, “I know you could do it.” The team gave Andie the penalty kick. As the team was scattered outside the box, Andie placed the ball on the dot in the center of the goal box. She took a few steps back, but before she took the kick she looked at her parents and grandfather. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Andie opened her eyes and took the kick. Everyone stood up and watched in silence to see where the ball was headed. The Rawhurst goalie missed the ball; Andie made the game winning goal. The crowd went wild screaming, “ANDIE! ANDIE! ANDIE!” She hugged her teammates and then ran to her dad. He said, “I’m proud of you!” After that game, Frank never missed one.

112 | egg

tenable | 113


My Sanctuary Phylicia Grant The door is closed, dead-bolted and locked shut. Once he left, I refused to allow anymore visitors inside. I sat alone in the darkness, secluded away from the rest of society. It hurt too much to move, so I just stayed and cried myself to sleep; that was my healing process. I cried alone in the silence, revealing my feelings to the ghost of his presence.

anyone into my sanctuary. Very few individuals were allowed to come close to me and they never stayed around for long. My renewed steroid strength shrunk my tolerance for being disrespected. Disrespect will get you kicked out, never to be heard from again. At the end of the day I’m alone, but at least I still have my sanity to keep me company.

I haven’t seen the sunlight for weeks. The drapes are closed and I relaxed alone in the darkness. Seclusion became my sanity. Being alone felt safer then trusting my well being with someone else. I buried myself in the silence; I can hear my thoughts clearer. My sight was better in the darkness; the vision was clearer then it was when I was blind. Paranoia sunk in deeply. Happiness was a lie that everyone else believed – but me. I stood outside the 10 story window and stared down at the passersby. Everyone I watched outside my window was victims and villains. Love didn’t exist and I refused to be a pawn in someone else’s game anymore.

I was alone at home when the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting company, so I hesitated to answer the door. For days we spoke through the peephole because I couldn’t open the door for strangers. I never let him in. When I finally allowed for him to come inside, we sat at the opposite ends of the couch and talked. I told him the conversations that I only previously shared with me, myself, and I. He motioned for me to move closer but the fear made me uncomfortable. I kicked him out whenever he got too close to me. Soon the doorbell stopped ringing and the silence shouted louder than before. The loneliness became unbearable. I didn’t even trust myself anymore.

I spent time in my own personal rehab, detoxifying the negative energy out of my body and concentrating on what I needed in order to build a better me. Slowly I began taking steps toward normalcy. I opened up the drapes to let the day in. I was ready to enter the outside world, but not without my armor. My body still ached from the last time I trusted a stranger to get close to me. Lies and trust bounced off my shield like Teflon. I came prepared this time. I began focusing on me before giving myself to other people, enjoying the selfishness. Visitors knocked from the outside, but I looked through the peephole before I allowed

My sanctuary became my prison. I locked myself in to protect society until I was ready to be freed from the solitary confinement. He bailed me out, updating me on the life I was missing from the outside world. We went places I’ve never seen before and did things that I forgot I knew. He gave me back my happiness. He became my security; I didn’t need to be my own bodyguard anymore. I opened the doors instead of slamming them in his face. No longer did he have to ring the doorbell; He already has the key.

114 | egg

tenable | 115


In Honor of Earth Day Imelda Nuùo I will spend the rest of the day wasting NO energy whatsoever by taking a nap. Now that’s clever!

116 | egg

tenable | 117


Index

Index Albaugh, Tanner Chicago

Allen, Ebony Graphic Design Chicago Senior

Alwin, Amber Graphic Design Chicago Senior

Calvillo, Johnna Untitled | Page 32

Egg Clue | Page 6 The Birth of the Egg | Page 13 The Egg Orbit | Page 57 Collarbone | Page 37 Contemplation | Page 101 Fearless | Page 113

