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<strong>Aerie</strong> International
aerie <strong>in</strong>ternational<br />
a literary arts magaz<strong>in</strong>e<br />
edited solely<br />
by young writers and artists<br />
for young writers and artists
aer•ie (âr’ē) noun 1. The lofty<br />
nest of an eagle or o<strong>the</strong>r<br />
predatory bird, built on a cliff<br />
ledge, mounta<strong>in</strong>top, or high<br />
<strong>in</strong> a dead snag. 2. An elevated,<br />
often secluded, dwell<strong>in</strong>g,<br />
structure, or position. 3. A<br />
home for exceptional young<br />
writers and artists from<br />
around <strong>the</strong> globe, provid<strong>in</strong>g<br />
publish<strong>in</strong>g opportunities,<br />
literary prizes, and crosscultural<br />
connections. 4. A<br />
place where <strong>the</strong> dist<strong>in</strong>ctions<br />
and connections of culture,<br />
language, peoples, and<br />
environment are nurtured.<br />
5. An <strong>in</strong>novative new<br />
journal edited and published<br />
by high school students<br />
for high school students.
we <strong>in</strong>vite submissions of<br />
<strong>in</strong>novative poetry<br />
short stories and flash fiction<br />
brief nonfiction<br />
short drama<br />
foreign language poetry and translations<br />
visual art and photography<br />
contact us at aerie.<strong>in</strong>ternational@gmail.com<br />
Congratulations <strong>2011</strong> Award W<strong>in</strong>ners<br />
Patricia Goedicke Poetry Award<br />
alexandria garcia | victoria, british columbia, canada<br />
James Welch Fiction Award<br />
elissa watters | rye, new york, usa<br />
Norman Maclean Nonfiction Award<br />
danny rothschild | <strong>in</strong>terlochen, michigan, usa<br />
Rudy Autio Visual Art Award<br />
sam glencross | carlisle, cumbria, uk<br />
Lee Nye Photography Award<br />
isaac s. r<strong>in</strong>ke | lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
Richard Hugo Sense of Place Award<br />
julia deangelo | greenwich, connecticut, usa<br />
Chief Charlo Celebration of Culture Award<br />
sophart ra | kro bei riel, siem reap, cambodia<br />
<strong>in</strong>ternational advisory board<br />
eric abbott<br />
sandra alcosser<br />
coleman barks<br />
dana boussard<br />
david allan cates<br />
david james duncan<br />
www.aerie<strong>in</strong>ternational.com<br />
debra magpie earl<strong>in</strong>g<br />
carolyn forché<br />
tami haaland<br />
ilya kam<strong>in</strong>sky<br />
robert lee<br />
naomi shihab nye<br />
carol<strong>in</strong>e patterson<br />
prageeta sharma<br />
m.l. smoker<br />
robert stubblefield<br />
renée taaffe<br />
r. david wilson
editorial board | <strong>2011</strong><br />
editors<br />
manag<strong>in</strong>g editor<br />
senior literary editor<br />
poetry editor<br />
prose editor<br />
senior visual arts editor<br />
art editor<br />
photography editor<br />
poetry board<br />
prose board<br />
digital editor<br />
onl<strong>in</strong>e editor<br />
bus<strong>in</strong>ess manager<br />
advisor<br />
<strong>Aerie</strong> International is published annually by <strong>the</strong> students of Big Sky High School <strong>in</strong> <strong>Missoula</strong>,<br />
Montana. Subscriptions are $12 to U.S. subscribers, $15 to friends outside <strong>the</strong> U.S. Sample copies<br />
are $5. Subscription forms can be found at <strong>the</strong> back of <strong>the</strong> magaz<strong>in</strong>e. Exchange subscriptions are<br />
encouraged. <strong>Aerie</strong> International is supported by Big Sky High School, private contributions, and<br />
sales of its magaz<strong>in</strong>e. <strong>Aerie</strong> International accepts poetry, fiction, nonfiction, art and photography<br />
submissions from September 1st through February 1st. All work is submitted electronically.<br />
Potential contributors should send no more than five pieces. For full submissions guidel<strong>in</strong>es and all<br />
o<strong>the</strong>r correspondence, visit our website or <strong>in</strong>quire through email.<br />
aerie.<strong>in</strong>ternational@gmail.com<br />
www.aerie<strong>in</strong>ternational.com<br />
© <strong>2011</strong> <strong>Aerie</strong> International<br />
Rights revert to <strong>the</strong> author upon publication.<br />
Pr<strong>in</strong>ted on recycled paper with recycled <strong>in</strong>k at Gateway Pr<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
mackenzie enich and emily ward<br />
jenna mcvey<br />
kelton enich<br />
alyssa bashor<br />
lauren beyer<br />
aust<strong>in</strong> mcclure<br />
alexis hagestad<br />
nicole jarrett<br />
mauricio cámara fernández-montilla<br />
amy robertson<br />
elise lawrence<br />
sarah yovetich<br />
mauricio cámara fernández-montilla<br />
elise lawrence<br />
sarah yovetich<br />
lorilee evans-lynn
friends of<br />
<strong>Aerie</strong> International<br />
The follow<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>dividuals and organizations have made it possible for <strong>the</strong> <strong>Aerie</strong> literary<br />
magaz<strong>in</strong>es to thrive. Thank you!<br />
sponsors<br />
<strong>Missoula</strong> Education Foundation<br />
Trevor Laboski, Big Sky High School<br />
Mike and Jan Peissig, Nancy Lee, Donna Elliott, Gateway Pr<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g<br />
patrons<br />
Dudley Dana, The Dana Gallery<br />
John Lynn and Lorilee Evans-Lynn<br />
Laura Parvey-Connors, MeldMedia<br />
Michael Small and Deborah Allard<br />
Renée Taaffe, <strong>Missoula</strong> Art Museum<br />
donors<br />
Lela Autio | James and Judith Bullis<br />
David and Rosalie Cates | Dr. Briar Diggs<br />
J. Robert and Dorothy Evans | Gerald Fetz<br />
Paul and Susan Fredericks, M<strong>in</strong>eral Logic<br />
Henry Ward and Bridget Johnson | N<strong>in</strong>a Johnson<br />
Robert Lee and Rosemary Lynch<br />
Chris and Daphne Moffett | Suzanne M. Mondo<br />
Dr. Elizabeth and Frank Repplier<br />
Frank and Beverley Sherman<br />
Bill Whalen, Montana Claims Service of Kalispell<br />
Dr. Gary and Lynne Willste<strong>in</strong><br />
supporters<br />
James and Gwen Beyer | Peter and Karen Enich<br />
Tami Haaland | Daphne Herl<strong>in</strong>g and Stephen Sen<strong>in</strong>ger<br />
Dr. Christian Kenworthy | Candice Manc<strong>in</strong>i and Chris Toney<br />
Kenneth and Rob<strong>in</strong> McVey | Scott Vogt<br />
Thank you for your support!<br />
Sponsors $1,000 +<br />
Patrons $500-999<br />
Donors $100-499<br />
Supporters $50-99<br />
Parents, Past & Present: Priceless
Dear Reader,<br />
Highest Award 2008 | 2010<br />
Nom<strong>in</strong>ated for Highest Award 2009<br />
NCTE | Program to Recognize<br />
Excellence <strong>in</strong> Student Literary Magaz<strong>in</strong>es<br />
Welcome to <strong>the</strong> fourth volume of <strong>Aerie</strong> International. As you beg<strong>in</strong> your tour of<br />
our magaz<strong>in</strong>e please remember to keep your hands and feet <strong>in</strong>side <strong>the</strong> book at all<br />
times. This year has been very hectic, even by <strong>Aerie</strong> standards. Luckily we’re very<br />
good at adapt<strong>in</strong>g to our environment and are excited to be send<strong>in</strong>g this magaz<strong>in</strong>e<br />
out <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> hands of awesome people like you.<br />
As <strong>in</strong> past years, we received submissions which exceeded our expectations<br />
completely. Over 300 writ<strong>in</strong>g and visual arts submissions were sent from all<br />
nooks of <strong>the</strong> world. We were excited as always, of course, to reconnect with old<br />
friends like Carlisle, UK and Kazan, Russia. Your submissions make us all citizens<br />
of <strong>the</strong> world.<br />
The goal of <strong>Aerie</strong> is, and always has been, to connect <strong>in</strong>dividuals around <strong>the</strong> world<br />
through <strong>the</strong> writ<strong>in</strong>g and art of students. We like to sit <strong>in</strong> our naïve world of<br />
literary whimsy and dream of a day when conflicts will be solved by writ<strong>in</strong>g bitter<br />
and st<strong>in</strong>g<strong>in</strong>g poems to enemies. In that world, friends would be made through<br />
<strong>the</strong> exchange of literary magaz<strong>in</strong>es. We at <strong>Aerie</strong> like to view our magaz<strong>in</strong>e as a<br />
harb<strong>in</strong>ger of peace, attempt<strong>in</strong>g to extend <strong>the</strong> voices of students to all residents of<br />
Earth.<br />
This year I, Mackenzie, was lucky to travel with my family to visit Thailand and<br />
Cambodia. On one of our first morn<strong>in</strong>gs <strong>in</strong> Cambodia, we were about to leave<br />
for downtown Siem Reap when at <strong>the</strong> front desk I spotted a brochure with<br />
wonderful art. I sat at <strong>the</strong> computer and emailed <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>structor of <strong>the</strong> Small Art<br />
School. When we returned from our adventures out <strong>in</strong> ancient Angkor, I checked<br />
my email, not expect<strong>in</strong>g a reply know<strong>in</strong>g that schools were out for <strong>the</strong> Khmer<br />
New Year. Lo and behold, an email awaited me from <strong>the</strong> Small Art School. Of all<br />
<strong>the</strong> art schools, <strong>in</strong> all <strong>the</strong> towns, <strong>in</strong> all <strong>the</strong> world, I’m glad I walked <strong>in</strong>to that one. I<br />
thought to myself, this is <strong>the</strong> beg<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g of a beautiful friendship. And it has been.<br />
As always, tak<strong>in</strong>g <strong>Aerie</strong> International from an amalgam of ideas and turn<strong>in</strong>g it <strong>in</strong>to<br />
an actual publication takes not only a dedicated staff and advisor, but also a great<br />
many people who lurk just beyond <strong>the</strong> <strong>Aerie</strong> room. Thank you first and foremost<br />
to everyone on our International Advisory Board, especially those <strong>in</strong>dividuals who<br />
came to read at our fundraiser and attended our annual board meet<strong>in</strong>g. Ano<strong>the</strong>r
massive and much-deserved thank you to Cathy Marshall, Mary Kleschen, Tom<br />
Michels, and Dave Dickson. Although <strong>the</strong>ir children have graduated from <strong>the</strong><br />
<strong>Aerie</strong> room, <strong>the</strong>y returned like <strong>the</strong> superheroes <strong>the</strong>y are and pulled us through<br />
<strong>the</strong> process of rais<strong>in</strong>g enough money to create this magaz<strong>in</strong>e. Thank you to<br />
Brooklyn Walter and Derk Schmidt, our fantastic student teachers who have<br />
been a constant source of support and laughter. Thank you, of course, to all who<br />
donated, particularly <strong>the</strong> <strong>Missoula</strong> Education Foundation: your generous grant<br />
filled us with a f<strong>in</strong>ancial calm for <strong>the</strong> year. F<strong>in</strong>ally thank you to Mike Peissig,<br />
Nancy Lee, Donna Elliott and all <strong>the</strong> lovely folks down at Gateway Pr<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
Without you we would probably be stapl<strong>in</strong>g pieces of computer paper toge<strong>the</strong>r<br />
and call<strong>in</strong>g it a book.<br />
To our valiant leader we would like to extend a thank you which soars above <strong>the</strong><br />
mounta<strong>in</strong>s of <strong>the</strong> <strong>Aerie</strong> world. Ms. Lorilee Evans-Lynn is truly <strong>the</strong> hand that holds<br />
<strong>the</strong> helium-filled balloons which represent <strong>the</strong> whimsical m<strong>in</strong>ds of <strong>the</strong> <strong>Aerie</strong> staff.<br />
We have spent hours upon hours work<strong>in</strong>g on this magaz<strong>in</strong>e <strong>in</strong> and out of class.<br />
Lorilee is always <strong>the</strong>re with us, mak<strong>in</strong>g sure our focus stays on <strong>the</strong> magaz<strong>in</strong>e<br />
ra<strong>the</strong>r than food. She even tolerated our wear<strong>in</strong>g of sticky note mustaches <strong>in</strong> our<br />
staff photo this year (see next page).<br />
F<strong>in</strong>ally, thank you reader. We would like to throw our metaphorical arms around<br />
you. The dreams of our editorial staff are realized thanks to <strong>in</strong>dividuals such as<br />
yourselves. With<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong>se pages lie our very souls. That’s a little melodramatic, but<br />
we th<strong>in</strong>k you get it. We also hope you will purchase a subscription for yourself or<br />
your literary arts-<strong>in</strong>cl<strong>in</strong>ed friends.<br />
We hope as you go through <strong>the</strong> pages of our magaz<strong>in</strong>e you feel an <strong>in</strong>tense urge to<br />
form a connection with someone else <strong>in</strong> a distant land. If we were <strong>the</strong> benevolent<br />
dictators of Earth, all citizens would have at least five pen pals <strong>in</strong> different<br />
countries, and literary arts magaz<strong>in</strong>es would be required read<strong>in</strong>g for all.<br />
Here’s look<strong>in</strong>g at you kid, we wish you <strong>the</strong> best,<br />
Mackenzie Enich and Emily Ward
Dear Readers,<br />
I am truly honored to <strong>in</strong>troduce this fourth issue of <strong>Aerie</strong> International. The<br />
imag<strong>in</strong>ative poems, stories, photographs, and works of art you are about to enjoy<br />
stand alone and require no <strong>in</strong>troduction; <strong>the</strong> writers and artists from around <strong>the</strong><br />
world, whose work you will view, have short <strong>in</strong>tros <strong>in</strong>cluded. Consequently, I<br />
will focus on <strong>the</strong> people who put this award w<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g literary magaz<strong>in</strong>e toge<strong>the</strong>r,<br />
and <strong>the</strong> process <strong>the</strong>y go through. A.I. is a student run literary magaz<strong>in</strong>e accept<strong>in</strong>g<br />
submissions from teenagers throughout <strong>the</strong> world. As Poet <strong>in</strong> Residence at Big<br />
Sky High School for <strong>the</strong> <strong>Missoula</strong> Writ<strong>in</strong>g Collaborative and as an Advisory Board<br />
Member for <strong>Aerie</strong> International, I have come to know <strong>the</strong> young scholars who create<br />
this f<strong>in</strong>ely-crafted literary magaz<strong>in</strong>e. Rest assured <strong>the</strong>se students are not editors <strong>in</strong><br />
name only for a publication created by teachers. They are <strong>the</strong> real deal, far from<br />
privileged or pampered prima donnas.<br />
These young men and women have experienced liv<strong>in</strong>g from its well-earned,<br />
sweet caress (many are recipients of scholarships and awards for <strong>the</strong>ir stellar high<br />
school accomplishments) to life’s cruelest slaps. One young editor is bl<strong>in</strong>d, and<br />
can be seen at read<strong>in</strong>gs, leap<strong>in</strong>g on and off stages with careless abandon and an<br />
ever-present smile. Ano<strong>the</strong>r easy smile can be found on <strong>the</strong> face of our Mexican<br />
exchange student, courageous enough to tackle creative writ<strong>in</strong>g, public speak<strong>in</strong>g,<br />
and magaz<strong>in</strong>e publish<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> English, his second language. His four musical names<br />
rem<strong>in</strong>d all students that <strong>the</strong>ir endeavor is truly <strong>in</strong>ternational. A third A. I. student<br />
has endured four bra<strong>in</strong> surgeries <strong>in</strong> this, her senior year of high school; she<br />
illum<strong>in</strong>ates a room with her let’s all laugh sense of humor. O<strong>the</strong>r members of A.I<br />
have experienced tragic and unexpected losses. These hardships and challenges<br />
have streng<strong>the</strong>ned and united <strong>the</strong>m. I have witnessed passionate, almost angry,<br />
arguments as <strong>the</strong>y debate which submissions to <strong>in</strong>clude <strong>in</strong> this issue; each<br />
person argues strongly, but also listens. Mutual respect is evident. Eventually,<br />
compromises are found, a consensus reached. The quality of <strong>the</strong> magaz<strong>in</strong>e seems<br />
always <strong>the</strong> decid<strong>in</strong>g factor. Wouldn’t it be nice if our legislators possessed this same<br />
comb<strong>in</strong>ation of passion, commitment, and respect? <strong>Aerie</strong> students give this cynical<br />
old poet hope for <strong>the</strong> future.<br />
There is, of course, a driv<strong>in</strong>g force beh<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong> student staff of <strong>Aerie</strong> International.<br />
Lorilee Evans-Lynn, longtime Creative Writ<strong>in</strong>g teacher and advisor for both <strong>Aerie</strong><br />
Big Sky and <strong>Aerie</strong> International, is a tireless leader. Her students will<strong>in</strong>gly work<br />
lunch hours, after school, and many weekends to produce <strong>the</strong>se award-w<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g<br />
publications. Her management style is delegation and respect: she gives her young<br />
charges enough rope to hang <strong>the</strong>mselves, and <strong>the</strong>n runs around frantically shor<strong>in</strong>g<br />
up <strong>the</strong> ground beneath <strong>the</strong>m so that <strong>the</strong> rope will never go taut. Her students<br />
become a family, form<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>separable, often lifelong friendships. <strong>Aerie</strong> students<br />
from past years return for visits from college. Parents of former students often<br />
volunteer at <strong>Aerie</strong> functions, tribute to Lorilee’s passion and boundless energy.
The result is this exquisite literary jewel you hold <strong>in</strong> your hands. The writers,<br />
artists, and photographers published here are 13-19 year old students from<br />
diverse backgrounds and geographic locales. All are connected by <strong>the</strong> quality of<br />
<strong>the</strong>ir work and <strong>the</strong>ir sense of humanity. We will all grow our appreciation for<br />
art and for <strong>the</strong> world we <strong>in</strong>habit by read<strong>in</strong>g and reread<strong>in</strong>g this magaz<strong>in</strong>e. Enjoy<br />
it. Send it to your friends. It is my extreme pleasure to welcome you to <strong>Aerie</strong><br />
International <strong>2011</strong>.<br />
Robert Lee, MWC poet <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> schools<br />
The <strong>Aerie</strong> International staff is normally not this serious, but when<br />
wear<strong>in</strong>g our special boots (which had to be cropped due to space<br />
constra<strong>in</strong>ts) and mustaches we feel <strong>the</strong> need to be completely stoic.
Table of Contents<br />
1 what <strong>the</strong> words are do<strong>in</strong>g now | isabel bartholomew<br />
2 irrelevance | lili rosenkranz<br />
5 <strong>the</strong>re is colour <strong>in</strong> haiti after all | alexandria garcia<br />
8 kaleidoscope morn<strong>in</strong>gs | emily masters<br />
11 an <strong>in</strong>terview with oksana | oksana soluyanova<br />
14 on <strong>the</strong> eastern seas, <strong>the</strong> cookies beckoned | robyn van ek<br />
16 geumsansa temple <strong>in</strong> gimje city, south korea | andie moss<br />
18 sunday long distance | simon david<br />
20 wait<strong>in</strong>g for <strong>the</strong> blue fairy | tara m<strong>in</strong>g moon<br />
23 <strong>the</strong> science teacher | eric protzer<br />
25 an <strong>in</strong>terview with eric | eric protzer<br />
30 mo<strong>the</strong>r’s hands | angela shen<br />
32 sundays | renee reneau<br />
34 melt<strong>in</strong>g pot? | sara hard<strong>in</strong>g<br />
37 w<strong>in</strong>ter <strong>in</strong> venice | sarah munger<br />
38 unrooted | danny rothschild<br />
47 hav<strong>in</strong>g lunch with tony | louise burton<br />
48 <strong>the</strong> hOle | hyun park
50 elementary | mattis deutch<br />
52 brumous cementery | elissa watters<br />
54 watch<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong>storm from <strong>the</strong> edge of frye lake |<br />
julia deangelo<br />
56 excuse me, SirRealism | joanne koong<br />
59 learn<strong>in</strong>g to skip rocks | brittany soder<br />
60 <strong>the</strong> house | monica nederend<br />
62 all <strong>in</strong> your hands | pol<strong>in</strong>a kamenskaja<br />
65 <strong>the</strong> harmony of <strong>the</strong> storm | elissa watters<br />
67 <strong>the</strong> moon and <strong>the</strong> waves | lucy mahaffey<br />
69 an <strong>in</strong>terview with deren | deren ertas<br />
74 autumn | kelsey schurer<br />
76 my ticket | taylor smith<br />
78 <strong>the</strong> sparrow | madel<strong>in</strong>e petersen<br />
82 taxi to soweto | sithokozile mahlaba<br />
cover art | Lee Nye Photography Award<br />
towards <strong>in</strong>sanity | photography<br />
isaac s. r<strong>in</strong>ke | lawrence, kansas, usa
isabel bartholomew<br />
salt lake city, utah, usa<br />
what <strong>the</strong> words are do<strong>in</strong>g now<br />
They are rid<strong>in</strong>g elevators<br />
to <strong>the</strong> top floors of build<strong>in</strong>gs that were knocked down<br />
years ago. They are catch<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> tra<strong>in</strong> on a snowy day, leap<strong>in</strong>g on just <strong>in</strong> time<br />
and <strong>the</strong>y are explor<strong>in</strong>g empty museums with hushed voices and soggy boots.<br />
They are fly<strong>in</strong>g solo across <strong>the</strong> Atlantic<br />
and los<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>ir suitcases <strong>in</strong> hotel lobbies<br />
and sitt<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> my grandmo<strong>the</strong>r’s willow tree, <strong>the</strong> one that was struck<br />
by lightn<strong>in</strong>g when she was a little girl.<br />
They are burn<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> a bonfire, send<strong>in</strong>g smoke signals to Santa Claus.<br />
They are dr<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g cold coffee <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> Redwood forest<br />
and <strong>the</strong>y are jump<strong>in</strong>g from <strong>the</strong> Golden Gate Bridge.<br />
They are blow<strong>in</strong>g away with litter down <strong>the</strong> highway<br />
and <strong>the</strong>y are play<strong>in</strong>g hide-and-seek <strong>in</strong>side an empty house<br />
and <strong>the</strong>y are dabb<strong>in</strong>g at <strong>the</strong>ir lipstick before <strong>the</strong>y whisk off to <strong>the</strong> opera,<br />
leav<strong>in</strong>g beh<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong> fa<strong>in</strong>test trace of perfume and cigarette smoke.<br />
They are flutter<strong>in</strong>g and tapp<strong>in</strong>g outside my w<strong>in</strong>dow like moths<br />
trapped between <strong>the</strong> screen and <strong>the</strong> glass<br />
and <strong>the</strong>y are runn<strong>in</strong>g home late at night through <strong>the</strong> spr<strong>in</strong>klers<br />
and <strong>the</strong>y are solv<strong>in</strong>g for x on a rooftop,<br />
mapp<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> skyl<strong>in</strong>e with a worn-down pencil.<br />
1
irrelevance<br />
a i<br />
lili rosenkranz<br />
greenwich, connecticut, usa<br />
There are many reasons to buy a map, most logically, however, for direction,<br />
red l<strong>in</strong>es, trac<strong>in</strong>g f<strong>in</strong>gers, a highway if you are pla<strong>in</strong>. I am callow and want<br />
a love affair with Montana. I want someth<strong>in</strong>g Western, someth<strong>in</strong>g along a coast,<br />
someth<strong>in</strong>g fried. Not white with snow or fences but scabby-kneed, wide-hipped,<br />
and freckled.<br />
At first it was hard to f<strong>in</strong>d. Paper is light, for <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>d, for gett<strong>in</strong>g lost. And you<br />
soon are forgett<strong>in</strong>g exits, rights and lefts. The dashboard disappears <strong>in</strong> a mess of<br />
folds. That’s why we are told th<strong>in</strong>gs like miles and m<strong>in</strong>utes left to dest<strong>in</strong>ation, and<br />
<strong>the</strong>n it is turned off. Digital w<strong>in</strong>d<strong>in</strong>gs, crosses, and s<strong>in</strong>ewy l<strong>in</strong>es turn off because<br />
we arrive. And that’s that. Arrival makes for destruction.<br />
I can promise you this is not a ply for some old way, an open road, or w<strong>in</strong>d<br />
<strong>in</strong> your hair. I am no Luddite, no advocate, perhaps a romantic but only because<br />
I want Wiscons<strong>in</strong> to swallow me up and Alabama to take my voice and make it<br />
syrup-slow, worthy of waffles, pancakes, side-road d<strong>in</strong>ers, a Sunday breakfast<br />
table.<br />
Only once have I been somewhere irrelevant. North Platte, Nebraska. It was<br />
temporary, transitional, but I have a picture of a Welcome sign: “We appreciate<br />
your bus<strong>in</strong>ess.” As if I were entreated, as if a town could wallow, whimper, and<br />
wh<strong>in</strong>e, as if desperation was an embrace, a small town hugg<strong>in</strong>g me <strong>in</strong> a hollow<br />
back, a flat chest where <strong>the</strong> build<strong>in</strong>gs are one story and fearful of <strong>the</strong> sky.<br />
It was no love affair, a romance obstructed by <strong>the</strong> mediocrity of wizened pla<strong>in</strong>s<br />
brown<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> Midwestern shades, bricks mortared with bottom of <strong>the</strong> barrel paste,<br />
cracked and lazy, Fords, and one yellow l<strong>in</strong>e taken by <strong>the</strong> hand, pulled through <strong>the</strong><br />
smallness lethargically.<br />
No, it was not a love affair because I never fell <strong>in</strong> love with <strong>the</strong> locality, never<br />
met a native, never tasted Nebraskan coffee, or found a street sign with a peculiar<br />
name. But North Platte, Nebraska is where I first took a map and loved its ve<strong>in</strong>s.<br />
It is where I made webs, wanted to know Morrill, Gosper, took a pen down to<br />
Dundy, and circled Colfax <strong>in</strong> crayon.<br />
I bought a map to be average, greater than suburb average, but American<br />
average that is dusted, worn, but warm. Maps are light, for <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>d, for gett<strong>in</strong>g<br />
lost, but <strong>the</strong>y are also for <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>dulgence of irrelevance, gett<strong>in</strong>g lost but still<br />
want<strong>in</strong>g to f<strong>in</strong>d.
