Inscape 2024: Ursuline College's Fine Arts Annual by Ursuline College

Haikus

Snow Day

Katie Trostel

A cloud bursts open

A few flakes fall—

It doesn’t snow here anymore.

Look

Hayley Verdi

Small spotted fawn

Curled in a C

Encircled by green ivy

Dusk Upon

Elizabeth Eck

Pages askew across the desk

Moonlight creeps in the shadows

Crickets flirting falling silent.

Summer & Childhood

Jane Oliver

Laying on the grass

Through the leaves

I watch the clouds

Roosted

Elizabeth Eck

A roosting crow

Screams his morning call

To hell with sleep for all.

Walks with Enzo

Valentino Zullo

On dog walks

I watch

How he loves this so much

Inscape 2024

Volume LVI

Our Present

This year, Inscape has chosen the theme of the present. What makes our present so remarkable? In the whirlwind of the 21st century, the present confronts us with obstacles and uncertainties. Yet, within this chaos lies the opportunity for growth and transformation. We asked our submitters to delve into their present experiences. We are honored by the authenticity each piece embodies. We find inspiration in the ever-changing present.

Editorial Statement

We, the 2024 editorial team, are delighted to present the LVI edition of Inscape, dedicated to celebrating Ursuline College’s present reality. Through this publication, we aim to capture the essence of what the present moment holds for each member of our community. Our magazine reflects the diverse perspectives of our students, alumni, faculty, and staff. We invite our readers to immerse themselves in the creativity of the present moment as portrayed through the pages of our magazine.

Ursuline College 2550 Lander Road Pepper Pike, Ohio 44124 (440) 449-4200 | www.ursuline.edu

Inscape, Ursuline College’s fine arts annual, is published every spring. The views expressed herein do not necessarily reflect those of the staff or Ursuline College. Inscape considers poetry, fiction, plays, autobiographical sketches, essays, reviews, photography, and artwork for publication by students, faculty, staff, and alumni. The editorial staff reviews all submissions anonymously using a system of blind peer-review.

Literary works for Inscape 2025 may be sent to Inscape, c/o the English Department, Ursuline College, 2550 Lander Road, Mullen 338, Pepper Pike, OH 44124 from September 2024 - January 2025. Please submit an electronic copy to katharine.trostel@ursuline.edu with a cover sheet for each work that includes name, phone number, the title of the work, and a short autobiographical sketch. All submissions become the property of Inscape and will not be returned.

Inscape 2024 is printed on 8.5 x 11-inch paper. Each piece was formatted in Adobe InDesign. Font style for: cover, Roten Typeface; titles, The Seasons; subtitles and table of contents/contributors, Adobe Jenson Pro; copy text, Goudy Old Style.

Inscape 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, and 2012 earned a First Place with Special Merit Award from the American Scholastic Press Association; Inscape 1999, 2002, 2003, and 2006 earned the Most Outstanding College Literary-Art Magazine Award from the American Scholastic Press Association. Inscape 2012, 2013, and 2014 received a First-Class rating and Inscape 2015 received the All-American Award from the Associated Collegiate Press. Inscape 2021 received the Sigma Tau Delta award for an Outstanding Literary Arts Journal.

Ursuline College has published a fine arts annual since the spring of 1945. From this date till 1952, the annual was known as The Review. When the members of Inscape, Ursuline’s literary society, assumed responsibility for the publication of The Review in 1965, they renamed it Inscape. The term “inscape,” coined by English poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, can be described as:

He [Hopkins] looked hard at things until they looked back at him, revealing within the process the mysterious, glorious, and sometimes terrible presence of God who stood behind and within nature. He understood the visual image to be reflexive, both a window on the world and a mirror of the created and creative self. This quality of “inscape” in a particular work was for him the touchstone of good art, what distinguishes inspired art from slick or poorly conceived offerings.

Michael Flecky, SJ

Originally published in America

December 10, 1994

Cover

“We Think Too”, Digital Art, Tiffany Wells, reworked by Haleigh Platt

Page 1

“Snow Day”, Haiku, Katie Trostel

“Summer & Childhood”, Haiku, Jane Oliver

“Look”, Haiku, Hayley Verdi

“Roosted”, Haiku, Elizabeth Eck

“Dusk Upon”, Haiku, Elizabeth Eck

“Walks with Enzo”, Haiku, Valentino Zullo

Pages 2-3

Front Matter

Pages 4-5

Table of Contents

Pages 6-7

“Halo (Acid Burned Face)”, Mixed Media, Sheridan Anderson Furrer

“Stand For Something or Fall For Anything”, Poem, Morgan Lewis

“Song of the Neurodivergent”, Poem, Sarah Aber

Pages 8-9

“I Find Myself Grieving”, Poem, Kurt Howell

“Can A Building Have A Soul?”, Photograph, Kawther Alabed

Pages 10-11

“Diagnosis: Drawing on the Perspective of ADHD”, Mixed Media, Laura “Lore” Huggins

“Butterfly”, Painting, Mingma Sherpa

Pages 12-13

“Do You Still Text Me?”, Poem, Kurt Howell

“You, My Unrequited”, Poem, Haleigh Platt

Pages 14-15

“Dubai Street Cart”, Photograph, Kaylynn Berrios

“A Moment”, Poem, Kurt Howell

Pages 16-17

“Looking Towards the Future”, Drawing, Aneta Mullins

“Mistakes & Stagnation”, Essay, Jane Oliver

Pages 18-19

“Lalala”, Drawing, Chantaisa White

“Eye on the Prize... Graduation”, Painting, Aneta Mullins

Pages 20-21

“If Only...”, Poem, Tamar Nussbaum

“Find Your Way Back”, Poem, Gigi Ramirez

Pages 22-23

“Goddess of Compassion”, Mixed Media, Diane Fleisch Hughes

“Weighted Expectations”, Poem, Elizabeth Eck

Pages 24-25

“To Me He Is the Sun”, Poem, Kurt Howell

“Goddess of Order and Dreams”, Painting, Elli Bloom

Pages 26-27

“The Weight I Carry”, Painting, Christina Scialabba

“Shining in the Spotlight”, Mixed Media, Kayla Kephart

Pages 28-29

“Happy Birthday”, Mixed Media, Sam Utterback

Pages 30-31

“Dangerous Attachment”, Poem, Gigi Ramirez

“Ready for Harvest”, Painting, Linda Wilt

“One”, Painting, Monica Brown

Pages 32-33

“Chickadee”, Photograph, Sr. Rosaria Perna

“Serenity”, Poem, Emily Shainoff

“Rodger in His Dapper Attire”, Photograph, Amelie O’Connor

Pages 34-35

“My Friend”, Poem, Kurt Howell

“A Woman in Zürich”, Photograph, Amelie O’Connor

Pages 36-37

“A House in Iceland”, Photograph, Amelie O’Connor

“Ursuline Beauty”, Photograph, Isabella Brancati

Pages 38-39

“A Little Vision of Peace”, Painting, Sr. Anna Trang Tran

“Girlhood Bugs”, Poem, Morgan McIvor Bowser

Pages 40-41

“Happiness is Relational”, Essay, Dr. Gina Messina

“Pécs, Hungary”, Photograph, Amelie O’Connor

Pages 42-43

“Night Muse”, Painting, Brent Eligado

“Emergence”, Poem, Elizabeth Eck

Pages 44-45

“The Counsels of St. Angela Merici”, Essay, Isabella Sheppard, Hannah Beasley, Ja’Nya Buchanan, Arienna Blount, Gigi Ramirez, Laura “Lore” Huggins, La’Nia Butler, Samantha Zarzour. Photo credited to Dr. Rhonda Filipan

