Wesleyan College Literary Journal Spring 2019

Wesleyan College Literary Journal

Spring 2019

Editor’s Note Welcome, all, to the Spring 2019 edition of the Wesleyan College Literary Journal!

In his book I’m a Stranger Here Myself, Bill Bryson writes, “Of all the things I am not very good at, living in the real world is perhaps the most outstanding.” In my time as editor of the Literary Journal I have had the pleasure of stepping away from the “real world” as Bryson calls it and being able to live in the worlds created by the talented students of Wesleyan. Through these worlds I have had the chance to see firsthand the passion, creativity, and talent that students of this school possess.

I want to personally thank the students who have shared their works – be they pieces of literature, artwork, or photography – for giving me the opportunity to experience these worlds. I know that putting your work out there can be terrifying, but I hope the experience of doing so is also rewarding for each of you.

In addition to the students who invited others into the worlds of their creations, I would also like to thank our readers. Your interest and encouragement inspire us to do our best. We appreciate you

demonstrating how Wesleyan students support and share in the achievements of one another.

Finally, we must thank our Faculty Advisor Dr. Melanie Doherty for making this journal possible.

Through technical challenges she advocated for the journal, and, in the end, found a way for it be able to continue. Your belief in the importance of students being able to share their works inspires us to fight for what we believe in, even in the face of adversity.

Now that formalities are out of the way, we invite you to, too, take a break from living in the real world. Enter into the minds and visions of the students of Wesleyan and be inspired by them as they were by you.

Happy reading!

Staff

Editor

Layout Editor

Poetry Editor Art & Phot ography Editor

Fiction Editor

Non-Fiction Editor

Faculty Advisor

Amber Storm Murray Stacey M. Rice Christina Singleton Stacey M. Rice Natalie Stallworth Allison Hunt Dr. Melanie Doherty WLJ / Spring 2019

Table Of Contents Literature Fiction A Quest - Meagan Speich . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .4 Exit, Pursued by Bear - Alex Paulk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 How Church Yards Get Statues - Megan Speich . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .11 Talking To Myself - Anneliese Balfour . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 The Lottery Ticket - Deanna Laree . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .14 The Perfect Date - Ashley Darby . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 The Stone Bench - Natalie Stallworth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 When I am 80 - Natalie Stallworth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29

Non-Fiction Autonomous Women and Breaking Out of Gender Roles - Allison Hunt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 Beowulf vs Sir Gawain as Heroes - Allison Hunt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 Experience with Race and Class - Allison Hunt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 The Bitter Chocolate Betrayal - Natalie Stallworth . . . . . . . . . . . . .32 Walking - D`Maya Kirkland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .33

Poetry A Melody to My Holy Shepherd - Monesha Sharnes Mullins . . . . .35 All She Wants Is . . . - Stacey M. Rice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Another Beach Day - Leon Beatz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .37 Breathplay - Amanda Rowan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Clink - Melinda Hobbs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .39 Compliance - Amanda Rowan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 1

Poetry Con’t Dead Inside - Amanda Rowan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Hammocking on a March Day - Natalie Stallworth . . . . . . . . . . . . .40 Late Night Snack - Annaliese Balfour . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .41 Love Is Like - Lynette Sanford . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42 Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds - Léa Faulkner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Lust at First Sight - Leon Beatz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .43 Maple - Yuanyuan Zhang . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 New Beginnings - Stacey M. Rice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Nutcracker Sonnet - Brittany Kelly . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 One Dance - Amber Walton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Poem 1 - D’Maya Kirkland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Poem 2 - D’Maya Kirkland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Sandman - Melinda Hobbs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .47 Summer Silence - Annaliese Balfour . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47

Art Work Charcoal Dinner With Friends - Anna Felton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .29 Rose - Anna Felton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Window View - Stacey M. Rice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36

Drawings / Sketches Owl - Maria Randall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .48 Underfoot (Graphite and Colored Pencil) - Anna Felton . . . . . . . . .10 Untitled - Léa Faulkner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 Wild Dog - Maria Randall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Back Cover

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WLJ / Spring 2019

Paintings Air for Free - Amanda Rowen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Front Cover Green Room - Lynette Sanford . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42

Photography Amaryllis - Stacey M. Rice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Amsterdam Netherlands - Melinda Hobbs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .13 Berlin Germany - Melinda Hobbs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 Blossom - Natalie Stallworth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Church Sunset - Leon Beatz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 Fragrance - Natalie Stallworth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Hey Brown Girl - Leon Beatz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 Labadee Beach - Stacey M. Rice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Pecking Penguins - Sophia Howard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Springtime Iris - Natalie Stallworth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Starry Starry Starfish - Sophia Howard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .48 Sunset - Leon Beatz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Sunset Serendipity - Sophia Howard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Untitled 2 - Ariell Toussaint . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Untitled 3 - Ariell Toussaint . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Waterfall - Leon Beatz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 Wish - Natalie Stallworth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .37

Sculptures / Clay Circle of Life - Melanie Johnston . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .40 Pathway (Earthworks) - Melanie Johnston . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Pathway - Melanie Johnston . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .44

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Fiction A Quest

by Meagan Speich

Arthur had lost track of how long she’d sat at the

edge of the lake. Not only that, she’d been without a sword for longer than she could remember.

Nothing could stop someone from rushing from the trees behind her and cutting her throat. Though Arthur knew this, she felt no fear. She was a King, a leader, and a leader could not fear death.

The water of the lake was still, so still it seemed almost unreal. Save for the very edges of the water, there were no plants sprouting for air, no insects landing on the water’s surface. Nothing disturbed it. Everything here felt unnaturally calm, almost as though it were frozen in time. Arthur knew this couldn’t be true, though, because everything felt alive.

“Was your journey long?”

Arthur smiled to herself. Merlin, of course, wouldn’t have let her alone to do this. Pursing her lips, Arthur replied, “Something tells me you already know how long my journey was.” Merlin awarded her a quiet chuckle. She figured she was amusing to the old mage, and that was why he stuck around to guide her through the newness of magic. “The real question is,” she began, “how long must I wait for her?” After a moment’s consideration, Merlin shrugged.

“As long as you’re willing to wait, I suppose.”

Arthur hadn’t looked away from the lake.

She slowly considered how long she would be able to sit here, how long she could stare at the water without losing her mind or giving up. Turning the idea over in her head, Arthur supposed she would wait forever if that’s what it took. And the next time she blinked, her eyes opened to the bright glint of metal in the sun, held by a pale hand extending from the water.

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Exit, Pursued By Bear

by Alex Paulk

ACT I Lights up on a bare stage.

ABIGAIL, SHARMAINE, and

ALLISSA entire stage single

file, very dignified. Actor 1

carries a box prop, Actor 2

carries cloaks, and Actor 3

carries a prop box. They set

their objects to the side and

stand with in the center of the stage.

ABIGAIL Good evening, ladies and gentlemen—

SHARMAINE And welcome to the show.

ALLISSA Tonight, we will be performing selections from some of William Shakespeare’s plays, such as Hamlet, Titus Andronicus, and Twelfth Night.

From the audience, WILL

SHAKESPEARE, still disguised

as a regular audience member,

whoops and claps loudly. The

actors nod gently,

acknowledging him. They then

turn and pull on cloaks.

Abigail pulls a fake skull

from the box. The other two

actors pose dramatically, and

Abigail strikes a heroic pose

by placing her foot on the box

prop.

ABIGAIL

(extremely dramatically)

WLJ / Spring 2019

“To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer—”

WILL (shouting) What are you doing?

ABIGAIL “Thou hast undone our mother.”

ALLISSA (dramatically) “Villain, I have done thy mother.”

SHARMAINE “And therein, hellish dog—”

Abigail falters a bit, but continues.

ABIGAIL

(even more dramatically) “—Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer—”

What is this?

WILL Whoa, whoa! Come on! That’s it?

ABIGAIL What the hell, man? We’re doing a show!

WILL

SHARMAINE Just stop, dude!

ABIGAIL (frustrated) It’s Hamlet!

WILL I’m sorry, I can’t just sit up here while you butcher my words.

WILL The skull wasn’t even in that scene!

Abigail deflates in anger and starts to turn to the audience to address the heckler.

ALLISSA Don’t worry about it. Let’s just do the next one.

The actors rearrange for Titus Andronicus. They all change cloaks and pose around again.

SHARMAINE “Villain, what hast thou done?”

ALLISSA “That which thou canst not undo.”

Abigail hesitates and glances towards the audience. She huffs.

Will comes down from the audience and comes onstage.

The actors step away and give him room. He turns to the audience.

WILL Sorry, guys. I’ll only be a second.

Who are you?

ALLISSA

ABIGAIL You can’t do this, we’re in the middle of a show!

WILL I’m William Shakespeare.

The actors are silent for a second.

5

ABIGAIL Please get out. We’re in the middle of a show!

WILL So you keep saying. Anyways, you just glossed over one of my funniest lines that I personally think I’ve ever written.

Yours?

SHARMAINE

ALLISSA That was Titus Andronicus! That was Shakespeare’s bloodiest and most tragic play of all of the ones he wrote.

WILL Am I not allowed to throw in a ‘yo mama’ joke, in a serious scene to lighten the mood?

SHARMAINE That’s not what that means!

WILL Oh, yes, tell me all about what I meant when I wrote that.

ABIGAIL You’re not William Shakespeare.

WILL How do you know?

SHARMAINE You’re not British.

WILL You’re not either, yet here you are, performing my work.

ALLISSA Shakespeare’s been dead for 300 years. So why are you here?

6

Will looks around.

WILL Beats me. One day, I was having the shittiest birthday of my life by dying, and then I woke up in some Tesco parking lot.

