Inscape 2025

The Ode to Athena

Alivia Rovder

Volume LVII

Theme

This year, Inscape has chosen the theme of dark academia. Dark academia is a literary aesthetic hyper-focused on the mysterious arts and deep understanding of education. In the past, dark academia was the way of life; little credence was given to younger voices in society. As a result, Inscape is taking the time to go back and honor that past but change younger generations’ chances at being heard. Inscape encourages readers to look inward at a place where darker feelings lie, while still clinging to hope. As the editors of Inscape, we want readers to see their authentic selves and be encouraged to seek new horizons for the future through the education of self.

Editorial Statement

We, the 2025 editorial team, are delighted to present the LVII edition of Inscape, dedicated to celebrating Ursuline College’s students’ futures. Through this publication, we aim to show students there is no need to fear the ambiguity of tomorrow, but to capture the hope of today. Our magazine reflects the unique perspectives of many of our students’ inner feelings that prior to today we didn’t feel comfortable sharing. We invite our readers to take a moment and explore their inner dark academia side while viewing 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 2026 may be sent to Inscape, c/o the English Department, Ursuline College, 2550 Lander Road, Mullen 338, Pepper Pike, OH 44124 from September 2025 – January 2026. 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 2025 is printed on 8.5 x 11-inch paper. Each piece was formatted in Adobe InDesign. Font style for: cover, Freakshow; titles, Chapbook; subtitles, Libre Baskerville; copy text, Radley.

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

Cover designed by Alivia Rovder

Page 1

“The Ode to Athena”, Drawing, Alivia Rovder

Pages 2-3

Front Matter

Pages 4-5

Table of Contents

Pages 6-7

“On the Brink”, Painting, Sr. Anna Trang Tran

“Tree of Knowledge”, Poem, Kiana Simmons

Pages 8-9

“Dew”, Photography, Alivia Rovder

“Glass”, Photography, Alivia Rovder

Pages 10-11

“Abracadabra”, Painting, Sheridan Anderson Furrer

“Pages of Perdition”, Poem, Sarah Aber

Pages 12-13

“Where’s Waldo”, Mixed Media, Alivia Rovder

“One Drawer”, Poem, Rebecca D. Miller

Pages 14-15

Background designed by Alivia Rovder

“Whole Self”, Painting, Elise Radzialowski

“Golden Tear”, Painting, Arvilla Morett

Pages 16-17

“Stomachache”, Collage, Abiyya Abdul-Zahir

“Forgetting You”, Poem, Kurt Howell

Pages 18-19

“I’m Not Reaching Out To Her”, Poem, AD Pages 20-21

“Lakeview’s Weeping Angel”, Photography, Kaylynn Berrios

“On Being Without”, Poem, Jennifer Blanche Schwartz

Pages 22-23

“A Bitter Taste”, Poem, Katie Lane

“A Fall Morning”, Photography, Alivia Rovder

Pages 24-25

“Sunrise”, Photography, Kailin Adeen

“The Sun”, Poem, Kurt Howell

Pages 26-27

“Bipolar Disorder”, Poem, Maddie Valenjevick

“Soul Crowds”, Watercolor, Abiyya Abdul-Zahir

Pages 28-29

“Soul Crowds”, Watercolor, Abiyya Abdul-Zahir

“My Wife”, Poem, Makenzie Stuckert

Pages 30-31

“Soul Crowds”, Watercolor, Abiyya Abdul-Zahir

“Moth”, Poem, Kurt Howell

Pages 32-33

“The Voice Behind Me”, Short Story, Kailin Adeen

“Clouded View”, Painting, Shariah Abdul-Khaliq

Pages 34-35

“Victim Blaming”, Papermaking, Breanna Moldoch

“Devin”, Digital Art, Alivia Rovder

Pages 36-37

“Cosette”, Digital Art, Alivia Rovder

“Maybe I’m the Rat”, Poem, Jane Oliver

Pages 38-39

“The People’s Tea”, Poem, Dionte Overstreet

“Ari”, Digital Art, Alivia Rovder

Pages 40-41

“Creases of Change”, Paper Quilling, Mila Troca

“Labels & Stereotypes”, Poem, Ricky Nance

Pages 42-43

“Why Write?”, Essay, Barbara E. Eady

Pages 44-45

“Lana”, Digital Art, Alivia Rovder

“Melting”, Poem, Kurt Howell

Pages 46-47

“Seeing The Green on The Other Side”, Painting, Sr. Anna Trang Tran

“Shared Voyage”, Mixed Media, Riley Capritto

“Three Peaches”, Painting, Sheridan Anderson Furrer

Pages 48-49

“Civic Duty”, Essay, Maddie Myers

Pages 50-51

“Ari Portrait”, Digital Art, Alivia Rovder

“Candle”, Poem, Kurt Howell

Pages 52-53

“And Then It Began”, Poem, Anonymous

“Saturday Morning, Cleveland Heights”, Painting, Megan Stobaugh

Pages 54-57

High School Writing Contest

Pages 58-59

Contributors

Pages 60-61

Editorial Statement

“Brighter Horizons”, Poem, Ricky Nance

Pages 62-63

Inspirational Quotes

Pages 64

Back Cover designed by Alivia Rovder

On the Brink

Sr. Anna Trang Tran

Tree of Knowledge

Kiana Simmons

The closer you get the further it drifts, It opens the mind and brings many gifts.