“Madonna”, Mixed Media, Abiyya Abdul-Zahir

Pages 46-47

“Mr. Interlooker”, Mixed Media, Breanna Moldoch

“Bubbling Up”, Poem, Kurt Howell

Pages 48-49

“Music & Spiritual Experience”, Essay, Dr. Gina Messina

“It’s a Fae World”, Digital Art, Kaylynn Berrios

Pages 50-53

High School Writing Contest

Pages 54-55

“We Think Too”, Digital Art, Tiffany Wells

***Trigger Warning***

Pages 56-57

“The Picture”, Poem and Photograph, Trinity Johnson

Pages 58-59

“The Story of the Enchanted Vase”, Essay and Photographs, Morgan Lewis

Pages 60-61

“Unraveled”, Essay and Photograph, Helen Jones-Toms

Pages 62-63

“Annelids”, Poem, Morgan McIvor Bowser

“You Are Somebody’s Baby”, Painting, Megan Stobaugh

Pages 64-65

Contributors

Pages 66-68

“Dim Sum With the Bestie”, Digital Art, Kaylynn Berrios

Editorial Statement

Editorial Team

Halo (Acid Burned Face)

Sheridan Anderson Furrer

Stand For Something or Fall For Anything

Morgan Lewis

This is the same, now it's something that I'm used to. Fires and bombs ain't nothing just the movies do.

I asked God to send prayers, but it feels like nothing can protect you.

The Holiest land now echoes the most tragic cries.

What wasn't nailed down was tossed to the side.

"Let It Burn" while they gleam with pride. Deeper bloodshed before the blood even dried.

It seems as though the limit is when those in power become limitless. And those who stand for humanity, their demise is imminent.

Song of the Neurodivergent

Sarah Aber

If you do that, you’ll injure yourself.

If you don’t, you’ll look selfish. If you say that, people will judge you.

If you don’t, they’ll ignore you.

If you admit you like that, you’ll be seen as a child despite being 30.

If you don’t, you’ll be isolated even more.

If you do online dating, you must worry about hiding what’s “weird” about you.

If you don’t, once again, you’ll be alone. The average age in Mentor is 47, and you know almost no one.

If you get a job, you’ll have to fight daily for your rights.

If you don’t, you’ll be stuck where you are.

If you do anything, you’re putting your entire disability on trial.

If you don’t, you’re just lazy. So, tell me.

What can I do?

I Find Myself Grieving

Kurt Howell

I find myself grieving For the childhood I didn’t have. For the childhood I rushed through so quickly I wanted to grow up so badly; But now, what do I do?

I want to be young and careless again. Spend days in the sun and in the fields, Where I was so sure Snow White lived as a kid. The fields that were filled with butterflies And fairies hidden in the trees. Now it’s all been sold, It’s the neighbor’s property.

I wonder, would my childhood have been different If instead of hoping to be 20 I was happy just being 12? Would I be more carefree? Would I hold less burdens on my back?

The truth is, I know it wouldn’t have been different. My childhood was barely full of laughter, More so filled with heartbreak.

There’s an everlasting fear that everyone will leave you When not even your parents stayed. When your first heartbreak was losing your mother, What else is there to say?

I want to go back I want to give myself all the answers I wished I had. But truthfully, I still don’t have them. I don’t know what makes a mother stop loving her kid. I don’t know why fathers move on and don’t care.

Perhaps maybe all I really want Is someone to hug that little kid even closer. And maybe then All the broken pieces would heal.

Can A Building Have A Soul?

Kawther Alabed

Diagnosis: Drawing on the Perspective of ADHD

Laura “Lore” Huggins

Butterfly

Mingma Sherpa

Do You Still Text Me?

Kurt Howell

Do you still text me

On nights where the clouds block out the stars And the moon seems to be hidden out of sight When you’re out of light

Do you still catch yourself lingering too long On things you know I’d love If only I could see them for myself

Do you still text me

Even though you know your number has long since been blocked Everything deleted.

Do you still text me?

You, My Unrequited

Haleigh Platt

I think about you often The thought of you comes and goes with the tides Sometimes, it’s barely noticeable; I can cope Most times, it crashes into me with the heat of a thousand suns

We are more than two worlds apart; you and I You live in a state of bliss, of having it all figured out I live in a state of delusion. Dreams of us play in my head on constant repeat

There is no pain like that of heartache It hurts to know there’s no future for us It shatters me to remember that there was never a future for us to begin with Why do I always chase after the things I can’t have?

I want to burn the midnight oil with you

But there was never oil to burn — The hottest flames burn blue, but ours are forever red and fleeting All of the matches are unused, broken and strewn on the floor

You’ve seen me cry, you’ve seen me laugh I’ve seen you frustrated and lacking in confidence I think you’ve seen every side of me But I’ve only seen what you choose to show

When you catch my eye, I forget how to breathe When you talk to me, I forget how to speak I wish I could get you out of my head Why do I always chase after the things I can’t have?

Dubai Street Cart

Kaylynn Berrios

A Moment

Kurt Howell

I like to think about all the peoples’ lives who I’ve had a moment in The girl I complimented on the street, The dad I traded friendship bracelets with at a concert. I like to imagine he went home to his daughters and showed them the bracelet. Happy he took them to the concert, Happy he listened when they explained the bracelets to him.

I imagine that he wears the bracelet every day, The bracelet he picked because it matched his shirt. He wears it every day, Because it reminds him of his daughters. When people ask him about it, he gushes about his daughters, He doesn’t think of me when he sees it.

But I’m happy.

I’m happy he thinks only of his daughters.

I’m happy they get to feel the love only a father could have for them.

A love I wish I had.