old west | ple<strong>in</strong> air style neutral tone pastel<br />
avery beck | lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
3
ancient angkor | graphite on paper<br />
d<strong>in</strong>e bun thai | siem reap, cambodia<br />
a i
Splashes of hot p<strong>in</strong>k, greens and yellows sta<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> market square<br />
plump women work <strong>the</strong>ir dark f<strong>in</strong>gers<br />
retail<strong>in</strong>g okra, yams, and cassava<br />
that are strewn across <strong>the</strong> dusty road<br />
plump women work <strong>the</strong>ir dark f<strong>in</strong>gers<br />
under sleek taffeta parasols<br />
that are strewn across <strong>the</strong> dusty road<br />
unsettled by rustl<strong>in</strong>g feet<br />
under sleek taffeta parasols<br />
hard green planta<strong>in</strong>s litter <strong>the</strong> road<br />
unsettled by rustl<strong>in</strong>g feet<br />
sift<strong>in</strong>g soil through <strong>the</strong> air<br />
hard green planta<strong>in</strong>s litter <strong>the</strong> road<br />
smell<strong>in</strong>g of thick unripe sk<strong>in</strong><br />
sift<strong>in</strong>g soil through <strong>the</strong> air<br />
parted full lips <strong>in</strong>hale <strong>the</strong> dust<br />
alexandria garcia<br />
victoria, british columbia, canada<br />
Patricia Goedicke Poetry Award<br />
<strong>the</strong>re is colour <strong>in</strong> haiti after all<br />
smell<strong>in</strong>g of thick unripe sk<strong>in</strong><br />
retail<strong>in</strong>g okra, yams, and cassava<br />
parted full lips <strong>in</strong>hale <strong>the</strong> dust<br />
splashes of hot p<strong>in</strong>k, greens and yellows sta<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> market square.<br />
5
My dream is to be an artist. The art teacher, Tomoko comes to <strong>the</strong> center<br />
every Sunday and I enjoy tak<strong>in</strong>g an art lesson. I like to draw my village<br />
life and people. Our daily life is very simple. We grow rice and vegetable. We do<br />
fish<strong>in</strong>g and eat domestic animals. Food is very simple, but Khmer food is very<br />
delicious.<br />
I wanted to express Cambodian people’s daily simple life <strong>in</strong> my artworks Life <strong>in</strong><br />
My Village. We use buffalo to cultivate rice fields. We do everyth<strong>in</strong>g by hands, so it<br />
is very hard work and take a lot of time. Therefore, we do not waste any food and<br />
enjoy eat<strong>in</strong>g toge<strong>the</strong>r.<br />
a i<br />
sophart ra<br />
kro bei riel, siem reap, cambodia
Chief Charlo Celebration of Culture Award<br />
life <strong>in</strong> my village | watercolor on paper<br />
sophart ra | kro bei riel, siem reap, cambodia<br />
7
kaleidoscope morn<strong>in</strong>gs<br />
Graveyard shift was always your favorite.<br />
The waitresses have more to say and <strong>the</strong> cooks are better,<br />
you’d tell me as I slid <strong>in</strong>to your God awful sedan at six a.m.<br />
A magaz<strong>in</strong>e and plastic spoon would pry at my flip-flop as you<br />
sped to your favorite d<strong>in</strong>er. You always petted <strong>the</strong> stray dog<br />
<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> alley and sat at <strong>the</strong> table by <strong>the</strong> French bread. It smells better.<br />
The dust <strong>in</strong> this place cuddles <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> bottoms of <strong>the</strong> upturned coffee cups<br />
stacked end on end on end above your head so that<br />
I am afraid <strong>the</strong>y will tumble on you each time <strong>the</strong> waitress with <strong>the</strong> ponytail<br />
and short legs reaches for one. But <strong>the</strong> waiter with <strong>the</strong> easy smile<br />
snatches her a few after watch<strong>in</strong>g her struggle for a while.<br />
You laugh. They must be sleep<strong>in</strong>g toge<strong>the</strong>r, you say,<br />
<strong>the</strong> way he looks at her.<br />
a i<br />
emily masters<br />
allendale, new jersey, usa
tea party | black and white photography<br />
hazlett henderson | baldw<strong>in</strong> city, kansas, usa<br />
9
<strong>in</strong>spiration |black and white photography<br />
oksana soluyanova | kazan, tatarstan, russia<br />
a i
an <strong>in</strong>terview with oksana<br />
oksana soluyanova<br />
kazan, tatarstan, russia<br />
Upon view<strong>in</strong>g Oksana’s photograph “Inspiration” (page 10) we immediately<br />
realized it was one of <strong>the</strong> most remarkable out of <strong>the</strong> hundreds of<br />
photography submissions we received. In addition to spend<strong>in</strong>g time learn<strong>in</strong>g<br />
three different languages <strong>in</strong> school, Oksana immerses herself <strong>in</strong> a life of dance<br />
and photography. The comb<strong>in</strong>ations of <strong>the</strong>se <strong>in</strong>terests and a lifelong passion for<br />
danc<strong>in</strong>g on stage lead her to capture a beautiful moment <strong>in</strong> time through <strong>the</strong> lens<br />
of her camera. The magic and movement of her piece urged us to learn more<br />
about her passion for danc<strong>in</strong>g as well as what her life <strong>in</strong> Kazan, Russia is like.<br />
AI: What is life <strong>in</strong> Kazan like? Describe <strong>the</strong> culture and people. What k<strong>in</strong>d of th<strong>in</strong>gs do<br />
you and your friends do for fun?<br />
OS: Life <strong>in</strong> Kazan is like an old fairytale. Thousands of legends are devoted to<br />
Kazan, it is mentioned <strong>in</strong> old manuscripts, books and songs. My city is a heart<br />
of different cultures and religions. There is so much beauty <strong>in</strong> my city. People <strong>in</strong><br />
my city are very k<strong>in</strong>d and hospitable. My friends and I really love to walk <strong>in</strong> this<br />
city. Usually we walk <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> center of Kazan. We like to go to our special place<br />
near <strong>the</strong> river. There we sit on <strong>the</strong> grass and chat. When <strong>the</strong> wea<strong>the</strong>r is bad we are<br />
go<strong>in</strong>g to <strong>the</strong> c<strong>in</strong>ema, bowl<strong>in</strong>g or café.<br />
AI: What would a regular Russian d<strong>in</strong>ner <strong>in</strong> your family be like? What would you talk<br />
about?<br />
OS: All family ga<strong>the</strong>rs toge<strong>the</strong>r for supper and this is probably <strong>the</strong> longest and<br />
<strong>the</strong> nicest meal of <strong>the</strong> day. Supper usually starts about seven p.m. and can last for<br />
some hours. We discuss <strong>the</strong> latest events at <strong>the</strong> table and members of <strong>the</strong> family<br />
share <strong>the</strong>ir emotions with each o<strong>the</strong>r. Russian cuis<strong>in</strong>e <strong>in</strong>cludes a variety of dishes.<br />
Russian lunch consists of <strong>the</strong> first and second courses. Usually we eat vegetable<br />
salad, potatoes and different k<strong>in</strong>ds of meat. But I prefer chicken with mushrooms;<br />
my mo<strong>the</strong>r prepares it very tasty. She hits a chicken and spr<strong>in</strong>kles it with spices.<br />
Placed on <strong>the</strong> chicken is fried mushrooms, onions and tomatoes. All of this<br />
spr<strong>in</strong>kled with grated cheese and filled with mayonnaise and baked <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> oven.<br />
AI: How many languages to do you speak? Which one do you use <strong>the</strong> most? Why?<br />
OS: I know three languages: Russian, Tatar and English. I study English and Tatar<br />
11
<strong>in</strong> school and, as you can see, it is go<strong>in</strong>g well. But mostly I speak Russian, because<br />
it is my native language and my family and friends speak Russian and I know this<br />
language from my birthday.<br />
AI: What about photography <strong>in</strong>spires you?<br />
OS: I’m start<strong>in</strong>g to take photos when I was nearly 14. Photography is really a<br />
unique amaz<strong>in</strong>g th<strong>in</strong>g, which allows us to stop time. There are so many nice th<strong>in</strong>gs<br />
around us: beautiful landscapes, different <strong>in</strong>terest<strong>in</strong>g situations, our friends or<br />
simply those whom we love. All this <strong>in</strong>spires me on new creations.<br />
AI: If you could hang one famous photograph <strong>in</strong> your bedroom, which would you choose?<br />
Why?<br />
OS: I would like to hang one of <strong>the</strong> photos of L<strong>in</strong>a Scheynius. She<br />
transmogrifies banal daily <strong>in</strong>to someth<strong>in</strong>g magical and amaz<strong>in</strong>g. Thanks to her we<br />
can feel us evolv<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> her efflorescent world. L<strong>in</strong>a’s work covers aspects of past<br />
and present, allow<strong>in</strong>g her characters be<strong>in</strong>g real, without shyness and masks.<br />
AI: If you could tell only one fun fact about yourself, what would it be?<br />
OS: When I was a child I used to have really long hair. Once I had to stay with<br />
my grandfa<strong>the</strong>r for a summer. One day he decided to make a haircut. While<br />
he was cutt<strong>in</strong>g his hair I compla<strong>in</strong>ed about <strong>the</strong> heat. He pitied me and asked a<br />
hairdresser to cut my hair. Because of that it was men`s barbershop I was cut<br />
like a boy. When my parents came back <strong>the</strong>y were stunned, shocked and amazed.<br />
S<strong>in</strong>ce <strong>the</strong>n I have never gone to barbershop with my grandfa<strong>the</strong>r.<br />
AI: You mentioned <strong>in</strong> your biography that you are a dancer. What types of dance are you<br />
<strong>in</strong>volved <strong>in</strong>? What <strong>in</strong>spires you to dance and how does dance connect to your photography?<br />
OS: From childhood I loved to watch people who dance on stage. I was always<br />
fasc<strong>in</strong>ated how <strong>the</strong>y smoothly move. And I wanted to be like <strong>the</strong>m. Parents<br />
have embodied my dream <strong>in</strong> a reality, and enrolled me <strong>in</strong> a dance studio. S<strong>in</strong>ce<br />
<strong>the</strong>n I dance. I started danc<strong>in</strong>g when I was seven. I had different styles of dance:<br />
choreography, hip-hop, ballet, street jazz, jazz modern and many o<strong>the</strong>rs. Danc<strong>in</strong>g<br />
is my passion. I cannot imag<strong>in</strong>e my life without it. Before my performance I<br />
usually worry and scare but when I am on stage all my fears disappear. Most of<br />
all I am attracted by jazz modernism. In this dance, you feel complete freedom<br />
of movement of <strong>the</strong> body; you convey your feel<strong>in</strong>gs and emotions through<br />
music. When I’m study<strong>in</strong>g modern jazz, I ga<strong>in</strong> strength, flexibility, plasticity,<br />
and a beautiful shape. Also I’m learn<strong>in</strong>g to control my body, easily express my<br />
feel<strong>in</strong>gs <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> dance and develop <strong>the</strong> artistry, imag<strong>in</strong>ation and musicality. For<br />
me, <strong>the</strong> most important part <strong>in</strong> this dance is <strong>the</strong> performance on stage when <strong>the</strong><br />
a i
audience applauds you and admires <strong>the</strong> performance, just like I admired artists <strong>in</strong><br />
childhood.<br />
AI: Do you have any wishes to travel anywhere <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> world?<br />
OS: I like travel<strong>in</strong>g very much, like discover<strong>in</strong>g new places for myself, like<br />
learn<strong>in</strong>g someth<strong>in</strong>g new. So, <strong>the</strong>re is not much difference for me, where to travel,<br />
but it would be really cool to take a trip to <strong>the</strong> Alps!<br />
surge <strong>in</strong> children’s joy | black and white photography<br />
oksana soluyanova | kazan, tatarstan, russia<br />
13
When I left,<br />
my bro<strong>the</strong>r came with me,<br />
<strong>the</strong> only way he knew<br />
to make sure I’d keep com<strong>in</strong>g home.<br />
Hea<strong>the</strong>r MacLeod “Touch <strong>the</strong> Buffalo”<br />
We built a fortress, a castle really.<br />
Stronghold of cushions, and <strong>the</strong> roof<br />
a wool blanket.<br />
We stayed <strong>the</strong>re all day and<br />
all night. Keep<strong>in</strong>g watch through<br />
<strong>the</strong> crack <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> wall.<br />
I packed a journal<br />
and a box of crackers <strong>in</strong> my pack<br />
strapped tight to my shoulders.<br />
When I left,<br />
I told mom I was leav<strong>in</strong>g, stated pla<strong>in</strong>ly<br />
my plans to conquer and ransack.<br />
I, <strong>the</strong> t<strong>in</strong>y tyrant<br />
embarked on <strong>the</strong> liv<strong>in</strong>g room,<br />
stak<strong>in</strong>g claim to <strong>the</strong> foreign terra<strong>in</strong>, began build<strong>in</strong>g<br />
and transform<strong>in</strong>g<br />
this land <strong>in</strong>to a spectacular k<strong>in</strong>gdom.<br />
Free of parents to make laws,<br />
I would rule and<br />
my bro<strong>the</strong>r came with me.<br />
Wear<strong>in</strong>g a toque he called<br />
his “ranban” hat<br />
and shrunken Spiderman pajamas<br />
he poked his head through <strong>the</strong> door<br />
while he straddled <strong>the</strong> moat.<br />
His noble steed, <strong>the</strong> saddled dog<br />
a i<br />
robyn van ek<br />
sooke, british columbia, canada<br />
on <strong>the</strong> eastern seas, <strong>the</strong> cookies<br />
beckoned
l<strong>in</strong>gered at <strong>the</strong> bridge<br />
pant<strong>in</strong>g lazily with re<strong>in</strong>s fashioned to her collar,<br />
bow tied,<br />
<strong>the</strong> only way he knew.<br />
We played for hours<br />
shoot<strong>in</strong>g “bad guys”<br />
ascend<strong>in</strong>g tall mounta<strong>in</strong>s<br />
to secret caves, f<strong>in</strong>d<strong>in</strong>g diamonds and rubies.<br />
Through b<strong>in</strong>oculars, we found pirates<br />
on <strong>the</strong> eastern seas, black flags raised and tattered.<br />
Soon came <strong>the</strong> aroma of chocolate chip cookies<br />
blow<strong>in</strong>g westward<br />
to make sure I’d keep com<strong>in</strong>g home.<br />
<strong>the</strong> seamstress | multimedia<br />
phebe myers | lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
15
geumsansa temple <strong>in</strong> gimje city,<br />
south korea<br />
Ra<strong>in</strong> somersaults across <strong>the</strong> pleated<br />
roof of <strong>the</strong> temple, a curta<strong>in</strong> between<br />
<strong>the</strong> dusty gravel and flicker<strong>in</strong>g<br />
light <strong>in</strong>side. Here, priests teach us<br />
how to pray, how to call to our ancestors.<br />
Hands pressed toge<strong>the</strong>r and elbows<br />
locked at right angles, we kneel,<br />
left knee, right knee. We fold our chests<br />
to <strong>the</strong> wooden floor, <strong>in</strong>hal<strong>in</strong>g fresh p<strong>in</strong>e.<br />
Five gold Buddhas hold <strong>the</strong>ir hands<br />
<strong>in</strong> meditation, even faced and solemn.<br />
This is <strong>the</strong> hour <strong>the</strong> monks come to worship.<br />
One Bhikkhu, <strong>the</strong> leader, stands before<br />
<strong>the</strong> altar, motionless. His eyes bl<strong>in</strong>k<br />
as his chest rises and he swirls<br />
his arm toward <strong>the</strong> gong to beg<strong>in</strong><br />
personal meditation. A blue dragon,<br />
scaled and gr<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g, bends his body<br />
around <strong>the</strong> gong <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> priest’s hand.<br />
The dragon is <strong>the</strong> protector of Buddha,<br />
guardian of <strong>the</strong> east. Beh<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong> Bhikkhu,<br />
ceremonial tags hang from yellow hooks<br />
bear<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> written names of ancestors<br />
and prayers for a safe journey<br />
<strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> next life. Candles l<strong>in</strong>e <strong>the</strong> altar,<br />
wav<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> synchronized patterns<br />
as <strong>the</strong> worshipers hum <strong>the</strong> Metta Sutta,<br />
chant of lov<strong>in</strong>g k<strong>in</strong>dness. I light<br />
a stick of <strong>in</strong>cense, place it next<br />
to <strong>the</strong> half-melted candles and dr<strong>in</strong>k <strong>in</strong><br />
<strong>the</strong> stillness of <strong>the</strong> monsoon day.<br />
a i<br />
andie moss<br />
missoula, montana, usa
iris | repeated oriental l<strong>in</strong>o pr<strong>in</strong>t<br />
emma mitchell | carlisle, cumbria, uk<br />
17
sunday long distance<br />
Every Sunday, without fail, my fa<strong>the</strong>r makes <strong>the</strong> ceremonious long distance<br />
phone call to his mo<strong>the</strong>r, who lives thousands of miles away <strong>in</strong> a small village<br />
called Erode that straddles India’s sou<strong>the</strong>rn tip. Grow<strong>in</strong>g up, I hadn’t really<br />
known my pati* as well as I would have liked, as well as o<strong>the</strong>r children knew<br />
<strong>the</strong>ir grandparents. Although latent ties with my extended family were forged<br />
on occasional trips to India, <strong>the</strong>se l<strong>in</strong>ks would often weaken with<strong>in</strong> months of<br />
my return home. Yet, my dad never forgot where he came from. In fact, I could<br />
always sense that <strong>the</strong>re was a part of him yearn<strong>in</strong>g to return to <strong>the</strong> sunny India<br />
of his childhood and youth. When I was younger, I thought that his Sunday<br />
phone calls were <strong>the</strong> bridges to connect his present to his past; <strong>the</strong>y were his<br />
little gems of India <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> conglomerate of America. As I have grown older, seen<br />
more of <strong>the</strong>se Sundays, I have realized that <strong>the</strong>se conversations were not only my<br />
fa<strong>the</strong>r’s, but m<strong>in</strong>e too. Writ<strong>in</strong>g this, I recall <strong>the</strong> movie Amistad, sections of which<br />
I watched <strong>in</strong> U.S. History class. In defend<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> Amistad slaves, John Qu<strong>in</strong>cy<br />
Adams boldly asserted, “Who we are is who we were.” The truth of his statement<br />
is unmistakable, and <strong>in</strong> h<strong>in</strong>dsight, I can say that this truth couldn’t have been more<br />
manifest <strong>in</strong> my life through my fa<strong>the</strong>r’s Sunday calls.<br />
Pati’s voice would come through <strong>the</strong> slight static fa<strong>in</strong>tly at first. However,<br />
it would grow <strong>in</strong> strength as <strong>the</strong> conversation proceeded. There was always a<br />
paradox about her voice. It was strong <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> way an old woman’s voice is strong;<br />
it had <strong>the</strong> strength that bore a life’s burdens and persevered with dogged, yet<br />
rational, optimism. However, if only on <strong>the</strong> surface, it possessed <strong>the</strong> frailty of<br />
a young child, who fumbled with <strong>the</strong> simplest of th<strong>in</strong>gs. There was always an<br />
undeniable undercurrent of love <strong>in</strong> her voice, though. I remember her ask<strong>in</strong>g<br />
my fa<strong>the</strong>r, <strong>in</strong> open<strong>in</strong>g many of <strong>the</strong>ir conversations, “Nalla iruk<strong>in</strong>gala?”* When my<br />
fa<strong>the</strong>r asked her how she was, she would answer on behalf of my whole extended<br />
family, “Nanga ellam nulla irukkom.”* Nei<strong>the</strong>r my fa<strong>the</strong>r nor my grandmo<strong>the</strong>r would<br />
speak very much at one time. One would say a little and <strong>the</strong>n wait for <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r<br />
to reply. I sensed this was <strong>the</strong>ir way of mak<strong>in</strong>g sure that <strong>the</strong>y were still toge<strong>the</strong>r, <strong>in</strong><br />
spite of <strong>the</strong> miles that separated <strong>the</strong>m.<br />
My fa<strong>the</strong>r would always encourage me to talk to pati. When I was younger,<br />
I would often shy away from this prospect. Not only was I daunted by <strong>the</strong> task<br />
of speak<strong>in</strong>g Tamil, I also knew that I wouldn’t be able “connect” with her <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />
same way that she “connected” with her own son. After all, I was a child liv<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong><br />
America, desir<strong>in</strong>g to become more American; she was an elderly woman whose<br />
Indian roots were grounded <strong>in</strong> her be<strong>in</strong>g. Therefore, it came as no surprise that<br />
a i<br />
simon david<br />
tucker, georgia, usa
our conversations started out choppily. They usually ended abruptly as I limply<br />
asked her if she wanted to speak to my fa<strong>the</strong>r aga<strong>in</strong>. Yet, <strong>the</strong> more and more I<br />
got up out of my kitchen chair and made <strong>the</strong> walk to <strong>the</strong> telephone, <strong>the</strong> more<br />
natural <strong>the</strong>se conversations became. The contrasts of our lives were overwhelmed<br />
by <strong>the</strong> common identity of our heritage. I found myself ask<strong>in</strong>g her <strong>in</strong> Tamil how<br />
her health was, if she had been to Sunday service, and if she had dosai* or idli*<br />
for d<strong>in</strong>ner <strong>the</strong> previous night. She usually understood my Tamil, and where <strong>the</strong>re<br />
were holes, my dad was always <strong>the</strong>re to bridge <strong>the</strong> gap by tell<strong>in</strong>g me how to voice<br />
this thought or that phrase <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> language of my forefa<strong>the</strong>rs.<br />
Soon, just like my fa<strong>the</strong>r, I smiled when I heard pati’s strong voice surmount <strong>the</strong><br />
static of our speaker phone. These days, I am beg<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g to realize <strong>the</strong> powerful<br />
presence my pati plays <strong>in</strong> my life. Our lives and stories have become <strong>in</strong>tertw<strong>in</strong>ed<br />
through countless Sunday calls, sown toge<strong>the</strong>r <strong>in</strong>to that beautiful patchwork of<br />
heritage. She will cont<strong>in</strong>ue to take me back, time and time aga<strong>in</strong>, to that land of<br />
