California State University (CSU): Open Journal Systems

Yung, Jennifer

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Yu
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Keep Clear of Moving Parts | Jennifer Yung
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Yung


English

Keep Clear of Moving Parts

Godoy, Nicholas

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…Will we finally be free from political and social 
upheaval, or will we let it consume the country as a whole 
until all that is left are the straggling remnants of human 
civilization?
Octavia Butler presents to the world a strikingly 
prophetic vision answering just that question: When the 
world has succumbed to the ravages of climactic disasters, 
economic decline, and societal breakdown, who will 
be left standing among the rubble and decay of the 
old world? The answer may not be as surprising as you 
might think, yet it is the response to that answer that Butler 
elucidates the cure-all for a collapsed society.
Published in 1993, the novel’s speculative and 
dystopian depiction of America may feel uncomfortably 
relevant in today’s climate. This feeling can be further 
exacerbated by the alarming fact that the story’s futuristic 
dystopia begins in the year 2024, a year once thought 
to be just beyond the reach of our scientific imagination, 
yet the reality feels much closer to home than most 
people would like to realize. Taking place in a decaying 
California, Parable of the Sower explores a society that has 
collapsed under the weight of extreme wealth inequality, 
environmental destruction, and societal upheaval, forcing 
individuals to resort to drastic measures for survival. At its 
essence, the narrative reflects Butler’s sharp social critique 
and deep insight into human responses to crises, serving as 
a serious warning about the repercussions of disregarding 
social, economic, and ecological justice.
Butler envisions a fragmented America: One that has 
allowed the fortunate few to rise to an otherworldly elite 
status, while the majority of America must dwell within 
shambled, walled communities on the fringe of society 
and civilization. With essential resources like water and 
food becoming highly scarce and valuable, coupled with 
the uncertainty of safety that comes with living in such 
communities, Butler creates a stark dichotomy between 
the few elite and the common man, those protected by 
private security which has been dictated a luxury, and 
those who must come together to overcome the harshness 
In the Not-So-Distant Future — a microreview 
| Nicholas Godoy
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outside the walls. Law has become privatized, becoming 
a commodity instead of a basic human right. Climate 
change has led to severe droughts and raging fires, leaving 
the land a scorched wasteland, unfit for agriculture, and 
corporations and private interests have taken over the 
responsibilities of government institutions. Through these 
pivotal notions and glaring critiques, one is left to wonder 
where the line between speculative fiction ends and reality 
begins. After all, this is just science fiction, isn’t it?
The writing of Octavia Butler is most easily recognized 
for its distinctive and clear narrative style. This method is 
further complemented by a thoughtful tone that strongly 
emphasizes the book’s themes of survival, adaptability, 
and transformation within a deteriorating society. The 
book’s structure resembles that of journal entries, utilizing 
straightforward and easy-to-understand language in 
order to create a more personal and engaging reading 
experience, allowing readers to connect with the main 
character, Lauren Olamina, as she strives to grasp her role 
and purpose in a war-torn setting. One of Butler’s most 
impactful techniques is her use of Lauren’s first-person 
narration. Presented as a diary, Lauren’s entries are 
both personal and prophetic, which creates a sense of 
intimacy with the reader. This format lends an immediacy 
to the events Lauren describes, as though the reader 
is experiencing her journey and insights in real time. By 
removing an omniscient narrator and giving Lauren 
complete control over the story’s perspective, Butler 
emphasizes the importance of individual experience 
in navigating societal collapse—a theme central to 
Earthseed, which encourages self-determination and 
adaptability.
Though the events and characterizations are greatly 
exaggerated for the novel’s e!ect, Octavia Butler did 
not simply pull these centralized themes from thin air. 
Rather, she engaged with the pressing societal issues at 
hand during her time writing this piece, which continues 
to remain as relevant today, in the year the story actually 
takes place, as when it was written in 1993 when these 
issues were but just symptoms of a much larger issue at 
hand. The 1990s is a decade most notably marked by 
its significant political and societal movements that are 
still resonating within the country 31 years later. Anti-
globalization protests have begun in response to the 
advocation for a more “interconnected” society; those 
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protesting argued that a globalized society would only 
lead to further exploitation of workers, a loss of culture, and 
further damage to an already weakened environment. 
Climate awareness skyrocketed with the news of a 
depleting ozone layer, leading to a surge in activism 
that steadily saw its return decades later, and the anti-
apartheid movement continued to act as a model for 
global human rights activism. All of these instances of 
globalized protests and activism served as the basis for 
Parable of the Sower, which Butler wished to utilize as a 
warning to having these pivotal movements disregarded in 
favor of commercialization.
If one were to compare this story to something a 
little more contemporary in terms of its style of writing 
and societal themes present, then English majors may 
be able to draw its comparisons to Valeria Luiselli’s Lost 
Children Archive and Cristina River Garcia’s Liliana’s 
Invincible Summer, as all three narratives utilize a first-
person narration in order to portray a more personal, 
more reflective and intimate perspective to the lives of 
each individual. In regards to the style of writing, all three 
novels make use of a journal and diary entry format so as 
to add a layer of intimacy, readers become entranced 
by the immediate and personal narration, which serves 
to fuel their understanding of the matters at hand. Each 
narrative addresses some form of societal issue, whether it 
be environmental, as is the case with Parable of the Sower, 
concerning immigration policy, such as with Lost Children 
Archives, or gender violence and inequality, as portrayed 
within Liliana’s Invincible Summer, these themes help to 
provide a level of social commentary that can continue to 
resonate with ongoing discussions about the importance of 
social and environmental justice.
Butler presents us with a grim reminder of the 
consequences of our collective actions. Through very real 
instances of globalization and corporate greed, Butler 
envisions a world that has lost itself to the private wishes of 
the upper elite class. Taking into account the influences 
and context of the decade it was written, this story serves 
more as a foreboding warning, the inevitable that has yet 
to come, more than just a piece of speculative science 
fiction. In response to societal disorder, Butler emphasizes 
the importance of individuality, of adapting to change 
as it comes, and of letting go of the past to build a future 
ahead. She presents to the readers a crumbling and dying 
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world on the edge of total collapse. Butler thrusts readers 
into her world; where we are forced to reflect on the very 
real-world implications of unchecked inequality and a 
neglected environment in lieu of corporate gain, making 
this novel a timeless and important piece of speculative 
science fiction that continues to remain as relevant today 
as when it was written in 1993.