Looking Towards the Future

Aneta Mullins

Mistakes & Stagnation

Jane Oliver

I like to ignore the fact that I exist—that there is a world around me, goals to accomplish, and deadlines to meet. Everything becomes a lot easier to swallow when you cut yourself off from anything and everything that may have value. My mistakes are no longer my mistakes if I can’t even register that I exist, right? If I can’t recognize the world that lives beyond my own thoughts?

The present is messy, so is the past, and it’s a good bet the future will be as well. I’m not much of a “live in the moment” person—that mindset is irritating to me. I find it all a bit worthless—the present. I don’t know when I started to think that way; I know I used to think differently—believe differently. I used to believe in many things—the world, other people, myself. I’d like to think that I still could. There are many people I wish I could apologize to for the mistakes I’ve made. That’s how it always goes. Life is messy, people part ways, and individuals are left alone to pick themselves up again, to move on.

It’s much easier to remain stagnated in everything that has ever happened than to move on or make something of it. To wish things were different than to change them. The world moves quicker and quicker with each passing year; to slow down or to stop is to fall behind. The more you fall behind, the harder it is to make it up, to claw yourself out and get back into pace with everything else.

Deadlines, obligations, expectations. Productivity.

I hate what the idea of productivity has become. Hoops to jump through, expectations to meet, output to create. It makes it hard to reflect on things—when you either have to get with the program or get out. One of the biggest mistakes was making society what it is today. It’s too fast, we kill ourselves to keep up, even surpass—a race that doesn’t need to be. We kill nature to construct more stores. And for what? We don’t need more places to buy things. We don’t need more convenience, more distraction, more fast fashion, more smart technology, more social media platforms, or more surveillance. Those have their places (best in moderation, if at all). We need places where life slows down, maybe even stops, for a little while. To reconcile what has happened, what we’ve done with what that makes us now.

Lalala Chantaisa White

Eye On the Prize...Graduation

Aneta Mullins

If Only...

Tamar Nussbaum

If only I had a 4.0 GPA in high school, I would have gotten into the college of my dreams. If only people thought I was sophisticated and cool, Peers would have invited me to coffee and ice cream.

If only I got the first job I applied to, I wouldn’t have had all that worry. If only I didn’t move somewhere new, I wouldn’t have had to deal with the winter flurry.

If only my children would behave, I wouldn’t have to raise my voice. If only I had more money to save, My children would have stylish toys.

If only my work wasn’t so far, I would have more time to spare. If only I had a bigger, fancier car, The better off I would fare.

There are so many “if only’s” in life, if we keep looking back at the past weeks and years. However, being stuck in regret and previous strife, Will just recreate bad feelings and dried up tears.

In order to thrive in our present state, Instead of focusing on yesterday, A new mindset we must create, being fully and gratefully present TODAY.

Find Your Way Back

Gigi Ramirez

I live in the United States—

My tongue is of a different tune, hitting lower notes, producing its own music.

I live in the United States—

My roots tied themselves to this familiar land called the Dominican Republic; Sprouting until I bloomed on the first Saturday of May, the day before Mother’s Day.

I live in the United States—

When I was 2, my mother packed our things: Like cargo on a ship, we left the place where I was planted; “We can have a better life, better opportunities, a better future,” my mother would say for years to come.

I live in the United States—

This strange land doesn’t look so different... It’s hot, humid, rainy, there’s palm trees, brown skin, and most importantly: Different people sing the same tune with different rhythms.

I live in the United States—

Looking down from the steel bird, I feel dizzy. Where else could we possibly be going? Things started to change; the hot air and baby blue sky turned cool and gray. The palm trees turned into naked monsters with no color, the people started singing, but making different music.

I live in the United States— “Better future... Better life... Better opportunities...” yet I can’t help but think of all the things I have been ripped from.

Goddess of Compassion

Diane Fleisch Hughes

Weighted Expectations

Elizabeth Eck

Right out the gate we are measured Interviewed to meet milestones we’re too young to understand. Guessing our futures like we have any sort of plan Hoping our youth can ready us to slave away for a system That takes more than it will ever give.

Never ceasing clock, Oppressing our success, Waiting for our deaths, to start over again.

To Me He Is the Sun

Kurt Howell

To me he is the sun

And I am the moon watching in awe As people bask in his light In his warmth.

He may not dress in bright colors

But the warmth in his eyes and the brightness of his smile is enough He is the warmest beach day And the happiest memory you can remember He brought silliness and playfulness back into my life When I had turned into a serious hollow version of someone I used to know

To me he is the sun

And I would give him any star he asked for But he’d never ask Because to him I am enough.

To him, I am enough

Goddess of Order and Dreams

Elli Bloom

The Weight I Carry

Christina Scialabba

Shining in the Spotlight

Kayla Kephart

Happy Birthday Sam Utterback

Dangerous Attachment

Gigi Ramirez

The Negro women; Worried to get all their children out It was dangerous for a used-to-be-slave woman To love anything as much, Especially if she had settled on loving her children. Light sky, dark eyes, Walking in the direction of the sunset. Working imaginations, sleeping, and dreaming To move beyond the nastiness of life. Women died, children cried, But together, they walked towards salvation.

Ready for Harvest

Linda Wilt

One Monica Brown

Chickadee

Sr. Rosaria Perna

Serenity

Emily Shainoff

soft beneath my feet above yellow turned orange gentle crashing near in the stillness of the moment entranced by serenity

Rodger in His Dapper Attire

Amelie O’Connor

My Friend

Kurt Howell

I have a friend who shines like streetlights on fresh snow

Shimmering off of the reflective white at the break of a new dawn

Right before the day begins

It’s quiet and it’s peaceful

The snow hasn’t yet been disturbed by footsteps or cars It’s silenced everything around it

But it’s safe

A safe and quiet silence

Yet powerful

When you know the day is just starting And you can do whatever you’d like with it

That is what my friend is like

Quiet and powerful

They can do whatever they’d like and somehow They’d do it perfectly

I hope they know how powerful their silence is

I hope they know how comforting they are

Like snow

In the early morning

Still glistening in the glow of the streetlight

A

Woman in Zürich

Amelie O’Connor

A House in Iceland

Amelie O’Connor

Ursuline Beauty

Isabella Brancati

A Little Vision of Peace

Sr. Anna Trang Tran

Girlhood Bugs

Morgan McIvor Bowser

Lightning bugs are endangered, They weren’t when we were three. Or maybe they were and we Caught them anyway.

You with your cherubic hands You having dad punch mini holes in mason jar lids You who caught three blinking bugs by yourself You that cannot understand innocence because You are living it.

Once you married two trees in the backyard Because their branches touched, entangled. The first communion book upside down, White dress from when you were a flower girl, Small squeaky voice that sounds like mine Pronouncing them tree and tree Forever.