It travels through the wind as you chase after it, It’s not for all to reach, but for those who never quit.

Don’t be a fool, it longs for you too You never touch it but it always touches you.

Know that you know nothing at all, For when you reach the top it was never the top at all.

Those who stay consistent discover that, knowledge is near but distant.

Dew

Alivia Rovder

Glass

Alivia Rovder

Abracadabra

Sheridan Anderson Furrer

Pages of Perdition

Sarah Aber

Destruction

Of the self, How I used to be Before I

Actually got to see a therapist. Perdition can also mean Eternal damnation

(Which I did not know before Ursuline since I was raised Methodist which is quite different than Catholicism). What happens When we give into our worst impulses And see each other As subhuman

Due to differing opinions? It was even more prominent in the past When anything seen as different Could mean your death, Or permanent seclusion–When you didn’t have any sort of help Whatsoever.

Which is why I don’t understand When people talk about the good old days. Did they really live through The reality?

Or were they secluded from it Due to the lack of technology That saturates us in it now Knowing the true horror Was only published years later. Or did they not believe it?

They continued to live in an echo chamber Where no one dared to leave Until it was too late

To do anything. Did they know?

Where’s Waldo

Alivia Rovder

One Drawer

For Kenneth Beers

Rebecca D. Miller

One drawer

A pile of books on the floor

Your life, already

Spare, reduced

To this.

Things I took from that drawer

Reading glasses in cases

A pair of contacts

Prescriptions in bottles

Patches that Mom sewed on

White collared shirts

For corrections

The duty you bore

For inmates and ungrateful offspring

Who broke your nose, your wallet

Who you continued to serve

In closets, flannels, Pants, baggy as you

Reduced with age

With exercise, with farm work

And solitary walks in the woods

Except for your pup

A belt or two

Hung on hallway

Hooks outside the bathroom

Alongside robes and striped towels

Leather worn from the years

Marked, stretched and cracking

Echo of disciplinary action

Now inert, inactive

Old function replaced

With hunting knives, rifles, handguns

Piled in the bedroom

In boxes with manuals

Near the bed

On the dresser

The same honey-blonde wood

From 2nd Avenue, Cook Avenue, Garden Lane, Now Prescott Road

1,000 yards of graveled path

From the cemetery

A freshly dug grave

Marks your stay

Whole Self

Elise Radzialowski

Golden Tear

Arvilla Morett

Stomachache

Abiyya Abdul-Zahir

I think I’m forgetting your face

Forgetting You

Kurt Howell

I guess that’s just what happens when you’ve got partial face blindness

You forget.

Sometimes it’s nice, comforting even

Knowing that I won’t remember the face of someone I don’t like, or the face of my ex who convinced me love lies within pain and tears.

But I didn’t think I’d forget your face, at least not this quickly

I can’t remember what it looks like when you laugh,

Or what happens to your face if you’ve started laughing so hard you’re crying

I can’t remember what you look like when you’re concentrating too hard

Or thinking too much

I don’t remember if one side of your smile was upturned more than the other

Or if you had to squint when the sun was bright

No I don’t remember your face, and there was a time when I would’ve cried about this

But I haven’t

I remember small things, your dimples and the color of your eyes

But those are slowly disappearing too

Someday I’ll wake up to find I don’t remember what you look like at all

And I know you’re not far I know I could put your face back into my memory

But I don’t want to

Because all that comes with it is pain.

Remembering how I used to make you smile, how I knew what a genuine smile for you looked like

How I’d make you laugh so hard you cried, and I got to be the one to wipe away those tears.

But I’ll always remember how you looked when you broke my heart.

How you sat at the edge of the bed, refusing to be any closer to me.

How you didn’t dare look in my eyes

I think you knew,

Knew how you’d see my heart shattering

So you didn’t.

You didn’t look me in the eyes, you didn’t dare. So I won’t try to remember you, Because nothing will ever hurt more than the thought I once had of forgetting you.

I don’t know who you are anymore,

And I think it’s better that way.

I’m Not Reaching Out To Her AD

Hey.

This might sound weird, but I was invited to a funeral today and it reminded me of you. I won’t go.

It will be open casket. The corpse will have a half-finished tattoo on their arm. One that will never be finished even if the dead had every intention of getting that tattoo finished when they weren’t dead.

I think that’s when I realized that life is full of tattoos we say we’ll get finished

Perfumes you’re saving for special occasions

Pumpkin pie candles you’ll only allow yourself to burn in October

A set of inherited jewels that sit, in a dark cabinet, never to be worn, collecting dust.

So I’m hiding in the bathroom, unable to tell a relative that I won’t go to the funeral. I don’t completely know why, I don’t know why I’m writing this, but all I know is that I don’t want you to be a rough sketch in my life.