Sharmaine nods lightly in understanding. Will reaches in his pocket and pulls out a British passport.

Check this out.

WILL He hands it to one of the actors, and they gather around to examine it.

ABIGAIL (reading) “Shakespeare, William John. Born in Stratford-Upon-Avon.”

SHARMAINE “Current address—”

WILL You believe me now?

He takes the passport back.

SHARMAINE When did you get a passport?

ALLISSA And a current address?

ABIGAIL And why did you come to our specific show in Macon, Georgia?

WILL What do you mean?

WLJ / Spring 2019

ABIGAIL Of all the productions of your works in all the world, why come to the theater production to a women’s college.

Will shrugs.

ALLISSA It can’t hurt. We were gonna do it anyway.

Abigail rolls her eyes.

ABIGAIL All right. Let’s do it.

WILL A lot of people were doing a lot of stuff to my work and I was dizzy from spinning in my grave. I guess I just staggered here by chance.

ALLISSA Still, that doesn’t mean you can just interrupt our show.

Yes?

Will crosses his arms.

WILL What was the other play you were going to do?

Twelfth Night.

May I see?

SHARMAINE

WILL

ABIGAIL You’re just gonna interrupt us again!

WILL How about I help you understand what’s going on?

Abigail balls her fists. She

glances to the audience.

ABIGAIL

(to Sharmaine) How much time do we have?

Abigail points to Will.

ABIGAIL On one condition.

WILL

ABIGAIL Let us do our thing.

Will nods and steps to the side. The actors take off their cloaks. Sharmaine takes a crown from the prop box and puts it on her head. She poses dramatically and opens her mouth to start when—

Lose the crown.

WILL

The actors look at Shakespeare.

WILL Ok, ok. Sorry.

SHARMAINE

(woodenly, awkwardly) “If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.”

Sharmaine looks at her watch.

SHARMAINE

(to Abigail) A few minutes.

Sharmaine pauses and looks at Will.

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WILL Ok... are you... going for laughs or...

ABIGAIL “Thou hast undone thy mother.”

SHARMAINE No... I want the audience to feel something.

WILL Ok, well, this guy is really, really lovesick. But he’s more in love with being in love.

ABIGAIL How do you know?

Will sighs and rubs his face.

Allissa opens her mouth to say her line, but she turns to look at Will, who is watching expectantly. He gestures for Allissa to continue.

ALLISSA (meekly) “Villain, I have done thy mother...”

SHARMAINE “And therein, hellish dog—”

WILL Lord have mercy. If I’d known that I was going to have to COACH actors on my work, I wouldn’t have died. (beat) Never mind. Go back to Titus Andronicus.

Will waves his arms.

Stop, stop.

WILL

Sharmaine throws up her arms.

SHARMAINE Well, what did we do this time?

The actors take their places again for Titus Andronicus.

SHARMAINE

(muttering to the other actors) Is he really Shakespeare?

WILL What time does the show end again?

WILL Let me show you what I’m looking for.

The actors return to their poses. They begin.

SHARMAINE (hesitantly) “Villain, what hast thou done?”

ALLISSA “That which thou canst not undo.”

8

Will looks at the actors and thinks for a moment. He smiles suddenly.

Will digs around in his pocket until he finds a piece of paper. He holds it up.

WILL This is my favorite of my works.

Will unfolds it. He gestures

to center stage.

WILL May I?

WLJ / Spring 2019

ABIGAIL

(giving up) Sure. Why not.

The actors step aside. Will looks at the paper and reads from it.

WILL “My mistress’ eyes... are nothing like the sun;

He begins dramatically, but the tone changes.

“Coral is far more red than her lips’ red; / If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

He gestures humorously to the aforementioned parts.

“If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

Humorous disgust.

And in some perfumes is there more delight / Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. / I love to hear her speak, yet well I know / That music hath a far more pleasing sound; / I grant I never saw a goddess go; / My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.

Abigail claps suddenly and loudly. Will folds the paper and hands it to Abigail.

SHARMAINE Not a very nice poem, is it?

WILL But do you get the point?

ABIGAIL You can’t just read the words one way. You have to find something different and clever in each phrase.

WILL

(snaps and points) There it is!

ALLISSA Why don’t we try the scenes again? See how we do, Will.

He ruffles his own hair.

“I have seen roses damasked, red and white, / But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And yet... by heaven, I think my love as rare / As any she belied with false compare.”

The previous lines are said while laughing a bit. Suddenly pensive.

WILL I would love to, but I’ve got other actors to critique and some theories to put to rest.

(beat; serious) Did you know that some people believe that I was not a person, but a group of people writing under a pen name?

ABIGAIL Oh, well, see ya.

Will nods and shakes the actors’ hands. He holds up a hand in farewell, and leaves through the door. The actors watch him retreat and shut the door. They turn back around.

The door shoots open after about three beats.

9

WILL By the way, what’s an ‘Uber?’

The actors whirl around and look at Will blankly. He smiles and waves his hand.

WILL Never mind. I’ll find out myself.

Will leaves again.

SHARMAINE Should we do the scenes again?

Yeah.

ABIGAIL

Sure.

ALLISSA

The lights start fading out to black. The actors notice.

Church Sunset - Leon Beatz Underfoot - Anna Felton

ALLISSA Oh, no, wait. Never mind.

10

Complete blackout. End.

WLJ / Spring 2019

How Church Yards Get Status

by Meagan Speich

I walked the church yard alone with the black

night above me. Wading through the head-stones and weeds, I counted each step I took, ensuring I knew the exact number of steps I made into the depths of the yard. It was all too easy to lose one’s way here with the wandering spirits, angels and demons running through one’s head with a itching to kill.

Atop the church’s corners were stone statues. Gargoyles, dripping rainwater from the day’s storm, stared down at the yard, mouths agape and eyes empty. If I watched close enough, counted carefully enough, I could see their eyes shine. They waited quietly to sense any weakness, any opening, any skipped number or wandering thought. I looked to my feet only, though, having learned my lesson before. Looking at them will make you lose count.

Eyes on the cobblestone, I turned through the headstones, always slow enough to focus on my steps. Focus on the steps, not the grating sound of stone against stone behind me, not the growling coming from beneath the ground. Focus on what lie ahead instead of the breath puffing against the back of my hair, the sudden cold washing over the skin of my arms.

When my steps stop, there is nothing left to count. This is why one must never stop walk-ing, never stop counting. When one stops, the cobblestone grows clawed feet, stone legs hunch before them and the coldest hands grasp their arms. When they are finally paralyzed, they are de-fenseless to those eyes, the sightless grey that sucks the air from their lungs. The hands on their arms squeeze until their skin stiffens to granite, spreading until they can no longer move, breathe, see.

So, one must never lose count. Keep track of one’s steps. Or join we statues, prowling for prey amongst the Virgin Marys.

Talking to Myself

by Anneliese Balfour

The moment I walked into my office my eyes

were drawn to my desk. I squinted at the mountain of files on its surface and grumbled, “I swear that stack was shorter last night. I’m gonna’ need some of that raspberry razzle dazzle tea.” I sat down and began whittling away at the mountain of work on my desk. By the time I looked up, it was noon. I frowned, “This is a new record.” I heard a shuffling noise at the door. “Stop dawdling in the doorway and come in already, you’re already four hours late.”

A lanky creature shuffled to the center of the room This… thing… was hard to look at. Its silhouette was like a rough animation, constantly on the move, and it walked like a dog trying to balance on its hind legs. It looked around the room, “Has this office always been here, Anneliese?”

“We met here less than a month ago. Take a seat,” I pointed to the chair in front of my desk with my pen. A chair flew across the floor, slamming into Trauma’s spindly legs and forcing it to sit. I adjusted my glasses and spoke, “I’ve been doing some, I guess you could say, spring cleaning and I came across something interesting. Have a look.” I slammed a thick, dusty folder onto the desk.

Trauma gestured to the piles of folders and photo albums lining the walls of the room with its gnarled hand, “Seems like a lot of time and energy went into digging through all this. You ever considered getting a hobby?”

“I’ve been working closely with Time Management and she recommended setting some time aside to work through this mess.” Trauma reached for the cup of tea seated on my desk. I cleared my throat, “Could you put that down please?”

“Why? You never had a problem with me taking your stuff before. It’s cold and gross anyway.”

“Well, I have a problem with it now. Can

11

you put that down so we can get back on task?”

“Ugh. You’re so picky these days.” Tauma smacked the cup down, spilling tea on some important papers in the process, “Are we gonna’ talk about how you forgot your keys last week?”

I began flipping through the file sitting between us, “That’s only part of it. You see, I can be forgetful sometimes and—”

Trauma rolled two of its four eyes and leaned forward, “Uh yeah, why do you think I keep telling you to double check things?”

The lights flickered in the room as I took a deep breath, “You don’t just tell me to double check things. You insist, constantly, that I’ve forgotten something. You even do it with stuff can feel sitting in my pocket. On top of that, you keep telling me I’ve misunderstood very basic social cues and all of this combined is just driving me—”

“Crazy?” Trauma made its head spin around like a spider being flushed down the toilet.

I glared at Trauma, “Please stop interrupting.”

Trauma freed one of its legs from the space between its seat and my desk, “You seemed like you were done talking.” It lifted its foot above the desk and began wiggling its toes in satisfaction.

“Oh. Well, next time just wait a—” Trauma pulled its other foot free, “So what did you call me in to yak about?”

I froze for a moment, “Wasn’t I just telling you?”

“I think I would have remembered something like that.” Trauma swung its feet onto my desk, “Maybe you should leave and come back when you have it together.”

“This is my office!”

“Woah! There’s no need to yell!” Trauma raised its hands.