I see your hands holding eyes upon a golden plate Like St. Lucy, you battle cry for what is just.

The boys who hit you, The girls who exclude you, Killing yourself to become worthy of them.

Happiness is Relational

Dr. Gina Messina

We are living in a time where we are separating ourselves from one another in favor of individualism, greed, and materialism. Such a path can only lead to destruction. Happiness is not simply a fleeting moment between the dark hours, it is not synthetic or grounded in materialism, nor is it about giving in to injustice in favor of ignorance as a distraction. It is the recognition that every moment is an opportunity to live with purpose. Our role as human beings is to be in relationships, to recognize the importance of community, and to find fulfillment in the ways that we care for one another.

Pécs, Hungary

Amelie O’Connor

Night Muse

Brent Eligado

Emergence

Elizabeth Eck

The future is always coming, but never quite in reach. The past seems close, like yesterday, but still so far away. All we have is what’s in front of us now. Our one chance to make a difference. To be part of the future we dream about and the past we hold on a golden platter. So, take a breath. We’re in no rush. For tomorrow’s coming, no matter what.

“You will do more good by sweetness and kindness than by harsh and stern words.”

The one and only St. Angela Merici once said, “You will do more good by sweetness and kindness than by harsh and stern words.” This is a quote I hope to live by. This motivates me to look at the world through the “sweetness and kindness” approach rather than the heinous and harsh alternative. The philosophy that St. Angela lived by is inspiring. In a society so full of negativity and pessimism, St. Angela worked relentlessly to fix that. As a woman, I want to be powerful, motivated, and confident in what I do. By communicating through positivity and kindness, I can live a pure life. When I face conflict with contentment and accept that I can kindly navigate the world, my mind will be at peace. St. Angela Merici has inspired many and has motivated me as an Ursuline student. She gave us this opportunity to learn, and I plan to make the best of it. — Isabella Sheppard

“Live in harmony united in one heart and one will.’’

I chose this counsel because it touched me. Living in harmony can be peaceful: no fighting, no arguing, no violence. To have harmony is having the ability to handle life staying true to foundations despite any circumstances. This means to have purpose in your life: love yourself and God the Christian way. Harmony is a word of wisdom, a comforting word. I believe St. Angela Merici wanted all of us to come together as one and spread a great word and positivity to others. — Hannah Beasley

“Cling together with hands of charity, esteeming, helping, and supporting one another in Christ Jesus.”

One of Saint Angela Merici’s counsels that resonates with me is “Cling together with hands of charity, esteeming, helping, and supporting one another in Christ Jesus.” Most students at Ursuline College are here for nursing, a rigorous course that takes a lot of students’ time and can be mentally draining. Being surrounded by people who understand what you are going through can be exceptionally comforting because you know you are not alone and can all help each other. Even though we may not have the same beliefs, I believe God put us on the same path for a reason, knowing we can boost each other up and help each other. This counsel helps remind me that I chose Ursuline College for a reason. I knew I would be in an environment full of young women and women educators who would help guide me through my college years and support me through hard times, and I have learned that I am here to do the same for them. — Ja’Nya Buchanan

“You need not be anxious if you do your best.”

Have you ever failed at something in life because you were so nervous? It’s normal, but we must take St. Angela’s advice and try not to make it a habit. As humans we overthink, overstudy, and overwork ourselves. Being here at Ursuline, I’ve had to obtain much information for my classes—some information I’ve found easy to learn and some hard. But no matter how much I know, when it comes to tests and quizzes, I lose it, and my head blanks.

You must try not to be nervous to succeed and do your best work. No matter how hard it may be, overthinking and stressing will cause you to fail, and you won’t do your best. Instead of worrying, think of coping mechanisms, pray, practice breathing, or see someone if your anxiety isn’t getting any better. Praying and asking God for guidance will help. For those who want to do otherwise and find no deliverance in prayer, see someone you can talk to and find ways to solve your anxious thoughts. Arienna Blount

Anxiety stats have gone up tremendously since the early 2000s. However, anxiety has increased at least twice for teens and young adults. So many factors in one’s life bring a sense of worry and thus give people anxiety. St. Angela Merici seems to understand this concern quite well, stating, “You need not be anxious if you do your best.”

I constantly feel that I am doing everything wrong. Due to this anxiety, I have developed the trait of being a perfectionist. Everything I do all the time has to be perfect. If I am getting schoolwork done, I need to ensure that everything is in the right place and that all my work is accurate and sounds as sophisticated as I want. In a bowling tournament, I must ensure I get my average score or higher and get the most pins possible on my first ball. Because of this, I tend to overthink things and overcorrect myself.

St. Angela Merici’s counsel is beneficial because it helps to remind me that I am a human living a human experience and that it is okay to mess up sometimes or not do your most excellent. Still, as long as you are doing your best, that is all that matters. — Gigi Ramirez

Photo by Dr. Rhonda Filipan

In one of St. Angela Merici’s counsels, she says, “You need not be anxious if you do your best.” This is already a concept I’ve been learning on my own, but it feels incredible to think that a woman from hundreds of years ago—whose existence led to this college— thought the same as I do. When I think about this counsel, I’m reminded not to push myself to my fullest extent in every circumstance; I am good enough as I am, so long as I try. I have no reason to worry because I’ve already done all I could. Learning to let go and trust that I’ll be okay has been difficult for me, but I’m much happier because of it. I hope the plaque in my dorm room that’s inscribed with this counsel will continue to remind me to “do my best and forget the rest,” as my mom has always taught me. — Laura “Lore” Huggins

“Be kind and compassionate towards each other.”

There were many counsels to choose from at the statue of St. Angela Merici in front of the Mullen Building. The counsel that stood out the most to me was, “Be kind and compassionate towards each other.” This makes me think about all the things people can be struggling with in their lives. Everyone goes through situations that you would never know about. So, you should try to be kind even if someone looks frustrated or has a bad day because a few positive words can make them feel better.

When I was in the 5th grade, I had a friend that turned into an enemy. I found out later that she had some problems going on at home. So, saying negative things about her just because she said them about me made her sad at times. I felt bad. The lesson that I learned is that instead of being mean I can be kind to others. La’Nia Butler

Saint Angela left counsels for Ursuline students and faculty, which are meant to bring encouragement and inspiration. A counsel that spoke to me is “Be kind and compassionate towards each other.” For the past couple of years, I have made kindness and compassion my persona. After a rough time in middle school, I learned that the way you treat others is what defines your peace of mind. Involvement in drama and saying things without intention was an exhausting way to live. Promoting and acting on kindness has changed how I view myself and perceive others. After a day full of radiating compassion and positivity, the sun seems to shine brighter.