India, and I will always rem<strong>in</strong>d her of <strong>the</strong> branch of our family tree <strong>in</strong> America.<br />
In Tamil: *Grandmo<strong>the</strong>r *Is everyone well? *We are all just f<strong>in</strong>e *Flaky bread dish *Rice patties<br />
mov<strong>in</strong>g image | black and white long exposure photography<br />
alex messenger | carlisle, cumbria, uk<br />
19
wait<strong>in</strong>g for <strong>the</strong> blue fairy<br />
Veils of ra<strong>in</strong> fall off <strong>the</strong> eaves<br />
like curta<strong>in</strong>s to a stage. Tia sits<br />
on her front door step —<br />
clutches her stuffed bear. Her porcela<strong>in</strong> feet<br />
are exposed to <strong>the</strong> breeze<br />
as she fiddles with <strong>the</strong> hem of her skirt.<br />
She waits to catch a glimpse<br />
of glow<strong>in</strong>g w<strong>in</strong>gs — <strong>the</strong> danc<strong>in</strong>g sparks<br />
of fairy dust seen only <strong>in</strong><br />
<strong>the</strong> moment before one<br />
falls<br />
<strong>in</strong>to a dream.<br />
But science and nature comb<strong>in</strong>e<br />
to perform flawless patterns. Trees<br />
recite photosyn<strong>the</strong>sis to <strong>the</strong>ir seedl<strong>in</strong>gs;<br />
air, an external force,<br />
opposes <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong>’s uniform motion,<br />
and vapor condenses<br />
to form soft patter<strong>in</strong>g<br />
<strong>in</strong>ches away from her toes.<br />
Still <strong>the</strong> girl guards<br />
fantasy from reason — imag<strong>in</strong>es <strong>the</strong> blue<br />
spirit embrac<strong>in</strong>g her like a mo<strong>the</strong>r should.<br />
The w<strong>in</strong>d whispers<br />
encouragement — spirals<br />
leaves up aga<strong>in</strong>st <strong>the</strong> laws of nature,<br />
past <strong>the</strong> water droplets that plant <strong>the</strong>mselves<br />
deep <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> earth’s soil.<br />
a i<br />
tara m<strong>in</strong>g moon<br />
victoria, british columbia, canada
two is for mirth | mixed media<br />
charity ekpo | lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
21
a delicate balance | graphite on paper<br />
luke b. watson | salt lake city, utah, usa<br />
a i
Enough energy to vaporize Egypt walks <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> classroom<br />
— it avoids this implication<br />
by call<strong>in</strong>g itself Miss Mund—<br />
retrieves a flat, yellow balloon from <strong>the</strong> drawer<br />
announces:<br />
“Watch <strong>the</strong> dots on <strong>the</strong> balloon, children,<br />
Georges Lemaître. 1931. The big bang <strong>the</strong>ory.<br />
The priest took a break from s<strong>in</strong>g<strong>in</strong>g hot air to <strong>the</strong> heavens,<br />
thought of a solution to a problem,<br />
etched some numbers <strong>in</strong>to a chalkboard.<br />
What a genius.<br />
Watch <strong>the</strong> balloon, children.<br />
I will empty my lungs <strong>in</strong>to it.<br />
This is to represent <strong>the</strong> universe as it expands.<br />
Do you understand,<br />
Billy?”<br />
Billy,<br />
who was pounded toge<strong>the</strong>r from gas<br />
<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> furnace of a star,<br />
says only<br />
“Yes, m’am.”<br />
Miss Mund comments<br />
on <strong>the</strong> lack of energy <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> classroom,<br />
which is really terribly ironic<br />
but s<strong>in</strong>ce nobody is ponder<strong>in</strong>g<br />
<strong>the</strong>ir explosive potential<br />
no one f<strong>in</strong>ds it funny.<br />
P<strong>in</strong>ch<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> balloon to her lips,<br />
she gives ano<strong>the</strong>r tired shove<br />
to air that has been shoved by neanderthals,<br />
eric protzer<br />
victoria, british colombia, canada<br />
<strong>the</strong> science teacher: a dedication<br />
to enjoyers of s<strong>in</strong>usoidal curves<br />
23
d<strong>in</strong>osaurs, three supernovae<br />
and really could have done without ano<strong>the</strong>r,<br />
until Billy,<br />
who has been watch<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> balloon,<br />
pushes his hand up faster<br />
than fifty thousand trillion n<strong>in</strong>e hundred and seventy three sextillion six hundred<br />
qu<strong>in</strong>tillion kilograms<br />
of earth can pull it down.<br />
“Was <strong>the</strong> big bang yellow, <strong>the</strong>n?”<br />
“No, Billy.<br />
The big bang<br />
was not yellow.<br />
Do you see what happens<br />
to <strong>the</strong> dots<br />
as I <strong>in</strong>flate <strong>the</strong> balloon?”<br />
Miss Mund shoves <strong>the</strong> air aga<strong>in</strong>,<br />
but <strong>the</strong> air has had quite enough<br />
and books it.<br />
The class stares on<br />
as one world ends<br />
and ano<strong>the</strong>r beg<strong>in</strong>s.<br />
a i
eric protzer<br />
victoria, british colombia, canada<br />
an <strong>in</strong>terview with eric<br />
Eric’s poem, “The Science Teacher: A Dedication to Enjoyers of S<strong>in</strong>usoidal<br />
Curves” (pages 23 and 24) was one of <strong>the</strong> first submissions we read this year,<br />
and we knew immediately Eric had set <strong>the</strong> bar high for this year’s magaz<strong>in</strong>e. His<br />
poem was passed to each member of <strong>the</strong> staff and our reactions were all <strong>the</strong><br />
same: Eric’s voice and sense of humor are amaz<strong>in</strong>g. We were excited to learn<br />
his <strong>in</strong>spiration as well as more about his life <strong>in</strong> Victoria, British Columbia. An<br />
<strong>in</strong>terview seemed absolutely necessary. We have come to <strong>the</strong> conclusion that<br />
ei<strong>the</strong>r Eric is superhuman and can stop time to make room for his unbelievable<br />
number of activities, or he just leads a crazy busy life. His literary life reaches far<br />
beyond <strong>the</strong> realm of poetry. He “balances” his time between Speech and Debate,<br />
<strong>the</strong>ater, playwrit<strong>in</strong>g, journalism, spoken word and oh yes, school. His poem is<br />
quirky and weird and fun and brilliant. This <strong>in</strong>terview illustrates <strong>the</strong> complexity<br />
of Eric’s life and we hope you will enjoy him as much as we did.<br />
AI: Your poem describes such a clever idea. Is your work based on a real experience or is<br />
it a work of fiction? Where did you get <strong>the</strong> idea for writ<strong>in</strong>g this poem? Is <strong>the</strong>re a teacher at<br />
your school who <strong>in</strong>spired your poem?<br />
EP: There are two primary sources of <strong>in</strong>spiration for this poem, although<br />
nei<strong>the</strong>r gets explicitly mentioned. On a deeper level, much of my poetry about<br />
nature and science comes from an image my m<strong>in</strong>d conjured while I was on a walk<br />
one day; that image be<strong>in</strong>g of <strong>the</strong> earth’s surface subtly rippl<strong>in</strong>g and shiver<strong>in</strong>g as<br />
time progresses, with all existence on <strong>the</strong> planet be<strong>in</strong>g permutations of a s<strong>in</strong>gle<br />
larger unit. “The Science Teacher” partially expresses this <strong>the</strong>me of universality,<br />
but was also sparked by a conversation with my writ<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>structor, Terence Young.<br />
He was comment<strong>in</strong>g on how, although he never liked math much, he did enjoy<br />
<strong>the</strong> euphony <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> word “s<strong>in</strong>usoidal.” I proceeded to ask him if he knew that <strong>the</strong><br />
fourth derivative of a s<strong>in</strong>usoidal curve is yet ano<strong>the</strong>r s<strong>in</strong>usoidal curve; <strong>in</strong> reply, he<br />
told me to leave <strong>the</strong> build<strong>in</strong>g. Reflect<strong>in</strong>g on <strong>the</strong> irony of <strong>the</strong> situation, I produced<br />
“The Science Teacher.”<br />
AI: You seem to have experience <strong>in</strong> many forms of expression. Poetry, song, <strong>the</strong>ater,<br />
journalism, spoken word…which is your favorite medium? (How do you have enough time<br />
for all <strong>the</strong>se?) Expla<strong>in</strong> some of <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r ways you participate <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong>se mediums.<br />
25
EP: Act<strong>in</strong>g is def<strong>in</strong>itely my favourite medium of expression, partially because<br />
it’s <strong>the</strong> repatriation of written, ref<strong>in</strong>ed language to <strong>the</strong> dynamics of oral<br />
communication, but mostly because it’s just pla<strong>in</strong> fun. My most frequented<br />
characters are <strong>the</strong> comedic and <strong>in</strong>sane (which is why I enjoy Beckett and Monty<br />
Python so much) because I love to enterta<strong>in</strong> and, for <strong>the</strong> latter, to explore<br />
complicated psyches. My drama teacher jok<strong>in</strong>gly calls me a “black hole actor” for<br />
this reason; I <strong>in</strong>ternalize non-comedic roles very strongly, and consequentially<br />
have to remember to make my emotions visible to <strong>the</strong> audience.<br />
Keep<strong>in</strong>g up with my l<strong>in</strong>guistic <strong>in</strong>volvements can be stressful sometimes. I<br />
once performed <strong>the</strong> one-man show Krapp’s Last Tape <strong>the</strong> day after hav<strong>in</strong>g f<strong>in</strong>ished<br />
compet<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> Canadian National Debate Championships. I usually spread<br />
th<strong>in</strong>gs out, though; for example, I save large-scale writ<strong>in</strong>g projects, such as a play<br />
about <strong>the</strong> Cuban Revolution that I’ve been work<strong>in</strong>g on for ages, exclusively for<br />
holiday breaks; whereas I do performance and public speak<strong>in</strong>g dur<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> school<br />
year.<br />
AI: If you could say one fun fact about yourself, what would it be? Why?<br />
EP: A banana once saved my life. I was very sick, had dra<strong>in</strong>ed my electrolytes by<br />
refus<strong>in</strong>g to drop out of a debate tournament and proceeded to go <strong>in</strong>to paralysis<br />
when I came home. My parents weren’t <strong>in</strong> town at <strong>the</strong> time, but thankfully my<br />
sister had <strong>the</strong> resourcefulness to use that “telephone” device and ask <strong>the</strong>m why I<br />
was compla<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g of full body muscle failure. It turned out my family had a genetic<br />
potassium deficiency, so <strong>the</strong>y phoned my neighbor ask<strong>in</strong>g if she could k<strong>in</strong>dly<br />
retrieve a banana before my heart stopped. I chose this anecdote because it was<br />
that or “third generation snail breed<strong>in</strong>g.”<br />
AI: Why is writ<strong>in</strong>g so important to you? In what ways does writ<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>fluence you? Do<br />
you hope to cont<strong>in</strong>ue writ<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> future? Plans for <strong>the</strong> future?<br />
EP: One of <strong>the</strong> few ways I can be both my ridiculous self and socially acceptable<br />
is through creative writ<strong>in</strong>g. If I were to publicly talk about genetically modify<strong>in</strong>g<br />
people to become plants <strong>in</strong> order to end war, poverty and hunger, most people<br />
would th<strong>in</strong>k I’m a lunatic. But I’ve used that topic satirically <strong>in</strong> essays and<br />
speeches to w<strong>in</strong> awards and scholarships, because for some reason, writ<strong>in</strong>g can<br />
make <strong>the</strong> uncomfortably bizarre become comical.<br />
Although I do read fiction for fun, and often analyze comedies to improve my<br />
own work, most writ<strong>in</strong>g that really <strong>in</strong>fluences me is non-fiction. I have an entire<br />
bookshelf dedicated to trivia books, and spend more time read<strong>in</strong>g Wikipedia<br />
articles and <strong>the</strong> news than everyth<strong>in</strong>g else comb<strong>in</strong>ed. I’m very driven to<br />
understand and improve human society, so new <strong>in</strong><strong>format</strong>ion has a strong effect on<br />
me; profound political, scientific and philosophical <strong>the</strong>ories fill me with more awe<br />
than Shakespeare ever could.<br />
a i
I’ll almost def<strong>in</strong>itely keep up creative writ<strong>in</strong>g as a hobby throughout my life and<br />
will have to keep up nonfiction writ<strong>in</strong>g as a career necessity. I want to pursue<br />
human development through a <strong>the</strong>ory I’ve created about <strong>the</strong> role of corporate<br />
social responsibility <strong>in</strong> fulfill<strong>in</strong>g The African M<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g Vision, and although<br />
discussions with professionals <strong>in</strong> related fields (e.g., <strong>the</strong> High Commissioner of<br />
Cameroon <strong>in</strong> Canada and Craig Kielburger) have <strong>in</strong>dicated I’m not a complete<br />
crackpot, I constantly have to develop its specifics as I learn so I can eventually<br />
conv<strong>in</strong>ce a wider audience of its potential.<br />
AI: If you could fill a shoebox with objects which represent you and bury it for future<br />
people to discover, what th<strong>in</strong>gs would you fill it with? Why?<br />
EP: I’d put <strong>in</strong> a treasure map depict<strong>in</strong>g a fictional, but moderately detailed<br />
excavation site, so <strong>the</strong>n future people would spend years search<strong>in</strong>g for it and call<br />
it “The Lost Treasure of Eric Protzer.” They might even go on to produce great<br />
thriller novels about me and th<strong>in</strong>k I was a crusader and belonged to a secret<br />
religious society.<br />
AI: What does your family usually discuss at d<strong>in</strong>ner?<br />
EP: My mom’s a right-w<strong>in</strong>ger. I’m a left-w<strong>in</strong>ger. My sister th<strong>in</strong>ks we’re both<br />
<strong>in</strong>sane. This tends to def<strong>in</strong>e our d<strong>in</strong>ner conversations, although <strong>the</strong>y rema<strong>in</strong><br />
entirely respectful. Results vary from missed homework over arguments about<br />
Norwegian socialism to tap<strong>in</strong>g pictures of politicians onto uncouth parts of <strong>the</strong><br />
house.<br />
AI: What is it like to live <strong>in</strong> Victoria? What sorts of th<strong>in</strong>gs do you and your friends do for<br />
fun? What is your family like?<br />
EP: Victoria would be <strong>the</strong> best place on earth if Canada was teleported to <strong>the</strong><br />
middle of <strong>the</strong> Pacific Ocean. As a medium-sized city that’s a prov<strong>in</strong>cial capital, it<br />
has most of <strong>the</strong> features of a larger metropolis while ma<strong>in</strong>ta<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g greenery and<br />
an air of relaxation. In <strong>the</strong> summer, <strong>the</strong>se qualities can be thoroughly enjoyed;<br />
it’s great to spend warm days stroll<strong>in</strong>g by <strong>the</strong> downtown harbor, check<strong>in</strong>g out<br />
surpris<strong>in</strong>gly good jazz and <strong>the</strong>atre festivals or explor<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> many parks and<br />
beaches. When I was younger, one of my favourite summer pastimes was hav<strong>in</strong>g<br />
mock sword fights with my friends (us<strong>in</strong>g katanas constructed from pool noodles<br />
and PVC pipes), which worked well here given Victoria’s open and varied<br />
terra<strong>in</strong>. However, it ra<strong>in</strong>s for a good two-thirds of <strong>the</strong> year, which means a lot<br />
of activities are restricted to <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>doors. For me, this means gett<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>volved<br />
with extracurricular <strong>the</strong>atre, music, public speak<strong>in</strong>g and writ<strong>in</strong>g, which is well<br />
supported at my school.<br />
27
AI: If someone <strong>in</strong> your school were to describe you, what do you th<strong>in</strong>k he or she would<br />
say?<br />
EP: A complete stranger would identify me as “that debater guy who does<br />
weird stuff <strong>in</strong> assembly.” I asked one of my friends, and <strong>the</strong>y said, “Hardwork<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
Passionate. Creative. Humorous. Boss. Silly.”<br />
AI: Who (writers or anyone else) most <strong>in</strong>fluences you <strong>in</strong> your everyday life? Which writer<br />
should every young person read? Why?<br />
EP: Che Guevara is <strong>the</strong> most <strong>in</strong>fluential figure <strong>in</strong> my daily life, not for his<br />
political affiliations with communism, but for his commitment to ethics. I haven’t<br />
read extensive amounts of his writ<strong>in</strong>g, but have read enough <strong>in</strong> comb<strong>in</strong>ation<br />
with historical works on his life to know that he had immense empathy for <strong>the</strong><br />
oppressed and impoverished, and <strong>the</strong> determ<strong>in</strong>ation to help <strong>the</strong>m as best as he<br />
could — whatever his sense of help was. Although our methodologies of aid are<br />
different — he was a revolutionary, I want to use socially responsible foreign<br />
direct <strong>in</strong>vestment for human development —my <strong>in</strong>spiration comes from his<br />
motives. In addition to read<strong>in</strong>g Che’s autobiographies for ethical development, I<br />
would encourage young people to read Douglas Adams’ works. You will not know<br />
effective humor until you have done so.<br />
AI: If you could <strong>in</strong>vite three guests to a d<strong>in</strong>ner party who would you <strong>in</strong>vite? What would<br />
you hope to talk about? Most importantly, what would you serve for d<strong>in</strong>ner? Why?<br />
EP: Assum<strong>in</strong>g I can breach barriers of death, language and logic, I would <strong>in</strong>vite<br />
<strong>the</strong> first human out of Africa, <strong>the</strong> first human to arrive <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> Americas and<br />
Richard Dawk<strong>in</strong>s. To beg<strong>in</strong>, I would ask <strong>the</strong> early humans about <strong>the</strong>ir cultures and<br />
experiences migrat<strong>in</strong>g, and take <strong>in</strong> Mr. Dawk<strong>in</strong>s’ observations on <strong>the</strong>ir accounts’<br />
relevance to evolutionary history. For d<strong>in</strong>ner, I would serve a mild tranquilizer so<br />
I could pluck hair follicles from <strong>the</strong> early humans, <strong>the</strong>n conduct a DNA analysis<br />
with Mr. Dawk<strong>in</strong>s’ help. As thanks for be<strong>in</strong>g such good sports, I’d give <strong>the</strong><br />
protohumans bluepr<strong>in</strong>ts for steam eng<strong>in</strong>es before send<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>m back <strong>in</strong> time.<br />
AI: Will you attack if provoked?<br />
EP: Only if my opponent is armed with delicious fruit.<br />
a i
caricature | digital illustration<br />
el<strong>in</strong> gott<strong>in</strong>g | grönahög, västergötland, sweden<br />
29
mo<strong>the</strong>r’s hands<br />
Teach me how to wrap zhong zi<br />
Hit me.<br />
Teach me how to write han zi<br />
Hit me.<br />
Teach me how to thread zhen<br />
Hit me.<br />
The dark spirit lies dormant<br />
The o<strong>the</strong>r side of people<br />
E<strong>the</strong>real.<br />
Trace lazy circles on my back<br />
Hit me.<br />
Hold me when I miss<br />
Hit me.<br />
Tickle laughter <strong>in</strong>to my nerves<br />
Hit me.<br />
Light must fade<br />
Even <strong>the</strong> sun follows space laws<br />
Our nature is unsteady<br />
But it is real<br />
a i<br />
angela shen<br />
norman, oklahoma, usa<br />
This poem was orig<strong>in</strong>ally written <strong>in</strong> Ch<strong>in</strong>ese, and is a tribute to all children who have experienced<br />
domestic abuse. In Ch<strong>in</strong>a, corporal punishment is <strong>the</strong> widely used and accepted form of<br />
punishment, though it is gradually becom<strong>in</strong>g less popular. My parents used this <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong>ir parent<strong>in</strong>g<br />
repertoire, but I feel as though this type of punishment has streng<strong>the</strong>ned my resolve and established<br />
a sense of autonomy and self-discipl<strong>in</strong>e. In many cases, however, parents cross <strong>the</strong> l<strong>in</strong>e between<br />
acceptable punishment and domestic abuse. “Mo<strong>the</strong>r’s Hands” is written specifically for two young<br />
children, Beau and Calyx, who were murdered by <strong>the</strong>ir own mo<strong>the</strong>r. Though Beau and Calyx’s case<br />
is an extreme example, thousands suffer from domestic abuse. This poem addresses how a mo<strong>the</strong>r’s<br />
hands can serve two ma<strong>in</strong> purposes: to nurture or to hurt. –angela
母亲的手<br />
教我包种子<br />
打我<br />
教我写汉字<br />
打我<br />
教我穿针引线<br />
打我<br />
冬眠,那幽灵<br />
虚无 飘渺, 人类的黑暗<br />
我背上懒惰的行踪<br />
打我<br />
拥抱我,当我满怀失落<br />
打我<br />
挠痒的笑声进入我的神经<br />
打我<br />
光必须退去<br />
太阳也得遵循空间法则<br />
人的本性捉摸不定<br />
却是如此逼真<br />
angela shen<br />
norman, oklahoma, usa<br />
31
sundays<br />
a i<br />
renee reneau<br />
sa<strong>in</strong>t august<strong>in</strong>e, florida, usa<br />
They were like lambs <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> apple orchard,<br />
Graz<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> a field bordered by eucalyptus trees.<br />
They studied <strong>the</strong> ve<strong>in</strong>s of leaves, search<strong>in</strong>g for spirits<br />
To give <strong>the</strong>ir secrets to and hide <strong>the</strong>m among<br />
The dark ivy folds and statues of St. Francis and <strong>the</strong> Virg<strong>in</strong> Mary.<br />
On Sundays <strong>the</strong>y played school,<br />
F<strong>in</strong>ger pa<strong>in</strong>ts sprawled across <strong>the</strong> table,<br />
A pair of hands dipped <strong>in</strong>to blue to create<br />
A telescope that sees through <strong>the</strong> sky’s mysteries,<br />
Past blue stratospheres, hidden doldrums, and o<strong>the</strong>r words to learn.<br />
Books of strange words and letters<br />
Paired with familiar pictures piled high.<br />
He picked up a pencil and spelled “dog”<br />
With a backwards d, <strong>the</strong>n g.<br />
If held up to a mirror, it would say<br />
“God,” yet ano<strong>the</strong>r secret hidden <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> leaves of <strong>the</strong> apple orchard.