I threw my arms up in disbelief, “I’ll get as aloud as I damn well please! This is my office!”

Trauma stood up and shrugged, “Alrighty then, since you’re so upset I guess I’ll leave.”

I shot up, sending my chair rolling backwards, “Don’t you dare! You’ve been trying to derail this conversation since you walked in. You even

12

showed up late! I called you here to work through some things, not to have you spill tea on my paperwork and gaslight me again!”

Trauma crossed its arms, “I don’t have anything to say to you. This place has been a wreck ever since you stopped listening to me.”

“A wreck? Explain to me how being a successful college student, making new friends, and maintaining a healthy, long term romantic relationship is a wreck.” I crossed my arms as well.

It began rummaging around in a small bowl of mints on my desk, “Do you hear yourself? We used to fly under the radar, keep our heads down. Now you’re talking in groups and socializing,” A few mints slipped out of its mouth, “It’s disgusting.”

I began rifling through the file I set down a few minutes ago, “No, you’re just upset about not being in charge anymore. I should have started this process years ago.” I pulled a small bundle of papers from the folder, “Last year—” “You’re seriously going that far back? Come on—”

“Yeah, I’m ‘really going that far back’.

March, last year, because of you it took me half an hour to make a phone call.”

“You clearly kept dialing it wrong! Besides, it wasn’t the right number in the first place.”

“I copy and pasted from the website, dumbass. How about this.”

I kicked off my shoes, climbed onto my desk, and shoved a picture in Trauma’s face, “The other day he called me cute and you told me he was probably talking to someone else!”

Through a mouthful of mints Trauma sputtered, “Ok but to be fair—” I threw the papers in the air, “We’ve been dating for a year! Who else would he have been talking to?”

“He could have been talking to a dog.” Another mint flew out if its mouth.

My hands flew up to the sides of my head, “What dog?! We were in the car!”

“But if there had been a dog, you would have looked pretty stupid.”

“I looked like I wasn’t paying attention.”

WLJ / Spring 2019

Trauma spat a baseball sized cluster of mints into its hand, “Sorry what was that? I zoned out.”

I pointed at the mint cluster and whispered, “Trauma, you had better not do what I think you’re about to do.”

“Do what exactly? You’re going to have to be more specific.” Trauma started passing mint ball from hand to hand.

“Just… Don’t.”

Trauma paused, looked me in the eyes, and threw the spit covered mass of mints in the air. It hit the ceiling and didn’t come back down.

I looked up to see the damage to my ceiling, “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Again?”

Trauma slouched into its chair and crossed its arms, “There probably was a dog though.”

“That’s it! I tried to do this the nice way but you obviously don’t deserve that courtesy. Effective immediately you’re going to be under Self-Awareness’s supervision.” I climbed off my desk and slid my shoes back on.

“Wait what? No! You can’t. She’s the absolute worst!”

“I can and I just did. Now, get out of my office.”

Trauma slumped to the floor and started groaning.

It slowly started rolling towards the door like a sad crocodile. Finally, Trauma pushed itself across the floor and through my doorway.

I muttered to myself, “It could at least shut the door,” I waved my hand and the door swung shut.

“Ow! My foot was in the way!” Trauma yelled.

“You’ll live!”

I breathed a sigh of relief and returned to my chair. I tossed my glasses onto a pile of paperwork and wiped my hands across my face, “Why did I think it was a good idea to have that mint bowl out?”

Amsterdam Netherlands - Melinda Hobbs

Untitled - Léa Faulkner

13

The Lottery Ticket A comdey by

DeAnna Laree

Cast of Characters

Angie- A lazy gas station attendant with a sluggish outward appearance.

Megan- A major germaphobe with a classy outward appearance.

Setting A dirty and small gas station convenient store. The space should seem small and unkempt but not disorganized.

14

WLJ / Spring 2019

SCENE ONE (Megan walks in the door located stage right. She seems frightened and is wearing a health guard mask.)

ANGIE

(Angie while speaking jumps in shock from Megan

opening the door. She struggles with heavy breath

around the checkout counter located stage left. She

makes it halfway across the room and turns around to

head back towards the register heavy and out of breath.

N-n-n-n-oo don’t close that door. Shit (muffles under breath) God damn it.

(Angie is out of breath from her attempt around the counter

but continues to muffle things under her breath.)

MEGAN

(simultaneously speaks her line, lets out a yelp and jumps in fear.)

I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do!

Angie Okay okay shhhh shhhhhhhh! Just chill out this happens all the time.

Shut up and let me explain... Well you’ve officially locked us in here.

MEGAN What?

ANGIE (Explained slowly) Every night at 10pm I push this little red button behind the counter..

After that as soon as the door opens and shuts after 10pm its locked for good until morning.. It’s a safety and security precaution..So long story short no one can get in and no one can get out... Welcome to my humble abode. I keep an overnight bag for when these things happen.

(She pulls out a worn pink leopard printed duffle bag.)

MEGAN I’m sorry… excuse me.. I don’t think I quite understand.. Are you sayingANGIE DID YOU NOT READ THE SIGN ON THE DOOR? IT SAYS 8AM UNTIL 10PM, GUESS WHAT TIME YOU WALTZED IN SWEETHEART…. 10:03...

(Megan stands in fear and shock)

15

ANGIE (jokingly) Now i’m going to change into my jams.. I usually would just change right here, the windows are so damn dark.. But ahh I am a gas station attendant.. Not a stripper… not unless you’ve got any ones on you

(Megan shakes her head quickly) ANGIE

Alright then I'll be back..

(Megan looks around once again in fear, and simultaneously curious, as if she's never seen a gas station convenience store. Megan looks around while Angie is gone and accidentally backs into a snack rack, she lets out a yelp and proceeds to panic. She gets a mini can of lysol spray from her purse and sprays her cardigan.)

MEGAN I need to get out of here..(Angie returns wearing colorful childish pajamas)I need to get out of here! This isn’t right this isn’t okay… we’ve got to get help there has to be a way out!

ANGIE Would you calm down, there's no way out… I’ve done this a million times I swear you’ll be fine stop freaking out and just stay over there on that side, the last thing I need is to get sick.

MEGAN I'm not sick..

(She takes off her health guard mask) It’s just don’t you know how bad the gasoline fumes are for your lungs. Do you ever think about it. No? You just sit here without a thought soaking it in all day? And what about the pumps themselves.. How many people touch them in a day? And what about the buttons, what about your pin number? What about your debit or credit card? Then you touch your gas cap, and then the steering wheel.. Then you go home and touch your door knob and your face and food andANGIE Okay Ms. Hepburn I get the picture.. No, I don’t really sit down and think about it, what's the point?

MEGAN Well you don’t want to get sick do you?

(Megan’s phone rings. She reaches into her pocket book and pulls out an iphone that is wrapped in seran wrap.)

MEGAN Hey mom.. Nothing i’m just at home… Yes I’m fine what do you mean I sound upset. No mom I’m not upset, are you upset? Yes I swear? You don’t feel good? Oh your side- Yeah sure I can come over

16

WLJ / Spring 2019

tomorrow and vacuum..-500 DOLLARS?! What the h- (trying to contain herself) okay mom well yep mhhm.. Yes the promotion I just got should cover that mom.. Haha you're so smart mom. (chessily loving) ha..ha I’ll see you tomorrow, yes mmmkay bye bye.

ANGIE you didn’t get that promotion did you?

MEGAN No. ANGIE And you don’t have the 500….

MEGAN No. (Beat) ANGIE Welp goodnight!

MEGAN Wait what? That's it? You're actually going to sleep?

ANGIE Yeah why not? Tomorrow's another day!

MEGAN Well I don’t know, where am I supposed to sleep?

ANGIE The hell if I know, it’s a fuckin convenience store, not a nursery. Goodnight sleep tight Barbie.

(Angie finds a spot near the counter to sleep, she has her usual blanket with her. Megan takes off her cardigan lays it on the floor and sits on it.

She has her back up against the wall and falls into a light sleep. The lights go down and then come up.)

SCENE TWO

(Megan wakes from her sleep and looks around.She then has a clear idea and wakes Angie.)

17

MEGAN Angie… Angie… ANGAAAYYYEE… ANGIE WHAT? MEGAN I have an idea...

ANGIE What on God’s green Earth is your fucking problem.. Waking an innocent gas station attendant while she sleeps. Don’t you know any better-Were you born in a fuckin barnMEGAN Oh nothing nevermind… It was a dumb idea anyway. I don’t really know…

ANGIE Wait what? You can’t do that to me, now I want to know.

MEGAN (Secretly desperate.)

No no no, I just don’t want to bother you.

ANGIE (Catching on) So you’re telling me that you woke me up to not tell me anything… I call bull shit, ya ever played that game?

(Angie gives her a look)

MEGAN Just listen.. I’ve got an idea. My mother is in desperate need.. She's old.. Really old.. Dirt old.

She is ancientANGIE Okay go on what is it?

MEGAN And she needs the money right?

ANGIE Yeah I know, so?

18

WLJ / Spring 2019

MEGAN

(With a desperate and crazed look) So you give me 500 from the register

(Making the situation sound simple) and I’ll pay you back by my next payday.

(Beat) ANGIE What in the world are you crazy? I can’t do that it’s not my money idiot. You know that. You look like jack Nicholson in The Shining right now, you are freaking me out.

MEGAN No seriously Angie, what am I supposed to do.. It’s my only option..

ANGIE Well don’t you have any friends? Can’t you ask them?

MEGAN No ANGIE Let me guess MEGAN (Confessing) Too many germs, yes okay okay I get it. But when you have friends all the sudden they want to babysit or let their dog out when their not home. And then when you see them they want to hug you, and go to movies where you have to eat out of the same bowl of popcorn, and I’m sorry but that is just not right ANGIE Alright alright I get it explain no more. Hmmm well… what to do?