This is me telling you that I regret you, but I regret you in the same way I regret not wearing sunscreen, or thinking I can drive one more mile on empty, or using my finger to fix the drip from a hot glue gun.

Entirely stupid. Preventable. Predictable. Laughably so.

You’re a thief.

You stole years from me.

Maybe I’m a thief too but...

While you steal your opinions from New York Times op-eds to make yourself sound more mature, I steal dandelions from the neighbor’s yard to make flower crowns and a tea that won’t hurt your stomach.

Why did I give you so many chances?

I’m starting to wonder if regret is an evolutionary mechanism, but if that’s the case I think moving on is too.

So in the name of evolution, I hope to clench my jaw no longer and cringe when I see photos of my friends with you.

I hope stress stops digging their manicured nails into my shoulders when I think of you. I hope that when I go to therapy I stop making allusions to you.

Seeing your name recommended to me on Instagram hurts more on some days than others.

I wish I could say it’s because I love you less and I’ve tried to convince myself that I do... love you less.

But I think it’s really because I’m learning you never really loved me. Not in the way one should. Who treats a friend like that!?

All you really wanted was a certainty, but you settled for using me for your series of increasingly laborious mundane tasks that make you “feel bad.”

Make me useful. Make me a constant in your life. Make me scrape your car. Make me get your groceries. Make me get your meds. Make me do your laundry.

I give in to requests too easily. And the things you say make me cry.

All I really wanted was a simple thank you, a true thank you, not one born from obligation. Without having to ask.

A thank you. And an apology.

For all of the times I’ve put your emotions first. Your struggles first. Your health first. Your comfort first. Your joy first.

And your joy was our joy a lot of the time.

Bonding

Over music and movies and memes and fanfiction and trauma and our terrible mothers and What We Do In The Shadows.

I guess I just wanted to say that I hope you get everything you’ve ever wanted and I hope I never hear a thing about it.

Lakeview’s Weeping Angel

Kaylynn Berrios

On Being Without

Jennifer Blanche Schwartz

When I had no hands, I made my voice my hands.

When I had no voice, I made art my voice… Images flowed like waking dreams in holy spaces In psalms, hymns, verses, and stained-glass windows.

When I had no art, I made relationships my art… Highlighting, uplifting, coaxing laughter and smiles From strangers and intimates alike.

When I had no eyes, I made intuition my eyes… Trusting it beyond surface impressions.

When I had no respect, I loved and cared for my pets.

When I had no quiet, I made breath my refuge.

When I had no mother, I made the Earth my mother, communing with wind, natural life-cycles, and the sounds and dances of animals.

When I had no father, I made wisdom, patience, and understanding my father.

When I had no parents, I made stability and unconditional love my parents.

When I had no sacred body, I cleansed with dripping sweat, salty tears, clean water, exotic incense, and fresh breezes.

When I had no words, I gestured with glances, stretches, yoga poses, and mudras… closing the circle at my fingertips, enveloping me within hugs, holding space for love and loss.

A Bitter Taste

Katie Lane

A cup of coffee in the morning is all I need, I say this as I go through my day Just get through until next May Since I am only up here for a little bit

A cup of coffee in the morning is all I need, To learn at school, finish this degree I wanted to be free so bad, But wasn’t life at home also free?

A cup of coffee should be all I need, But it is hard being away To be on my own, with new faces Wondering if I’m doing anything right

A cup of coffee is not enough I just turned 19, my last teenage year Growing up was supposed to be exciting, But there is only hardship and confusion

I don’t want this responsibility Let me go back to the good old days, Where I only worried about the color of my crayons, Not the money in my empty bank account

The coffee is too bitter now I think I’ll throw it out

Maybe I will drink some apple juice instead, A reminder of my childhood that is indeed dead

A Fall Morning

Alivia Rovder

Sunrise

Kailin Adeen

The Sun

Kurt Howell

My darling you awakened a light in me I never knew I had Illuminated all the best parts of me, I considered you the sun to my moon. My hope within the dark, The glimmer I could not let go.

But eventually you found the darkest pieces of my soul Those that should’ve remained in the dark, ever silent in their shadow filled tomb. When you found them, You swore you you’d love them as you loved the rest of me

But I felt you drift. The distance expanding, Broadening

And with it, you went.

I felt my heart trapped in an endless eclipse

My world froze, Where your light once shone was now just an endless vast darkness, I could not find my way through And when my day has ended I spend my night searching through the shadows for you.

Bipolar Disorder

Maddie Valenjevick

Sleepless nights, Burning shots, Smokey lungs, Running the world, Cannot sleep, Cannot eat, Flight of ideas, Fast speech, Nothing can stop, A special person, Who has no brakes A never-ending circle.

Rot in bed, Stuck in my head, Muscles ache, Eyes burn,

Talking hurts, Getting up takes too much energy, Stuck in a vicious cycle, Of never feeling better,

When will it get better? Can I ever feel normal? Can I ever be like the rest? Or am I stuck in this never-ending cycle?