Aragon, Michael Christopher Chicago

Watching the Sky | Page 44

Bliske, Ashley

Curney, Stephanie Math Problems | Page 50

Chicago

What is it? | Page 17

Chicago

What is This? | Page 16

Chicago

Miracles Happen | Page 76

Chicago

I’m a Pro | Page 99

Edwards, John Collars | Page 84

Byerly, Todd

118 | A - B | egg

Four Years of Every Season | Page 64

DiSanto, Stephen For My Mother | Page 94

Brown-Higgins, Vernita

Springfield

Chicago

Dereta, Monja I Am... | Page 55

Chicago

Chanthala, Soul

DeBerry, Jamahl Tamales | Page 58

Berry, Eboni

Chicago

Ethereal Intersection | Page 41 Morning View | Page 65 Rising | Page 85

Daqqaq, Hala

Benitez, Alexandra Chicago

Graphic Design Chicago Senior

Chicago

Lonely Adventure | Page 18

Erdogan, Kayhan Happiness is a Warm Puppy | Page 68

Chicago

Sting, By Bleeding Out | Page 93

tenable | C - Er | 119


Index

Index Evans, Joron Chicago

Furlow, Delwin

Business Administration Chicago

This Cell | Page 20 Solace | Page 67

The Poetic Potion | Page 38 I Am Legend... And She, My Epic | Page 102

Grant, Phylicia Chicago

Hutchison, Robert IAD Faculty Chicago

The Hand The Life Dealt | Page 21

Standing Ovation | Page 9 Rob Kosin Contemplates a Safety Pin While Emerging From a Checkerboard | Page 49 Ouef, Ouef, Ouef | Page 77

Bensenville

Chicago

Lady Gaga | Page 43

Beautifully Blonde | Page 51

The Old Me | Page 97

Lawson, Jamia Chicago

Le, Kate Childhood Dreams | Page 48

Chicago

You Only Live Once! | Page 103

this weekend was. | Page 82 Untitled | Page 88

Malone, Renee

Hospitality Management Chicago

Problem Solving | Page 42

Johnson, Laurie

An Eerie Dream | Page 27 Ba’Hai Temple | Page 53 Moss | Page 81

120 | Ev - Jo | egg

Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down | Page 15 In Your Eyes | Page 78

Hospitality Management Chicago

Lane, Andrea

Johnson, Nathan

Graphic Design Chicago Senior

Kirk, Melissa

That Special Some *Thing* | Page 96

Johnson, Kelsey Chicago

History in the Making | Page 28

Ksiazek, Ashley

Hood-Alexander, Shalonda Chicago

Chicago

Krozel Jr., John My Sanctuary | Page 114

Hendricks, Hope Chicago

Jones, Celeste

New Beginnings | Page 100

McClendon, Elliot Chicago

Misanthropy Rising | Page 90

tenable | Jo - Mc | 121


Index

Index Mota, Leticia

Pharmacy Technician Chicago

Ramirez, Alberto Epiphany of a Lifetime | Page 54

Nu単ez, Maricruz Chicago

Oliver, James

Supposed to have another?| Page # New Beginnings | Page 100

Ponce, Griselda Chicago Business

Combat | Page 60 Deserted | Page 80

Ratza, Clifford

Faculty Chicago, Orland Park

College | Page 22

The Once and Future | Page 8 The Nerve of Youth | Page 12

Chicago Business

Perfection | Page 98

Business Chicago

Rose, Kevin Peoria

Snowflake | Page 52

Manifesto of Infestations in Urban Environments of the Narcissistic, Parasitic, Demolishers of Sanctuary | Page 86

Russell, Kevin Speed of Light | Page 56

Pranger, Norb

122 | Mo - P | egg

Chicago Business

Roque, Priscilla Obama Typography | Page 61

Porter, Kenyetta

Computer Networking Chicago

The Door | Page 24

Reid, Shane Crush | Page 39

Pierce, Todd Graphic Design

Chicago

Ramsey, William In Honor of Earth Day | Page 116

Patel, Priti Chicago

Cloud Nine | Page 33 Petal Effect | Page 95 Purple Lush | Page 105

Ramirez, Brandi For the Love of Soccer | Page 106

Nu単o, Imelda Chicago

Computer Networking Chicago

Chicago

Samaniego, Frank Rain for the Walking | Page 14

Chicago

Indulged in Mediocrity| Page 104

Bridge | Page 11 A Hymn to War | Page 35

tenable | R - Sa | 123


Index

Index Sanders, LaTonia Chicago

Story, Rachel A Mother’s Love | Page 62

Serna, Mireya Chicago

Tasker, Tanginia Always | Page 31

Sharpe, Lisa Chicago

124 | Sa - St | egg

Graphic Design Springfield

Urquiza, Wendy The Woods | Page 26

Stoklosa, Martin

Computer Networking

Chicago

Tury, Joseph Escape | Page 34

Siecinski, Mary Graphic Design Chicago

Chicago

Chicago

Vesa, Georgeta Ramblings of a Madman | Page 66

Chicago

The Day’s End | Page 40

In My Eyes | Page 10

Sonny’s Blues | Page 19

My Son | Page 59

Patience | Page 36

tenable | St - Z | 125


Egg: volume #10  

Robert Morris University's tenth volume of EGG, the University's arts and literary magazine.

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