(Taps her fingers on the counter) What tooooo dooo?...

(Trying to sound funny) Oh hey I know! You could win the lottery hahahahaha good luck- ha… ha MEGAN Hey wait a minute that’s actually not a bad idea.

ANGIE Are you kidding me? Get real will ya? Listen Dorothy I know you really want to go home but-

19

MEGAN No seriously please-I’ll make a deal with you!Or something!

ANGIE Like what?

MEGAN Like I couldANGIE Teach me how to drive?

MEGAN I’m sorry what? You don’t, what? I’m sorry did I hear you correctly?

ANGIE Yeah yeah yeah okay just forget about it.

MEGAN No no no no no I’ll help you… but what?

ANGIE I don’t drive because well.. My parents tried to teach me right? But one day when we were driving, (Mumbling) I kind ofMEGAN Kind of what?

ANGIE Wrecked the carMEGAN (Shocked) Wreck the car?!

ANGIE AgainMEGAN AGAIN?!

ANGIE (Embarrassed) So now I get a friend to drive me to work… or my mom...

20

WLJ / Spring 2019

MEGAN Are you serious? I feel like I’m having a sleepover with a 12 year old!

(Realizing she was harsh and now pleading) Just get me the ticket please.

ANGIE No way. No deal no ticket….

Under one condition-

MEGAN (Lets out a sigh and takes a beat to think)

ANGIE What?

MEGAN You have to wear gloves.

ANGIE … You’re serious?...

MEGAN Yesss I’m serious. Do you really need me to explain the whole “ if you touch this and that it spreads here and there” again?

ANGIE

(Angie opens the case and selects a random lottery ticket.)

Okay okay fine fine just let me open the case..

MEGAN You scratch it.

ANGIE What why? You wanted it.

MEGAN That silver stuff gets in your skinANGIE Oh my God you’ve got to be kidding me..

MEGAN (Whining) Just do itttt

21

(Angie huffs and then begins to scratch the ticket.. slowly but surely it turns in Megan's favor..)

ANGIE Sounds like the saddest Nike commercial..Oh my God….

MEGAN What???

ANGIE Oh my God….

MEGAN What??!

ANGIE Hahahahahaha I’m just kidding it’s not a winner. Hahahaha oooo that was good,your face. Too funny.

MEGAN Just try again.

ANGIE okay okay

(Angie grabs another lottery ticket and begins to scratch) ANGIE

Oh my God… MEGAN Oh just knock it off it was a stupid idea anyways.

ANGIE No no.. $750 dollars.. That's what it is..

MEGAN just shut up ANGIE Just look!

22

(Angie shows Megan the ticket and she starts jumping up and down.They laugh and jump up and down together.)

WLJ / Spring 2019

ANGIE (Simultaneously) I’m going to learn how to drive!!

I’m going to learn how to drive!

MEGAN (Simultaneously) $750 woo woo yes, who needs a promotion

(Megan starts skipping and trips and falls on the door

and it flys open.)

(Beat) MEGAN Oh my god.. It was never locked..

ANGIE Oh.. Guess I forgot to press the button again…

MEGAN

(Crying happily on the floor still) I don’t even care… Put those gloves on..let's go.

(Off stage we here a car start and begin to drive

away.. We then hear the car break down and megan shout off stage.)

MEGAN I forgot to get gas.

(Lights down.)

Pecking Penguins - Sophia Howard

23

The Perfect Date

by Ashley Darby

Synopsis: An overconfident girl gives a beloved

friend helpful advice about what to expect from her first date. As she describes the event, actors in the background will playfully bring her vision to life.

Scene: Dorm Room [Brandy stares intensely into her mirror experimenting with different poses and facial expressions for her social media while she awaits the return of her roommate Bella from class.]

Brandy: (hesitant voice) “Maybe if I arch my back a little more…” *snaps picture* “Now who’s a snack?” *points to self in mirror* “Brandy’s a snack”. *turns to look at butt in the mirror* “oooooh yass! Who’s got ass? Brandy’s got ass”[Bella walks in the room and pauses at the sight of Brandy hyping herself up] Bella: *slowly closes the door* “Sooo, you really feeling yourself today, huh sis?”

Brandy: “You would too if you looked like this, Bella” *struts around in a circle before sitting on the bed* “How was class and what did you learn?”

Bella: *places bookbag to the side and sits in a chair across from Brandy* “Well since you asked, American Literature. I learned about how me and Josh are practically the same person.

Brandy: *scrolls through her phone but looks up eventually* “...That makes no sense. Who is Josh, how does he relate to American Lit, and did you actually go to class?”

Bella: “Josh is a potential boyfriend, best friend, or

24

if he decides switch up on me, a future ex husband.

And when do I ever go to class, you should know me better than that by now.” *laughs* Brandy: “True” *laughs with her* Brandy and Bella: *continue to laugh and then awkwardly die down to silence* Bella: “But seriously, though, we need to do better about that.”

Brandy: “Agree to disagree” *continues to scroll on phone* Bella: “...Sure Brandy. Um, so question…”

Brandy: “Answer” Bella: “You get around right?”

Brandy: *puts phone down* “Excuse me? You wanna repeat that?”

Bella: *laughs and lets out a sigh* “What I mean to say is, have you been on a lot of dates? I want this to work out and I want our first date to be perfect” Brandy: “You’ve come to the right place young grasshopper.” *crosses legs and sits forward with interest* Bella: *Scratches head* “I had nowhere else to go but, sure.”

Brandy: *Stares in disappointment* “Anyways!

What kind of vision do you have for Josh? Paint me a picture.

Bella: *flips hair and smiles hard* “Well I imaging us going out for ice cream. We talk, get to know each other, and see where it goes from there.”

Brandy: “Wack! Try again.”

WLJ / Spring 2019

Bella: “Oooh, how about a movie? He gets the popcorn and I buy one drink for us to share-”

Bella: “I can’t read minds”Brandy: “You need to arouse his senses-”

Brandy: “Herpes. But finish your thought.”

Bella: “We’re getting off topic-” Bella: (hesitant voice) “We snuggle during the movie and-” Brandy: “Imma stop you right there. What if he doesn’t like snuggling? What if he hates the smell of the conditioner you use? What if he’s allergic to popcorn-”

Brandy: “You need to figure out his brother’s cat’s name-” Bella: “Wait, what?”

Bella: “Whose allergic to popcorn?”

Brandy: *sits in chair towards Bella* “Think!” *points at Bella’s head* “Let me ask you this, how do you think Kim got Kanye?

Brandy: “Now that’s just insensitive. Think about the person for a second.”

Bella: “I can think of a few reasons…” *cough, cough*

Bella: (irritated tone) “Fine”.

Brandy: *paces around the room* “Try again, but this time consider what’ll keep him interested and on his toes. What will make Josh fall in love?”

Brandy: “Kim slander will not be tolerated. She did nothing to you, now apologize.”

Bella: “How about Netflix and chill?”

Brandy: *walks to Bella and places a hand on her shoulder* “That idea smells like pregnancy Bella”.

Bella: *Sighs again* “What should I do then? I really like him. I might even like him more than food.”

Brandy: “Whoa, slow down, pause and bring it back. First of all, never say something you don’t mean. Never put a crush above food and you need to start thinking bigger. *widens arms for the word bigger*

Bella: (flat tone) “sorry” Brandy: (demanding voice) “Say it like you mean it” Bella: (exaggerate) “It’ll never happen again.

Brandy: “That’s more like it. You’re forgiven.

Now, here’s what’ll have to happen if you want that fairytale ending where you end up rich after the divorce with Josh.”

Bella: “That’s not what I want”Brandy: “Let me finish. Remember that you came to me for help.”

Scene: Dorm Room

*looks at the audience* “The first date sets the foundation for how your relationship will function for however long you two are together.

You need to get inside his head-”

[Brandy and Bella are still in their room talking.

Brandy is now about to start describing the play by play of Bella’s first date should go. As Brandy describes what is happening, two actors will act out her portrayal of Bella’s “perfect date”]

25

Brandy: “Take notes if you need to. And if you do this, Josh will be glue in your hands”

Brandy: *looks at the audience confidently* “I know”

Bella: *has pen and paper* “You mean he’ll putty in my hands”

“Now that we have the greetings down, let’s move onto the juicy part”

Brandy: “Who is the expert?”

Bella: *stops writing* “The juicy part? What does that mean?”

Bella: “You, I guess.”

Brandy: “I don’t know, it’s your date. You decide.”

Brandy: “Thank you” [actors come in]

Bella: “We’ll walk and hold hands and talk about our likes and dislikes”

Brandy: “So this is what you have to do to get the guy and keep him around. It’s Tuesday and you meet up for your date, how do you greet him?”

[actors smile, hold hands and pretend to talk]

[actors do as described and then freeze]

[actors freeze]

Bella: “I run into his arms, he spins me around and then we hug. After that we gaze into each other’s eyes and-”

Brandy: “You have to build tension, drama, suspense! Here’s what you do, while you’re holding hands, randomly let go and stomp angrily.”

Brandy: “Incorrect!”

[Female actor does as instructed. Male actor looks confused, then freeze again]

Brandy: “That’s basic”

[actors still frozen in place] Brandy: “Actually, you’re supposed to shake his hand and say ‘good day to you sir’ in a British accent.” [female actor does as instructed. Male looks confused]

Brandy: “He’ll be concerned and ask you what’s wrong. This is how you get him to open up his heart to you and from there he will try to understand your feelings.” [(irritated tone) Male actor: “I don’t understand… and you’re acting weird, this isn’t how I imagined today going”]

Brandy: “It shows that you’re sophisticated and then you can expect him to laugh and say something like ‘alrighty then.’”