Soul Crowds

Abiyya Abdul-Zahir

Soul Crowds

Abiyya Abdul-Zahir

My Wife

Makenzie Stuckert

My mind is like a maze, Yet you constantly go through it. Your heavenly haze, And your brilliant wit.

Is what I love about you I may sound crazy, But I want to stick to you like glue. Your beauty resembles a daisy; Peaceful and elegant, Soft and calming, Delicate, intelligent, Heart-stopping.

There’s only one who I want in my forever life, And that’s you, my wife.

Soul Crowds

Abiyya Abdul-Zahir

Moth

Kurt Howell

You were the flame

And I was the moth entranced, I was drawn in by your light

Your words keeping me afloat

Perhaps I spoke too much

Too soon

I’ve always been known to be a lot

But when I spoke

You listened

And when I smiled

You laughed with me

Never feeling like I was being too much

And when we danced

You did not care

Who saw

Who watched

For your gaze was affixed on me

And mine on you

If I had known

That was the last time I’d see you

Perhaps I would not have followed the light blindly

But I cannot change that I am the moth

And you were the candle ablaze in the dark

Please allow me to return to the darkness

For I am well acquainted with the shadows that hide there

I know them by name

And they know I

Allow me this one last pleasure my love

Please extinguish the hope

Allow me to return to slumber

The Voice Behind Me

Kailin Adeen

I woke up this morning to the invigorating smell of pancakes and my little brothers, Taj and Theo, playing with their loud toys on my floor. “Breakfast is ready!” says my mother. I never really get out of my bed as soon as she tells me food is ready, I’m way too lazy. I finally get up once my mother calls me again, I hate when she repeats herself. As I walk downstairs, I hear the Stevie Wonder playlist coming from the kitchen. Sometimes, I hate eating meals with my family. We are an enormous family of ten. There’s my mom, my dad, my older sisters, Tiffany and Tess, the twins, Terri and Toni, me, my little brothers, Taj, Theo, and Tyler. To relieve myself from all the stress that occurs in THIS house, I love to take midday jogs in the woods. Although my little brothers beg to go with me every day, I still say no. This is usually the only alone time I have.

Today is a gloomy day. There’s no sunshine. It has been drizzling all day long. My mom and I have been contemplating if I should go or not. My mom says she doesn’t have a good feeling about today. With it raining, she wants me to refrain from hurting myself. She also gets worried with everything that has been on the news about my city lately. There have been kidnappings, robberies and shootings everyday here. I tried to explain to her that crime is inevitable and the only thing we can do is protect ourselves when these things come about. I still decided to go jogging anyway but I won’t be out as long. *starts jogging*.

Trees began rustling as I continued to run. The only odd thing was, there was no breeze at all. My heart began to beat fast as if my normal jog turned into me running for my life. I stopped to take a breather. Leaning against a tree which seemed to have the oldest bark, I quickly convinced myself that no one would be crazy enough to commit a crime during broad daylight, so I continued with my jog. Slowly waking up in a daze, I sit up and rotate my head as much as it would go. It’s dark and cold. I hear noises coming from everywhere around me but there is no one to be found. I’m starting to wonder if this is a terrible dream. I have no cell reception. Yelling so loudly, my throat begins to hurt. No one hears me, almost as if everyone fled the city or suddenly became deaf. I have the worst headache and now notice deep cuts and gashes on my calves. What happened to me I wonder? “Turn around,” said the voice behind me...

Clouded View

Shariah Abdul-Khaliq

Victim Blaming

Breanna Moldoch

Devin

Alivia Rovder

Cosette

Maybe I’m the Rat

Jane Oliver

I always remember the rat that we found lying in the grass. We took a stick, and found it had been gutted, completely, by the neighbor’s cat. We sat there poking it, and staring, for ages. That grotesque, disemboweled rat.

I know what that’s like, to be attacked, left empty, exposed.

Then someone comes along, and discovers you— gutted, dead, alone. They pick up a stick and poke you with it, studying your miserable state, waiting to see if you’re alert, if you’re alive, if you’ll react, if you’ll respond.

It doesn’t matter, one way or the other— they’ll watch you for a while, unsure of what to do.

The People’s Tea

Dionte Overstreet

In life we meet different types of people,

Some may be interesting and some may be unconventional. But sometimes you might meet someone that is both, While also telling you their never ending problematic life stories.

Although their stories may seem unconventional, they can keep reeling you back in.

As for anyone as nosey as me, I can’t help but to keep drinking the tea they provide.

As I listen to their stories, I wonder about my own past stories. Does everyone feel that their life stories are normal and worth discussing? And why does everyone feel the need to drink the tea as if it’s just water?

As for me, I will continue to tell my life stories, It won’t offend me if no finds my tea drinkable. There are all types of people in this world, And there’s all types of teas that can be made. It’s up to you how you choose to digest the tea.

Alivia Rovder

Creases of Change

Mila Troca

Labels & Stereotypes

Ricky Nance

Not all stereotypes Surrounding jocks and nerds are true. But when people get labeled What can you do?