Saint Angela died in 1540, yet her legacy is still majorly impacting this community. Her counsels were written to guide the future of the community she created, and that is exactly what’s happening. I feel very guided by her with my intentions and perceptions. — Samantha Zarzour

Madonna Abiyya Abdul-Zahir

Bubbling Up

Kurt Howell

I am filled with so many emotions

I feel like I am bubbling up

Outgrowing the jar inside my heart I force them into I shove and shove, deeper and deeper

Until the glass cracks

And then it shatters

And the emotions come to the surface

And there’s so many at once I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore

I’m angry

But I’m crying

I’m happy

But I’m screaming

I want to shout until someone will listen

But my voice will crack

And I never learned how to take up space

So I just

Sit and stay

Until the bubbles die down

And the bottle is bigger

Until the next time the glass

Shatters

Mr. Interlooker Breanna Moldoch

Music & Spiritual Experience

Dr. Gina Messina

I often say that I think music is the sound of my spirit — our spirits. As I started writing this, I struggled with finding the words to articulate the feeling music provokes within me. There is little else that creates such an indescribable experience; one that is felt physically, emotionally, and allows a transcendent moment. It seems appropriate to describe it as sacred and is where I find connection to spirituality.

Music invokes spirituality. It has the ability to convey messages of greater meaning that can unify and allow us to recognize one another’s humanity. A song is a shared story, an opportunity to know we are not alone, and to learn from one another. It can be perceived as a prayer, a prophetic message, a call to action, and a life philosophy.

For me, music has always been a source to cope with suffering, connect deeply with others, and celebrate or observe significant moments. It invokes nostalgia and can carry us to a place that allows us to re-experience meaningful times we might not recall in the same way. For instance, I recently received this message from a friend about a moment we shared in high school … thirty years ago.

So I’m sitting in this bar and they’re playing The Doors: “come on, come on, now touch me babe”

And I remember a night in Shaker Square you, me, this song, and a bench outside the movie theater

Do you remember? If you don’t, it’s okay, but I do!

Love you lady!

I laughed and cried at the same time as I read it and found myself back in that moment — two teenage girls laughing, dancing, and singing to one of our favorite songs that played over a speaker in the town square. Without The Doors, hanging out with a friend on a bench one random evening would likely have been forgotten.

I love that Joan Baez points out that so many of us are stuck in the daily grind. She asks: “All of us alive are survivors, but how many of us transcend survival?” Music can take us there. It takes me there. I can’t always articulate it, but I know it when I feel it.

Music as a conduit of spirituality makes sense to me. I’ve come to define spirituality as that which is life giving and connects us to one another. Engaging with our spiritual selves gives us the opportunity to do more than simply survive the daily grind. It enables us to find joy in those moments we sometimes overlook and offers the ability to experience sacredness within our relationships with ourselves and one another.

Too often we discount our physicality in favor of the spiritual after all. While music allows us to transcend, we are not transcending our bodily existence; but instead, it empowers us to experience the spiritual as physical beings. It reconnects these two aspects of ourselves that we sometimes pin against one another; and in doing so we recognize ourselves as sacred and become whole.

It’s A Fae World

Kaylynn Berrios

High School Writing Contest

For Inscape’s 56th edition, we asked high school students to write poems, stories, and essays about their ideas of what the present represents to them. The students showcased their literary abilities through the creative writing process.

This year, Inscape received numerous submissions from across Ohio. Inscape’s editorial team selected 20 entries to be submitted to an external panel of judges for review. The top three pieces were selected by the esteemed guest judges listed below.

This year’s winners are:

1st Place: “Darkness Will Set You Free”, Aniyah Nelson, McKinley Senior High School

2nd Place: “A Mortal’s Escape from Reality”, Audrey Fusillo, Bio-Med Science Academy

3rd Place: “The Disservice of Ignorance”, Vivian Megenhardt, Shaker Heights High School

Judges

Dr. Adenike Marie Davidson is Professor of Literature and Gender Studies at Delaware State University.

Mayor Annette Blackwell of Maple Heights is an Ursuline College alum and was the speaker at Ursuline’s 2022 Commencement.

Celine Gomez is an endorsed AP literature consultant for the College Board and question leader for AP literature national scoring.

Darkness Will Set You Free

Aniyah Nelson

In the depths of darkness, where shadows reside, there exists a battle within, hard to confide. A soul wrapped in chains, weighed down by despair, in a world of torment, where hope feels so rare.

Depression, a relentless storm, rages inside. Like a tempest that engulfs, it cannot be denied. An invisible veil, suffocating the mind, leaving scars unseen, but painfully defined.

The heart, once vibrant, now withers away. As sadness consumes, colors turn to gray. Each breath a burden, heavy with sorrow, lost in a labyrinth, no path to borrow.

But amidst this anguish, a whispering plea, a flickering ember, still longing to be free.

For as the night deepens, stars still gleam. A glimmer of hope, a chance to redeem.

Self-harm, a misguided solace, cries for release, a plea for control, a desperate need for peace. In the silence of scars, stories untold, a silent language, a pain to unfold.

Yet let us not turn a blind eye nor forsake, the struggle that lingers, the hearts that ache. For compassion, a salve, can heal wounds unseen, a lifeline extended, to bridge the ravine.

Let us break the stigma, shatter the chains, embrace those who suffer, release their pains. For within the darkness, there lies a fight, a spirit resilient, striving for light.

Though the road may be long and the journey steep, may empathy and understanding run deep. For in unity, we find strength to mend, to heal these wounds, to help hearts transcend.

So let us be gentle, be kind, and be aware, for in these battles, we all bear a share. Together we’ll rise, from the depths we’ll ascend, and bring forth a love that will never end.

A Mortal’s Escape from Reality

Audrey Fusillo

Stuck within the head, eyes blinking

I see nothing past the whites

A statue in a garden of regret

Waiting to be enveloped by the overgrown vines

Of everything that could’ve been

Marble aged and posed in the position we had froze

The moment that we became stuck in our heads

Stone bodies breathe in and out

As our lungs fill with cement

The longer we wait, the less we notice

We’re wasting the time we have left.

Worried about the untouchable, already written in stone

Until the fear of time poorly spent

Sends the final grain of sand

To rest at the bottom of the hourglass

Our final breath comes out as a gasp

Lingering in the dewy air

While the plants shiver from the impact of our soft defeat,

Only then do we feel peace.

Pillars surround the ground of our sacred temple

Where we worship our obsession with what has passed and what is to come

Our what-ifs turn into hymns whispered into the wind

Holding your vulnerable words like a looming oath

Circling back to the place you stopped living

But not quite where you died,

Only to brush its tormenting lips against your ear

And remind you of all of the lives you failed to live

And won’t be able to experience

Out of the fear that one wrong step taken

Will be your future demise.