Bella: *writes feverishly* “This is pure gold but won’t that confuse him?”

[male actor does as instructed then freezes right after]

Brandy: “Men are confusing, so your confusing actions will cancel each other out, make sense?”

Bella: *writing feverishly* “This is good stuff”

Bella: “No, not at all.”

26

WLJ / Spring 2019

Brandy: “Okay, think like this. A plus B equals C. Josh is A, you’re B, and marriage equals C. Get it?

Come on, it’s not rocket science.”

Bella: “Bro, you failed algebra last semester and you hate science…”

winding down to a close. How do you want it to end?

Bella: “I want to keep it simple, so just a hug and kiss goodbye?”

Brandy: “...Just keep writing.”

Brandy: *sighs* “Have you learned nothing?! Absolutely not.”

Bella: *continues to write*

Bella: “What should I do?”

Brandy: “After he asks you what’s wrong, you hug him and tell him you never want to let him go.” *hug yourself*

Brandy: “Seduce him by winking and flipping your hair and say…”

[female actor does as instructed then freezes] Brandy: “Then he’ll embrace you and admit his lustful feelings for you.” [male actor: *removes her arms from around him* “Now i’m kinda freaked out. This has been nice but I’m gonna leave now.” *jingles keys in front of female actor’s face”] Brandy: “To make sure you don’t look clingy, tell him you need more space.”

[female actor: “If you want these lips, come and take them.

Male actor: *shudders in disgust* “Honey, I’ll leave it. *shoves her by the head gently* “Thank you, next.” *walks away*] Brandy: “And then you two will live happily ever after. There you have it, that is how your perfect date will go. You’re welcome.” [female actor: *throws shoe at Brandy and walks off stage angrily*]

[female actor: “I think we should see other people” Brandy: *looks shocked* Male actor: “I’m glad you said that.” *pulls out phone and dials number* Female actor: “Who are you calling?”

Bella: *oblivious to what just happened* “Brandy, I’m actually excited about this. Your tips are amaz-”

Male actor: “Kendall hey, change of plans, would you like to go out with me tonight? I need a change of scenery.”

Brandy: “Stop, I lied lolz. Don’t follow what I said.

I’m sure Josh will enjoy a simple ice cream date like you suggested.”

Female actor: “Yo, i’m literally standing right here”

Bella: “Really? Why the change of heart?”

[Actors freeze again]

Brandy: “I just had some sense knocked into me is all.”

Brandy: “And by this time, the date should be

27

The Stone Bench

by Natalie Stallworth

Eleven-year-old Marie jumped off the porch step

onto the concrete walkway leading to the sidewalk.

“Mom! I’m going for a walk,” she hollered behind her.

Mom hollered back, “Okay, just be back before dark! And watch out for ants! Love you!”

“Love you, too!”

Marie was already running towards the sidewalk, clutching the straps of her backpack to ensure it did not slip from her shoulders. She continued down the sidewalk, and at Mrs Hopper’s place she cut across the yard to the park, to her favorite spot in the neighborhood (aside from her bed)--the stone bench.

The stone bench was placed next to the lake, under a large magnolia tree. Branches dipped deeply to surround the bench, framing it with fragrant magnolia blossoms. This was Marie’s favorite place to come after she had finished her schoolwork. She always brought bread scraps for the geese as well as a book to read or her journal to write and draw in. Today, she had both. Mom had shown her some pictures of other journals that had quotations from books framed with artwork, and Marie wanted to try it. She had packed a copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s ​The Hobbit, one of her favorite books, and now she sat down, opened it to her favorite part--Bilbo meets Gollum--, and chose a riddle. Marie rummaged in her bag for a pencil and carefully started writing in her best cursive.

What has roots as nobody sees…

When the verse was completed, Marie took a deep breath, letting the aroma of magnolias fill her mind for a moment. Then she carefully sketched a mountain behind her riddle. She put down her pencil and held up her journal at arms length. She looked around at the magnolias surrounding her, then picked up her pencil again and sketched a magnolia in every corner of the

28

mountain picture. A breeze flew lightly across the lake as she drew, pushing stray wisps of hair in her eyes. At some point, Marie lost track of time. She added trees at the base of the mountain, a melting glacier on a stony shoulder, detail after detail, enhancing her art with only a pencil.

The sudden cries of geese as they landed on the lake startled Marie back into awareness.

Grinning, she hastily put away her journal, ​The Hobbit, and her pencil before pulling her ziploc bag of bread crusts out of her backpack. About a dozen geese were on the water, and a handful were already expectantly paddling toward her. Marie happily tossed them the bread crusts, one by one, and checked her wrist watch. It was getting late in the afternoon. The geese made little ripples in the water as it reflected the colors of the sun at it began to set, and when her bread was gone, Marie sniffed the magnolias one last time before slinging her backpack up on her shoulder and running home.

Pathway (Earthworks) - Melanie Johnston

WLJ / Spring 2019

When I am 80

by Natalie Stallworth

When I am eighty years old, my hair will

be short and white. My shoulders may be somewhat rolled inward, but I will still stand tall.

Jeanne Robertson and Audrey Hepburn will be my fashion icons; one- or two-inch heels, matching pantsuits, and long dresses that touch the floor will be worn on a regular basis. On Sundays I will wear a hat to Mass and on Friday nights my wine glasses will be full of cold raspberry tea. My cookie jars (at least two) will always be full and in the summer I will have platters of lemon bars every weekend, ready to share. Every fall I will enter photographs and food stuffs in the contests at the Georgia National Fair. My living room will smell like magnolias, and my dining room and kitchen will smell like chicken pot pie. I will listen to music every day: Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby will be staples, as will Broadway and Disney tracks. I will have a piano upon which I can only play “Silent Night” because that will be the only song I ever bothered to learn, but my siblings and friends will play on it when they visit me.

I will still use a hammock on days when it is not too hot, and I will swing in the Georgia breeze sipping sweet tea and reading Jane Austen.

One wall in my bedroom will be full of fanart: Marvel’s Avengers in silhouette against a night sky, the TARDIS from Doctor Who in all its glory, characters from the BBC’s Sherlock portrayed in the style of an old animated Disney movie, and cover images from my favorite cop shows redone in John Wayne western style posters. A wall in my living room will contain pictures from everywhere I have traveled, specifically spaced from East to West. My library will contain every book I have ever read and wish to pass on. I will draw, and paint, and bake, and read, and write, and sleep, and dance, and laugh, and live. When I am eighty years old, I will be the old lady I have always dreamed of being; a wise and nerdy baker, beloved by all and in love with the world.

Dinner With Friends - Anna Felton

29

Non-Fiction Autonomous Women and Breaking Out of Gender Roles

by Allison Hunt

The Duchess of Malfi is autonomous because

she makes her own decisions about using her sexuality. Since she is a widow, her brothers do not want her to remarry. However, the duchess secretly marries her steward Antonio.

The duchess is exerting power over herself because she is stepping out of traditional gender roles; instead of being subservient to her brothers, she is going against them. Additionally, the duchess marries Antonio because she is attracted to him; though he has a lower class status, the duchess focuses on physical attraction, therefore expressing her sexuality. She tells Antonio, “We’ll only lie, and talk together, and plot to appease my humorous kindred” (1585). The duchess refuses to allow her brothers to control her and her sexuality.

Though the duchess initially has power, she loses it to her brothers. They are angry that she has had three children to a man to whom she is not officially married, especially after her promise that she would not remarry. Both of the brothers condescend the duchess for her sexuality and punish her.. Right before she dies, the duchess says, “Tell my brothers that perceive death, now I am well awake, best gift is they can give I can take” (1629). Though the duchess loses power because she is killed for actions, she still does not feel ashamed of anything. The brothers are afraid of the duchess’s sexuality, because it could help her gain more power; the brothers therefore made her sexuality bad in order to quell her power so that they could be above her.

Like the duchess of Malfi, the wife of

30

Bath uses her sexuality and gains power. In her prologue, the wife of Bath discusses the fact that she has been married five times, which is not socially acceptable for women of this time. The wife of Bath points out that her fifth husband owns a book about wicked women. The wife of Bath gives her reaction when she says, “And eke I with my fist so took him on the cheeke that in oure fir he fil bakward adown” (300). The wife of Bath actually hits her husband because she is angry that he owns a book about evil women and how to suppress them. through this action, she asserts power over her sexuality; she does not let a man dictate what she can do. The most significant part of the wife of Bath using her sexuality is that she is openly communicative about it. The wife is not reserved about any of the details in her marriages and is explicit about them. She gives such detail about one marriage by saying, “For winning wolde al his lust endure, and make me a feined appetit–– and yit never in bacon did I delight” (292). The wife of Bath comments that she left her third husband specifically because he did not satisfy her sexually. Moreover, the fact the wife desires pleasure shows that she is focused on herself and not just about pleasing a man.

Beyond obtaining control of her decisions, she gets power of sexual liberation; she gets to have the same desires that men are allowed to have and then achieves them.

Both the duchess of Malfi and the wife of Bath represent freedom for women to express their sexuality because they do not let people dictate how they must live.

WLJ / Spring 2019

Beowulf vs Sir Gawain as Heroes

I

by Allison Hunt

n Beowulf, heroism means to be a protector.