esurrected | black and white photography<br />
sandra otero | lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
33
melt<strong>in</strong>g pot?<br />
The bright orange scarf<br />
that spends most days wrapped <strong>in</strong> silky dark hair<br />
is forgotten <strong>in</strong> a closet<br />
on Mondays, Wednesdays and Sundays<br />
when its owner exchanges it<br />
for a disposable hairnet,<br />
and <strong>the</strong> sunset-coloured sari<br />
ga<strong>the</strong>rs <strong>in</strong> pools on <strong>the</strong> floor.<br />
Only black pants and a white blouse<br />
are acceptable at <strong>the</strong> deli.<br />
A man drives his secondhand Ford<br />
down <strong>the</strong> lonely Pat Bay at 5 a.m.<br />
his strong Cuban hands sag<br />
at <strong>the</strong> wheel<br />
his foot eases off <strong>the</strong> gas,<br />
contemplat<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> 10 hour work day<br />
<strong>in</strong> a city where no one<br />
speaks his language.<br />
Delicate f<strong>in</strong>gers wrap deep seaweed<br />
<strong>in</strong> sticky rice<br />
ruby eggs<br />
<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> centre. Row after row,<br />
fish after fish, separated<br />
<strong>in</strong>to travel-sized boxes.<br />
This Japanese artist f<strong>in</strong>ds a story<br />
<strong>in</strong> every California roll.<br />
The spacious grocery store<br />
spills Muzak <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> aisles,<br />
has bad light<strong>in</strong>g, long hours<br />
and m<strong>in</strong>imum wage.<br />
Local teenagers work shifts on Friday, want<strong>in</strong>g<br />
a i<br />
sara hard<strong>in</strong>g<br />
victoria, british columbia, canada
for pocket money,<br />
dresses and cars.<br />
They have no idea<br />
how much <strong>the</strong> foreign workers wish<br />
privileges for <strong>the</strong>ir children.<br />
<strong>the</strong> reptile with<strong>in</strong> | photography<br />
lauren barr | lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
35
securities locked | digital photography<br />
leann colella | helena, montana, usa<br />
a i
w<strong>in</strong>ter <strong>in</strong> venice<br />
sarah munger<br />
greenwich, connecticut, usa<br />
The bluepr<strong>in</strong>t of <strong>the</strong> city is wrapped <strong>in</strong> a mythological hush,<br />
paren<strong>the</strong>ses of bridges re<strong>in</strong>carnat<strong>in</strong>g a frozen molecular love affair<br />
between <strong>the</strong> water and marble<br />
as you open your palm, postcards float<strong>in</strong>g out to <strong>the</strong> seaweed,<br />
a compass to written adventures.<br />
Heaven has settled along <strong>the</strong> stones,<br />
through <strong>the</strong> frozen, wooden crests of gondola dreams<br />
press<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> ve<strong>in</strong>s of <strong>the</strong> canals, its visual superiority haunt<strong>in</strong>g Italy,<br />
<strong>the</strong> topography giv<strong>in</strong>g birth to piers and sa<strong>in</strong>ts and snow.<br />
The <strong>in</strong>f<strong>in</strong>ite <strong>in</strong>timacy of <strong>the</strong> docks rem<strong>in</strong>ds you of Italian angels,<br />
of yellow morn<strong>in</strong>gs and <strong>the</strong> trans<strong>format</strong>ion of language,<br />
of <strong>the</strong> secret life <strong>in</strong> this dis<strong>in</strong>tegrat<strong>in</strong>g dest<strong>in</strong>ation<br />
and its never-end<strong>in</strong>g December vision.<br />
Prayer is like <strong>the</strong> anarchy of water, wild,<br />
chant<strong>in</strong>g a stream of unsatisfied romance out <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> air,<br />
silhouetted aga<strong>in</strong>st pale ca<strong>the</strong>drals, mixed <strong>in</strong> with <strong>the</strong> lost sentences of Italia,<br />
awakened by <strong>the</strong> cool, w<strong>in</strong>ter air, only to fall to <strong>the</strong> marsh below.<br />
And you wait <strong>the</strong>re, barnacled words grow<strong>in</strong>g from your mouth,<br />
rooted deep <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> moisture of your lungs, <strong>the</strong> back of your throat,<br />
<strong>the</strong> cellular <strong>in</strong>f<strong>in</strong>ity of your body puls<strong>in</strong>g its devotion,<br />
pool<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> labyr<strong>in</strong>th of <strong>the</strong> water.<br />
37
started writ<strong>in</strong>g “Unrooted” <strong>in</strong> a non-fiction class, when I was learn<strong>in</strong>g about<br />
I <strong>the</strong> “lyric essay” form. I became fasc<strong>in</strong>ated with this form, and decided to<br />
have a series of short essays that explored <strong>the</strong> different places I have lived. The<br />
speaker <strong>in</strong> each section is me; I decided to play around with different po<strong>in</strong>ts of<br />
view to show how close or distant I am to each place. The italicized paragraphs<br />
are sections from a letter I received from my fa<strong>the</strong>r shortly after we had a<br />
conversation about where I was go<strong>in</strong>g to attend college. The conversation turned<br />
<strong>in</strong>to more of an argument about <strong>the</strong> identity crisis I sometimes had, and <strong>the</strong><br />
feel<strong>in</strong>g of lack<strong>in</strong>g a home, someth<strong>in</strong>g I thought about a lot. His letter was his<br />
explanation/apology for mak<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> decision to travel throughout my childhood,<br />
someth<strong>in</strong>g I am now very thankful for, though it comes with its advantages and<br />
disadvantages (as he expla<strong>in</strong>s <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> letter).<br />
unrooted<br />
The o<strong>the</strong>r day you asked why we uprooted you from your home <strong>in</strong> Rome to drag you<br />
around <strong>the</strong> world. It’s clear from what you said that you see <strong>the</strong> negative aspects of this.<br />
I’m not an <strong>in</strong>tellectual—nor a poet—and I probably don’t have adequate words to describe<br />
our reasons <strong>in</strong> mak<strong>in</strong>g this decision. But <strong>the</strong>re were reasons, even if I can’t expla<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong>m as<br />
eloquently as I wish.<br />
Rome, Italy: 1993<br />
You start off <strong>in</strong> Italy, on <strong>the</strong> third story of an apartment, located above Teatro<br />
Grego, a Greek-style <strong>the</strong>atre with beautiful dancers twirl<strong>in</strong>g each night. The music<br />
seeps <strong>in</strong>to your room, and sometimes <strong>the</strong> urge to see <strong>the</strong>m is so strong you sneak<br />
<strong>in</strong> from backstage, sly <strong>in</strong> your ways. They know you are <strong>the</strong>re, though, <strong>the</strong>y just<br />
pretend not to notice. They don’t m<strong>in</strong>d—<strong>the</strong>y see <strong>the</strong> spark <strong>in</strong> your eyes for<br />
dance, or <strong>the</strong>atre, or someth<strong>in</strong>g of <strong>the</strong> sort—you are an artist, <strong>the</strong>y know that<br />
before you do.<br />
Around <strong>the</strong> corner <strong>the</strong>re is a bakery with your favorite pastries, bignés: puff<br />
balls with a Nutella fill<strong>in</strong>g—noth<strong>in</strong>g ever feels so right on your tongue. They have<br />
ice cream, too, and <strong>the</strong> owner of <strong>the</strong> place lives right across <strong>the</strong> hall. He knows<br />
your favorite flavors: pistachio with lemon if it’s morn<strong>in</strong>g, or straciatella with<br />
cappucc<strong>in</strong>o if it’s afternoon. Sometimes, he gives you what’s left <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> tub at <strong>the</strong><br />
end of <strong>the</strong> night. Why would someone want to leave this place, you wonder, but you<br />
are young and you have so much more to see.<br />
Imparerai l’<strong>in</strong>glese alla scuola, Mom says, but you have hated English ever s<strong>in</strong>ce<br />
a i<br />
danny rothschild<br />
<strong>in</strong>terlochen, michigan, usa<br />
norman maclean nonfiction award
you drew a picture of <strong>the</strong> sea with violent waves and on it wrote: da skai is blu.<br />
They laughed, but you couldn’t figure out why: phonetics is all you knew. You<br />
can learn Portuguese <strong>in</strong>stead, Dad <strong>in</strong>sists when you tell <strong>the</strong>m English is not good<br />
enough. That’s what <strong>the</strong>y’ll speak on <strong>the</strong> streets. This is a step up from English, but<br />
still, it doesn’t appeal to you. They keep try<strong>in</strong>g to conv<strong>in</strong>ce you, tell you mov<strong>in</strong>g<br />
is excit<strong>in</strong>g! That for <strong>the</strong> first time you will have a house with a garden and you<br />
will f<strong>in</strong>ally be able to grow <strong>the</strong> kumquat tree you have tried to grow <strong>in</strong> a small<br />
ceramic pot <strong>in</strong> your room, but failed. Maybe we can get a dog, Dad says and Mom<br />
gives him a skeptical look, but that spark <strong>in</strong> your eyes lights up. You have always<br />
wanted a dog, ever s<strong>in</strong>ce you were eighteen months old, crawl<strong>in</strong>g around <strong>the</strong><br />
apartment on all fours. There is a doggy door <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> walnut front door, even<br />
though <strong>the</strong> apartment is on <strong>the</strong> third floor and pets are not allowed. That’s what<br />
you love about this house. That, along with <strong>the</strong> green tiles <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> kitchen and <strong>the</strong><br />
big glass w<strong>in</strong>dows overlook<strong>in</strong>g a curv<strong>in</strong>g street. You love count<strong>in</strong>g cars, count<strong>in</strong>g<br />
how many blues, how many reds, how many Smarts.<br />
You love Italy, but soon won’t have a reason to. You’ll cont<strong>in</strong>ue lov<strong>in</strong>g it only<br />
because you do now: <strong>the</strong> shaky two-person elevator, <strong>the</strong> thrill that it might snap<br />
any day, <strong>the</strong> fresh bread and <strong>the</strong> familiarity of <strong>the</strong> neighborhoods. You know where<br />
<strong>the</strong> best pizza is, and <strong>the</strong> cobblestone street that takes you <strong>the</strong>re (<strong>the</strong> street is<br />
closed <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> morn<strong>in</strong>gs because of <strong>the</strong> market, and you know every smell of <strong>the</strong><br />
market). These th<strong>in</strong>gs won’t easily be forgotten, but when you visit, six or seven<br />
years later, <strong>the</strong> crisp air that used to smell of p<strong>in</strong>es will smell more of cigarettes<br />
and smoke, and you’ll feel foreign, maybe because you are <strong>the</strong> only one who<br />
doesn’t smoke, or maybe because you used to hate tomatoes. Maybe because you<br />
still won’t eat mushrooms. When you visit, <strong>the</strong> music from Teatro Grego will keep<br />
you up at night, and you will wish <strong>the</strong> place would close down.<br />
The th<strong>in</strong>gs you considered beautiful were <strong>in</strong> your child-like m<strong>in</strong>d, but you’ll<br />
lose that. In an effort to retrieve it, you will trace faded footsteps <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> parks<br />
you used to play <strong>in</strong>. You’ll return to <strong>the</strong> bakery to ask for a bigné. You might even<br />
return to <strong>the</strong> apartment and crawl around on all fours, just for <strong>the</strong> sake of it.<br />
Yes, we knew that by mov<strong>in</strong>g you would also give up any chance at roots—but Mom and<br />
I both felt that our roots were more <strong>in</strong> our connections—mostly to family—and not to a<br />
place. And that <strong>in</strong> mov<strong>in</strong>g around, you would develop roots of a different k<strong>in</strong>d—roots <strong>in</strong><br />
<strong>in</strong>dividual people, ra<strong>the</strong>r than places. Look<strong>in</strong>g back, I may have placed too much emphasis <strong>in</strong><br />
this idea—probably to conv<strong>in</strong>ce Mom that this was <strong>the</strong> right decision.<br />
Bamako, Mali: 2000<br />
Around me, I see tall grass, taller than me, sway<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>d. I can’t see<br />
<strong>the</strong> end of <strong>the</strong> field, and that’s part of its beauty. Between dry grass, I see <strong>the</strong><br />
crumbl<strong>in</strong>g dry earth, caked with <strong>the</strong> dust of last year’s Harmattan, a trade w<strong>in</strong>d<br />
blow<strong>in</strong>g dust from <strong>the</strong> Sahara all <strong>the</strong> way to North America. This is our w<strong>in</strong>ter,<br />
this w<strong>in</strong>d from <strong>the</strong> end of November until March.<br />
39
As a child I was told not to run out <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> field dur<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> Harmattan because<br />
I wouldn’t be able to f<strong>in</strong>d my way back, but I always did. Dur<strong>in</strong>g sandstorms I<br />
would sit <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> field with my legs crossed, close my eyes, bow my head and hold<br />
onto <strong>the</strong> stalks on ei<strong>the</strong>r side of me. It looked as if I was pray<strong>in</strong>g, and maybe I<br />
was. Maybe I was pray<strong>in</strong>g to <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong> gods, caus<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> sand and dust to rise off<br />
<strong>the</strong> ground and start swirl<strong>in</strong>g around my head. I always looked up and watched<br />
<strong>the</strong> shapes be<strong>in</strong>g formed: somehow those shapes always resembled a mad man.<br />
But I had been do<strong>in</strong>g no such prayer. I was an a<strong>the</strong>ist, so <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong> never came.<br />
Someth<strong>in</strong>g about me must have angered <strong>the</strong> mad man, <strong>the</strong> grass kept sway<strong>in</strong>g, as if<br />
each stalk tried to catch <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r. The dust rose, <strong>the</strong> mad man breath<strong>in</strong>g it <strong>in</strong> fast,<br />
as if he had been drown<strong>in</strong>g for months and had just now resurfaced, mistak<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong><br />
dust for air. This is when I’d run, short-legged and wide-eyed. I’d run <strong>in</strong> whatever<br />
direction—that never mattered; I’d run away from <strong>the</strong> man tear<strong>in</strong>g up <strong>the</strong> field,<br />
my field; run until I no longer heard his growl.<br />
In this field I experienced someth<strong>in</strong>g bigger than <strong>the</strong> fields, bigger <strong>the</strong>n <strong>the</strong><br />
Harmattan. I shook <strong>the</strong> dust from my hair, th<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g how much <strong>the</strong> earth had<br />
been crav<strong>in</strong>g ra<strong>in</strong>. A particle of dust was small. In this field I was small, and<br />
this field, <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> world, was small. But simply be<strong>in</strong>g is everyth<strong>in</strong>g, even if we are<br />
mean<strong>in</strong>gless, even if we are dust, because dust is noth<strong>in</strong>g, noth<strong>in</strong>g but what is <strong>in</strong><br />
<strong>the</strong> forceful blows of <strong>the</strong> Harmattan, <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> haze that hides <strong>the</strong> sun for days, and<br />
<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> greyness that mocks <strong>the</strong> sun for months. Noth<strong>in</strong>g but <strong>the</strong> lack of ra<strong>in</strong>, and<br />
that too: <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong>, and everyth<strong>in</strong>g that thrives off it after months of wait<strong>in</strong>g for<br />
noth<strong>in</strong>g; noth<strong>in</strong>g but <strong>the</strong> heat, but <strong>the</strong> dust, but <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>d.<br />
Also, you were already on <strong>the</strong> road to be<strong>in</strong>g an “<strong>in</strong>-between” kid. Your fa<strong>the</strong>r was an<br />
American, and a Jew. And while most people <strong>in</strong> Italy would probably consider you a Jew<br />
because of your last name, by Jewish standards you were not. Your mo<strong>the</strong>r was a Catholic <strong>in</strong><br />
name—but only <strong>in</strong> name. You also grew up speak<strong>in</strong>g Italian—but it was clear that know<strong>in</strong>g<br />
English would be very important for your future (You didn’t want to speak English as a<br />
young child). We also saw that <strong>in</strong> Italy, choices are much more limited than <strong>in</strong> America. We<br />
didn’t want you to grow up with those limitations—we wanted you to be freer to make your<br />
own future.<br />
Dogon, Mali: 2003<br />
You know a secret. You know that if you travel long enough, weeks canoe<strong>in</strong>g up<br />
to <strong>the</strong> Niger River, you will f<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong> Dogon people, way up north—on <strong>the</strong> way<br />
to Timbuktu. You know this because you’ve done it, and you do it aga<strong>in</strong>. You are<br />
lucky <strong>the</strong>y take you <strong>in</strong> at night—<strong>the</strong>y don’t like anyone disturb<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>ir peace, so<br />
you keep it a secret. They take you <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong>ir houses, built on <strong>the</strong> sides of a hill so<br />
steep <strong>the</strong>y stick out of <strong>the</strong> rock. You climb wooden steps carved out of logs to get<br />
from one room to <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r and at night you all sleep on <strong>the</strong> roofs to soak <strong>in</strong> as<br />
much of <strong>the</strong> cool breeze before <strong>the</strong> sun hits aga<strong>in</strong>. In <strong>the</strong> morn<strong>in</strong>g you ba<strong>the</strong> with<br />
a i
<strong>the</strong>m <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> Niger River—clearer than you have ever seen it—and you would be<br />
a fool to say an <strong>in</strong>itiation hasn’t occurred.<br />
This day <strong>the</strong>re has been a death <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> village, so <strong>the</strong>re is a celebration (<strong>the</strong>re<br />
always is). The Dogon know that when we die we fall back <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> dirt: grow<br />
back <strong>in</strong>to an animal or plant, so <strong>the</strong>y throw <strong>the</strong> ashes onto <strong>the</strong> ground and dance<br />
over <strong>the</strong>m with extravagant masks: stilts and earth-toned costumes rais<strong>in</strong>g dust<br />
around you. You so long to dance like <strong>the</strong>m, to be part of <strong>the</strong>ir tribe, to live like<br />
<strong>the</strong>y live. It’s simplicity <strong>in</strong> a new sense of <strong>the</strong> world—noth<strong>in</strong>g easy about it, but<br />
it works and it feels right, that’s what simplicity really is. That night <strong>the</strong> children<br />
teach you how to beat a drum as well as how to build a drum. In return, you show<br />
<strong>the</strong>m how to play hide-and-seek and tic-tac-toe <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> dirt. They never really<br />
understand, but it doesn’t matter.<br />
Before climb<strong>in</strong>g back up to <strong>the</strong> roofs for <strong>the</strong> night’s rest, <strong>the</strong> village ga<strong>the</strong>rs for<br />
what you guess is story time. You don’t understand <strong>the</strong>ir language but you can<br />
hear <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong>ir laughter <strong>the</strong> love <strong>the</strong>y share for each o<strong>the</strong>r. Along with <strong>the</strong>ir love,<br />
<strong>the</strong>y share <strong>the</strong>ir knowledge and take gentle care of <strong>the</strong> earth—you can tell by<br />
<strong>the</strong> way <strong>the</strong>y sit on <strong>the</strong> ground and <strong>in</strong>hale <strong>the</strong> dust. You don’t feel any different<br />
because <strong>the</strong>y don’t focus on <strong>the</strong> past, only on who you are at this very moment,<br />
and you are one of <strong>the</strong>m: sitt<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> a circle under a boundless sky full of vivid<br />
stars. You are one of <strong>the</strong>m, climb<strong>in</strong>g up wooden steps to fall asleep as close to<br />
<strong>the</strong> stars as you’ll ever get; that’s why your love for <strong>the</strong>m s<strong>in</strong>ks deeper than <strong>the</strong><br />
tomorrow’s ris<strong>in</strong>g heat.<br />
You stay awake a little longer than <strong>the</strong> rest, creat<strong>in</strong>g your own constellations,<br />
like you imag<strong>in</strong>e <strong>the</strong>y once did. When <strong>the</strong> village is asleep you watch <strong>the</strong> stars<br />
turn<strong>in</strong>g until you realize it’s you that’s sp<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g, and f<strong>in</strong>ally you understand what<br />
<strong>the</strong> Dogon are all about. Too many people today believe <strong>the</strong> world revolves<br />
around <strong>the</strong>m, that <strong>the</strong> Earth itself is confused as to what direction it should be<br />
sp<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g, but you! You know a secret, you learned from <strong>the</strong> Dogon, that we are all<br />
part of someth<strong>in</strong>g bigger, someth<strong>in</strong>g promis<strong>in</strong>g, progress<strong>in</strong>g to equilibrium with<br />
<strong>the</strong> belief that <strong>the</strong>re is no life after this, but know<strong>in</strong>g this one never ends.<br />
You know a secret: <strong>the</strong>re is ano<strong>the</strong>r world, but it’s with<strong>in</strong> this one.<br />
Anyway, we saw mostly <strong>the</strong> positive side of th<strong>in</strong>gs—and concentrated on those (I was<br />
probably <strong>in</strong> denial about <strong>the</strong> negative aspects). Had we looked more honestly at <strong>the</strong> possible<br />
negative aspects, we might have decided o<strong>the</strong>rwise, but I doubt it. I’ve always been an<br />
optimist, and ra<strong>the</strong>r headstrong (as you know), and once I make up my m<strong>in</strong>d to someth<strong>in</strong>g, I<br />
move forward pretty quickly. Also, I wanted Mom to experience what I went through—be<strong>in</strong>g<br />
an outsider, hav<strong>in</strong>g to communicate with people <strong>in</strong> a language not my own, and learn<strong>in</strong>g<br />
about o<strong>the</strong>r cultures. And for me, this happens when you live <strong>in</strong> a place for an extended<br />
period of time. For me, it’s only <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> second year of liv<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> a place that I feel I start to<br />
understand it.<br />
41
Abuja, Nigeria: 2005<br />
In Nigeria, I ga<strong>in</strong>ed my <strong>in</strong>dependence, though I didn’t necessarily see that as a<br />
good th<strong>in</strong>g. I lived <strong>in</strong> transit; spent more time mov<strong>in</strong>g from house to house than<br />
<strong>in</strong> a house itself. When we first moved to Abuja we lived <strong>in</strong> a life camp: fifteen<br />
or twenty houses scattered around, each with a separate fence and bars on <strong>the</strong><br />
w<strong>in</strong>dows, six watchmen roam<strong>in</strong>g around and barbed wire on an eight-foot wall<br />
surround<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> camp.<br />
My fa<strong>the</strong>r worked for <strong>the</strong> Millennium Project, a project based on accomplish<strong>in</strong>g<br />
eight different goals <strong>in</strong> twelve villages throughout Africa by <strong>the</strong> year 2015. He<br />
worked with <strong>the</strong> village of Pampaida, though we lived <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> capitol, several<br />
hours south, because I needed to go to school. Only a week after he moved, <strong>the</strong><br />
head supervisor of <strong>the</strong> project passed away and my fa<strong>the</strong>r took his place. For <strong>the</strong><br />
first time <strong>in</strong> twenty years my parents would live away from each o<strong>the</strong>r, and <strong>the</strong>y<br />
weren’t happy about it. At first my dad drove down on <strong>the</strong> weekends, but soon<br />
after that he contracted malaria so my mo<strong>the</strong>r decided to stay with him until he<br />
felt better. In ten days, his health came back, but my mo<strong>the</strong>r never did.<br />
I moved <strong>in</strong> with <strong>the</strong> neighbors, an old couple from New Zealand. They took<br />
wonderful care of me. I had my own room, <strong>the</strong> guest room, but it was just that:<br />
constantly feel<strong>in</strong>g like a guest. The feel<strong>in</strong>g didn’t change visit<strong>in</strong>g my parents <strong>in</strong><br />
<strong>the</strong> village. On <strong>the</strong> weekends I took a bus to see <strong>the</strong>m. Because of <strong>the</strong> unpaved<br />
dirt roads and <strong>the</strong> rusty vehicle, <strong>the</strong> drive took n<strong>in</strong>e hours. The consistency of <strong>the</strong><br />
trip became more familiar than sleep<strong>in</strong>g on <strong>the</strong> couch <strong>in</strong> my parent’s home, more<br />
familiar than <strong>the</strong> floral-patterned guest room. The same driver always drove <strong>the</strong><br />
bus (Fatima, was her name), <strong>the</strong> same woman cooked fries on <strong>the</strong> side of <strong>the</strong> road<br />
where we would stop for lunch. The same boy with <strong>the</strong> same goats (I never knew<br />
why he brought <strong>the</strong>m back and forth), <strong>the</strong> same pregnant woman go<strong>in</strong>g back to<br />
her family after a long week of work, <strong>the</strong> same potholes on <strong>the</strong> same road. Soon I<br />
didn’t need Fatima to tell me when to hold onto my seat; I knew <strong>the</strong> path by heart<br />
because it was <strong>the</strong> closest th<strong>in</strong>g I had to a home.<br />
The bus ride started becom<strong>in</strong>g a habit, but dur<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> elections th<strong>in</strong>gs got<br />
serious. They cancelled school every o<strong>the</strong>r day because of bomb threats, and <strong>the</strong><br />
neighbors I stayed with left, decided it was too dangerous after see<strong>in</strong>g one man<br />
stab ano<strong>the</strong>r to death on a Thursday. I felt safe: we had barbed wire on <strong>the</strong> eight<br />
foot wall, guards at night, bars on <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>dow, but that’s why <strong>the</strong>y left, because of<br />
<strong>the</strong> guards, <strong>the</strong> bars and <strong>the</strong> eight-foot wall.<br />