With nothing left to bring us to life,

We slip into our anxious haze

The statues begin to quake

Overcome with the desire to be something different

While every move manifests the fate of their very souls.

Falling down the rabbit hole of fearing the unknown

Mourning something still held tightly between their fingers

The possibility wreaks havoc without ever arriving

And we will continue to wonder what could’ve been

If we hadn’t trusted the safety of shallow water

The cycle continues; nothing ever changes

It’s simply human nature to wonder until you kill yourself

But suddenly, the eternity spent longing for peace will be broken

When they determine that there isn’t an answer

No explanation for past events will make them feel better about who they are now

No future event they can be ready for.

A statue is standing with her hand outstretched toward the sky

Ivy is wrapped around her arms, and a flower blooms in her hand

And it is only when a butterfly lands that she works to blink

She admires the garden and returns to the now

The stone turns back to flesh, the cement to blood flowing

She becomes the Archer

Reclaiming her bow and aiming her doubts at the fire in the sky

And she is gratefully breathing in the air she’d forgotten tasted so good

Because it’s beautiful to be alive

But you can’t be present when you’re stuck in your head.

The Disservice of Ignorance

Vivian Megenhardt

My face is plagiarized,

my nose an act of defiance.

Though I know nothing of the culture I showcase two inches from my face, I know those two inches well enough to be ashamed.

We Think Too

Tiffany Wells

Trigger Warning

This section of the magazine includes imagery and writing describing gender-based violence and sexual assault. Reader discretion is advised for any individuals who may be triggered. Pages 60-63 include explicit violence. These pieces include “Unraveled” by Helen Jones-Toms, “Annelids” by Morgan McIvor Bowser, and “You Are Somebody’s Baby” by Megan Stobaugh.

The Picture

Trinity Johnson

Draped in silk

A lace veil

And the reddest wild roses in hand

This was my grandmother’s dream wedding

Found in the center of everything going on in this moment, she beams proudly

They stand

Surrounded by satin ribbons

Smiling at the camera

It amazes me how an image this old somehow managed to keep the twinkle in their eyes

Creating this wrinkle in time

Where they are still waiting for this picture to be taken

They stand

Shoulder to shoulder

Holding their breaths for this moment

A moment that stood still for unity

For love

It’s beautiful

But you’re not going to see the shotgun standing up in the corner

Their skin glows like they have the sun dancing within them

Loose curls fall

Their smiles dazzle

But you’re not going to be able to see how much it took for them all to get here

You’re not going to see how Time held its breath and how the South lays waiting at their feet

You’re not going to see the Creole blood that runs in their veins

You won’t see the pennies hidden under the soles of their shoes or the shadows waiting on the porch

You won’t see the curses and you won’t see the blessings

I learned that it’s not so black and white when you’re mixed with myths and legends that pass down fragmented stories and broken lessons

Along with a tongue that inherited the Deep South with a touch of New York hood, with the knives tucked in the bun and razors hidden in the mouth

Their crowns spill with a mixture of different pattern curls

Just throw in some coconut oil and a long line of Dukes and Earls

They’re mixed with a taste of hidden struggle and hidden riches

And raised with a mouthful of city sludge and southern dishes

You’re not going to be able to see any of this though

In all four corners of this frame, nothing reveals these parts of the story

All you could see were a couple of women draped in silk

A lace veil

And the reddest wild roses in hand

The Story of the Enchanted Vase

Morgan Lewis

As a little girl, I often sat and wondered. Observing every line, curve, and the display of colors on the fragile item. My grandmother sat behind me, telling me to be careful because it is over 100 years old. She tells me that this artifact is one of the only and oldest keepsakes we have in our family. I believe her words, even though the item looks like it’s in great condition.

“Nonnie...” I say, with curiousity in my tone,“Tell me the story of this pretty thing,” I requested wide-eyed.

“Okay,” she agreed, “But pay close attention because this is an important story in our bloodline,” she added. When my grandmother said that, my ears perked up as I stared at the item that sparked the conversation.

When I was prompted to write about a family keepsake, I thought about the vase my great-great-grandmother received as a wedding gift. Her story is so special that it is hard not to share with others.

My great-great grandfather was Walter Lawson and my great-great-grandmother was Maude Johnson. Maude Johnson was the daughter of Dr. Sydney Wells Johnson (my great-great-great-grandfather) who was the first black doctor in Akron, Ohio. Walter Lawson’s family had escaped slavery from Kentucky to Canada through the Underground Railroad. After slavery was abolished they moved back to the United States and settled in Ohio.

One evening while attending a dance, Walter noticed a girl sitting in the balcony with a gentleman and asked one of his friends, “Who is that girl up there sitting on her hair?” He was told that she was Dr. Johnson’s daughter. He asked his friend to take him up and introduce him (in those days it was etiquette to be properly introduced to a young lady). At that time my great-great-grandmother, Maude, was only seventeen years old.

After a few years of meeting, they got married in 1902. The artifact that inspired this essay is a wedding gift.

The gift is a vase that they would put fresh flower petals in to fragrant the room. This vase was passed down to my great-grandmother Eileen Lawson Shaffer, daughter of Maude and Walter, and was then passed down to her daughter, my grandmother, Morgan Alexander, and is currently in her possession. The vase is more than 120 years old.

The vase received in 1902. A picture of Maude Lawson when she was 17 years old. A picture of Maude and Walter at the theater.

Unraveled

Helen Jones-Toms

For about 30 seconds, my stomach was in a knot. I thought I had lost the 48-by-27 inches of acrylic, Crayola-colored, grannie-squares hand-knit into a baby blanket. It was my only connection to Joey — my mother’s dead sister.

I rearranged several storage bins in my attic to find myself shoulder-deep in a bottom dresser drawer. My body relaxed when my outstretched fingertips felt the familiar rippled yarn through a plastic grocery bag. With a gentle tug, I exhumed it from its resting place.

The blanket was a Christmas present from my Aunt Cackie, my grandfather’s half-sister. Her arthritic hands carefully had sewn the 77 independent pieces of Joey’s unfinished handiwork into a nocturnal coat of many colors. Even as a three-or-four-year-old child, I immediately understood the gift was special. I saw its reverence in my family’s downcast faces as they tried to watch me unwrap the lumpy box and explain its contents.

For years my mother tucked the handmade memorial around my small body every night until it could no longer contain my gangly legs. The outgrown relic then rested across my footboard. It became a divide between my family’s grief-locked memories and my longing to know more about the fabric’s maker.

I was 18 months old when Pvt. Michael W. Matney murdered Mary Jo Dyott on August 31, 1966. She was 18 days shy of her 18th birthday. I have no memory of her. There are no pictures of the two of us together.