Beowulf has ultra-human strength he uses to save people and kill monsters that threaten them. Beowulf’s strength is described when the author writes, “In his day, he was the mightiest man on earth, highborn and powerful” (46). The people respect and rave over Beowulf rescuing them; Beowulf is rewarded by being crowned king; the king had ultimate authority. The people’s love for Breowulf is exemplified through, “Beowulf’s doings were praised over and over again. nowhere, they said, north or south between the two seas or under the tall sky in the broad earth was there anyone better to raise a shield or rule a kingdom” (59). The people trust Beowulf as a leader because he was physically strong and protective. As Beowulf ages, his strength begins to fail. His final act as a hero is to fight the dragon that was threatening society. Beowulf finds the dragon but fails in his task and dies.

The people still have a reverence for Beowulf because he represents that which they are not: ultra-strong. The people need a protector, a hero because they cannot defend themselves.

The significance of heroism in Beowulf is that Beowulf parallels to Jesus Christ as a spiritual protector. Jesus acts as a hero by rescuing people from spiritual death. Beowulf acts as a physical savior.

Heroism in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is based on honor. Gawain’s character is described when the author writes, “For Gawain was as good as the purest gold––devoid of vices but virtuous, loyal, and kind” (199).

Gawain has a strong moral code by which he abides; he believes in honoring his duties and treating others well. Gawain follows through on his task even though it may mean death because he wants to honor his code as a knight.

Gawain’s code of honor is tested on one of his tasks. Gawain is torn between loyalty to a lady and loyalty his lord; this is the foundation of what it means to be a knight. The lord tells Gawain, “So twice you were truthful, therefore twice I left no scar. The person who repays will live to feel no fear. The third time, though, you strayed, and felt my blade therefore” (234).

Gawain is dishonest about one encounter he has with the lord’s wife, and suffers a consequence. However, the lord respects Gawain’s honor that he follows through on the consequence and then learns from it. When Gawain returns to Camelot, he says “the symbol of sin, for which my neck bears the scar; a sign of my fault and offence and failure, of the cowardice and covetousness I came to commit” (237).

Gawain gives in to greed and thus breaks his code, but later uses this scar as symbol to remind himself to stay honorable and true as a knight. Therefore, he is a hero by standing according to his word.

Though Beowulf and Sir Gawain differ in their actions as heroes, they still solve problems and are noble and brave.

Experience with race and class

by Allison Hunt

Why are race and class such uncomfort-

able subjects even in the twenty-first century?

Perhaps when we discuss race and class, we only speak on the surface level. Maybe we aren’t trying to understand the other person of a different race or background. In her article “Learning in the Shadow of Race and Class,” Bell Hooks recounts her personal experience at college of how she was treated poorly because of her race and class. The white girls at Hooks’ college did not accept her as part of the group. She declares “being black automatically made me outsider.” The privileged girls looked down on Hooks and viewed her as inferior

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because she came from a working-class background. Hooks did not try to change for anyone though. She knew her identity as a black, working-class woman and she was satisfied.

She accepted herself even though others did not accept her.

Even though I do not understand what it feels like to be mistreated because of my color or social status, I sympathize with Hooks. My heart goes out to her because every person regardless of race or class is human and has a heart. Everyone feels. Some of my good friends from high-school were black and biracial. I knew that they would do anything for me and I would do anything for them. I attended my friend Eno’s graduation party this past summer. I was the only white person there, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself because I was with friends and learned so much about the Nigerian culture. The only difference between Eno and me is skin color. We both love science, music, and took many of the same courses in school. We were more similar than we were different. Even though others may not identify with Hooks, they can still sympathize with her. Race and class are noticeable, but they shouldn’t define a person’s value or worth. They shouldn’t change how we treat people. Chimamanda Adichie speaks about the dangers of the “single story.” She explains why it is wrong to judge people based on one attribute or thing about them. When we get to know the heart of a person outside of their appearance or background, then we will be able to overstep the boundaries of race and class.

The Bitter Chcolate Betrayal

by Natalie Stallworth

First things first, you have to understand

something about me. I am picky about my chocolate. I prefer milk chocolate to almost

32

anything, and I only like specific brands and flavors of dark chocolate. I do not like semisweet chocolate. In fact, I detest it. It is sad and disappointing and I stay away from it whenever and however I can.

Now that you know that, here is what happened. I went grocery shopping earlier this week. I had a short list, my family’s version of a “milk run” (which consists mostly of fruit and cereal), and I bought two bags of milk chocolate chips so that I could make Grandma’s cookie recipe. Got home, made a batch with one bag, stowed the other one in our secretbut-not-a-secret cabinet. No problem. Two days later, I got home from school and Dad asked me to make cookies. Awesome! It had been cold outside and I was in the general baking mood. I put the butter in the microwave to melt and started grabbing the rest of my ingredients. Brown sugar, eggs, baking mix, chocolate chips… I couldn’t find the milk chocolate chips. I could not. Find. The milk. Chocolate. CHIPS! The only chocolate in the cabinet was some crappy mini semi-sweet chocolate chips, which NEVER turned out right when I used them. I was really hoping Mom or Caitie had just hidden them better, but nope.

I looked. I asked both of them. Nothing. And then Mom said,

“Oh, I’ll bet Lucas used them for that thing he made earlier.”

What thing?

“I don’t know. Ask him.”

I had to wait for him because he was outside doing chores. When he finally came in, I asked where the chocolate chips were. He went to a DIFFERENT cabinet and pulled out the bag. One third of the way full. My baking mood was gone. Those were my chocolate chips, that I paid for, and that I set aside for cookies. Cookies only! And my dear teenaged brother couldn’t be bothered to ask who these belonged to? Or if he could use them? I had

WLJ / Spring 2019

to use the milk chocolate that was left and the mini semi-sweet chocolate chips. Not good. I have never felt so betrayed. I was not capable of feeling more betrayed. Not if Zachary Levi dumped me, not if my friends forgot me and watched Zombieland without me, not even if I caught my sister reading my diary! This was it.

I had found the ultimate act of betrayal; stealing my chocolate. Justice will be swift, and revenge will be sweet.

Walking

by D’Maya Kirkland

I

was about half a mile in, and I felt myself beginning to smile. It was beautiful and bright outside. As I pushed forward, step by step, my thoughts ran together, then stopped altogether.

Then flopped on top of each other, cutting off the ends of other thoughts sometimes. Some of the reflections that forced their way into my head were bumming, but only briefly before they disappeared. That’s what I loved about my walks.

I breathed, and kept stepping.

Step after step, I had fewer thoughts about the consequences of this much physical exertion and impact on my knees my walks were sure to bring, and more about how much I wished I could wish the memory of this walk into a snowglobe that I could pop in and out of like a genie whenever I wanted to, so that I could relive this walk; even though it wasn’t even over yet. It was a beautiful day. I inhaled, as if I meant to exhale my snowglobe into existence, and kept stepping.

“Mom, can I go into the trees?” Little me asked. I was tired of the other kids, and tired of the little wooden alphabet blocks. Well, what was left of them.

Mom glanced over at us, then back at the soccer game. She didn’t need to check if

we’d put our blocks up, as she would before granting her permission for us to play with the other kids who were bored at the game, but seeing anyways that we already had, she… delayed her permission.

“You don’t wanna see your brother’s game?” She was still watching the field.

“No.” I said.

Eyes still on the field, she said

“Okay, take your sister and stay together.”

“Okay.”

I and my sister -- my left arm -- slid off the bleachers. Every blade of grass was painted in cold water, wetter than the bleachers we’d spread blankets on earlier that morning. The water crept through my tennis shoes and made my toes rubbery. I was a little peeved, but Samaria didn’t seem to notice. I wanted to be in the trees, so I kept walking.

The cold, wet, “earth-hairs” were replaced by pine straw.

Upon our entrance, I felt like a live witness to one of the opening nature shots in one of the documentaries they’d show us about nature in school. I cautiously took steps forward. My sister was within arms’ reach, as skeptical as I was of some of the dips and raised tree roots in the ground. We dodged the suspicious bald patches in the pine straw.

A few steps at a time, I would look up and around and smile at the soft yellow light pouring onto the tree trunks.

I’m in the wild. I thought to myself.

Excitement for my adventure rose like an elevator inside me. I turned to see my sister’s face, but she was several paces off, in her own world. ***

Big me looked to the left and right of my walking trail, which was lined with dogwoods and pines that seemed to tickle the clouds, and thought about the young and short trees from my childhood memories’ landscape. I

33

breathed in as I pondered their size now. I kept stepping.

Many water breaks later, for which I had stopped by a library, a coffee shop, and a cultural arts center, I found myself wandering -- in the same steady pace -- in Historic Downtown. Steeples were erect all around me, and the sidewalks had dandelions in their cracks when I walked by the local UMC’s graveyard. It was old, but it wasn’t pretty.

Unintrigued, I kept stepping. ***

“Wait a minute, we’re eating in a graveyard?” A younger and smaller version of my brother asked. In Herschel’s arms were a gallon of water and a 2 liter of Tahitian Treat, sloshing with each step as we collectively made our way up the hillside.

“You’ll see.” Dad said, shifting the bucket of fried chicken from his right arm to his left.

“Oooh no, I am not eating on top of a bunch of dead folks.” Samaria said.

But as we emerged at the edge of a cliff at the corner of a plateau we’d found, we understood why Mom and Dad had chosen this place for lunch.

Underneath the trees, which had to be older that the cracked headstones that surrounded us, I felt protected, somehow. At peace. There was nothing but calm all around us and my family’s faces mirrored it, contemplative of it. As we sat there, eating in silence, I didn’t know what to make of the fact that this place we call a graveyard had more life in it than several places I’d experienced alongside dozens of people. The moss was soft beneath our towels, and I finally didn’t mind the ladybugs ambling across my knee. When the fireflies awoke to relieve the dragonflies, and the cicadas sang night’s bassline, I felt like a harmony in Nature’s melodious symphony. A Symphony whose composer I loved. ***

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It was dusk on my walk now, and I figured I should head home.