The last four weeks were spent <strong>in</strong> my parent’s village, <strong>the</strong>ir village, not m<strong>in</strong>e.<br />
The house belonged to <strong>the</strong>m and I was just a guest, aga<strong>in</strong>, sleep<strong>in</strong>g on <strong>the</strong>ir couch.<br />
At night I would sit outside, wait for <strong>the</strong> broken headlights of <strong>the</strong> bus to sh<strong>in</strong>e<br />
<strong>the</strong>ir dim light on <strong>the</strong> road. I always waved to Fatima and she waved back, but<br />
only for a m<strong>in</strong>ute, <strong>the</strong>n my home would drive away.<br />
a i
I’m not philosophically <strong>in</strong>cl<strong>in</strong>ed. I like to read about ideas—but I’m not a deep th<strong>in</strong>ker.<br />
I’m much more a pragmatic person—I do what I th<strong>in</strong>k is right at <strong>the</strong> moment, without<br />
analyz<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> deeper mean<strong>in</strong>g. So, as I didn’t have <strong>the</strong> ties to a physical place, I opted to<br />
tie us to a lifestyle that I thought would compensate for <strong>the</strong> th<strong>in</strong>gs I thought I couldn’t<br />
give you myself. I thought this lifestyle would give you an appreciation of cultures, of<br />
language, of humanity. Also, <strong>in</strong> a narrow-m<strong>in</strong>ded way, I probably thought that you would<br />
grow up with people with similar ideas—people <strong>in</strong>terested <strong>in</strong> better<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>mselves and<br />
<strong>the</strong> world around <strong>the</strong>m.<br />
Nor<strong>the</strong>rn Michigan: 2010<br />
After mov<strong>in</strong>g to board<strong>in</strong>g school and trudg<strong>in</strong>g through four w<strong>in</strong>ters, I have<br />
learned that Nor<strong>the</strong>rn Michigan is all about small gods. I f<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong>m everywhere,<br />
and <strong>the</strong>y whisper <strong>the</strong> same th<strong>in</strong>g. In a summer day <strong>the</strong>y speak to <strong>the</strong> sunflowers<br />
and say, yes, turn your heads to <strong>the</strong> left, just a little bit more, a little bit upwards. In a<br />
summer day <strong>the</strong>y hide <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> goldenrod and under <strong>the</strong> fea<strong>the</strong>rs of an American<br />
bittern who I hear but never see while rid<strong>in</strong>g a river down to a new lake. In<br />
autumn, <strong>the</strong>y tell me to wait for <strong>the</strong> green po<strong>in</strong>ted leaves of a sugar maple to fade<br />
a little, turn yellow, and fall to brown. I hear <strong>the</strong>m brea<strong>the</strong>, <strong>the</strong>ir whispers, yes,<br />
<strong>the</strong>y are <strong>the</strong> rustle <strong>in</strong> dry leaves. When <strong>the</strong> fields are covered <strong>in</strong> frost, <strong>the</strong>y say wait<br />
for <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong>. They are <strong>the</strong> reason some flakes fall towards <strong>the</strong> sky. I can see <strong>the</strong>m,<br />
look<strong>in</strong>g out my w<strong>in</strong>dow, under <strong>the</strong> light of a lamppost.<br />
They are gods, and <strong>the</strong>y say, yes, and home is this sphere, roll<strong>in</strong>g around on<br />
<strong>the</strong>ir shelf. They say wait for <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong>, for <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong> and for <strong>the</strong> first ferns to unfurl, and<br />
I know that’s where I’ll f<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong>m. So I wait for <strong>the</strong> spr<strong>in</strong>g fleas to spot <strong>the</strong> snow<br />
with dots and for <strong>the</strong> ice to s<strong>in</strong>k out of sight. I wait for <strong>the</strong> freckles to return to<br />
my face, and when <strong>the</strong> mayflies arrive I go out and search for <strong>the</strong> gods, for <strong>the</strong><br />
whispers.<br />
They are <strong>the</strong>re: <strong>the</strong>y are <strong>the</strong> smell of rotten oaks and broken birch bark, <strong>the</strong>y<br />
are <strong>the</strong> early days of aspen seeds. They are <strong>the</strong>re, but I can’t see <strong>the</strong>m, and I want<br />
to ask <strong>the</strong>m why! But I already know why. Because yes, <strong>the</strong>y whisper while I try to<br />
fall asleep, you planted <strong>the</strong> daffodils too late and yes, it was too cold, and no, <strong>the</strong>y won’t<br />
show <strong>the</strong>ir face this spr<strong>in</strong>g. The mayflies drop and blow away with <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>d, and <strong>the</strong><br />
whispers are <strong>the</strong> whistle carry<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>m away. I’m left with <strong>the</strong> “who cooks for you”<br />
of <strong>the</strong> barred owl, somewhere outside my w<strong>in</strong>dow before I fall asleep. This tells<br />
me it is and I am home, wait<strong>in</strong>g for <strong>the</strong> leaves to change to red aga<strong>in</strong>.<br />
Am I sorry we made this choice? If I said I was, I’d be ly<strong>in</strong>g. I’m happy to be do<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong><br />
work and liv<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> lifestyle I do. I’m sorry at times for Mom, not hav<strong>in</strong>g friends around,<br />
and for you, not hav<strong>in</strong>g a solid home base. But I tend to ignore <strong>the</strong> negative side of th<strong>in</strong>gs,<br />
and concentrate on what I see as positives. Maybe I’m just stick<strong>in</strong>g my head <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> ground,<br />
43
hop<strong>in</strong>g (wrongly?) that th<strong>in</strong>gs will work out for <strong>the</strong> best. But that, too, is me. I hope you can<br />
understand me, and my motives. And forgive me. I may well have been wrong—but it wasn’t<br />
for <strong>the</strong> wrong motives. I’ve always wanted <strong>the</strong> best for you <strong>in</strong> everyth<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
Love, Dad<br />
Tuscany, Italy: Always<br />
There is a house <strong>in</strong> La Verna, and it is hidden <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> clouds. There is a house at<br />
<strong>the</strong> top of a hill, not too far from <strong>the</strong> monastery where St. Francis is said to have<br />
spent his nights <strong>in</strong> a cave. At night <strong>the</strong> monastery is lit up so bright from far away<br />
you’d th<strong>in</strong>k a star is rest<strong>in</strong>g on <strong>the</strong> hill. There is a house at <strong>the</strong> top of <strong>the</strong> hill, and<br />
that’s someth<strong>in</strong>g we will always have.<br />
We have not yet f<strong>in</strong>ished travell<strong>in</strong>g, and with each move, we ship our favorite<br />
art back to this house, which has become a museum. There are masks all along <strong>the</strong><br />
stairway from every place we’ve called home. The faces whisper to you, answer<br />
any questions you may have. In <strong>the</strong> corners <strong>the</strong>re are sculptures cover<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong><br />
walls: cloth pa<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>gs, batiks, th<strong>in</strong>gs that are too beautiful for us to let go.<br />
It’s all <strong>the</strong>re, hidden <strong>in</strong>side <strong>the</strong> house, and <strong>the</strong> house is hidden too, way up on<br />
a hill, way up <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> clouds. But it’s <strong>the</strong>re: brick walls and a fireplace, kitchen<br />
overlook<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> valleys—and <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> autumn you can’t tell <strong>the</strong> difference between<br />
<strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>dow and a pa<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
The house is at <strong>the</strong> top of a hill and <strong>the</strong> hill is so bright with red and orange: a<br />
forest fire of leaves, and that’s someth<strong>in</strong>g we will always have to return to; a real<br />
fire <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>ter; poppies <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> spr<strong>in</strong>g. In <strong>the</strong> summer: family that we have not<br />
seen <strong>in</strong> years, sitt<strong>in</strong>g around a round glass table eat<strong>in</strong>g cherries picked earlier<br />
from our own trees, and dr<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g w<strong>in</strong>e W<strong>in</strong>e we found <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> cellar, w<strong>in</strong>e that<br />
grandfa<strong>the</strong>r made when he built <strong>the</strong> house.<br />
Even though <strong>the</strong> summers don’t last long, <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>ters are cold, and we aren’t<br />
always <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> midst of <strong>the</strong> autumn fire, we have <strong>the</strong> burn<strong>in</strong>g sunsets etched <strong>in</strong>to<br />
our eyelids. We see <strong>the</strong> sunsets each night when we close our eyes, no matter<br />
where we are. We’ll see <strong>the</strong> sunsets each night, wherever we go.<br />
a i
Rudy Autio Visual Art Award<br />
portrait | oil on canvas<br />
sam glencross | carlisle, cumbria, uk<br />
45
cha<strong>in</strong>ed to time | photography<br />
jonas upman | lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
a i
hav<strong>in</strong>g lunch with tony<br />
louise burton<br />
atlantic beach, florida, usa<br />
Where are you? he calls out.<br />
I th<strong>in</strong>k about my answer<br />
want<strong>in</strong>g to make sure I get it exactly right<br />
so <strong>the</strong>re will be no doubt he will f<strong>in</strong>d me aga<strong>in</strong>.<br />
I see <strong>the</strong> bottom of <strong>the</strong> earth, relative to <strong>the</strong> top<br />
which is relative to <strong>the</strong> bottom.<br />
The tip of my f<strong>in</strong>ger on <strong>the</strong> crest of my knee<br />
which is bent at a table <strong>in</strong> sou<strong>the</strong>rn Oregon,<br />
relative to nor<strong>the</strong>rn Oregon.<br />
A table, which is sh<strong>in</strong>y, relative to <strong>the</strong> tables<br />
<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> Cuban restaurant <strong>in</strong> Santa Monica.<br />
Santa Monica is warm, relative to <strong>the</strong> top of <strong>the</strong> stove<br />
which is hot. After it is turned on.<br />
The absolute bottom of <strong>the</strong> glass,<br />
relative to <strong>the</strong> place from which I dr<strong>in</strong>k.<br />
I lift my glass off of this<br />
sh<strong>in</strong>y table <strong>in</strong> nor<strong>the</strong>rn Oregon, which is only<br />
Oregon relative to its own namelessness.<br />
Oregon which is only real relative to <strong>the</strong> thoughts <strong>in</strong> my bra<strong>in</strong><br />
which have congregated a reply:<br />
I am here!<br />
I place a stake <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> ground:<br />
everyth<strong>in</strong>g is relative to this.<br />
47
<strong>the</strong> hOle<br />
It was gett<strong>in</strong>g harder to pronounce <strong>the</strong> letter O because of a hole on <strong>the</strong> place<br />
where my sk<strong>in</strong> should be cover<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> heart. I jumped out of <strong>the</strong> atmospheric<br />
fevers of <strong>the</strong> car, hurry<strong>in</strong>g to study <strong>the</strong> album that my friends had sent from South<br />
Korea. I exhaled and vacantly felt my chest <strong>in</strong>flate and go down. Then I felt <strong>the</strong><br />
hole aga<strong>in</strong>.<br />
I had no idea exactly when <strong>the</strong> hole had appeared <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> right middle of my<br />
chest. I noticed it one afternoon when I was tak<strong>in</strong>g off my clo<strong>the</strong>s. It was just<br />
<strong>the</strong>re, like an <strong>in</strong>born function. Nowadays it was gett<strong>in</strong>g bigger. Still, no one else<br />
knew what was happen<strong>in</strong>g under my shirt.<br />
I waited for Mom for a while, glanc<strong>in</strong>g at <strong>the</strong> broken w<strong>in</strong>dows next door. They<br />
were my younger bro<strong>the</strong>r’s work. His obsession towards sports had started <strong>the</strong><br />
day we’d arrived at this new house, and had cont<strong>in</strong>ued ‘til last week when he’d<br />
f<strong>in</strong>ally driven a soccer ball <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>dow next door.<br />
“They didn’t fix <strong>the</strong> th<strong>in</strong>g. Didn’t ya pay yet?” I said to Mom, try<strong>in</strong>g not to<br />
<strong>in</strong>clude O <strong>in</strong> my words. At least she got what I meant.<br />
“Of course I did. It’s empty anyway. Who wants to live <strong>in</strong> such a house?”<br />
It was true. The house hadn’t been owned by any family for <strong>the</strong> last five months<br />
s<strong>in</strong>ce we moved to Brookside Avenue. Who would live <strong>in</strong> a house that looks like a<br />
garage?<br />
I rushed down <strong>the</strong> hallway to my room and almost hit my bro<strong>the</strong>r. Without<br />
even say<strong>in</strong>g sorry to him, I got to my room. Door closed. After tak<strong>in</strong>g off my old<br />
boots and kick<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>m away, I escaped from all <strong>the</strong> swelter<strong>in</strong>g, unpleasant th<strong>in</strong>gs<br />
outside. I picked up <strong>the</strong> album and opened it carefully like it was fragile. The<br />
pictures of uniforms, <strong>the</strong> same hairstyles and smiles of my friends caught my eyes,<br />
<strong>in</strong>vok<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> memories buried under my m<strong>in</strong>d. I remembered <strong>the</strong> small dune<br />
<strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>d used to make on our grassless school field, and <strong>the</strong> pigeons that used to<br />
look for food <strong>the</strong>re. I was <strong>in</strong> my cool room, which now started to change <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong><br />
world I had belonged to. I closed my eyes, s<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> illusion.<br />
It was about d<strong>in</strong>ner time when I f<strong>in</strong>ally woke up and went to <strong>the</strong> bathroom.<br />
The door was open, and <strong>the</strong>re was my bro<strong>the</strong>r, motionless <strong>in</strong> front of <strong>the</strong> steamed<br />
mirror <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> dim daylight reflected through <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>dow. Slowly stepp<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong><br />
bathroom, I called his name. The summer heat was start<strong>in</strong>g to drown me aga<strong>in</strong>.<br />
“Hey, JOhn?”<br />
Then I realized it was not hurt<strong>in</strong>g to say O words anymore. I took one more<br />
step. Then I saw it. I saw a hole <strong>in</strong> his chest, bigger than m<strong>in</strong>e. I got frozen,<br />
a i<br />
hyun park<br />
allendale, new jersey, usa
look<strong>in</strong>g at <strong>the</strong> hole. John moved his eyes from <strong>the</strong> mirror and stared at my eyes.<br />
Suddenly I felt cold and heard my mouth whisper two O words.<br />
“Oh, gOd.”<br />
wander<strong>in</strong>g curiosity| traditional black and white photography<br />
chloe hay| lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
49
elementary<br />
Metaphors for love come <strong>in</strong> all elements:<br />
My heart is on fire; I feel light as air.<br />
Your beauty washes over me; your beauty is a flower.<br />
To be more exact:<br />
When I see you I feel <strong>the</strong> core of my body<br />
float<strong>in</strong>g on perilous, burn<strong>in</strong>g waves of cloud<br />
far above <strong>the</strong> ocean, while th<strong>in</strong> air<br />
fills my blood. Or:<br />
You are oxygen; you are helium.<br />
You are chlor<strong>in</strong>e; I am sodium.<br />
I am water and you potassium, or,<br />
mov<strong>in</strong>g down (past your hair, your white neck) cesium,<br />
or (your <strong>in</strong>credible shoulders, impossible clavicles) francium.<br />
The elements of style also apply:<br />
You form <strong>the</strong> possessive s<strong>in</strong>gular by add<strong>in</strong>g ’s,<br />
as <strong>in</strong> I am your’s; you enclose paren<strong>the</strong>tic expressions<br />
(those eyes!) between patches of freckles.<br />
You use a dash to set off an abrupt break <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> illusion<br />
that <strong>the</strong>re’s noth<strong>in</strong>g here I want. The smile<br />
of <strong>the</strong> subject determ<strong>in</strong>es <strong>the</strong> smile of <strong>the</strong> verb to want,<br />
that is, I want with tears or I want with tears<br />
and a smile.<br />
In addition to <strong>the</strong> elements,<br />
Telemann and <strong>the</strong> Hellespont are also relevant.<br />
Your vocal chords correspond to <strong>the</strong> viol,<br />
and <strong>the</strong> Hellespont gives <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> Mediterranean<br />
as I give <strong>in</strong> to you,<br />
ever more your beauty’s rambl<strong>in</strong>g revenant.<br />
a i<br />
mattis deutch<br />
nashville, tennessee, usa
arren | photography<br />
sarah hirschey| lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
51
umous cemetery<br />
Pennsylvania dirt brittle, brackish,<br />
compressed by ra<strong>in</strong>fall of bitter moon,<br />
starstruck and shattered, strewn with stone spices<br />
Mat<strong>the</strong>w Miller, 1917<br />
dirt compressed on desolate bones: a pelvis, an elbow<br />
blue sky over blue lake,<br />
blue cries of blue newborn, premature, doomed<br />
blue eyes sh<strong>in</strong>e through blue brume under blue sun<br />
green grass meets green sea<br />
green gasps churn green peace, land among green pastures<br />
green eyes follow green music<br />
red sky highlights red lips,<br />
red heart bloom<strong>in</strong>g red peonies, everlast<strong>in</strong>g<br />
red eyes crave red body<br />
white ground sweetens salty, life-suck<strong>in</strong>g dirt,<br />
white sky hides white sun from white faces<br />
white eyes see darkness <strong>in</strong> white landscape<br />
dirt brittle, brackish, compressed, starstruck, shattered,<br />
maroon eyes, darkened by ris<strong>in</strong>g dust, fall<strong>in</strong>g void of <strong>the</strong> Universe,<br />
crave body,<br />
satisfied by a red hand, foot, ear<br />
to cradle <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> blue night under a green moon,<br />
white face turned away, a wr<strong>in</strong>kled lily<br />
violet sunset bursts with violet cries,<br />
violet condemnations <strong>in</strong>tertw<strong>in</strong>ed with violent sobs<br />
violet fireworks descend<strong>in</strong>g over violet stream of unrecognizable, violet faces<br />
Matthow Müller, pile of bones buried <strong>in</strong> Brittany, has no pelvis.<br />
a i<br />
elissa watters<br />
rye, new york, usa
sulfur m<strong>in</strong>e <strong>in</strong> seltún | digital photography<br />
jamie maffeo| brooklyn, new york, usa<br />
53
watch<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong>storm from<br />
<strong>the</strong> edge of frye lake<br />
a i<br />
julia deangelo<br />
greenwich, connecticut, usa<br />
Richard Hugo Sense of Place Award<br />
The front of <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong> comes towards me. It’s like dom<strong>in</strong>os fall<strong>in</strong>g or water spill<strong>in</strong>g<br />
from <strong>the</strong> vase my elbow just bumped or spr<strong>in</strong>kles decorat<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> cake I just<br />
baked; a controlled and gentle motion mov<strong>in</strong>g from left to right. Sweet drops<br />
of noth<strong>in</strong>g. These delicate chocolate chips fell at <strong>the</strong> edge <strong>the</strong>n slowly, just a hair<br />
quicker than clouds roll by, melted towards me, <strong>the</strong>ir purity engulf<strong>in</strong>g me.<br />
My dear cous<strong>in</strong>, <strong>the</strong> ra<strong>in</strong>storm. I am all too familiar with you. The water droplets<br />
that dramatically fall from <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>ner corners of my eyes are <strong>the</strong> masterm<strong>in</strong>ds<br />
beh<strong>in</strong>d this hurricane. This world has named me <strong>the</strong>ir own. A place where my<br />
freckles blend <strong>in</strong> with <strong>the</strong> mud and <strong>the</strong> color of my complexion is of a young<br />
tree’s. Here I decide that all th<strong>in</strong>gs good for me can be found here. Maple syrup is<br />
<strong>the</strong> best friend to my sweet tooth. The glassy water mirror rem<strong>in</strong>ds me of what I<br />
could become. Berries blessed by a bird’s own lips.<br />
My love stems from a wildflower and my beauty from this dirt. The faded buoy is<br />
my Beanie Baby, <strong>the</strong> marshmallow keep<strong>in</strong>g me above water when sea grass gets<br />
hungry. The w<strong>in</strong>d s<strong>in</strong>gs my lullaby, a gentle vibrato that bubbles up to <strong>the</strong> surface.<br />
A p<strong>in</strong>e tree with <strong>the</strong> leaves of true ra<strong>in</strong>bow of colors is my ra<strong>in</strong>coat that I share<br />
with <strong>the</strong> ducks.<br />
I could seal my w<strong>in</strong>dow shut when <strong>the</strong> power goes out. Or I can stay here and<br />
see how peacefully nature deals with its anger. The w<strong>in</strong>d vents without break<strong>in</strong>g<br />
anyone’s heart, even if sometimes it claims a w<strong>in</strong>dowpane.<br />
I can identify a p<strong>in</strong>e tree but can’t expla<strong>in</strong> why <strong>the</strong> most beautiful artwork I see is<br />
<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> clouds. I’m still learn<strong>in</strong>g how to rest my head on a rock, <strong>the</strong> cushion of this<br />
Earth’s physic.
<strong>the</strong> sky is <strong>the</strong> limit| photographic manipulation<br />
sebastian mansour| carlisle, cumbria, uk<br />
55
excuse me, SirRealism<br />
SirRealism is walk<strong>in</strong>g on Hollywood Boulevard<br />
with words <strong>in</strong> his pockets<br />
and poetry <strong>in</strong> his sp<strong>in</strong>e.<br />
The back of his head looks like his face<br />
and I reach out to feel his heartbeat<br />
but <strong>the</strong>re is a vacuum<br />
where his chest is supposed to be.<br />
“Excuse me, sir,” I say.<br />
“I th<strong>in</strong>k you dropped your heart<br />
on <strong>the</strong> sidewalk.”<br />
I gesture to <strong>the</strong> muscle<br />
on Hollywood Boulevard<br />
that is ta<strong>in</strong>ted with arteries<br />
and hollowed beyond its chambers<br />
but he does not turn around.<br />
“Sir, I wish I could pick it up for you,” I tell him.<br />
“But my hands are too rough<br />
for a fragile th<strong>in</strong>g<br />
like that.”<br />
He still does not speak.<br />
“Sir!” I say,<br />
louder this time.<br />
“Your heart is bleed<strong>in</strong>g<br />
on Hollywood Boulevard.<br />
Your four chambers are dis<strong>in</strong>tegrat<strong>in</strong>g.”<br />
I grab <strong>the</strong> crook of his elbow<br />
for emphasis<br />
because touch<br />
is supposed to mean more<br />
than words<br />
ever can.<br />
“Sir,” I say aga<strong>in</strong>.<br />
“You’re bleed<strong>in</strong>g.”<br />
a i<br />
joanne koong<br />
irv<strong>in</strong>e, california, usa
He stops walk<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
He does not turn around<br />
and he does not<br />
look at me<br />
but he has stopped walk<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
“Tell me what I am bleed<strong>in</strong>g, child,” he says.<br />
His words come<br />
from <strong>the</strong> fr<strong>in</strong>ges of his throat<br />
and if I could have wrapped myself<br />
around <strong>the</strong> carpet of his tongue,<br />
he would have rubbed me raw.<br />
“Tell me what I am bleed<strong>in</strong>g<br />
on Hollywood Boulevard.”<br />
I stop and look<br />
beh<strong>in</strong>d me<br />
to see what is left<br />
between tangents of arteries, valves, and ventricles<br />
collid<strong>in</strong>g geometrically.<br />
“You’re bleed<strong>in</strong>g Mark Twa<strong>in</strong> and Henry James,” I tell him.<br />
“Look harder,” he says.<br />
I look closer.<br />
“Breton and Dalí and Márquez too.”<br />
“Look even harder,” he says.<br />
I take a few steps closer<br />
to where his heart is.<br />
“You’re not bleed<strong>in</strong>g anyth<strong>in</strong>g,” I say.<br />
“No. My child, I’m bleed<strong>in</strong>g cliché.”<br />
“You’re not, sir! You’re not!” I protest.<br />
“You’re SirRealism! You’re truth.”<br />
He laughs<br />
and when he laughs<br />
it’s from <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>side out<br />
<strong>in</strong>stead of <strong>the</strong> outside <strong>in</strong>.<br />
“Truth is evolution’s cliché.<br />
Especially on Hollywood Boulevard.”<br />
57
Without ano<strong>the</strong>r word,<br />
he walks away<br />
and I am alone<br />
on Hollywood Boulevard<br />
with <strong>the</strong> modern cliché heart<br />
that belonged to SirRealism.<br />
collage portrait | mixed media<br />
kristen miller | lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
a i
learn<strong>in</strong>g to skip rocks<br />
Her f<strong>in</strong>gers hover above <strong>the</strong> dirt<br />
test<strong>in</strong>g a rock for <strong>the</strong> feel<strong>in</strong>g she had<br />
been taught was right while crouched <strong>in</strong><br />
<strong>the</strong> wr<strong>in</strong>kles of <strong>the</strong> creek hours ago, cold water<br />
from his rock, rest<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> her palm, chill<strong>in</strong>g<br />
<strong>the</strong> sk<strong>in</strong> as she memorized <strong>the</strong> weight.<br />
It had taken six or seven rocks<br />
before she picked <strong>the</strong> right k<strong>in</strong>d.<br />
Now <strong>the</strong> mounta<strong>in</strong> water reflects <strong>the</strong> image of<br />
<strong>the</strong>m, and swans, paired<br />
as <strong>the</strong>y shed <strong>the</strong>ir fea<strong>the</strong>rs <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />
July seasoned water that washes<br />
up on <strong>the</strong> lake shore around her feet as she<br />
counts his ripples,<br />
like she counts <strong>the</strong> snowflakes at w<strong>in</strong>ter<br />
time and <strong>the</strong> way she counts<br />
to <strong>the</strong> summer solstice.<br />
The ripples settle, his rock becom<strong>in</strong>g<br />
a part of <strong>the</strong> reflections,<br />
a flipped dimension of trees<br />
and swans and mounta<strong>in</strong>s and a girl<br />
stand<strong>in</strong>g awkwardly at <strong>the</strong> edge, hand<br />
strok<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> sky a few times before she releases<br />
her rock, and waits<br />
to count <strong>the</strong> ripples.<br />
brittany soder<br />
jacksonville, florida, usa<br />
59