Jocks are athletic! Jocks have strong muscles! Jocks are popular among peers, And love playing sports.

But jocks are not very smart, Are usually bullies, Who prioritize sports over school, And love to make fun of others.

Nerds are smart! Nerds have big brains! Nerds play video games, And love learning.

But nerds are physically weak, Always get picked on, Barely have any friends, And are not popular with their classmates.

But some jocks may be smart, And some jocks may be kind, And some nerds may have muscles, And lots of friends too.

The problem with labels, Is the damage they can do. If you don’t get to know someone, How do you know what’s true?

Labels and stereotypes Can cause a lot of harm. To avoid this catastrophe, DO. NOT. STEREOTYPE.

Why Write?

Barbara E. Eady

I write because I feel I have to. I have to because this is the easiest way to get it all out without any interruptions. My earliest memories of writing go back to when I was nine years of age. I would write thank you letters to my aunts in New York because they would send me cute little gifts in the mail. My mother would have it no other way, there was always a thank you written and mailed in order to show my appreciation. Once I started writing my thank you letters to my aunts and they would write back, it was Nirvana to me! It was so exciting to see a letter sitting on the coffee table when I came in from school and it was addressed to me, and I was all of 10 years old! Because my aunts had beautiful penmanship, I worked hard at writing beautifully like they did. I worked hard at writing about whatever I thought was interesting in my life at the time. I talked to my aunts about the things I felt would make for great conversation within the confines of the front and back of the sheet of paper I had. I felt more grown up by being able to write my letters.

Fast forward to English in high school, which was my favorite subject. I was always happy when it came time to write reports for class. It was something I felt I was pretty good at, and I truly enjoyed it. But the biggest incentive for why I write was my running into my former high school teacher twelve years after I had graduated. There she was, Ms. Mayer, from senior English class. She was the best! She and I were at a dress shop in downtown Cincinnati, one summer afternoon. I heard this voice say, “Barbara, Barbara Wallace is that you?” I turned around and there was Ms. Mayer, still cute as a button. I yelled, “Ms. Mayer, how are you?” She said she was fine and she told me she was still teaching English. She then said, “Barbara, are you writing?” And I said to her, “Writing? Writing what?” And she said, “Barbara, I still use many of the papers you wrote in English as samples for my students to draw from when they write. So if you are not writing, you need to get started, because you have a gift for it, so don’t let that gift go to waste!” Needless to say, I was totally blown away...and so today I write, because I know I just absolutely have to write!

I have found writing to be very therapeutic for me. It is so much more freeing to give all the tons and tons of thoughts that roam around on the inside of me, a home. I feel I am not being fair to the thoughts, to allow them to remain in an orphaned state of existence for months, years or even decades! It seems that when I put those thoughts down on paper, they become a living entity, they have truly found a voice and some level of clout; and for the first time they have a purpose for being! If I only allow them to rummage around in my head, or hang onto a string that pulls and tugs at my heart, it is as if I have forced them to try and thrive and survive on their own; and maybe that is because I may still be wrestling with whether or not I want to claim any real ownership of them at all.

As I said, if the thought gets put to paper, it seems to have acquired some serious status, more depth. If I decide to scratch what I have previously written, however, I then get into such a battle with myself as to why did I write it in the first place, and if it was valid in the first place, how did it become invalid in the second? This then forces me to go all the way back to the inception of the thought, the idea, the notion and I have to figure out where it came from and why it was there? I must consider whether I was looney for having ever written it to begin with. I must also consider all the other “stuff” I have already written, and wonder is that “stuff” just as bad as this, now, recent discovery? Sometimes, I think that is why it takes me a while to put pen to paper, I seem to defer to that more anal side of me even when it comes to writing, and I just hate the idea of making a mistake. And God forbid I make a mistake that goes all the way to the final piece of work and then I do not catch it until two or three years later; when it is absolutely and totally etched in stone!

Once I find myself going down that path of my more “anal analysis” mode of function, I must stop writing for a while; like a week or two, because I only end up getting myself into a deeper quagmire of mess that takes eons to come back from. Yes, I very well know that I am my own worst critic, and many times I have come to the point of tears, and don’t let me have a deadline to meet to top it off! One thing I have found to be helpful for me is to have a moment of distraction. I will find a magazine to thumb through, a book to read or a movie to watch. This always helps me to clear my head during these emotionally charged moments. And “Wa-La,” the next thing I know; I am seeing something in the magazine, the book, or maybe on the silver screen that triggers a thought or two or three; and I am off and running once again, back to the project at hand! There are so many times I felt I was so close to throwing in the towel, yet I can say most certainly, it is a temptation that I have never caved into, and for that I am so very glad.

At the end of the day, it is important to just learn to stick and stay with the process, it will come together if we patiently give it time. How do we eat an elephant? One bite at a time! That concept also works for writing!