As I pulled up to the stop sign intersection for Lovvorn Mill and Smithfield, I poked my head out the driver’s window to observe the stars, as I often did. To my fascination, a meteorite, bright and brief, bustled to the end of its life right in my field of vision.

As I pulled into our driveway and stepped out of the car to look up at the sky again, I recollected a meteor shower I shared with my Dad when I was in middle school.

That night, after a singular “Whoa…” we sat on the porch and took in the light show before us in concentrated silence. After, I sat with no words for another reason. I’d never tried to describe the fearsome amazement of seeing lights coming and going so quickly, you wonder if you just imagined them in the first place. I sat hollow, watching the same stars as the last night’s, and probably any nights’.

Yes, I thought, Even the dinosaurs’ nights.

and hopefully, I hoped, the nights of anything that comes after the human race, and all that is in this universe, made of the same atoms laughed out by our creator in the dawn of it all, the atoms that created my own mind, which thought the thought

Though it’ll never make all the sense that it does, It. Is. Here.

WLJ / Spring 2019

Poetry A Melody to My Holy Shepherd

by Monesha Sharnes Mullins What a sound! What a sound!

My heart and soul plays.

For thee oh Lord a melody so profound!

For thy tender love I give thee all my praise!

With a pluck from these Nylon strings And a hum to thy hymns of joy.

I sing to ye good tidings With a soothing melody for thee to enjoy!

For thee oh Lord I play with such elegance.

Soft and sweet for thy ears to take delight!

For such a sound my soul gives with great resonance For thy glorious ways and thy peaceful light!

Sunset - Leon Beatz

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! To thee my good faithful shepherd From the lips of thy sheep that soul you so graciously delivered!

Sunset Serendipity- Sophia Howard

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All She Wants Is . . .

by Stacey M. Rice All she wants is . . .

Someone that understands love is a 2-way street.

Love’s about giving and receiving.

Not, SHE gives and YOU take.

All she wants is . . .

Soft hands to caress the stress away.

Loving words that calm her During sleepless nights arms wrapped around her tight, filled with nights of blissful pleasures.

Someone who knows love does not equal sex.

She doesn’t want to appear to be needy or greedy.

But just like you, she wants to be shown some loving too.

All she wants is . . .

One woman to show her All women are not the same.

All she wants is . . .

To be treated with respect.

Be loved for the woman SHE is, not the one YOU want her to be.

All she wants is . . .

Someone that understands her.

Listens to her, even when she doesn’t speak.

To be trusted as SHE trusts YOU. All she wants is . . .

Strength where she is weak.

Arms willing to catch her if she should stumble or fall.

She doesn’t want a judge or jury.

She already has that within herself.

Window View - Stacey M. Rice

All she wants is . . .

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WLJ / Spring 2019

another beach day

by Leon Beatz dear papa, you look so content, so happy. you and momma must’ve been in love. by the beach, holding eternity between clenched fists. i bet you wonder who she holds there now. there’s still love, but there’s pain too. moma doesn’t speak as much nowadays, but she prays constantly. do you remember her smile? whiter than the shoreline, as mesmerizing as a sunset disappearing behind the horizon. i can only see you in the clouds now.

Labadee - Stacey M. Rice it’s weird looking at you knowing i’ll never hear your laugh again. there’s reminders of you everywhere. around the house, in my daydreams, behind momma’s secrets, forever in my name. you embodied the sun’s warmth, and encased everyone around you in it. you captivated me. now i feel as empty as the film roll. i blow the dust off trying to understand you more. i don’t remember much about you. it’s been fifteen years. i can’t seem to find any pictures of us together. almost like she was buried with you. i found this one in momma’s bedside drawer when i was looking for money again.

Wish - Natalie Stallworth then i saw you. your face made me hesitate. i miss you papa. she misses you too.

Rose - Anna Felton

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Breath Play

by Amanda Rowan I am made of really bad habits.

From the time I was conceived to whatever moment is the present, every breath that I push out of my chest whistles with the memory of a mistake.

I was born January 14th, 1998 at 10:49 pm as one of the most dramatic mistakes, meaning that I stalled labor for as long as an infant possibly can.

I was mistake to some, blessing to others, but all in all quite the exemplar of a lack of contraception, And quite persistent that I take my damn sweet time showing up to the party.

But that’s fine.

I’ve been told those details make me interesting.

That is what baggage does- drags behind us and pulls pieces of skin with it until our figures bear folds and depth, show muscle and bone.

In my case, the world can see my lungs, once full of fluid but still fighting against air because my brain says that breathing is dangerous.

Dyspnea is a term referring to a feeling of being unable to breathe or serious shortness of breath.

It feels like you’re not really getting a deep enough gulp of air.

You yawn all fucking day even though you’ve had two cups of tea and a bowl of coffee Because your brain feels like it isn’t getting enough oxygen.

You think too hard.

It’s like realizing how often you blink, Or being aware that your tongue doesn’t fit comfortably inside of your mouth.

When I have an anxiety attack, my hand is pressed to my sternum, pushing the breath out from my lungs in order to draw in another.

Odd how breath play is exhilarating until I’m the one in control.

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WLJ / Spring 2019

Clink

by Melinda Hobbs she held onto the pieces that fell from her heart and kept them in a ball In her fists as she stood in front of the group of other women who also did not want to be called victims. chest hollow like an emptied glass coke bottle the feelings somehow clink around inside chipping her off little by little she wonders how long until there’s nothing left. she wonders how long until she’s too brittle, until she shatters like glass rain, and she runs out of breath.

Compliance

by Amanda Rowan I dated this guy once.

He was everything poisonous my Mama warned me about.

I remember looking for any reason that I could find to justify not being attracted to him, But I suppose the heart gets what it wants.

The heart is stupidI don’t want an STI but we don’t need a condom stupid.

The kind of stupid that types the final term paper on a typewriter (pretty stupid).

Give me my car keys, I’m not drunk stupid.

The stupid that seemed harmless, but was a waste of time, of effort.

The stupid that grew to be dangerous.

The stupid that had me praying for fate and investing in coincidences.

I do not think of myself as a stupid person, But I suppose actions speak louder than words.

I’m not one to submerge myself in regret, But I look back on a year ago, and if I could, I’d have boarded my flight and left you at the border.

I nailed myself to the wings of an airplane in hopes that you would hear me say goodbye

Just one more time.

Rather than research and prepare for culture shock, I packed two suitcases of he’s worth it and I’ll wait.

I was in another world for less than half a year, And we may have said that we didn’t need each other, But you sure as hell made certain I was having more trouble breathing than the smog excused.

I thought you were a God send.

I’ve learned in the past decade that I have terrible judgement where it concerns miracles, Because you’re not the first angel To catch my tongue And tear it out of my mouth so that I couldn’t speak for myself.

You left me mute and shuddering, and the most horrifying realization Is that you managed to do it across a 13-hour time difference and through a VPN. And I let you.

You allowed me to doubt everything I’d worked so hard to build In nearly twenty years.

I was just learning to squeeze air out of my lungs while making love to anxiety, And maybe I handed you the gun.

But I never asked you to pull the trigger.

I told you about the last man to load the weapon, And I trusted you not to open fire.

You knew that I couldn’t outrun bullets, Though I thought that the ocean between us might protect me.

I never learned how to call for help in Mandarin, I only knew how to say, “Hello”, “I’m an American”, “I don’t know”, “I’m sorry”, and “I love him”.

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Dead Inside

by Amanda Deering I gave myself away On a platter made of rusted copper It tasted like blood My heart As I watched it being consumed By the hungry mouths surrounding me Vultures begging to eat Feeding upon the flesh that makes me so bright It feels weird To be skinned alive Like your organs are spilling out And intestines are flailing about Trying to tie you back together But everything is getting twisted And knotted You realize you have trapped yourself Waiting for the organ thieves to approach They grab your heart Your lungs They grab your skin And they delight in each of your screams Do they taste like heaven?

In your mouth?

My hopes?

My dreams?

Stitched into each organ Hidden from viewing eyes But now spilling out of your mouth And dripping on the floor I bet they taste like dirt Like the ground I will one day be buried in I bet my heart crunches The ice inside it shattering Beneath your jaw Do you taste the sand in my lungs?

Does your mouth feel dry?

Do you need a glass of my blood?

To help you swallow that unpleasant mouthful?

Drink more Doesn’t it taste like tar?

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Thick and black and bland Don’t be shocked What did you expect?

Fresh organs full of life and joy?

Have you met me?

They are corroding inside my body So please take from this buffet My body provides Of rotten flesh Encasing my dying organs.

Circle of Life - Melanie Johnston

Hammocking on a March Day

by Natalie Stallworth Stillness in the Blue -Stillness in the Trees -Then I gently sway-Rocked - by the Breeze.

Rocking--Still--at Peace-No clouds--no tears-Surrounded by Spring-Momentarily--I rest my Fears.

WLJ / Spring 2019

Late Night Snack

by Anneliese Balfour She is hungry.

I feel her icy gaze on my skin as clearly as the warm blankets that hold me.

I long to drown the taste of thirst in my mouth but she is listening.

To grasp the glass of water perched on my nightstand would surely be my undoing.

She is waiting.

Foolishly, I peek out from my fabric shelter and survey my bedroom floor.

Moonlit masses of laundry dwell there.

They morph into gruesome shapes in the night but these malleable imps are not what concern me.

She is nowhere to be found.

I shift my gaze to the right, and my fears are confirmed.

There, on the window sill, sits a dark figure.

She is watching.

Hastily, I shut my eyes.

But alas, it is too late.

For she knows that I no longer slumber.

She is here.

As she looms over me, the stench of dead mice scurries from her breath to seek refuge in my nostrils.