<strong>the</strong> house<br />
The build<strong>in</strong>g shift<strong>in</strong>g slowly to <strong>the</strong> ground.<br />
Its hollow w<strong>in</strong>dows— its bare wooden wall.<br />
Its f<strong>in</strong>e earth, which it cannot own, but borrows.<br />
Its graceful th<strong>in</strong>gs, its memory:<br />
A young woman walk<strong>in</strong>g;<br />
a white horse walk<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
The old woman still lives <strong>the</strong>re,<br />
<strong>the</strong> old woman still keeps <strong>the</strong> garden,<br />
<strong>the</strong> old woman still weeds around <strong>the</strong> phantoms pour<strong>in</strong>g<br />
from <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>dows.<br />
The snow <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>ter <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> dark.<br />
She lives alone.<br />
The white horse walk<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> dark.<br />
Dur<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>ter she is lonely.<br />
(she would ra<strong>the</strong>r not be alone)<br />
(she makes do)<br />
A young woman walk<strong>in</strong>g through <strong>the</strong> night.<br />
After all this time,<br />
<strong>the</strong> horse bones under <strong>the</strong> flowers,<br />
after all this time—<br />
she did not own but borrowed,<br />
<strong>the</strong> house had owned <strong>the</strong>m all.<br />
a i<br />
monica nederend<br />
delta, british columbia, canada
usted roots | 35mm film contact sheet photography<br />
emma reaney | lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
61
all <strong>in</strong> your hands<br />
Последний автобус уехал в депо.<br />
Четверть первого.<br />
И это не так, и это не то...<br />
В оттенках серого.<br />
Мелькают в сознаньи обрывки снов.<br />
Опять на рельсах.<br />
Весь мир завывает стаей волков.<br />
Унылая пьеса.<br />
Решительный шаг в непроглядный туман.<br />
На прошлое - вето.<br />
осенние звёзды танцуют канкан<br />
По дороге в лето.<br />
The last autobus gone out out to to its it’s depot.<br />
Twelve fifteen.<br />
And this isn’t right, and that those isn’t isn’t true… true…<br />
With t<strong>in</strong>ts of gray.<br />
In my m<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong> <strong>the</strong> fragments of of dreams.<br />
Aga<strong>in</strong> on on <strong>the</strong> <strong>the</strong> rails.<br />
The whole world is is howl<strong>in</strong>g as as wolfs— wolfs -<br />
The cheerless play. play.<br />
Decisive<br />
Decisive step<br />
step<br />
<strong>in</strong><br />
<strong>in</strong><br />
<strong>the</strong><br />
<strong>the</strong><br />
darkness<br />
darkness<br />
fog,<br />
fog,<br />
The past is forbidden ground.<br />
The past is forbidden ground.<br />
And autumn stars are danc<strong>in</strong>g cancan<br />
And autumn stars are danc<strong>in</strong>g cancan<br />
On <strong>the</strong> road, where summer was found.<br />
On <strong>the</strong> road, where summer was found.<br />
a i<br />
pol<strong>in</strong>a kamenskaja<br />
kazan, tatarstan, russia<br />
Student: Pol<strong>in</strong>a Kamen<br />
Teacher: Elena Eg<br />
Russia.Kazan. Gymnasium
a<strong>in</strong> | watercolour and gouache on paper<br />
kseniya bistrova | kazan, tatarstan, russia<br />
63
wait<strong>in</strong>g for sunsh<strong>in</strong>e | film photography<br />
sara kelly ventura| lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
a i
elissa watters<br />
rye, new york, usa<br />
James Welch Fiction Award<br />
<strong>the</strong> harmony of <strong>the</strong> storm<br />
In <strong>the</strong> beg<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>re was a rumble. A rumble so fa<strong>in</strong>t it could have been<br />
Andy’s stomach. So fa<strong>in</strong>t I decided to ignore it and keep my eyes focused on<br />
<strong>the</strong> game. But as Teddy stepped up to bat, I heard a low moan. I hesitated at<br />
<strong>the</strong> pa<strong>the</strong>tic plea for help, but before I could ask Andy what he had eaten for<br />
lunch, <strong>the</strong> ball was <strong>in</strong> play. One second <strong>the</strong> ball was fly<strong>in</strong>g from Ned’s f<strong>in</strong>gertips,<br />
sp<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g out of control like an asteroid plummet<strong>in</strong>g through dark, open space,<br />
and <strong>the</strong> next second it was fly<strong>in</strong>g back past Ned, through <strong>the</strong> vast space over <strong>the</strong><br />
open field. And as I watched <strong>the</strong> ball soar through <strong>the</strong> air, <strong>the</strong>re was suddenly a<br />
great, deafen<strong>in</strong>g roar of protestation.<br />
As <strong>the</strong> storm f<strong>in</strong>ally broke, all of <strong>the</strong> sudden, everyth<strong>in</strong>g was <strong>in</strong> harmony: <strong>the</strong><br />
ball fly<strong>in</strong>g towards <strong>the</strong> trees at <strong>the</strong> edge of <strong>the</strong> field, Teddy runn<strong>in</strong>g towards third<br />
base, <strong>the</strong> tree fall<strong>in</strong>g towards me.<br />
Ano<strong>the</strong>r flash and I was runn<strong>in</strong>g. Runn<strong>in</strong>g through <strong>the</strong> s<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g mud and across<br />
<strong>the</strong> slippery concrete. And as I ran, I forgot everyth<strong>in</strong>g. I forgot to look both ways<br />
when I crossed <strong>the</strong> street. I forgot to stop at <strong>the</strong> store on <strong>the</strong> corner to pick up a<br />
piece of chicken for d<strong>in</strong>ner. And I forgot how <strong>the</strong> last time I had come home with<br />
wet sneakers, Grandma had made me go barefoot for <strong>the</strong> rest of <strong>the</strong> week.<br />
For those few m<strong>in</strong>utes, it was just me runn<strong>in</strong>g for shelter. Just me and <strong>the</strong><br />
world runn<strong>in</strong>g through <strong>the</strong> busy streets. And it felt as though, for once, <strong>the</strong> world<br />
was <strong>in</strong> sync. Because it didn’t matter if you were a schoolboy or a milkman or a<br />
lawyer, you were just one more person runn<strong>in</strong>g through <strong>the</strong> storm, try<strong>in</strong>g to f<strong>in</strong>d<br />
a home.<br />
65
stone m<strong>in</strong>d | black and white photography<br />
ilya bryzgalov | kazan, tatarstan, russia<br />
a i
<strong>the</strong> moon and <strong>the</strong> waves<br />
lucy mahaffey<br />
norman, oklahoma, usa<br />
The waves come up and <strong>the</strong>n recede upon <strong>the</strong> vast shore. They make a constant<br />
sound—a type of breath<strong>in</strong>g from <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>ner core of Earth, but displayed on<br />
<strong>the</strong> surface. As <strong>the</strong>y brush up aga<strong>in</strong>st my feet <strong>the</strong>y make circles around my toes<br />
and <strong>the</strong> cool sand ebbs from under my heels.<br />
Ano<strong>the</strong>r wave crashes and <strong>the</strong> water s<strong>in</strong>ks <strong>in</strong>to itself. Above it, beam<strong>in</strong>g, is<br />
<strong>the</strong> whole white, gleam<strong>in</strong>g moon. It shows itself<br />
proudly above <strong>the</strong> sandy beach. The craters and<br />
outl<strong>in</strong>es upon its figure are beauty marks that have<br />
come with time. It is just bright enough to light a<br />
part of <strong>the</strong> water, but its light has a secret quality<br />
to it. It gives me just enough privacy on <strong>the</strong> beach<br />
from fellow walkers. As I go from one end of<br />
<strong>the</strong> island on <strong>the</strong> beach to <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r, I don’t feel<br />
compelled to say hello to those mak<strong>in</strong>g a pilgrimage also. We k<strong>in</strong>d of just exist<br />
with each o<strong>the</strong>r— as nature <strong>in</strong>tended.<br />
I look to <strong>the</strong> sky and my neck accepts <strong>the</strong> regular stra<strong>in</strong> of look<strong>in</strong>g upwards. It<br />
loves this sensation…my eyes have bra<strong>in</strong>washed it <strong>in</strong>to submission, because each<br />
time my neck humors <strong>the</strong>m, <strong>the</strong>y are filled. Without pay<strong>in</strong>g attention to where I<br />
step (whe<strong>the</strong>r it is water, sand, seaweed, driftwood, or <strong>the</strong> rema<strong>in</strong>s of a jellyfish),<br />
I look up and smile at <strong>the</strong> moon. Surround<strong>in</strong>g it are <strong>the</strong> stars. They are scattered<br />
and vague, like little spr<strong>in</strong>kles of sugar across <strong>the</strong> velvet sky. I crave more (just<br />
like when I get too little sugar). Ah, my eyes smile and my mouth gasps. There is<br />
noth<strong>in</strong>g like <strong>the</strong> beach at night time.<br />
I take my eyes off <strong>the</strong> sky because I’ve heard a whisper. Rosemary (my tw<strong>in</strong><br />
sister) is talk<strong>in</strong>g to me. Her smile is illum<strong>in</strong>ated by <strong>the</strong> moon. She says, “Let’s<br />
We start to run and <strong>the</strong>n<br />
just keep runn<strong>in</strong>g. No one<br />
cares who w<strong>in</strong>s. There<br />
was never a set boundary.<br />
As <strong>the</strong>y brush up<br />
aga<strong>in</strong>st my feet <strong>the</strong>y<br />
make circles around my<br />
toes and <strong>the</strong> cool sand<br />
ebbs from under my<br />
heels.<br />
race.” We start to run and <strong>the</strong>n just keep<br />
runn<strong>in</strong>g. No one cares who w<strong>in</strong>s. There was<br />
never a set boundary. We just run. And run.<br />
The sand feels so nice aga<strong>in</strong>st our feet and<br />
<strong>the</strong> cool breeze blows once or twice. Salt and<br />
freedom tag along <strong>in</strong> our bound<strong>in</strong>g fun. Then out of nowhere and for no reason<br />
we stop. Our lungs imitate <strong>the</strong> waves, and our smil<strong>in</strong>g eyes gleam as <strong>the</strong> moon<br />
does above us. We are two, my sister and I. But we are also one, as <strong>the</strong> moon and<br />
waves; one needs <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r. One loves <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r.<br />
The moon gleams and Rosemary speaks. The waves spread and I answer.<br />
We talk and joke for hour-long m<strong>in</strong>utes. The world could be listen<strong>in</strong>g to our<br />
67
conversation and we wouldn’t care. We shout and laugh for no reason—merely<br />
happy to be alive. No homework, electronics, or worries. We’ll dance toge<strong>the</strong>r<br />
on <strong>the</strong> beach, my sister and I, and <strong>the</strong>n we’ll s<strong>in</strong>g a duet and wave to <strong>the</strong> people<br />
look<strong>in</strong>g quizzically at us. Then we’ll write <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> sand <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> dark and sh<strong>in</strong>e<br />
our flashlights on it, if we’ve remembered to br<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>m. We talk <strong>in</strong> accents,<br />
gibberish, and code. All <strong>the</strong> while, my love for her mixes with itself, and I float on<br />
it <strong>in</strong> life. Her light, like <strong>the</strong> pure orb, sh<strong>in</strong>es on and gives me a constant pull. We<br />
laugh and learn from one ano<strong>the</strong>r. We push and pull. We are push and pull. We are<br />
y<strong>in</strong> and yang.<br />
Abruptly, <strong>the</strong> call to “Come back <strong>in</strong>side!” pierces <strong>the</strong> night. Our faces shift as<br />
quickly as <strong>the</strong> sand. The moon shows Rosemary’s eyes. They are search<strong>in</strong>g for<br />
m<strong>in</strong>e. I hold her gaze for a moment, <strong>the</strong>n my eyes dart to <strong>the</strong> moon and I sigh.<br />
She knows what I am th<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g. She knows I want to stand here, as unchang<strong>in</strong>g as<br />
<strong>the</strong> night. Peaceful. Happy. But <strong>the</strong> sands of time start to whip around my ankles. I<br />
know I must go <strong>in</strong>. I must leave. Noth<strong>in</strong>g can be forever.<br />
But I stand unmov<strong>in</strong>g, hop<strong>in</strong>g, and star<strong>in</strong>g at <strong>the</strong> moon; its glory has no<br />
comparison. Its maker has no equal…<strong>the</strong>n<br />
suddenly, a hand catches m<strong>in</strong>e. My head<br />
reluctantly pulls away from <strong>the</strong> sky, only to f<strong>in</strong>d<br />
moonlight, aga<strong>in</strong>, illum<strong>in</strong>at<strong>in</strong>g Rosemary’s smile.<br />
She squeezes my hand, and <strong>the</strong> moonlight on her<br />
seems to glow brighter. She whispers, “We always have tomorrow night.”<br />
I catch my breath. In my exhale, I see <strong>the</strong> waves. They are calm and velvet like<br />
<strong>the</strong> sky… happy and relaxed. They slowly come up and recede upon <strong>the</strong> sand…<br />
illum<strong>in</strong>ated by <strong>the</strong> moon.<br />
I nod and turn. With Rosemary <strong>in</strong> front, we leave. As we head <strong>in</strong>side to <strong>the</strong><br />
unknown I tense. But I can see <strong>the</strong> moonlight sh<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g around her, and I can hear<br />
<strong>the</strong> waves roll<strong>in</strong>g upon <strong>the</strong> sand. I grip Rosemary’s hand tightly, reassured, and<br />
exhale. The moon and <strong>the</strong> waves cont<strong>in</strong>ue on and I smile, know<strong>in</strong>g tomorrow<br />
night…we will race aga<strong>in</strong>.<br />
a i<br />
In my exhale, I see <strong>the</strong><br />
waves. They are calm<br />
and velvet like <strong>the</strong> sky…
deren ertas<br />
great neck, new york, usa<br />
an <strong>in</strong>terview with deren<br />
Deren’s “Self Portrait” (page 70) is mysterious and beautiful, and it <strong>in</strong>trigued<br />
us to know <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>spiration beh<strong>in</strong>d it. Born <strong>in</strong> Istanbul, Turkey and mov<strong>in</strong>g<br />
to New York at <strong>the</strong> age of ten, Deren had to adapt to an American lifestyle, while<br />
still try<strong>in</strong>g to ma<strong>in</strong>ta<strong>in</strong> her “Turkishness.” She expla<strong>in</strong>s that her pa<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g illustrates<br />
<strong>the</strong> duality she faces every day. She represents herself as “a modern woman who<br />
will do everyth<strong>in</strong>g to break away from social norms but cannot because of <strong>the</strong><br />
conservative voice <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> back of her head.” Accord<strong>in</strong>g to Deren, her <strong>in</strong>spiration<br />
beh<strong>in</strong>d “Self Portrait” is a comb<strong>in</strong>ation of Islamic <strong>in</strong>fluences and American society.<br />
Through her artwork, Deren exemplifies both <strong>the</strong> magic and <strong>the</strong> obstacles of<br />
liv<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> two cultures.<br />
AI: What was grow<strong>in</strong>g up <strong>in</strong> Istanbul like? What are <strong>the</strong> biggest differences between<br />
Istanbul and New York?<br />
DE: Istanbul and New York are both big cities connected by bridges, but that’s<br />
about all <strong>the</strong>y have <strong>in</strong> common. Oh, and <strong>the</strong> overpopulation. Istanbul is very<br />
different from anywhere else <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> world. When you are walk<strong>in</strong>g around, you<br />
feel <strong>the</strong> cultures that have passed through <strong>the</strong> ancient city of Constant<strong>in</strong>ople.<br />
On one side you have <strong>the</strong> Byzant<strong>in</strong>e <strong>in</strong>fluences, on <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r you have Ottoman<br />
<strong>in</strong>fluences. My friends <strong>in</strong> Turkey, however, are very much alike to my friends here.<br />
AI: You mentioned you are not a conservative Muslim. What parts of your life are<br />
<strong>in</strong>fluenced by Muslim culture? How does <strong>the</strong> conservative nature of Islam <strong>in</strong>fluence your<br />
American life?<br />
DE: When you live <strong>in</strong> Istanbul, you cannot be un<strong>in</strong>fluenced by Islam. My<br />
parents are not religious, nei<strong>the</strong>r are my grandparents. The last religious person<br />
<strong>in</strong> my family was my great grandmo<strong>the</strong>r, and her honesty, simplicity and assum<strong>in</strong>g<br />
of gender roles was very much <strong>in</strong>fluenced by her religion. She did not wear a<br />
headscarf or special cloth<strong>in</strong>g, but she did pray five times a day until <strong>the</strong> age of<br />
n<strong>in</strong>ety. She was a remarkable woman.<br />
AI: You say, <strong>in</strong> a way, you are both of <strong>the</strong> girls <strong>in</strong> your self portrait. Could you please<br />
expla<strong>in</strong> this fur<strong>the</strong>r?<br />
DE: The portrait is supposed to represent a liberal Deren and a conservative<br />
Deren. I illustrated extreme images of each. I am both of those girls because I<br />
69
self portrait | pa<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g<br />
deren ertas | great neck, new york, usa<br />
a i
harbor both ideologies. I am a liberal when it comes to politics, but conservative<br />
<strong>in</strong> terms of evaluat<strong>in</strong>g economics.<br />
AI: Do you eat Turkish food or American food at home? Or is it a comb<strong>in</strong>ation of different<br />
cultures at <strong>the</strong> table?<br />
DE: At home we follow a Mediterranean diet. We eat a lot of vegetables, fish,<br />
and fruit. But when we go out, we enjoy Asian foods and sometimes good old<br />
BBQ chicken.<br />
AI: What was it like to move to <strong>the</strong> United States at such a late age?<br />
DE: Adapt<strong>in</strong>g to <strong>the</strong> social m<strong>in</strong>dset of suburban life was very difficult, and not<br />
really someth<strong>in</strong>g I have accomplished yet. Also, <strong>the</strong> language barrier. It was hard. I<br />
read about 300 books <strong>in</strong> 7th grade. That helped.<br />
AI: What, <strong>in</strong> your m<strong>in</strong>d, is <strong>the</strong> best way to break down cultural barriers? Social barriers?<br />
DE: The best way to break down cultural barriers is to ignore <strong>the</strong>m. To love<br />
a person for who <strong>the</strong>y are <strong>in</strong>stead of associat<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>m with <strong>the</strong>ir religion, race,<br />
country of orig<strong>in</strong>. My fa<strong>the</strong>r taught me this from age one. He always used to say<br />
that he doesn’t even differentiate between boys and girls, humans are human. I<br />
live with that philosophy.<br />
AI: What aspects of Turkish lifestyle have you reta<strong>in</strong>ed after mov<strong>in</strong>g to <strong>the</strong> United States?<br />
DE: My family still eats <strong>the</strong> same food and speaks <strong>the</strong> same language. We go<br />
back to Turkey every summer, visit<strong>in</strong>g relatives and friends. We have reta<strong>in</strong>ed <strong>the</strong><br />
warmth of Turkish culture at our home. We don’t have a lot of Turkish friends <strong>in</strong><br />
this country, but <strong>the</strong> ones we do, we are very close with.<br />
AI: Do you speak Turkish as well as English? Which do you use most and why?<br />
DE: I do speak Turkish as well as I speak English, even though it is a bit choppy<br />
right now. At home we speak a mixture of Turkish and English. It’s funny. My<br />
fa<strong>the</strong>r wants to practice speak<strong>in</strong>g English, my mom wants me to speak Turkish<br />
and I just say <strong>the</strong> words <strong>in</strong> whatever language comes to my m<strong>in</strong>d first. I learned<br />
English <strong>in</strong> my elementary school <strong>in</strong> Turkey. It was an American school.<br />
AI: If you could fill a shoebox with objects which represent you and bury it for future<br />
people to discover, what th<strong>in</strong>gs would you fill it with? Why?<br />
DE: I would fill it with a global history book, my annotated copy of Macbeth by<br />
Shakespeare, pa<strong>in</strong>tbrushes, and my Molesk<strong>in</strong>e sketchbooks. These th<strong>in</strong>gs represent<br />
me. I love history, literature, and art.<br />
71
AI: If you could <strong>in</strong>vite three guests to a d<strong>in</strong>ner party who would you <strong>in</strong>vite? What would<br />
you hope to talk about? What would you serve for d<strong>in</strong>ner?<br />
DE: I love this question! I would <strong>in</strong>vite Alice Neel, my favorite artist,<br />
Shakespeare, my favorite playwright, and W<strong>in</strong>ston Churchill, one of my favorite<br />
politicians. I would hope to talk about <strong>the</strong> world as it is. And <strong>the</strong> demise of<br />
<strong>the</strong> arts <strong>in</strong> all forms. I would serve a variety of dishes, some beef, some fish,<br />
vegetables on <strong>the</strong> side. Or maybe I’d make a scallop-asparagus risotto. I have to<br />
th<strong>in</strong>k more about this.<br />
AI: How long have you been <strong>in</strong>terested <strong>in</strong> art? Why is art so special to you? How does it<br />
<strong>in</strong>fluence your everyday life?<br />
DE: I have been <strong>in</strong>terested <strong>in</strong> art for a very long time. My parents are both<br />
architects, so I grew up <strong>in</strong> a family of artists. When we moved to New York, my<br />
parents took me to museums a lot. That’s when my <strong>in</strong>terest <strong>in</strong> art really began<br />
to take hold. Art is special to me because I get to express myself. It is someth<strong>in</strong>g<br />
outside of my rigid high school schedule. I can be myself and not feel sorry about<br />
it. Well, I am known as <strong>the</strong> art girl at school…<br />
AI: Who (or what) is <strong>the</strong> biggest <strong>in</strong>fluence <strong>in</strong> your artwork? Why?<br />
DE: My <strong>in</strong>fluences change. Right now Jenny Saville and Alice Neel are my top<br />
<strong>in</strong>fluencers. I love <strong>the</strong>ir figure images. They both capture color, light, life and<br />
personality <strong>in</strong> different, but beautiful ways.<br />
AI: If you were to pass on one bit of knowledge to someone younger, what would it be?<br />
DE: I would tell him or her that <strong>the</strong>re is noth<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> life that doesn’t pass.<br />
Everyth<strong>in</strong>g is temporary, and we must take advantage of every second.<br />
a i
gallery | digital photography<br />
judith eng | great neck, new york, usa<br />
73
autumn<br />
The boxed hair dye<br />
was a risk, a snap decision. My mo<strong>the</strong>r<br />
look<strong>in</strong>g between me and <strong>the</strong> woman on <strong>the</strong> box<br />
with her hair sh<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g like a p<strong>in</strong>t of strawberries,<br />
her eyes squ<strong>in</strong>ted mischievously,<br />
search<strong>in</strong>g for someth<strong>in</strong>g, or someone,<br />
perhaps a lipstick tube<br />
that had rolled underneath <strong>the</strong> bed,<br />
or <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>e glass of a lover,<br />
left <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> s<strong>in</strong>k.<br />
My mo<strong>the</strong>r snapped plastic gloves<br />
over her wrists, laced her f<strong>in</strong>gers toge<strong>the</strong>r nervously,<br />
as if she were <strong>in</strong> my place.<br />
It is her eyebrows that tell me differently,<br />
stretched tight along her forehead,<br />
un-plucked. Her eyes, pregnant and green,<br />
slide back to ano<strong>the</strong>r time,<br />
away from <strong>the</strong> two of us sitt<strong>in</strong>g by <strong>the</strong> TV,<br />
wait<strong>in</strong>g for my hair to dye.<br />
She is remember<strong>in</strong>g years ago,<br />
her t<strong>in</strong>y waist, her pale neck tilted back<br />
<strong>in</strong> rapturous laughter,<br />
pearl earr<strong>in</strong>gs bobb<strong>in</strong>g along, as if<br />
bait<strong>in</strong>g fish, and most important,<br />
red curls cupp<strong>in</strong>g her face,<br />
her hands <strong>in</strong>tertw<strong>in</strong>ed with a man’s.<br />
As my mo<strong>the</strong>r’s purs<strong>in</strong>g lips relaxed,<br />
as <strong>the</strong> color settled bright enough<br />
to go look,<br />
I saw a fox peek<strong>in</strong>g from <strong>the</strong> mulch,<br />
a i<br />
kelsey schurer<br />
jacksonville beach, florida, usa
or <strong>the</strong> last clump<strong>in</strong>g<br />
of autumn leaves. In time this flame<br />
would fade, but right <strong>the</strong>n, I held onto my mo<strong>the</strong>r’s<br />
good strength, <strong>the</strong> sapl<strong>in</strong>g, muted brown<br />
p<strong>in</strong>ned to <strong>the</strong> back of her head.<br />
cajón | digital photography<br />
krist<strong>in</strong>a naso | lilburn, georgia, usa<br />
75
my ticket<br />
a i<br />
taylor smith<br />
allendale, new jersey, usa<br />
I have a ticket that will take me from New York across <strong>the</strong> blue ocean to <strong>the</strong> historical<br />
wonder of London; to <strong>the</strong> land of William Shakespeare and to Stonehenge. From <strong>the</strong><br />
sleepy town of Allendale to Harrods’s and <strong>the</strong> land of Burberry. If only I had my<br />
Pop Pop right beside me, I’d take him away from his sad illness.<br />
He’d walk down <strong>the</strong> street <strong>in</strong> his Burberry cap and blue jacket<br />
which he purchased <strong>in</strong> England many years ago and of which he was so proud.<br />
We would laugh at <strong>the</strong> London punkers with <strong>the</strong>ir blue spiked hair and Pop Pop<br />
would stare <strong>in</strong> wonderment, never fully comprehend<strong>in</strong>g our modern world.<br />
We would listen to <strong>the</strong> bong of Big Ben and walk across London bridge as Pop Pop<br />
would regale me with all his old war stories and br<strong>in</strong>g me back to <strong>the</strong> places<br />
he had gone as a young soldier. As we ride <strong>the</strong> open air buses star<strong>in</strong>g up at <strong>the</strong> lively<br />
blue filled sky, its azure lovel<strong>in</strong>ess would envelop us as we ride <strong>the</strong> London<br />
streets and look for pubs and restaurants serv<strong>in</strong>g shepherd’s pie. Perhaps some scones<br />
and a spot of tea would keep my Pop Pop close to my heart.<br />
Oh <strong>the</strong> times we missed and <strong>the</strong> trips we could have shared. A simple ticket,<br />
a small piece of paper could give a grandfa<strong>the</strong>r and his grandson endless rapture.<br />
We’d have a beautiful memory as we sat on <strong>the</strong> plane, travel<strong>in</strong>g home<br />
with our heads back, laugh<strong>in</strong>g aga<strong>in</strong> at <strong>the</strong> boy with <strong>the</strong> blue spiked hair.<br />
Now clutch<strong>in</strong>g Pop Pop’s Burberry hat br<strong>in</strong>gs him back home with me aga<strong>in</strong>,<br />
for he is still <strong>in</strong> London, or at least <strong>in</strong> my memory.