Lana

Alivia Rovder

Melting

Kurt Howell

Winter has long entrapped me in his cold embrace

His icy hands and darkness keeping me captive

Reducing me down to nothing, making sure there is no memory of any warmth I once knew

But you my love, are like the first flowers of spring

Color returning to the cold and darkened days

I no longer find myself trapped in winters frigid embrace

You brought back to me a warmth I had forgotten to time

A softness I had dreamed about, but never expected I’d be allowed to hold

I can feel your warmth and color melting away the ice around my heart

And for once I will allow myself this

Seeing The Green on The Other Side

Sr. Anna Trang Tran

Shared Voyage

Riley Capritto

Three Peaches

Sheridan Anderson Furrer

Civic Duty

Maddie Myers

What makes a citizen engaged and active? Citizens can be engaged and active in many ways and places. This could mean going to different outreach events within your community or writing a letter about something you feel passionate about. Poet Amanda Gorman argues that our nation “isn’t broken” but simply unfinished. I agree with Gorman; however, I think it is difficult to work on a nation when citizens and Ohioans are not actively engaged and proactive. We all need to work toward getting citizens to engage. Being an engaged and productive citizen means educating yourself on issues, attending outreach events, and using that information to make the best-informed decision.

Plato repeatedly and strongly urged that democracy could become dangerous if power ended up in the wrong hands. He felt that the average person could not govern (Plato 292). Whereas Jefferson stated that if citizens felt their government was not serving them, “It was their duty to throw off such government” (20). Plato seemed to believe that democracy could devolve and eventually would leave some people behind and put other people on a pedestal. Plato’s views seem to be more reflective of where we are today. However, this could be prevented by educating Ohioans on voter issues and sharing unbiased sources. Many classmates felt that they were not educated enough to vote. We can work within schools and communities by educating fellow Ohioans on the ballot.

In Tracy K. Smith’s poem “Declaration” she powerfully shifts the Declaration of Independence and uses it to bring awareness to minority issues and expresses that “repeated petitions have been answered by repeated injury.” While her message is reflective of the original Declaration, she made it more inclusive and shifted the focus. Gorman calls to “compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, and condition of man.” I agree with both Smith and Gorman. Not enough people are focused on issues that do not impact them. I feel that going to community engagement activities can help build compassion for others and educate people who have not experienced or witnessed the adversity that Smith describes, and Gorman condemns.

As citizens and college students, we are becoming increasingly busy. While it may be hard to find time to engage, these issues are important to the community. Doing focused research and eliminating biased sources should be the first step in educating yourself and making your research more effective. You can ask for the point of view of a family member, but remember that everyone has biases. I have family members who are regularly frustrated about prices and blame it on the current president, not realizing we are still under a former president’s tax plan. However, they will not let facts dictate their decision. I encourage everyone to be willing to change their mind. Be sure to check what others are telling you, be aware of issues, and make the best-informed decision for yourself.

“‘Dare To Dream Together’: Read Amanda Gorman’s Full Poem She Recited At The DNC.” NewsOne, 22 Aug. 2024, https:// newsone.com/5494796/amanda-gorman-dnc-poem-full-text/. Accessed 26 Mar. 2025.

Jefferson, Thomas. The Selected Writings of Thomas Jefferson: Authoritative Texts, Contexts, Criticism. Edited by Wayne Franklin. 1st ed., W. W. Norton & Co., 2010.

Plato. The Republic. Edited by H. D. P. Lee. 2nd ed., Penguin Books, 2003.

Smith, Tracy K. “Declaration.” 2018. The Poetry Foundation, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/147468/ declaration-5b5a286052461. Accessed 26 Mar. 2025.

Ari Portrait

Alivia Rovder

Candle

Kurt Howell

I’m begging of you

Please put out this flame

Please extinguish what I thought we had What I imagined would happen

Douse it with whatever you feel

Allow it not to burn any longer

For it’s eating me alive

Every flicker its dance reminding me of ours

Show me compassion one last time

Please put out the light

For I am well acquainted with the darkness it’s there I’d rather be, than huddled round the candle

You pretend to be

The warmth you provided gave me hope, That I deserve this, that I might be treated right But you were a trick candle, designed to persuade the foolish

Please my love

Extinguish this light.

And Then It Began

Anonymous

My body, My choice. My womb, a forever home not forgotten.

Being a woman has several pros, that’s what they tell us.

“They” as in the men whose decision over my own body is greater than who lives in it. I was just a girl when I had to learn to be a woman in this broken world. I went from feeling free to be, do and choose whatever I wanted to.

Then my lining began to shed and my whole life turned upside down. I no longer had the time to be joyful and happy most days. And then it began...

“She’s only acting that way because she’s a woman.”

The so-called blessing of creating life within the walls of my skin was deemed a curse by men.

I was told by my mother that being a woman would be hard, but I should be grateful because I had a gift. A gift to bring life into the world by using my own body.

I didn’t have to be a scientist to make it happen either, I just needed to be me. That’s what made it easier to be comfortable with myself.

And then it began...

My womb, my body, my temple was breached.

The so-called blessing of life I had within me was taken for granted.