Throughout my childhood, Joey was a mirage projected from overheard soundbites like “She loved dogs” or “Such a tomboy!” and enshrined images around my grandmother’s house. Her brown eyes would peer out at me through rhinestone horn-rimmed glasses in her formal senior portrait with hints of baby fat in her cheeks. The picture’s tarnished frame cradled the name card from her high school graduation announcement tucked into its lower left corner while her beige mortarboard tassel with a gold ’66 was draped across its upper right. Faded snapshots from her prom revealed a more svelte figure on display after months of dieting. Her white lace sheath gown and long satin white gloves channeled Jackie Kennedy at a White House state dinner.

Joey left us and our 800-person town on the Chesapeake Bay in July for Baltimore’s Margaret J. Bennet Home for Working Girls. She moved to study cosmetology and become a beautician.

While the Vietnam War raged on the evening news, she and her housemates boarded a chartered bus for a mid-week social at Fort Meade. The girls were told not to leave the dance hall with any of the soldiers. But like 76 percent of female murder victims, Mary Jo knew her assailant. She met Matney during several visits to the army base with her roommate, whom he was dating. Joey was last seen alive crossing the dance floor alone. The teenager was headed outside to get some fresh air and ran into a friend of a friend.

In a pile of yellowed clippings locked away in my parents’ safe, a reporter wrote that Mary Jo’s absence went unnoticed on the bus despite taking a headcount before the return trip home and a soldier chasing down the vehicle with her “forgotten” purse. The story ended with an anonymous source describing her as a “nice, normal girl,” after smudging her character with speculation that she may have snuck off the bus before it left.

Other published accounts stated that investigators “interviewed all of the enlisted servicemen who were known to have dated Miss Dyott and checked motel registrations.” One headline read she was “unescorted” to the event while another piece further assaulted her dignity with a false report of a rape.

Joey’s body was found three days later in a wooded area just 500 yards from the bus’s parking spot. Police charged the 29-year-old Matney within the week. A front-page story about his arrest featured a large photo of him, shackled, in army fatigues trying to hide his guilt with his cap smashed against his face. A tightly folded transcript of the murderer’s sentencing described Matney as “generally passive” unless under stress. In that condition, he could become “confused easily” and “unpredictable.”

In his defense, Matney stated that he and Mary Jo engaged in consensual heavy petting. She screamed when his advances went too far. Panicked, he tried to quiet her by placing his hands around her throat. When that didn’t work, he bashed in her head with a stick, wrapped his tie around her neck, and silenced her forever.

Officials deemed Matney mentally unstable at the time of the crime but fit to stand trial. He pleaded guilty to a lesser charge of second-degree murder with a 50-year prison sentence. He never faced a jury or my grandparents. Joey’s short life story became defined for me by my family’s pain, some fake wool, and a few scraps of paper. Then four decades later, I discovered an unpublished chapter on a visit with my parents.

The trip happened to coincide with Mary Jo’s birthday. Until then, I never knew that my mother and grandmother made an annual pilgrimage to Joey’s burial place to commemorate the occasion. This particular year, my mom was working long hours at the restaurant she managed and had to keep rescheduling the somber drive to the cemetery. For several days, my grandmother worried that her gift of fresh-cut flowers would start wilting before she could deliver them. I offered my services as a chauffeur.

During my first and only trip to the graveyard with my grandmother, I stood beside her while she laid the still-fresh bouquet next to her daughter’s tombstone. I broke our heavy silence with a mumbled, “I wish I had a chance to know her.”

My grandmother’s next words knitted the final missing square into my almost forgotten childhood blanket. It was a piece of Joey’s life that included me.

“Mary Jo used to babysit you and your brother,” the old woman reminisced. “Oh, she loved you children so.”

Annelids

Morgan McIvor Bowser

i once watched a worm dehydrate on a sidewalk the sun burnt the back of my neck i poked my toddler pudgy finger in the once alive worm already hardened to the cement i hardly feel anything anymore the amount of loss toppling over my taciturn body like the wave of a tsunami and still, i dig my fingers in the sand refusing to believe the eye is safe when nothing else has been

i got in a friend’s car—the color escapes me my new teenage brain horrified at the expansion of my thighs melting into the passenger seat i thought he was sweet until he pulled in his forested driveway unexpectedly and brought me up maybe a thousand cement stairs he turned me around and assured me that he could force an abortion and make my death look like an accident made sure i knew the stairs were part of the plan the cement was warm from the sun bearing witness through the bay window my bare feet unable to begin running

i didn’t know how to save myself i didn’t know how long i had to live to be fair i didn’t want to after

i watched fourteen-year-old me from the ceiling how my body went limp on his bed and everything shut off unable to escape melting under him a hardened worm incapable of thought

i replay it every night no wonder i can’t sleep or why i throw up drinking anxiously

i learned the lesson every once pudgy toddler girl does

You

Are Somebody’s Baby

Megan Stobaugh

Contributors (in order of appearance)

Tiffany Wells is the fashion program director and artist-owner of DoddWellsGallery.com. Her art uses the human figure to explore the many facets of human psychology.

Katie Trostel is Associate Professor of English and the co-Director of the Rust Belt Humanities Lab at Ursuline College.

Jane Oliver: Error 404 — Person Not Found, Please Try Again Later.

Hayley Verdi is the Writing Center Coordinator and Director of First-Year Writing at Ursuline College. Her academic research interests include 19th century British literature and health humanities. A Northeast Ohio native, Hayley enjoys spending time exploring the area with her family.

Elizabeth Eck is an English major at Ursuline College. She enjoys reading and spending time with her family.

Valentino Zullo is the Anisfield-Wolf Fellow, Assistant Professor of English, and co-Director of the Rust Belt Humanities Lab at Ursuline College.

Sheridan Anderson Furrer moved from Denver, CO to Akron, OH to pursue her degree in counseling and art therapy at Ursuline College. She currently works in a community mental health setting specializing in crisis intervention and prevention.

Morgan Lewis graduated from Ursuline with a major in humanities. She is now in the MBA program and an admission counselor for Ursuline College.

Sarah Aber is an English major currently living in Mentor, Ohio who has been featured twice before in Inscape. This is her first time editing for the publication.

Kurt Howell is just a guy who writes poetry as a hobby. Sometimes on a typewriter for fun.

Kawther Alabed is an international student specializing as an acute care nurse practitioner who loves her patients and photography equally.

Laura “Lore” Huggins is an undergraduate art & design major. They enjoy reading and playing video and board games with their friends and family. They plan to build a career in the arts.

Mingma Sherpa is currently enrolled in the second degree accelerated program for nursing. Art has always been a therapeutic outlet for her.