station perspective | pastel, graphite, f<strong>in</strong>e-l<strong>in</strong>er on paper<br />
eden rob<strong>in</strong>son | carlisle, cumbria, uk<br />
77
<strong>the</strong> sparrow<br />
Tell me about <strong>the</strong> dream<br />
where we kneel by <strong>the</strong> cliffside<br />
and peer over <strong>the</strong> edge.<br />
Tell me about how we drive<br />
down <strong>the</strong> Malahat, curv<strong>in</strong>g<br />
aga<strong>in</strong>st <strong>the</strong> rock face until<br />
<strong>the</strong> forest disappears and <strong>the</strong>re is noth<strong>in</strong>g<br />
but black.<br />
You say it’s simple,<br />
that we are made up of pipel<strong>in</strong>es<br />
and telephone wires, and I sit<br />
fac<strong>in</strong>g you <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> passenger’s seat<br />
hold<strong>in</strong>g my pencil, discard<strong>in</strong>g<br />
sketch after sketch, because<br />
<strong>the</strong>y fail to capture everyth<strong>in</strong>g<br />
at once.<br />
In <strong>the</strong> dream,<br />
we cannot see anyth<strong>in</strong>g<br />
past <strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>dshield,<br />
but you are pull<strong>in</strong>g us around corners<br />
as though you were follow<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> road home,<br />
a route that has laid dormant <strong>in</strong> your m<strong>in</strong>d<br />
and <strong>in</strong> your arms s<strong>in</strong>ce you were seventeen.<br />
But we are so far<br />
from <strong>the</strong> room <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> attic,<br />
<strong>the</strong> w<strong>in</strong>dow seat,<br />
<strong>the</strong> night when <strong>the</strong> moon shone<br />
so brightly, and we sat on your<br />
bed, perfectly still.<br />
In <strong>the</strong> dream, time<br />
has changed <strong>the</strong> space beneath <strong>the</strong> porch<br />
and hushed <strong>the</strong> creak <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> stairs,<br />
but we are <strong>the</strong> same as we were<br />
<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> summer, sk<strong>in</strong><br />
still warm to <strong>the</strong> touch.<br />
a i<br />
madel<strong>in</strong>e petersen<br />
victoria, british columbia, canada
I say you are lucky,<br />
that underneath I have <strong>the</strong> appearance of an alien,<br />
and you say noth<strong>in</strong>g at all.<br />
Still, I try to loosen your grip so I<br />
can learn <strong>the</strong> stories rest<strong>in</strong>g<br />
beh<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong> pictures on your camera<br />
and <strong>the</strong> mean<strong>in</strong>g of each l<strong>in</strong>e <strong>in</strong> your hand.<br />
I want to soften your expression until<br />
you can present your thoughts to me <strong>the</strong> way you<br />
presented <strong>the</strong> set of ch<strong>in</strong>a you found<br />
next to <strong>the</strong> wooden toys,<br />
buried <strong>in</strong> old newspaper.<br />
You scooped each piece out of <strong>the</strong> box,<br />
held <strong>the</strong>m up one by one<br />
as if <strong>the</strong>y carried some mystery<br />
beneath <strong>the</strong>ir dust.<br />
There was more <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> reflection <strong>in</strong> your eyes<br />
and <strong>the</strong> part <strong>in</strong> your lips<br />
than <strong>the</strong>re ever was cupped<br />
between our hands, your heart<br />
like a sparrow hidden <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> branches.<br />
I feel it chang<strong>in</strong>g direction<br />
beneath your ribs,<br />
and know that noth<strong>in</strong>g will hold it still.<br />
79
My draw<strong>in</strong>g is th<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g about <strong>the</strong> past dur<strong>in</strong>g Khmer’s civilization.<br />
The picture is be<strong>in</strong>g shown to mark Cambodian people <strong>in</strong> a climactic<br />
artwork. The story shows civilian work very hard, struggle and be patient. But<br />
unfortunately <strong>the</strong>y could not have good food enough for eat. Many <strong>in</strong>nocent<br />
people were killed, especially people who have education. People no rich, no<br />
poor, no education, no questions, no answers, no ask for, no request, no anyth<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
In <strong>the</strong>ir ignorance <strong>the</strong>y followed <strong>the</strong> wrong course. They just know one th<strong>in</strong>g<br />
and it is work hard for anyone, none stop. Pend<strong>in</strong>g fur<strong>the</strong>r orders some people<br />
cannot restra<strong>in</strong> anymore. They strive to go on strike to be freedom. They would<br />
like to get peace. But it is impossible. They lose. That is why most of Cambodian<br />
generation cannot forget this story.<br />
a i<br />
hay chhoem<br />
siem reap, cambodia
<strong>the</strong> sorrow of khmer past | graphite on paper<br />
hay chhoem | siem reap, cambodia<br />
81
taxi to soweto<br />
a i<br />
sithokozile mahlaba<br />
durban, kwa-zulu natal prov<strong>in</strong>ce, south africa<br />
Taxi! Taxi! Take me to Soweto.<br />
To <strong>the</strong> streets of Soweto,<br />
To lick <strong>the</strong> rema<strong>in</strong>s of my bro<strong>the</strong>rs’ blood,<br />
For a part of him to store<br />
And collect my sisters’ tears<br />
To exhibit <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> museum of life.<br />
Take me to <strong>the</strong> roads on which<br />
The class of 1976 marched<br />
So I can walk over <strong>the</strong>ir footsteps<br />
And wear <strong>the</strong>ir bodies alive.<br />
I want to abate <strong>the</strong> fires that blazed <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong>ir eyes,<br />
Their aggressive voices hushed.<br />
I want to remove <strong>the</strong> warts and sores bloated<br />
Between <strong>the</strong>ir toes<br />
So <strong>the</strong>y may rest <strong>in</strong> peaceful peace.<br />
Taxi, take me to <strong>the</strong> arms<br />
That embraced Hector Peterson’s shell<br />
And watched his spirit ascend.<br />
Take me to Soweto<br />
So I can see all my bro<strong>the</strong>rs who fell<br />
And my sisters who suffocated from teargas.<br />
Take me to <strong>the</strong> hearts belong<strong>in</strong>g to mo<strong>the</strong>rs,<br />
Aunts and grandmo<strong>the</strong>rs,<br />
The hearts that tore apart,<br />
That still sit and wonder<br />
“Where did my children go?”<br />
Who still confide <strong>in</strong> songs of liberty,<br />
Their trembl<strong>in</strong>g voices say<strong>in</strong>g<br />
“Senzeni na?”<br />
And <strong>the</strong> fa<strong>the</strong>rs of <strong>the</strong> bloody bodies<br />
S<strong>in</strong>g<strong>in</strong>g:<br />
“Sikhalela izwe lethu<br />
Elathathwa amaBhunu<br />
Mabawuywke umhlaba wethu
Mabawuyeke umhlaba wethu.”<br />
Eish. Taxi! Taxi!<br />
Take me to <strong>the</strong> marvel of Sophia town,<br />
To <strong>the</strong> crushed homes<br />
Conta<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g crushed lives.<br />
Taxi, take me to <strong>the</strong> streets of Soweto.<br />
Take me to Soweto!<br />
So I can see <strong>the</strong> superior legs that paralysed<br />
My bro<strong>the</strong>r’s frame<br />
And snatched my sister’s life.<br />
Take me to Soweto, to observe<br />
My grandfa<strong>the</strong>r bruised beh<strong>in</strong>d a khwela-khwela,<br />
<strong>View</strong> <strong>the</strong> eyes of <strong>the</strong> men who possessed so much hate,<br />
The men who killed us and imprisoned us<br />
So I may ask <strong>the</strong>m<br />
“Why Baas, why?”<br />
We tried to rebel,<br />
Driven by <strong>the</strong> hope of be<strong>in</strong>g free,<br />
And aga<strong>in</strong> confided <strong>in</strong> song,<br />
Ran to <strong>the</strong> arms of song that comforted us.<br />
From our whipped lungs shout<strong>in</strong>g<br />
“Amandla, awethu.”<br />
Our torn fists bundl<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> polluted air.<br />
Our compulsory passes toss<strong>in</strong>g to <strong>the</strong> grounds,<br />
The grounds that cried, abused by our angry feet.<br />
But still, <strong>the</strong>y <strong>in</strong>vaded our homes<br />
And turned our hearts black, as of our faces.<br />
Taxi! Taxi! Take me to <strong>the</strong> rifles that murdered us,<br />
To <strong>the</strong> m<strong>in</strong>ds that plotted our misery<br />
And granted us motives to morn.<br />
Take me to <strong>the</strong> hand that refused<br />
To shake a black man’s.<br />
To <strong>the</strong> lips that called my uncles kaffirs<br />
And slid <strong>the</strong>ir saliva down <strong>the</strong>ir faces,<br />
The same lips that called my well-respected chief “Boy.”<br />
Take me to <strong>the</strong> hands that slapped him,<br />
Attempt<strong>in</strong>g to remove <strong>the</strong> charcoal ashes that compiled his sk<strong>in</strong>.<br />
Take me to <strong>the</strong> men, that stood<br />
Before <strong>the</strong> class of June 1976<br />
Below <strong>the</strong>ir stern faces, no hearts<br />
Enforc<strong>in</strong>g Bantu Education, <strong>the</strong>ir foreign language unto us,<br />
83
Exploit<strong>in</strong>g us.<br />
Take me to <strong>the</strong> men that started<br />
Bit<strong>in</strong>g, chew<strong>in</strong>g. Bit<strong>in</strong>g, chew<strong>in</strong>g. Bit<strong>in</strong>g, chew<strong>in</strong>g,<br />
My bro<strong>the</strong>rs and sisters with <strong>the</strong>ir venomous bullets.<br />
Taxi! Taxi!Take me to Soweto.<br />
Take me to Soweto, taxi.<br />
To Soweto take me, taxi.<br />
So I may quiz <strong>the</strong> streets, that know <strong>the</strong> whole story,<br />
Ask <strong>the</strong> walls of history that still stand,<br />
“Why, why?”<br />
a i<br />
T he poem “Taxi to Soweto” was <strong>in</strong>spired by <strong>the</strong> historical Soweto Upris<strong>in</strong>g<br />
which took place dur<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> apar<strong>the</strong>id era <strong>in</strong> South Aftrica. Watch<strong>in</strong>g movies<br />
such as Cry Freedom and Saraf<strong>in</strong>a which portrayed what life was like <strong>in</strong> those days<br />
filled me with deep sadness. The fact that my fa<strong>the</strong>r was almost <strong>in</strong>volved <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />
upris<strong>in</strong>g, <strong>in</strong> his primary school years, made me wonder if I would even exist had<br />
he stayed <strong>in</strong> Soweto a bit longer and not moved to <strong>the</strong> rural areas to stay with<br />
his grandparents. The brutality of <strong>the</strong> apar<strong>the</strong>id government, <strong>the</strong> bravery of <strong>the</strong><br />
students who fought aga<strong>in</strong>st be<strong>in</strong>g taught everyth<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> Afrikaans, a language <strong>the</strong>y<br />
hardly understood, as well as <strong>the</strong> harsh and <strong>in</strong>humane liv<strong>in</strong>g conditions dur<strong>in</strong>g that<br />
time, <strong>in</strong>spired “Taxi to Soweto.” -sithokozile
aerie <strong>in</strong>ternational<br />
is published by <strong>the</strong> editors and is pr<strong>in</strong>ted<br />
<strong>in</strong> <strong>Missoula</strong>, Montana, USA<br />
by Gateway Pr<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g<br />
85
contributors<br />
a i<br />
lauren barr, 18: I love photography, and do it <strong>in</strong> my spare time as a m<strong>in</strong>ibus<strong>in</strong>ess-out-of-my-garage<br />
k<strong>in</strong>d of th<strong>in</strong>g. It’s a great past-time, but I am more<br />
focused on <strong>the</strong> re-touch<strong>in</strong>g and graphic design hue of <strong>the</strong> art-spectrum. I have a<br />
huge passion for almost all th<strong>in</strong>gs “art.” I enjoy, among photography and graphic<br />
design, draw<strong>in</strong>g, creative novel writ<strong>in</strong>g, and m<strong>in</strong>imal pa<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g and pastel work. I<br />
love comb<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g my talents <strong>in</strong>to one creation.<br />
isabel bartholomew, 15: Be<strong>in</strong>g an agnostic <strong>in</strong> Utah offers a perspective of<br />
what it is like to be an outsider liv<strong>in</strong>g on <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>side: both as a non-Mormon <strong>in</strong><br />
Salt Lake City and as a Utahn <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> United States. My ancestors were Mormon<br />
handcart pioneers, and I have lived here all my life. In my creative writ<strong>in</strong>g class,<br />
we were assigned to write a piece about <strong>the</strong> power of words. I thought about<br />
words that have affected me personally, but more importantly, words that have<br />
not been able to, because <strong>the</strong>y have not reached me, or never will. That is what<br />
my poem is about: what happens to words when <strong>the</strong>y can’t reach <strong>the</strong> person.<br />
avery beck, 17: By liv<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> Lawrence I am able to <strong>in</strong>teract<br />
with artists every day through <strong>the</strong> University of Kansas and<br />
through <strong>the</strong> Lawrence Arts Center. There are many different<br />
kilns grandfa<strong>the</strong>red <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> city for me to play with, such as salt<br />
kilns, soda kilns, and wood fir<strong>in</strong>g kilns. Lawrence has become<br />
my favorite city <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> world because of its culturally diverse<br />
art and music scene.<br />
kseniya bistrova, 16: I live <strong>in</strong> Kazan, Russia. I am 16 years old. I like<br />
to pa<strong>in</strong>t very much and I hope you like my picture.<br />
ilya bryzgalov, 17: I’m study at 10 grade. I’m live <strong>in</strong> Kazan, Tatarstan,<br />
Russia. I’m do<strong>in</strong>g quite well at school. My favorite subjects is literature<br />
and English. Also I’m have many different hobbies. Among my <strong>in</strong>terests<br />
are guitar, vocals, photography and mounta<strong>in</strong> bike. My work Stone M<strong>in</strong>d<br />
was made <strong>in</strong> France. I was float<strong>in</strong>g down <strong>the</strong> river, when I saw this<br />
people sitt<strong>in</strong>g on <strong>the</strong> shore aga<strong>in</strong>st a stone wall. That’s why I called this<br />
photo Stone M<strong>in</strong>d. As I th<strong>in</strong>k, this name reflects mood of <strong>the</strong> picture and<br />
reflects pa<strong>in</strong>ful thoughts of this people.<br />
d<strong>in</strong>e bun thai, 18: I am a student at Angkor High School and oldest<br />
<strong>in</strong> my sibl<strong>in</strong>gs. I live with my uncle’s family, mo<strong>the</strong>r and younger two<br />
bro<strong>the</strong>rs and one sister. My favorite subjects at school are history<br />
and English. Unfortunately Cambodian students do not have an art<br />
education at public schools. So, I had taught art myself for many years.<br />
I always enjoy draw<strong>in</strong>g beautiful Cambodian nature and Angkor Wat,<br />
which we are proud of.
louise burton, 16: I enjoy play<strong>in</strong>g tennis. I grew up <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> small<br />
town of Atlantic Beach, Florida. I often go to <strong>the</strong> beach and am<br />
<strong>in</strong>fluenced by everyday life <strong>in</strong> my writ<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
hay chhoem, 18: I am a student at 10, January High<br />
School <strong>in</strong> Siem Reap, Cambodia. One day, my friend from<br />
same high school told me that <strong>the</strong>re is a free art school<br />
<strong>in</strong> Siem Reap which was built by Japanese art teacher.<br />
S<strong>in</strong>ce <strong>the</strong>n, I feel that everyth<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> my life has changed. I<br />
started draw<strong>in</strong>g my art from my own imag<strong>in</strong>ation aga<strong>in</strong>.<br />
The teacher has recognized my art and provides me high<br />
quality art materials from overseas, which I have never<br />
seen <strong>in</strong> Cambodia. Now, I created my own art design to<br />
mix watercolors and paper cutt<strong>in</strong>gs. I challenge myself to<br />
express my own feel<strong>in</strong>gs and develop my art.<br />
leann colella, 16: I was born on November 13, 1994 <strong>in</strong> Pittsburgh<br />
Pennsylvania. I am a very talkative and outgo<strong>in</strong>g person. I love to be<br />
with my family and close friends. Also I love to take pictures, laugh,<br />
shop, learn new th<strong>in</strong>gs, go to amusement parks and <strong>the</strong> beach, and<br />
travel. I am on <strong>the</strong> competitive speech team at my high school and I<br />
am mov<strong>in</strong>g back to Pittsburgh this summer.<br />
simon david, 16: If I were to describe <strong>the</strong> way I live, I would<br />
have to reveal one of my worst habits. That is, I live <strong>in</strong> segments,<br />
snapshots of moments that are constantly chang<strong>in</strong>g. I have had<br />
so many feel<strong>in</strong>gs about my heritage that I felt that <strong>the</strong>y could be<br />
best expressed <strong>in</strong> writ<strong>in</strong>g. Therefore, I have tried to capture my<br />
patchwork of American and Indian heritage <strong>in</strong> many of my past<br />
pieces. “Sunday Long Distance” was created from listen<strong>in</strong>g to my<br />
fa<strong>the</strong>r call his grandmo<strong>the</strong>r on Sundays. It is a piece that I feel<br />
expresses my personal growth through <strong>the</strong> roots of my family tree.<br />
julia deangelo 17: I was born <strong>in</strong> Wash<strong>in</strong>gton D.C. and have s<strong>in</strong>ce<br />
lived <strong>in</strong> Virg<strong>in</strong>ia, Germany, and, currently, Connecticut. A 45-m<strong>in</strong>ute<br />
tra<strong>in</strong> ride away from New York City, I love go<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>to <strong>the</strong> city to take<br />
dance classes, go to museums, and enjoy <strong>the</strong> many artistic wonders<br />
of <strong>the</strong> city. Inspiration for <strong>the</strong> pieces I submit came from thoughts of<br />
conversations I found myself circl<strong>in</strong>g back to. I’ve found that when<br />
someth<strong>in</strong>g strikes a chord, it’s a great place to start.<br />
87
charity ekpo, 17: I’m a senior at Lawrence Free State High<br />
School, born and raised <strong>in</strong> Lawrence, Kansas. I’m <strong>the</strong> youngest<br />
out of three bro<strong>the</strong>rs and two sisters. I’m <strong>in</strong>terested <strong>in</strong> mostly<br />
photography (with digital or film) and digital manipulation, and am<br />
plann<strong>in</strong>g on major<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> graphic design <strong>in</strong> college. When I’m not at<br />
school, I’m ei<strong>the</strong>r hang<strong>in</strong>g out with my family, or hang<strong>in</strong>g out with<br />
my friends and mak<strong>in</strong>g strange/enterta<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g videos for our Youtube<br />
channel.<br />
a i<br />
mattis deutch, 17: I was born <strong>in</strong> Connecticut, I live now <strong>in</strong><br />
Tennessee, and <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> future I’m go<strong>in</strong>g to college <strong>in</strong> Ohio. The<br />
north was appeal<strong>in</strong>g while I looked for colleges, but th<strong>in</strong>gs change<br />
and now I sit under a lamp sometimes when it’s cloudy. I spend<br />
time read<strong>in</strong>g (Nabokov, Faulkner) and play<strong>in</strong>g music (concert<strong>in</strong>a,<br />
banjo) when friends are not available, or play<strong>in</strong>g music with friends<br />
when available, or not play<strong>in</strong>g music with available friends when<br />
<strong>in</strong>struments are not available or friends are not musical. My foremost<br />
pursuits are writ<strong>in</strong>g poetry, f<strong>in</strong>d<strong>in</strong>g a band, keep<strong>in</strong>g calm, and<br />
carry<strong>in</strong>g on.<br />
judith eng, 17: I was born and raised <strong>in</strong> Great Neck, New York.<br />
I frequent <strong>the</strong> Metropolitan Museum of Art and <strong>the</strong> Museum of<br />
Modern Art, among <strong>the</strong> many culture filled locations <strong>in</strong> New York<br />
City, just a tra<strong>in</strong> ride away from home. Art has always been a hobby<br />
of m<strong>in</strong>e. I have previously focused mostly on studio art <strong>in</strong>clud<strong>in</strong>g<br />
pa<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g and draw<strong>in</strong>g, only recently explor<strong>in</strong>g photography.<br />
deren ertas, 16: I was born <strong>in</strong> Istanbul, Turkey to a<br />
family with no girls. I grew up with my five cous<strong>in</strong>s,<br />
all of which are boys. My parents are both architects,<br />
so <strong>the</strong>y worked day and night <strong>in</strong> order to provide a<br />
comfortable liv<strong>in</strong>g for our family. We lived homeoffice<br />
for a few years, and <strong>the</strong>n moved out to a more<br />
comfortable apartment. I grew up with all k<strong>in</strong>ds of<br />
people around me. I <strong>in</strong>teracted with my parents’ clients,<br />
random bus<strong>in</strong>essmen, junior architects, accountants and<br />
secretaries that worked for my parents. It was a very<br />
lively and <strong>in</strong><strong>format</strong>ive life.<br />
sam glencross, 17: I was born <strong>in</strong> Carlisle and have lived here<br />
my whole life. I am study<strong>in</strong>g Biology, History of Art and Art and<br />
Design at A-level, and am plann<strong>in</strong>g to study Foundation Art at<br />
Art College next year. I am <strong>in</strong>spired by all k<strong>in</strong>ds of art, and enjoy<br />
learn<strong>in</strong>g and experiment<strong>in</strong>g with new methods and techniques.<br />
Portrait was <strong>in</strong>spired by expressionless portrait artists such as<br />
Gwen John and Kimiko Yoshida, and how lack of emotion <strong>in</strong> a<br />
portrait can produce a more powerful outcome.
el<strong>in</strong> gott<strong>in</strong>g, 18: Last summer I came to Lawrence as<br />
an exchange student with Rotary from Sweden. Now I’m<br />
attend<strong>in</strong>g Lawrence Free State High School. I love it and I am<br />
so happy that I got <strong>the</strong> opportunity to be an exchange student.<br />
It’s sometimes hard but I have no regrets be<strong>in</strong>g here this<br />
year. The most common question I get is: What’s <strong>the</strong> biggest<br />
difference with America and Sweden? I always answer that <strong>the</strong><br />
portions of food are so much bigger here than where I come<br />
from <strong>in</strong> Sweden.<br />
sara hard<strong>in</strong>g, 17: I love express<strong>in</strong>g myself through<br />
cliché scenarios and rhyme. Unfortunately, those literary<br />
techniques do not make my writ<strong>in</strong>g teacher happy. I wrote<br />
“Melt<strong>in</strong>g Pot?” from some of <strong>the</strong> observations I have made at<br />
work <strong>in</strong> a grocery store, and <strong>the</strong> different dynamics between<br />
<strong>the</strong> teenage part-time workers and some of <strong>the</strong> adult fulltime<br />
workers.<br />
chloe hay, 17: I’m not tall. I have dreams that I am two feet tall and<br />
everyone is star<strong>in</strong>g down at me. I am happy all <strong>the</strong> time. I don’t see <strong>the</strong><br />
po<strong>in</strong>t <strong>in</strong> anyth<strong>in</strong>g, but I am actually laugh<strong>in</strong>g right now as I type this. I<br />
love music and movies of all types. My favorite place to be is on a beach,<br />
although anywhere really hot works too. I hate cold wea<strong>the</strong>r and as soon<br />
as I can, will be mov<strong>in</strong>g as far away from it as I can. I love read<strong>in</strong>g and do<br />
that any chance I get.<br />
sarah hirschey, 17: My middle name is Hauschel and not “Anne”<br />
or someth<strong>in</strong>g because that’s how <strong>the</strong>y do it <strong>in</strong> Argent<strong>in</strong>a, I guess. My<br />
mom was born <strong>the</strong>re and we like to pretend that we identify with<br />
<strong>the</strong> culture. I have never lived anywhere else o<strong>the</strong>r than Lawrence,<br />
Kansas. Lawrence is a little atypical compared to <strong>the</strong> stereotypes most<br />
people have about Kansas. Even though I’ll be out of this place <strong>the</strong><br />
second I graduate, I wouldn’t have wanted to grow up anywhere else.<br />
I want to pa<strong>in</strong>t a mural on some huge brick wall someday—maybe this<br />
weekend.<br />
alexandria garcia, 17: I was born and raised <strong>in</strong> Victoria, British<br />
Columbia. I grew up explor<strong>in</strong>g and enjoy<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> nature of my five<br />
acre backyard. This is where my love of <strong>the</strong> outdoors and animals<br />
began. The encouragement from my parents to grow, learn and<br />
explore created a true love for <strong>the</strong> arts, which I express through<br />
writ<strong>in</strong>g and draw<strong>in</strong>g. I grew up with a passion for poetry, and was<br />
put <strong>in</strong>to a writ<strong>in</strong>g club by my k<strong>in</strong>dergarten teacher. I also love to<br />
draw. My writ<strong>in</strong>g, spawned from experiences with loved ones, is<br />
an outlet for my passion of <strong>the</strong> people that surround me. “There<br />
is Color <strong>in</strong> Haiti After all” is a pantoum based on a photograph I<br />
found from a magaz<strong>in</strong>e.<br />
89
pol<strong>in</strong>a kamenskaja, 16: My life is nature, <strong>the</strong> time near warm<br />
bonfire, scout camps, songs, poems, beautiful places, my friends.<br />
My creation isn’t very orig<strong>in</strong>al, but it’s my soul. It’s my world.<br />
And I th<strong>in</strong>k, <strong>the</strong>y are about everyone. About me, about you and<br />
about this strange man, who have just gone out from <strong>the</strong> bus.<br />
a i<br />
hazlett henderson, 15: My name is Hazlett<br />
Henderson. I have a cat named Margot. Margot spends<br />
her days clean<strong>in</strong>g her fur and wait<strong>in</strong>g for me to come<br />
home. She likes to lick my toes after I take showers. I<br />
shower often. At least once a day. My mom th<strong>in</strong>ks I’m<br />
strange, but Margot tells me I’m special. Tea Party was<br />
<strong>in</strong>spired by my dad. He doesn’t actually dr<strong>in</strong>k tea too<br />
often, which may expla<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> lack of guests at his tea<br />
party. Even <strong>the</strong> funnies couldn’t hold his attention.<br />
joanne koong, 15: If I could, I would eat words. I love writ<strong>in</strong>g<br />
and read<strong>in</strong>g and psychoanalyz<strong>in</strong>g people. I live <strong>in</strong> Irv<strong>in</strong>e, California<br />
where I compulsively people-watch. I also love philosophy,<br />
psychology, and chess.<br />
jamie maffeo, 17: I developed an <strong>in</strong>terest <strong>in</strong> photography as a<br />
sophomore <strong>in</strong> high school. I have taken thousands of photographs<br />
over <strong>the</strong> years while travel<strong>in</strong>g all over <strong>the</strong> world from <strong>the</strong> bustl<strong>in</strong>g<br />
streets of New York City’s Ch<strong>in</strong>atown, <strong>the</strong> tense calm of chess clubs<br />
and <strong>the</strong> competitive atmosphere of a box<strong>in</strong>g gym, to <strong>the</strong> volcanoes<br />
of Iceland.<br />
lucy mahaffey, 16: I love life, and that <strong>in</strong>cludes regular canned<br />
corn or any k<strong>in</strong>d of chocolate you have. My tw<strong>in</strong> sister, Rosemary,<br />
looks noth<strong>in</strong>g like me and we like a lot of different th<strong>in</strong>gs, but we love<br />
each o<strong>the</strong>r dearly and have scars to prove it! She has been with me<br />
s<strong>in</strong>ce before birth, and I can’t imag<strong>in</strong>e my life without her. My mom<br />
has taught me to love essentials (such as ice cream, Shakespeare, and<br />
end<strong>in</strong>g human traffick<strong>in</strong>g/modern slavery) and my dad has taught me<br />
to keep go<strong>in</strong>g (never stop hav<strong>in</strong>g fun and always be your best).<br />
sithokozile mahlaba: l am my parents’ first born child, from<br />
Durban <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> prov<strong>in</strong>ce of KwaZulu Natal <strong>in</strong> South Africa. I speak<br />
<strong>the</strong> language of <strong>the</strong> historical Shaka Zulu and I owe <strong>the</strong> privilege<br />
of be<strong>in</strong>g able to communicate with you like this to heroes who<br />
sacrificed <strong>the</strong>ir own lives such as Steve Biko, Oliver Tambo and<br />
<strong>the</strong> great Nelson Mandela. I am a soulful and spiritual person, and<br />
from that part of me my poetry is born. I wrote <strong>the</strong> piece “Taxi<br />
to Soweto” at <strong>the</strong> age of 16. I was <strong>in</strong> Grade 10 at K<strong>in</strong>gsway High<br />
School <strong>in</strong> Durban.