I was held against my will by an older man, who used me out of spite and my lining forgot to shed. And then it began...

My abdomen grew gently but so did my heart for the child within me.

This wasn’t what I imagined my life would be like.

But I’m sure that this isn’t what the child within me thought their life would be like either. Coming into the world with a young mother and predator father would not be ideal.

I made the decision to save the child from the pain of not being wished for.

I cried about it for weeks on end, walked into the clinic,

And then it began...

Saturday Morning, Cleveland Heights

Megan Stobaugh

High School Writing Contest

For Inscape’s LVII edition, we asked high school students to write poems, stories, and essays. The students showcased their literary abilities through the creative writing process.

This year, Inscape received over 200 submissions from across the country. Inscape’s editorial team selected 20 entries to be submitted to an internal panel of judges for review. The top three pieces were selected by the esteemed guest judge listed below.

This year’s winners are:

1st Place: “A Giving Love”, Akyra Yharbrough, Romulus High School

2nd Place: “Our Homeland”, Sarah Seidu, Saint Francis DeSales High School

3rd Place: “Heavy Bags, Gentler Pain”, Miles DeSantis, Mayfield High School

We would like to thank our internal judges:

Mimi Pipino: Interim Dean, School of Arts, Sciences and Professional Studies, Director of the Core Curriculum, Professor of English

Mara Shatat: Librarian, Archivist

Hayley Verdi: Writing Center Coordinator

Celebrity Judge

Originally from a small town in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania, Anita Kelly now lives in the Pacific Northwest with their family. An educator by day, they write romance that celebrates queer love in all its infinite possibilities. Their work has received multiple starred reviews, been a Book of the Month main selection, and been included in best-of-the-year lists from NPR, BookPage, and Entertainment Weekly. Whenever not reading or writing, they’re drinking too much tea, taking pictures, and dreaming of their next walk in the woods. They hope you get to pet a dog today.

Anita Kelly

A Giving Love

Akyra Yharbrough

I never liked eating. The sensation of food sliding down my throat always nauseated me, it felt sickening to humanize myself; to feel the needs of flesh and indulge in them were acts of sin.

But being eaten felt completely different. It was no longer a selfish act to feed myself, I was giving instead of taking. I bathed in the feeling of your skin on mine as you ripped into me. I never complained when your teeth dug into my skin, tearing away my muscles and claiming me from within.

I was taught that love was sacrifice so I continued to feed you with all I had; sitting silently, watching as my blood trickled down your chin while you devoured me, drinking me down until there was nothing left to chew on.

You broke what was left of my bones and scraped the marrow from the shattered pieces of what remained, a “rare beauty” you called them. And yet I don’t see beauty in the feast you made of my body.

When you were full and there was nothing left of my mangled corpse I relished in the love we shared. There’s a sick satisfaction in feeding you with myself, because our love is never truly love until we are completely one.

I still don’t like the feeling of eating, but as long as my body can keep you fed I will force myself to endure it. I will nourish your very being with mine. I will wear each scar that you leave on me as a mark of affection; a trophy, a shining symbol of your twisted obsession and my affection.

Our Homeland

Sarah Seidu

From a very young age, we are all told that we are sometimes African, sometimes African-American

Does that include those of us born in America with African parents?

Does that include those of us born in Africa, and moved to the United States?

Where do we fit in, where do WE stand?

Is this, or that, our true homeland?

We are shown the poor streets of Ghana, on the news

We are so used to thinking of our country as “less than”

Whose idea was it to put such a notion into motion, that our homeland is nothing but poor, Less than that of the American ideals?

We are not told that Ghana was once called the Gold Coast

We are not shown the wealth in gold that flourishes throughout the continent of Africa

We are so used to thinking of our country as “less than”

So, whose idea was it to put such a notion into motion that our homeland is nothing but dirty, Less than that of the American nation?

Ena fre me Africa-ni, fre me Akata, call us Africans, call us African-Americans, but do not take away our association with a nation,

So beautiful

So rich

Ena kese

Do not take away our ties to our homeland

We aren’t so young anymore and we still wonder

Are we African or are we African-American? What is the correct classification for those of us who don’t know how to identify with the correct nation? Where do we fall, where do we fit in? Where do we stand?

Well, I can tell you that the simply put yet not so simple answer is We are products of our homeland.

Author’s Note:

“Ena fre me Africa-ni, fre me Akata” (Twí) translates to “So call me African, call me African American” (English)

“Ena kese ” (Twí) translates to “Grand” (English) ɛ

Heavy Bags, Gentler Pain

Miles DeSantis

Your bags sit heavy by the door, A silent echo of before. Your shadow fades in dimming light, And leaves me hollowed in the night.

We spoke in soft tones, Built something out of nothing. Now, all that’s left is this emptiness; Where promises once held steadiness.

Can you see me? I’m waiting for the right time, I was able to read you, but if you want, the pleasure is all mine. You promised once you’d never go, But you left. And I don’t know.