Haleigh Platt graduated from Ursuline in 2021. When she’s not working she enjoys reading, watching hockey, and spending time with her nephew.

Kaylynn Berrios is an undergraduate student double majoring in art therapy and art & design. She enjoys exploring all mediums of art. She will be starting the bridge program for counseling and art therapy.

Aneta Mullins is a social work student who would like to work with veterans in the future. She enjoys art therapy to process her thoughts and emotions.

Chantaisa White is a graduate student currently in the counseling and art therapy program. She enjoys listening to music and spending time with her family. She hopes to enhance the world of community mental health.

Tamar Nussbaum has been a long-time Ursuline student, where she received both her undergraduate and graduate degrees. She’s currently working on a post-master’s degree in Ursuline’s PMHNP program. She enjoys spending time with her family and writing in her spare time.

Gigi Ramirez is an English and psychology major. She enjoys writing and reading in her free time. She plans to attend law school after graduating.

Diane Fleisch Hughes ATR-BC, LPCC is adjunct faculty in the counseling and art therapy graduate program. She is the art therapist for Julie Billiart Schools in Lyndhurst and a working artist at Stella’s Art Gallery in Willoughby.

Elli Bloom is a graduate student in the counseling and art therapy program. She recently received her bachelor’s degree in art therapy in December 2023.

Christina Scialabba is a senior art & design major and an athlete for the track and field/cross country team. In her free time she likes to explore nature.

Kayla Kephart is an undergraduate art therapy student.

Sam Utterback graduated with a bachelor’s degree in art therapy in May of 2023 and is currently a graduate student in the counseling and art therapy program. Shark fact: whale shark’s spot patterns are as unique as fingerprints.

Linda Wilt is a multidisciplinary artist who has most recently focused on making three-dimensional art (ceramics and jewelry) as a form of self-care. She has lately returned to painting, although more abstractly than previously.

Monica Brown is currently working on her master’s in counseling and art therapy at Ursuline College. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with her kiddo and their dog, hiking, reading, doing yoga, and art-making.

Sr. Rosaria Perna is a sister in the Ursuline Community. She has been a teacher since 1981. Her love for the natural environment is reflected in both her art and digital photography.

Emily Shainoff is a junior English major with a minor in pre-law. She enjoys traveling, writing, and photography.

Amelie O’Connor is an undergraduate humanities major. She loves photography and her dog.

Isabella Brancati is an undergraduate humanities and English double major from Toronto, Canada. She enjoys playing soccer and listening to music. She plans to attend law school.

Sr. Anna Trang Tran is a Sister of the Dominican Sisters of Go Vap (Vietnam) Congregation. In 2021, she came to the United States to study English and is currently a nursing student at Ursuline College.

Morgan McIvor Bowser is an English professor and creative writer from Cleveland. She lives in a menagerie of pets with her husband in Chagrin Falls.

Gina Messina, Ph.D. is Associate Professor and Executive Director of the Institute for Women, Wellness, and Work at Ursuline College.

Brent Eligado currently studies art therapy and art & design. In advocating for mental health and substance abuse recovery, Brent combines music and art to promote human connectivity and healing through creative expression.

Rhonda Filipan, Ph.D., loves teaching College Composition and College Research at Ursuline College, especially interacting with students. She continues to be inspired by the legacy of St. Angela Merici.

Isabella Sheppard is an undergraduate nursing major. She likes to spend her time at home with her family, studying, and shopping. She plans to pursue a career as a surgical nurse.

Hannah Beasley is a nursing student and loves spending time with her family. She wants to spread the gospel and get better with her writing.

Ja’Nya Buchanan is an undergraduate nursing major. She enjoys playing rugby and going on night drives. She plans on becoming a pediatric nurse practitioner.

Arienna Blount is an undergraduate nursing major. She enjoys music and spending time with friends.

La’Nia Butler is an undergraduate nursing major. She always enjoys spending time with her friends and family. She likes to write short stories and wants to get better at it.

Samantha Zarzour is an undergraduate nursing major. She is on the STUNT team and enjoys caring for children. She plans to be a pediatric ICU nurse.

Abiyya Abdul-Zahir was born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio. She is currently attending Ursuline College as an undergraduate art therapy major. Her artistic aim is to foster connection and understanding through her work.

Breanna Moldoch is a first-year graduate student in the counseling and art therapy program. With the help of the classes and faculty here at Ursuline College, they hope to help individuals learn to express themselves with art.

Trinity Johnson is a senior fashion design major and a creative who loves to be in spaces of inspiration and passion. She’s a yoga instructor and she’s going to graduate school for physical therapy.

Helen Jones-Toms serves as Ursuline College’s interim director of institutional advancement and director of marketing. Her personal essay won first place in the 2023 Family Keepsakes: A Cross-Campus Storytelling Contest.

Megan Stobaugh is a graduate student in the counseling and art therapy program. She received her BFA from the University of Akron’s Myers School of Art. After graduation, she hopes to work in addiction recovery services.

Dim Sum with the Bestie

Kaylynn Berrios

Editorial Statement

This magazine was created with significant contributions from members of the Sigma Tau Delta International English Honor Society, Epsilon Psi chapter: Sarah Aber, Trinity Bernard, Elizabeth Eck, Kurt Howell, Haleigh Platt (alum), Emily Shainoff, and Katharine Trostel (faculty advisor).

Editorial Team

Elizabeth Eck is an English major with a pre-law minor here at Ursuline College. She enjoys reading and spending time with her family. Trinity Bernard is a senior English major. She enjoys listening to music and spending time with her dog, Jackson. Kurt Howell is an English major with an education minor. He is excited to be a part of Inscape. In his free time, Kurt enjoys painting and writing poetry on a green typewriter because it’s louder than a keyboard. Khalil Jones is a senior humanities major. He likes to travel. Emily Shainoff is a junior English major with a minor in pre-law. She enjoys traveling, writing, and photography. Sarah Aber is an English major who lives in Mentor, Ohio. She has two great-great aunts, a great-great grandmother, and a great-great-great grandmother who attended Ursuline over a century ago. Isabella Brancati is an undergraduate humanities and English double major from Toronto, Canada. She enjoys playing soccer and listening to music. She plans to attend law school. Amelie O’Connor is an undergraduate humanities major. She loves photography and her dog. Bridget Bogden is an English major and education minor. She enjoys competing on the softball team and loves to write in her free time. Gigi Ramirez is an English and psychology major. She enjoys writing and reading in her free time. She plans to attend law school after graduating. Katie Trostel is Associate Professor of English and the co-Director of the Rust Belt Humanities Lab at Ursuline College.

Haleigh Platt graduated from Ursuline College in 2021. She spends her free time reading and writing.