sebastian mansour, 16: My hobbies <strong>in</strong>volve photography,<br />
Photoshop and just mess<strong>in</strong>g around with my computer. I watch<br />
loads of anime and read manga all <strong>the</strong> time. I don’t m<strong>in</strong>d school<br />
but I do enjoy escap<strong>in</strong>g to my room after it’s f<strong>in</strong>ished. I want to<br />
be a photographer when I grow up and excel <strong>in</strong> what I can do<br />
now.<br />
emily masters, 16: As a writer and cartoonist for my high<br />
school’s student newspaper and a member of my school’s literary<br />
and art magaz<strong>in</strong>e, I have always been drawn to writ<strong>in</strong>g and art.<br />
Grow<strong>in</strong>g up <strong>in</strong> a small New Jersey town where <strong>the</strong>re isn’t much<br />
to do, I have grown to love fill<strong>in</strong>g my time up with draw<strong>in</strong>g or<br />
writ<strong>in</strong>g poetry about <strong>the</strong> world surround<strong>in</strong>g me. I’ve scribbled<br />
stanzas onto <strong>the</strong> back of napk<strong>in</strong>s from my favorite coffee shop<br />
and drawn prelim<strong>in</strong>ary sketches while babysitt<strong>in</strong>g a neighbor.<br />
Discover<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> world through creativity and observation excites<br />
me. I hope to become a journalist and discover even more.<br />
alex messenger, 17: I’m a student liv<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> Carlisle,<br />
England, and study<strong>in</strong>g biology, history, media and photography<br />
at higher education. I greatly enjoy my school life as I only do<br />
what I enjoy and have a great group of friends to take along<br />
with me! As well as hang<strong>in</strong>g around with mates I also keep<br />
myself occupied play<strong>in</strong>g video games, watch<strong>in</strong>g films, read<strong>in</strong>g<br />
(I’m a sucker for a good story) and walk<strong>in</strong>g my dog around <strong>the</strong><br />
beautiful landscape that is Cumbria; noth<strong>in</strong>g quite like it. This<br />
was part of my experiment <strong>in</strong>to long exposure and is a shot of<br />
<strong>the</strong> midday shoppers <strong>in</strong> The Lanes Shopp<strong>in</strong>g Centre <strong>in</strong> Carlisle.<br />
kristen miller, 18: When I was little, my family moved around a<br />
lot. When I was born we were <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> process of mov<strong>in</strong>g to Omaha,<br />
Nebraska. I was only two weeks old before we moved. A few years<br />
later we moved to Frankl<strong>in</strong>, Tennessee; <strong>the</strong>n Kearney, Missouri and<br />
f<strong>in</strong>ally to Lawrence, Kansas. I was just start<strong>in</strong>g third grade when we<br />
moved to Lawrence. Lawrence is one of <strong>the</strong> favorite places I have<br />
lived. We live <strong>in</strong> a neighborhood, but beh<strong>in</strong>d our backyard <strong>the</strong>re is<br />
a big field with a small pond. I am not sure who used to own <strong>the</strong><br />
property, but my neighborhood friend and I would go back <strong>the</strong>re<br />
whenever it snowed. We would crawl under <strong>the</strong> trees and pretend like<br />
we were lost.<br />
emma mitchell, 17: I’m currently <strong>in</strong> year 12 at Tr<strong>in</strong>ity 6th Form<br />
study<strong>in</strong>g art, production design, maths and chemistry. In <strong>the</strong> future,<br />
I aspire to go off to university and study a course associated with key<br />
areas of architecture and pr<strong>in</strong>t<strong>in</strong>g after I have completed year 13. I<br />
observed organic forms <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> natural world and based my piece upon<br />
<strong>the</strong> ‘Iris flower’ and o<strong>the</strong>r foliage <strong>in</strong>tertw<strong>in</strong>ed throughout <strong>the</strong> work.<br />
91
tara m<strong>in</strong>g moon, 17: I was born <strong>in</strong> Nelson, BC and, <strong>the</strong>refore, am a<br />
hippie. Except I’m not – I wish I was, but as an honorary perfectionist of<br />
<strong>the</strong> AFP (Association for Perfectionists), I am forbidden to live a carefree<br />
life. I am a musician, artist, and new found writer. I f<strong>in</strong>d pleasure <strong>in</strong><br />
experienc<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> unord<strong>in</strong>ary, such as go<strong>in</strong>g downtown and serv<strong>in</strong>g d<strong>in</strong>ner<br />
to <strong>the</strong> homeless (or wak<strong>in</strong>g up at 4:30AM to serve coffee and pastries to<br />
<strong>the</strong>m before <strong>the</strong> police boot <strong>the</strong>m out of <strong>the</strong>ir doorways). I have no plans<br />
for <strong>the</strong> future as I am go<strong>in</strong>g to w<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> lottery at <strong>the</strong> age of 19 and retire.<br />
a i<br />
andie moss, 18: People tell me I need to be more funky. I enjoy<br />
runn<strong>in</strong>g down mounta<strong>in</strong>s, blow<strong>in</strong>g bubbles on a w<strong>in</strong>dy day, eat<strong>in</strong>g<br />
raspberry sherbet, and writ<strong>in</strong>g poetry. I have two trillion pets.<br />
Actually, closer to 17. I recently traveled to South Korea with 98<br />
o<strong>the</strong>r kids from all over <strong>the</strong> states. We explored <strong>the</strong> nation, which<br />
<strong>in</strong>cluded a tour of Geumsansa Buddhist Temple. The whole trip<br />
riveted my sense of Asia and K-Pop music.<br />
sarah munger, 17: I have grown up on <strong>the</strong> east coast of <strong>the</strong> United States<br />
my whole life. I dance, s<strong>in</strong>g, write, and take photographs for my art classes.<br />
I’ve been writ<strong>in</strong>g s<strong>in</strong>ce I was little and I have always had a fasc<strong>in</strong>ation with<br />
language, discover<strong>in</strong>g my love of poetry through an exploration of words<br />
and ideas. I have found a lot of <strong>in</strong>spiration <strong>in</strong> Joseph Brodsky, Hem<strong>in</strong>gway,<br />
Proust, and Gabriel Garcia Márquez.<br />
phebe myers, 17: My name is Phebe Myers and I was born <strong>in</strong><br />
Hollywood, California. S<strong>in</strong>ce <strong>the</strong>n my parents made <strong>the</strong> decision to<br />
move to Kansas. To this day I have no clue why. My dad spends a lot<br />
of time <strong>in</strong> Africa and I’ve been lucky enough to go with him three<br />
times. I can’t be on time or keep anyth<strong>in</strong>g clean and I eat too many<br />
apples. If you ever saw me, it would be through a sea of floral fabric.<br />
In <strong>the</strong> future I want to be a documentary photographer and to travel<br />
around to refugee camps.<br />
krist<strong>in</strong>a naso, 16: I am from a mundane, suburban town called Lilburn. I am a selftaught<br />
photographer who loves <strong>the</strong> sound of music. Photography, music, and poetry<br />
are my preferred ways of express<strong>in</strong>g my emotions. Cajón was<br />
somewhat of a spontaneous self-portrait. Prior to shoot<strong>in</strong>g<br />
that picture, I hadn’t picked up <strong>the</strong> camera <strong>in</strong> months. I prefer<br />
work<strong>in</strong>g with natural light<strong>in</strong>g and s<strong>in</strong>ce it has been a harsh w<strong>in</strong>ter<br />
here <strong>in</strong> Georgia, I haven’t had many opportunities to take a<br />
substantial photograph; plus, I have been totally un<strong>in</strong>spired and<br />
lazy. I took this picture after I went to Guitar Center and found a<br />
Cajon, or box-like drum, <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> Drum section for only $99. I just<br />
had to capture <strong>the</strong> magnitude of happ<strong>in</strong>ess I was experienc<strong>in</strong>g!<br />
monica nederend, 16: Many of <strong>the</strong> poems that I write are <strong>in</strong>spired by <strong>the</strong><br />
area that I live <strong>in</strong>— an old sub-sea-level farm<strong>in</strong>g community, surrounded by<br />
fields, and constant headw<strong>in</strong>ds. There are dikes to block flood<strong>in</strong>g, and <strong>the</strong>y<br />
are wonderfully quiet places. I enjoy bik<strong>in</strong>g and walk<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong>re; <strong>in</strong> fact, that<br />
was where <strong>the</strong> first draft of “The House” was written.
sandra otero, 17: I live <strong>in</strong> a small town that I call home Lawrence, Kansas.<br />
I have lived <strong>in</strong> two o<strong>the</strong>r places, Oklahoma and Mexico, but <strong>the</strong>y don’t<br />
compare to this town. Although I would love to move when I’m out of high<br />
school this May, Lawrence is <strong>the</strong> place I feel I really “grew up.” I’ve always<br />
been a lost person but photography has helped me f<strong>in</strong>d my path <strong>in</strong> life. It’s<br />
help<strong>in</strong>g me be more creative which I have always wanted. I like anyth<strong>in</strong>g that<br />
will open my m<strong>in</strong>d and make me curious. I’m plann<strong>in</strong>g to study Art Therapy<br />
but I am also a very <strong>in</strong>decisive person so it is possible that could change.<br />
hyun park, 18: It was <strong>the</strong> tenth day of February <strong>in</strong> 2010 when I<br />
arrived at JFK International Airport <strong>in</strong> New York. I had lived <strong>in</strong> South<br />
Korea dur<strong>in</strong>g my entire life— seventeen years— before <strong>the</strong> snowy day<br />
<strong>in</strong> United States. Now I look back on <strong>the</strong> last one year that I’ve spent<br />
here, it seems that so many th<strong>in</strong>gs changed but one th<strong>in</strong>g: My heart. I<br />
learned to speak <strong>in</strong> ano<strong>the</strong>r language. I’m gett<strong>in</strong>g used to do<strong>in</strong>g school<br />
works and I’m gett<strong>in</strong>g more comfortable with different way of th<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g<br />
and culture. But still I’m <strong>the</strong> person who missed all <strong>the</strong> friends <strong>in</strong> her<br />
mo<strong>the</strong>rland and <strong>the</strong> world she had known. I’m still <strong>the</strong> person who said<br />
she would be a writer <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> future whatever language she ought to use.<br />
madel<strong>in</strong>e peterson, 18: I was born <strong>in</strong> Victoria BC, on Vancouver<br />
Island. I have grown up on <strong>the</strong> west coast of Canada, and have<br />
explored much of <strong>the</strong> region with my family and my school. I have<br />
played soccer s<strong>in</strong>ce I was five, and also enjoy visual arts and music.<br />
Next year I will be leav<strong>in</strong>g Victoria to attend university, and hope<br />
to study digital media, arts and computers.<br />
eric protzer, 17: I was born <strong>in</strong> Lantzville, BC, and moved to Victoria<br />
at <strong>the</strong> age of ten. I have written <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> mediums of poetry, song, <strong>the</strong>atre<br />
and journalism, and frequent spoken word as an actor and public<br />
speaker. Although I enjoy a variety of writers, some of my largest<br />
<strong>in</strong>fluences are Poe, Dick<strong>in</strong>son and Monty Python. When not work<strong>in</strong>g<br />
with language, I enjoy spend<strong>in</strong>g time with my cats and be<strong>in</strong>g a socialist.<br />
sophart ra, 16: I have 5 sibl<strong>in</strong>gs and I am third. S<strong>in</strong>ce my parents<br />
divorced, I live separately from my family. I have lived <strong>in</strong> Buddhism<br />
temples and helped monks. Now a director of NGO gives me a place<br />
to stay at Self Help Community Center. I take care of vegetables and<br />
domestic animals, and clean up classrooms for <strong>the</strong> Center. There are<br />
more than 900 students who come to learn <strong>the</strong>re.<br />
emma reaney, 18: Some call me The Greenhouse<br />
Effect but <strong>the</strong> name my parents gave me is Emma Reaney. I draw<br />
<strong>in</strong>spiration from literally everyth<strong>in</strong>g around me. I’m constantly<br />
striv<strong>in</strong>g to better myself artistically and to f<strong>in</strong>d th<strong>in</strong>gs that help me<br />
be more spontaneously creative. Lawrence, a town that is big enough<br />
to not know everyone and small enough to almost make you go<br />
<strong>in</strong>sane, is <strong>the</strong> perfect place to get <strong>in</strong>spired. A college campus and a<br />
unique, imag<strong>in</strong>ative downtown are some of <strong>the</strong> th<strong>in</strong>gs here that make<br />
Lawrence a great background for my photography.<br />
93
enee reneau, 16: I enjoy be<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong>volved <strong>in</strong> multidiscipl<strong>in</strong>ary<br />
projects that comb<strong>in</strong>e writ<strong>in</strong>g, filmmak<strong>in</strong>g, music, and any o<strong>the</strong>r<br />
art form. I am actively <strong>in</strong>volved <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> Amnesty International<br />
organization and hope to major <strong>in</strong> Global Studies or International<br />
Relations when I attend college. “Sundays” was <strong>in</strong>spired from <strong>the</strong><br />
days of my childhood spent liv<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> nor<strong>the</strong>rn California and <strong>the</strong><br />
spirituality of children, that often rema<strong>in</strong>s hidden until adulthood.<br />
isaac s. r<strong>in</strong>ke, 16: I’m a 16 year old<br />
kid, raised <strong>in</strong> Kansas and born of ord<strong>in</strong>ary descent. I spend<br />
a good deal of time just th<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g about <strong>the</strong> different k<strong>in</strong>ds<br />
of photographs I could set up. Towards Insanity is someth<strong>in</strong>g<br />
I had wanted to try for awhile. I really love <strong>the</strong> old films of<br />
people attempt<strong>in</strong>g to fly by strapp<strong>in</strong>g rockets to <strong>the</strong>ir back,<br />
especially <strong>the</strong> scene <strong>in</strong> Chitty Chitty Bang Bang where <strong>the</strong><br />
fa<strong>the</strong>r tries to no avail, to fly by means of w<strong>in</strong>gs, rockets<br />
and a cart on tra<strong>in</strong> tracks.<br />
eden rob<strong>in</strong>son, 17: I’ve lived <strong>in</strong> Carlisle my whole life and<br />
I’ve always been <strong>in</strong>spired by art. My Mum and Grandma are full<br />
time artists, and I th<strong>in</strong>k that it has passed down <strong>the</strong> family, but<br />
my particular <strong>in</strong>terest <strong>in</strong> people and draw<strong>in</strong>g has always come<br />
from me. I love <strong>the</strong> way that <strong>the</strong> figures of people can always<br />
be portrayed <strong>in</strong> so many different ways, I especially love facial<br />
expressions. I currently study Art, Photography, English Language<br />
and History; I f<strong>in</strong>d this a great comb<strong>in</strong>ation as <strong>the</strong>y all supplement<br />
my Art work which I eventually aspire to do at University.<br />
lili rosenkranz, 17: I am <strong>the</strong> editor and chief of my school’s literary magaz<strong>in</strong>e Daedalus,<br />
and writ<strong>in</strong>g is my way out. I first wrote to be beautiful, because<br />
I thought it was all softness, lullabies, “I love yous.” But I write<br />
now because I chase greater th<strong>in</strong>gs: <strong>the</strong> vulnerability, <strong>the</strong> audacity,<br />
<strong>the</strong> pa<strong>in</strong>. I am <strong>the</strong> daughter of a cancer patient, a pariah <strong>in</strong> a<br />
school made of glass where <strong>the</strong> girls all have blonde hair, and I am<br />
hungry for someth<strong>in</strong>g strange and flawed. This piece is <strong>in</strong>spired by<br />
a desire to leave, and look, and want more than a suburb. It is a<br />
love for <strong>the</strong> small th<strong>in</strong>gs, a love for Ste<strong>in</strong>beck and Keroac, and an<br />
admiration that will one day drive me to get <strong>in</strong> a car and swallow<br />
up a country. I am stuck now but soon will explore.<br />
danny rothschild, 17: I was born <strong>in</strong> Italy, spent my childhood<br />
throughout countries <strong>in</strong> Africa (Mozambique, Mali, Nigeria,<br />
Ben<strong>in</strong> and Uganda), and am currently f<strong>in</strong>ish<strong>in</strong>g my senior year <strong>in</strong><br />
Nor<strong>the</strong>rn Michigan. I dream of becom<strong>in</strong>g a playwright, but if that<br />
plan falls through, I will open up a bakery and build forts for <strong>the</strong><br />
rest of my life, where I can nap, listen to Iron & W<strong>in</strong>e, and read<br />
Mary Oliver and Pablo Neruda poems for <strong>the</strong> rest of my days.<br />
a i<br />
kelsey schurer, 18: S<strong>in</strong>ce I spend so much of my time near <strong>the</strong> beach,<br />
my home often <strong>in</strong>fluences my poetry. Whe<strong>the</strong>r good or bad, <strong>the</strong>se poems<br />
have little pieces of me scattered with<strong>in</strong>.
angela shen, 17: I’ve spent most of my years <strong>in</strong> Norman,<br />
Oklahoma as a Ch<strong>in</strong>ese-American girl long<strong>in</strong>g for <strong>the</strong> ocean. I<br />
have visited various places <strong>in</strong> California and Texas where <strong>the</strong> Asian<br />
communities are ra<strong>the</strong>r sprawl<strong>in</strong>g, unlike <strong>the</strong> small, yet dedicated<br />
band of Asian Americans here. But it is <strong>in</strong>terest<strong>in</strong>g to see <strong>the</strong><br />
younger children grow up--whe<strong>the</strong>r <strong>the</strong>y start learn<strong>in</strong>g Ch<strong>in</strong>ese<br />
<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> local parent-established Ch<strong>in</strong>ese school like I did, if <strong>the</strong>y<br />
embrace <strong>the</strong>ir heritage--and know<strong>in</strong>g most of <strong>the</strong>m personally.<br />
taylor smith, 17: I have lived my entire life <strong>in</strong> Allendale, NJ, but<br />
was born <strong>in</strong> Glen Ridge at Mounta<strong>in</strong>side Hospital and lived <strong>in</strong> Nutley,<br />
NJ for two years. I enjoy cook<strong>in</strong>g, travel<strong>in</strong>g, fashion especially, and<br />
f<strong>in</strong>e d<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>g. I live a very normal life and attend Nor<strong>the</strong>rn Highlands<br />
Regional High School <strong>in</strong> Allendale, NJ. I am a junior and am<br />
look<strong>in</strong>g forward to college plann<strong>in</strong>g. “My Ticket” is a poem about<br />
my grandfa<strong>the</strong>r who passed away when I was <strong>in</strong> fourth grade due to<br />
Alzheimer’s. I was extremely close to him and <strong>the</strong> time we spent<br />
toge<strong>the</strong>r <strong>in</strong>spired me to write a poem of us hypo<strong>the</strong>tically be<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong><br />
England toge<strong>the</strong>r.<br />
brittany soder, 17: I am from Florida and have been locally<br />
published before. I live on <strong>the</strong> beach and <strong>the</strong> water has been a<br />
huge part <strong>in</strong> my life s<strong>in</strong>ce I was a baby, but I love <strong>the</strong> mounta<strong>in</strong>s<br />
so much too and that is a big part <strong>in</strong> my writ<strong>in</strong>g s<strong>in</strong>ce I like to<br />
write about nature.<br />
oksana soluyanova, 16: I have two ma<strong>in</strong> hobbies. Firstly, I enjoy<br />
tak<strong>in</strong>g photos very much. It’s so great to record joyful moments of<br />
our life and <strong>in</strong> some years watch <strong>the</strong>se pictures and smile, remember<br />
how f<strong>in</strong>e you were. Tak<strong>in</strong>g photos for me means mak<strong>in</strong>g art from our<br />
everyday life and th<strong>in</strong>gs we watch and pass by every day. Ano<strong>the</strong>r<br />
th<strong>in</strong>g is danc<strong>in</strong>g. I am a real dancer from my early childhood. I like<br />
perform<strong>in</strong>g on a stage.<br />
jonas upman, 18: Photography, for me, is an outlet for<br />
my creative energy. Many of my pieces have political or<br />
social undertones. This is due to my ra<strong>the</strong>r cynical outlook<br />
of how we currently live our lives and of <strong>the</strong> society we live<br />
<strong>in</strong>. I believe life is so much different than we make it out to<br />
be. I enjoy read<strong>in</strong>g, listen<strong>in</strong>g to music, and philosophiz<strong>in</strong>g<br />
with friends, which is where I get many of my ideas for my<br />
photography. As I have gotten older, I have realized that<br />
my <strong>in</strong>terests <strong>in</strong> politics and social movements are push<strong>in</strong>g<br />
me towards a life of activism. In college, I will pursue<br />
<strong>the</strong>se <strong>in</strong>terests and <strong>the</strong>y will take me where <strong>the</strong>y take me,<br />
even if that means poverty. I will use my creative talents <strong>in</strong><br />
conjunction with my <strong>in</strong>nate need to change someth<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong><br />
order to make a difference <strong>in</strong> this world we live <strong>in</strong>.<br />
95
obyn van ek, 17: I spend most of my time <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> kitchen<br />
cook<strong>in</strong>g and document<strong>in</strong>g any successful concoctions that I<br />
create. I read food blogs <strong>in</strong> my spare time and would love to<br />
receive a yogurt maker for Christmas. I am currently attempt<strong>in</strong>g<br />
to <strong>in</strong>tegrate my love of food <strong>in</strong>to my poetry. This poem was<br />
created from a prompt that I received <strong>in</strong> class. I started with<br />
a stanza from Hea<strong>the</strong>r MacLeod’s “Touch <strong>the</strong> Buffalo.” I<br />
immediately thought of travel and adventure when I read <strong>the</strong><br />
stanza, and decided to explore <strong>the</strong> world through a child’s eyes.<br />
elissa watters, 17: I have lived <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> suburbs of New York City all my<br />
life. When I was little, I went to <strong>the</strong> public school <strong>in</strong> our area. Then, <strong>in</strong><br />
fourth grade, I started attend<strong>in</strong>g a school <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> city. Now I get <strong>the</strong> benefits<br />
of both <strong>the</strong> suburbs and <strong>the</strong> city! I love be<strong>in</strong>g able to open my backdoor and<br />
pass a soccer ball around or build an igloo <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> snow while hav<strong>in</strong>g access<br />
to <strong>the</strong> diversity and culture of New York City.<br />
a i<br />
sara ventura, 17: I dislike mushrooms, math, monotone voices,<br />
my hair when it decides to look horrible (it’s super curly usually),<br />
deadl<strong>in</strong>es, and sometimes pancakes. I like desaturated photographs,<br />
freckles, long drives, oranges, humm<strong>in</strong>gbirds, chang<strong>in</strong>g my hair, and<br />
spaghetti for breakfast. Most of my photos are <strong>the</strong> product of me<br />
search<strong>in</strong>g out perfect places, and bas<strong>in</strong>g my images off of what I f<strong>in</strong>d.<br />
I like black and white photography more than color, mostly because of<br />
<strong>the</strong>ir simplicity; it is more appeal<strong>in</strong>g to me.<br />
luke watson, 18. I go to Judge Memorial High School and love art.<br />
I am plann<strong>in</strong>g on go<strong>in</strong>g to college next year, probably an art college<br />
<strong>in</strong> hopes of pursu<strong>in</strong>g my <strong>in</strong>terest <strong>in</strong> that field, but have not decided<br />
on where quite yet. O<strong>the</strong>r than art, I enjoy ski<strong>in</strong>g, rock climb<strong>in</strong>g,<br />
long-board<strong>in</strong>g, spend<strong>in</strong>g time with friends, spend<strong>in</strong>g time outside,<br />
and summer.
thank you, teachers and schools<br />
As we send our fourth volume of <strong>Aerie</strong> International to <strong>the</strong> pr<strong>in</strong>ter, I am struck aga<strong>in</strong> by <strong>the</strong><br />
presence of teachers and mentors <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong>se pages. When first conceiv<strong>in</strong>g this project, I did not<br />
yet understand <strong>the</strong> power and presence of those who stood beh<strong>in</strong>d <strong>the</strong> students we f<strong>in</strong>d here.<br />
Part of my impetus for start<strong>in</strong>g this magaz<strong>in</strong>e was connect<strong>in</strong>g students. I had yet to learn how<br />
powerfully it would connect teachers. For me personally, this magaz<strong>in</strong>e has taken me well<br />
beyond <strong>the</strong> bounds of my school and my students and has exposed me to ideas I would not have<br />
considered and people I would not o<strong>the</strong>rwise have met. My teach<strong>in</strong>g and what I th<strong>in</strong>k possible<br />
<strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> classroom has grown as a result. In a time when teachers, particularly teachers of <strong>the</strong><br />
arts, live too closely to <strong>the</strong> vacuum that can become standardized test<strong>in</strong>g, <strong>the</strong>se submissions<br />
validate <strong>the</strong> need for <strong>the</strong> arts <strong>in</strong> all our schools. Thank you to teachers who create an<br />
environment <strong>in</strong> which young writers and artists thrive. Without those mentors, adm<strong>in</strong>istrators,<br />
and schools, this magaz<strong>in</strong>e would not be possible. Thank you. -Lorilee Evans-Lynn<br />
students of <strong>the</strong> follow<strong>in</strong>g teachers were selected for<br />
<strong>in</strong>clusion <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> <strong>2011</strong> aerie <strong>in</strong>ternational.<br />
jane avrich, hea<strong>the</strong>r hord, and marty skoble | sa<strong>in</strong>t ann’s school, brooklyn, new york, usa<br />
svea barrett | nor<strong>the</strong>rn highlands regional high school, allendale, new jersey, usa<br />
beverly bateman and tara f<strong>in</strong>co | parkview high school, lilburn, georgia, usa<br />
carolyn berry | lawrence free state high school, lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
tom bett<strong>in</strong> and l<strong>in</strong>da simpson | judge memorial catholic high school, salt lake city, utah, usa<br />
m. beuger | k<strong>in</strong>gsway high school, durban, kwa-zulu natal prov<strong>in</strong>ce, south africa<br />
mel<strong>in</strong>da combs | orange county high school of <strong>the</strong> arts, santa ana, california, usa<br />
karen cuchel | william a. sh<strong>in</strong>e great neck south high school, great neck, new york, usa<br />
jane giles, stuart quigley and melanie reay | tr<strong>in</strong>ity school, carlisle, cumbria, uk<br />
rhea gunn<strong>in</strong>g | delta secondary school, delta, british columbia, canada<br />
colleen hansen | helena high school, helena, montana, usa<br />
angelyn hilgendorf | university school of nashville, nashville, tennessee, usa<br />
jackie jones | douglas anderson school of <strong>the</strong> arts, jacksonville, florida, usa<br />
angelia perk<strong>in</strong>s | lawrence high school, lawrence, kansas, usa<br />
mika perr<strong>in</strong>e | <strong>in</strong>terlochen arts academy, <strong>in</strong>terlochen, michigan, usa<br />
tomoko kasahara and yuko sakata | small arts school, siem reap, cambodia<br />
jeff schwartz | greenwich academy, greenwich, connecticut, usa<br />
susan stenson | claremont secondary, victoria, british columbia, canada<br />
kathy woods | norman north high school, norman, oklahoma, usa<br />
elena yegorova and zim<strong>in</strong>a ella vyacheslavovna | gymnasium no. 139, kazan, tatarstan, russia<br />
natalya yegorova |gymnasium no. 40, kazan, tatarstan, russia<br />
terence young | sa<strong>in</strong>t michaels university school, victoria, british columbia, canada<br />
97
“I want you to know that my students read <strong>the</strong> magaz<strong>in</strong>e year round. Just when I tuck<br />
it away, someone else is look<strong>in</strong>g for it and I have to pull it back out. You would be<br />
happy to know that my copies are gett<strong>in</strong>g a little ragged around <strong>the</strong> edges.”<br />
-Angelia Perk<strong>in</strong>s, Art Educator, Lawrence High School, Lawrence, Kansas<br />
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a i<br />
<strong>Aerie</strong> International<br />
Announces:<br />
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Richard Hugo Sense of Place Award $100<br />
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Deadl<strong>in</strong>e: 1 February 2012<br />
Please <strong>in</strong>clude no more than 5 pieces per <strong>in</strong>dividual per year. Submitt<strong>in</strong>g student<br />
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