I watch you leave, but I’m still here, My heart now tied to fading fear; But in the quiet, I remain–

A softer ache, a gentler pain.

Contributors

Alivia Rovder is a senior undergraduate art therapy and art and design double major with an English minor. She enjoys drawing, photography, collage, creative writing, and creating digital art. She plans to attend graduate school.

Sr. Trang is a sister of the Dominican Sisters of Go Vap (Vietnam) Congregation. In 2021, she came to the United States to study English and she is currently majoring in biology life science at Ursuline College.

Kiana Simmons is an undergraduate nursing major, who is also working towards a minor in humanities. She enjoys making coffee, exercising, listening to music, reading books and writing. She plans to become a forensic nurse after graduation.

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.

Sarah Aber graduated from Ursuline in 2025. She lives in Mentor and is hoping to intern in the publishing industry.

Rebecca D. Miller, PhD, LPC, LPAT, ATR-BC, ATCS, is Program Director of Ursuline’s graduate counseling and art therapy program.

Elise Radzialowski is an artist from Northeast Ohio. She completed her B.F.A. in painting and drawing from the University of Akron and is currently earning a graduate degree in mental health counseling and art therapy at Ursuline College.

Arvilla Morett: We all carry around pain from our lives, but within art we can try and bring hope to the people around us. Within sadness can be a chance for change and new beginnings.

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

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

AD is an undergraduate art therapy major and underwater basket weaving minor. They find inspiration in exploring craft fairs, art museums, and anti-patriarchy forums on Reddit. They have been writing poetry since middle school and hope to publish a poetry collection in the future.

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

Jennifer Blanche Schwartz (‘93) is Assistant Professor of Undergraduate Art Therapy. She creates a variety of artworks through written, musical, visual, and embodied formats as inspiration calls for and healing requires.

Katie Lane is an undergraduate English education major and track athlete at Ursuline. She enjoys reading, writing, and going to Bible study.

Kailin Adeen is an undergraduate English major and pre-law minor. She enjoys creative writing and plans on a career in screenwriting.

Maddie Valenjevick is an undergraduate social work major. She enjoys writing, music, and driving and she plans to reduce mental health stigma in the society.

Makenzie Stuckert is an undergraduate English/education major and sports management minor. She enjoys reading, crafting, and watching a wide range of movies. She plans to become both a coach and a teacher in the future.

Shariah Abdul-Khaliq is a senior art therapy major, and her primary form of art making is traditional painting.

Breanna Moldoch: We must stand together and elevate the voices that cannot be heard.

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

Dionte Overstreet is a social work major. He in enjoys drawing and technology.

Mila Troca: Like creased paper, discrimination leaves lasting marks on individuals. However, with acknowledgement and active change, those creases can transform into something meaningful, where peace exists.

Ricky Nance is a neurodiverse undergraduate education major and he is the president of the upcoming Neurodiversity Club. He is outgoing, funny, enthusiastic, and he loves video games, comedy, and equality.

Barbara E. Eady is an undergraduate humanities major. She loves to write and wants to become a master at doing so! She is in the 4th quarter of her life and strives to makes the most of it.

Riley Capritto: A sailboat gliding across the water is a powerful symbol of “moving forward together.” Its progress depends on the harmony between the crew, the wind, and the sails, reflecting the collaborative effort needed to navigate life’s journey.

Maddie Myers is an exercise science major. She enjoys reading, writing, exercising and spending time with her dogs. From the point of view of girls and all women who live every day in fear of predators, who do not know what to do, what path to take...we are here for you.

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.

Editorial Statement

This magazine was created with significant contributions from members of the Sigma Tau Delta International English Honor Society, Epsilon Psi chapter: Kurt Howell, Haleigh Platt (alum), Bridget Bogden, Katie Lane, Alivia Rovder, Makenzie Stuckert, and Katharine Trostel (faculty advisor for Inscape and advisor for our chapter of Sigma Tau Delta, Epsilon Psi).

The 2025 editorial team consists of Kailin Adeen, Bridget Bogden, Barbara Erkins Eady, Kurt Howell, Katelyn Kazee, Ricky Nance III, Alivia Rovder, Kiana Simmons, and Madelyne Valenjevick.

We also want to thank Trinity Bernard and contributor Sarah Aber who are both Sigma Tau Delta members.

We’d like to extend a special thank you to Trinity Bernard for her continued support and dedication to Inscape.

Brighter Horizons

Ricky Nance

There are a lot of troubles in the world

Ones that are impossible to ignore

But eventually things will get better

All we have to do is hold on to hope

Focus on the positives

Rather than the negative Focus on the bright sun

Rather than the burning heat

Even on a rainy day

When everything is dark, gloomy and unpleasant

Think about water that the grass and plants are getting Imagine the rainbow after all the rain

Stick with people who care

They will comfort you during hard times Ignore people who do not care They will make you feel even worse

Staying optimistic is the key

To trying times like this You should always have hope Because things will get better eventually

Until that day comes

We will hold on to hope You will always have support No matter what happens

“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”

Nelson Mandela

“Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.”

Helen Keller