She speaks, “Out.” Though I know defiance will not save me, I ignore her command.

She caresses my cheek and utters more forcefully, “Out.” I resist one final time.

She presses her claws into my eyelid and echoes with her raspy, inhuman voice, “OUT.” Mournfully, I rise from my bed to grant her wish.

She rushes down the stairs, footfalls far too heavy for her form and urges me to release her from this house.

Time itself seems to hold its breath as I fumble with locks and bolts.

She demands again, “OUT!” At last, the door is open.

Her delicate white whiskers graze the door frame, her well-groomed tail brushes my leg, and she thanks me with a squeaky,”Meow!”

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as she vanishes into the night.

She has been unleashed on the world.

Love Is Like

by Lynette Sanford Love is like... sinking into a hot bath after a long day of work.

The feeling of scalding and freezing on your skin at the same time.

The smell of lavender in the air as you sink into the bubbles.

Letting the suds get into your hair.

Water dripping from your fingers wrinkled like prunes.

So filled with it, you know you have to go soon.

Love is like... letting go of your balloon after leaving a birthday party.

Feeling the ribbon graze your hand.

The string slipping through your fingers.

You know it won’t last long, so you let it go.

Afterwords, realizing, it was the only thing you ever wanted to keep.

You know it’s gone, but you still watch it Up, up, up until it’s gone away.

Even though you know you won’t, you wonder.

Will I ever see it again some day?

Love is like... going to the beach.

Watching the tide as it recedes into the sea.

Envying the seashells swept in the undertow.

Marveling at seagulls that dare to approach.

While daydreaming you realize love is…

Something you can never touch.

Green Room - Lynette Sanford

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WLJ / Spring 2019

Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds

by Léa Faulkner The man in the mirror jacket peddles in dreams on the corner of Second and Mulberry with his courtiers of masked harlequins.

His face bright as watery sunlight filtered through rainclouds, and the rainbows in his eyes pulse like twin system stars.

He gives out pills and vials to the masses as a survival tactic.

For he and his companions cannot subsist on dreams alone, but to those who have spark.

He’ll pull back curtains made of velvet night cloth and show you phantasmagorical wonders.

He and his shining henchmen will give you full access to dream logic compounds and mystic visions all for a couple coins and a song.

I have met this man and for nothing but a tune and he has given me limited sight.

Therefore, the mandala wheels upon which the sky is held are majesties of fire and primal fuck energy unlike Staid and pallid Protestant or Catholic discs, These are the wheels upon which our Axis Mundi is known.

I tell the mirror coated man this and he just smiles and nods.

Seeped between her teeth.

Venom spat so sweetly Tasted like heaven when she kissed me.

Angels whispered in foreign tongues, Temptations choked like a bearhug.

White lilies floated past me like captured ships, Soaked in a crimson river same shade as her lips.

Waves crashed overhead Gripping my breath tight.

Ma timilai prem garchu, I lied, Then I’d always leave in the night.

Shooting star turn to dust The voices in my head won’t hush.

Her name lingers like a crutch.

Goodbye Karma.

I won’t be in touch.

Lust at First Sight

by Leon Beatz Once upon a time, I locked eyes on a woman, Mutually intrigued, Equally suspicious.

As slowly as our first kiss, Driven by liquid courage, Cupid’s arrow carved into a bullet.

Only forehead kisses to heal my wound.

Prescribed lullabies spun the room.

Chlorophyll was the only thing I craved.

She told me to hold on, That my demons wouldn’t return.

The familiar sound of lies

Hey Brown Girl - Leon Beatz

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枫韵 ——张圆媛 秋之瑟瑟，枫之盈盈。 玄月遥遥，细雨泠泠； 红叶若出，相间浅青。 彼时之枫，其韵秀灵。 良月深深，金风凌凌； 点染纤末，殷红雅娉。 彼时之枫，其韵温凝。 辜月潇潇，薄雾冥冥； 似火流殇，风姿绰影。 彼时之枫，其韵婉静。 涂月茫茫，皑雪莹莹； 洗尽铅华，覆土尘倾。 彼时之枫，其韵绝清。 秋之曳曳，枫之零零； 春去秋来，枫韵自兴。

Maple

by Yuanyuan Zhang In early autumn, the maple is flourishing In September, the drizzle is cool and refreshing Green leaves with light red emerging At this time, the maple is good-looking.

In October, the wind is cold and freezing Mature red looks as beautiful as a painting At this time, the maple is elegant.

In November, the mist is filling with dark Fluttering leaves like the flame that is charming At this time, the maple is gentle.

In December, the white snow is shining Falling into the earth without gorgeousness At this time, the maple is desolate.

In late autumn, maple leaves wither away In the next autumn, maple’s story repeats again.

Pathway - Melanie Johnston

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WLJ / Spring 2019

New Beginnings

by Stacey M. Rice

Revenge of the Mouse King, Part One

by Brittany Kelly

Clocks springing forward bringing light to the dark.

Like old soil turned over breeds new beginnings.

Hear them gather, climbing up and through The walls and ceiling, scratching and squeaking.

Tiny thieves dart across my kitchen to Bring offerings of food to the great King.

With the changing of time so are the changes of the season.

Spirits awaken, rising to the dawn of each day.

After dark, terrible storm of mice feet Drives me mad. They invade my dreams, turning Them to fright, as I fight the King’s fleet With poisoned chalice and sharp black trappings.

Rains gentle touch on brown blades lying dormant, stretching to meet the suns gaze, leads to plush green pastures.

Snap! One after another is caught in The claws that lay in wait! Nutcracker men Sit perfectly still, no life in their thin Beards and wooden limbs. I am alone then.

Trimming back bare branches rejuvenates new growth.

Morphing tiny buds in to a kaleidoscope of colors.

The story never told – A human foe Captures the Mouse King, who hated her so.

Chirping baby birds learn to fly.

Harmony, like music to our ears.

Bees buzzing cheerfully chasing winter blues away.

Revenge of the Mouse King, Part Two But, wait! There it is again! The scratching And the clawing; Little feet hurrying Through the walls and ceiling. Hear their thrashing!

Feel the dread rising with their scurrying!

Swarming soldiers emerge to avenge the Mouse King. A quick glance to the wall and men Made of wood and wielding swords seek revenge!

Clattering to the floor, they fight, and then – The sugar plum sweets melt and morph into Fairies. Light and lithe in motion as they Brandish fairy-dust, leaping fro and to; Tufts of magic catch little mouse tails grey!

The army breathes its last life and retreats From the Queen and her kingdom, Land of Sweets.

Springtime Iris - Natalie Stallworth

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“One Dance”

by Amber Walton Two feet, virgins to land like a pearl lost in sand.

But still you reach, for my gritty hand.

Our touch blends just as silk to skin, your moss lit eyes, dwell in surprise.

I am no more yours than dew on a blade lamenting the loss of shade.

For night after night my heart it sings, for the gift this day inevitably brings.

Poem #2

by D’Maya Kirkland It makes sense that in kindness, a person may describe another as a light. Sometimes, reminders are the best compliments.

A light is a light.

And no matter how it came to be, it provides.

Spectacle, heat, illumination, sustenance.

Every person is a light, and to each other, we provide Spectacle, heat, illumination, and sustenance.

Awe, warmth, enlightenment, and nourishment.

You may not be able to determine what you serve others: Spectacle, heat, illumination, or sustenance, But you are a light. And that’s enough.

More than enough.

A dance of all dances, an echo of feet.

A bridge of our limbs grown stronger by raw trust and heat.

For although you are mine, our bridge will not stay.

As the moment we dance, will be our last.

Poem #1

by D’Maya Kirkland Every goal is a place and there is a way to get there Know the morning you decide to depart that you can’t get to Sunshine ave the same way Sally does.

Don’t waste your time trying to find her driveway; you gotta start from home.

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Untitled 2 - Ariell Toussaint

WLJ / Spring 2019

Sandman

by Melinda Hobbs “hello little moon”, she whispers through the trees, in a branch so high when she breathes, she smells the sea. “tell me your story, give me your smile” she pleas in a soft melody, her hum lost all the while. with fingers calloused she caresses her tree. her eyes blue as the sky or at least as blue as it soon will be. a strong breeze breaks through the night; her spine tingles but she pays it no mind. another gust rattles the tree’s high branches her high perch snaps, she braces, the moon shined. suddenly, the world stops falling; beneath her is a hand. it shines so bright, the edges glisten of mystic sand.

Summer Silence

by Anneliese Balfour We didn’t talk so as not to break the silence speaking on our behalves.

The lights of my mom’s kitchen reached us just barely.

I glanced at you, anxious to catch you doing the same.

Would the murmur of insects and cars in the distance be enough anymore if our eyes met?

Were the stars bright, that night on the trampoline?

I closed my eyes to keep from looking at you again.

For a while, the world was only as wide as the safety net.

How much time passed?

Not enough for us to find the courage to say it to hear it what we thought was too good to be true.

We broke the silence last winter.

I remember that summer night as time well spent falling in love with you.

unsteady on the sand she stands. her breath catches, her knees shake. she looks to the sky. the moon is staring, very much awake. a slow smile spreads on her face there’s no fear in her heart. she stands steady and climbs the hand to the arm, not even lookin back at the world she’ll depart.

Untitled 3 - Ariell Toussaint

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ARTWORK / PHOTOGRAPHY

Owl - Maria Randall

Waterfall - Leon Beatz

Starry Starry Starfish - Sophia Howard

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Berlin Germany - Melinda Hobbs

WLJ / Spring 2019

Blossom - Natalie Stallworth

Fragrance - Natalie Stallworth

Amaryllis - Stacey M. Rice

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WLJ / Spring 2019