In the Not-So-Distant Future...

Laska, Max

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6
Tides of Time | Max Laska-Sandleman
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A beautifully somber town 
that sits on the coast, 
Where the fresh, salty smell 
Of the crystal blue ocean embodies the air, 
Harsh waves that end softly kissing the shore, 
Whispers of the sea, crisp and clean. 
The ocean breeze fights the harsh summer heat, 
Its cool embrace like a gentle hug, 
Carrying the stories of distant lands.
A town where time moves still, 
Where people come to rest, to retire, 
And the days stretch like the ebbing tide, 
Slow and unhurried, as if they too are waiting. 
The mile-long pier reaching out, 
Over the ocean 
A quiet path over violent, crashing waves, 
Its planks worn smooth by years of footsteps, 
Each one leaving behind a memory.
Here, you can stand and gaze, 
Watch the horizon blur into the sky, 
And let the rhythm of the waves 
Speak to your soul, 
The crash of the ocean, 
The soft murmur of time passing.
This may be the place, 
The place to talk about the past, 
The present, 
And the future 
A whisper on the wind, 
A promise not yet made. 
Here, we hold dear what we can, 
The fleeting moments, the quiet conversations, 
The love that lingers like salt in the air. 
But we must remember: 
What we hold dear may not last forever, 
For even the waves must eventually recede, 
And the pier, like all things, will one day fade.


Tides of Time

Leyva, Sandra

A Lake Writes a Letter to a River

Wiacek, Kat

20
ADHD - KAT WIACEK
acrylic and oil on canvas


ADHD

Gonzalez, Tomas

21
 DANGEROUS SUN
TOMAS GONZALEZ
REN
 It wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep, it was that he didn’t 
want to.
 Sleeping was what he should be doing, but it was the last 
thing he wanted. 
 Sleep was when the voice came, when it whispered to him, 
like the slow scraping of metal against the inside of his skull.
And so here he was, staring into the glassy monitor with its 
endless charts and data streams displaying the absolute emp-
tiness of the space around them. The concoction of coffee and 
other stimulants he had worked on over the last couple of trips 
keeping him awake, his attention chemically elevated and fixat-
ed on the screen. 
 It was this altered state that at first made him question 
if what he had seen on the monitors was anything at all. But 
suddenly it was there again, a blip cascading from sensor to 
sensor, being picked up by magnetic, thermal, and imaging sen-
sors on the starboard side. But what could be floating out in 
all this emptiness? Likely just a piece of debris or a stray 
asteroid drifting alone in the darkness he shrugged as he took 
another sip of his acrid brew.
 But as he panned the camera closest to the object, he knew 
it was anything but trash.
 As he stared at the monitor, scrutinizing the object, 
he suddenly felt ill. His vision blurred and the voice slow-
ly clawed its way up from his subconscious. He gripped the edge 
of his seat, losing his grip on consciousness, but then, all 
at once, every machine in the navigation room lit up. Screens 
blinked, urging attention as data rolls ticked out streams of 
information in printed, hard copy form. In the chaos he was able 
to shake the nausea, but the voice did not quiet; it seemed to 
sharpen and was clear enough to understand. 
“Come…” 
!
 It was the only word, repeated over and over. He sat there 
frozen, the word echoing in his mind. It wasn’t until another 
voice broke through the chaos, the automated staccato voice of 
the computer, that he realized what a world of trouble he was 
in if he didn’t act fast.
“Priority one, full crew activation initiated,” the ship re-
peated. 
 He hurried back to the crew quarters, just making it to 
his sleep pod right as the doors of the other crew members' 
pods began to open with a hermetic woosh.
ALICE
 It was always a mindfuck waking up from deep sleep. The 
first feeling was the slow, dull pain of various needles and 
tubes retreating from the nooks and crannies of your body. It 
was like mechanical snakes, gently removing their fangs and 
slithering away to their hiding places within the walls of the 
pod. But compared to the total loss of self, this was relative-
ly quick and painless. She wasn’t sure exactly how it worked 
but the cocktail of sedatives, antipsychotics, and various oth-
er drugs needed to make extended deep sleep possible really 
messed with your memory. After the general haze of sleep wore 
off it always took an hour or so for you to fully become your-
self again. Your mind was all in fragments and sometimes you 
couldn’t even remember who you were. 
 Name, where you were born, who you loved, who loved you; 
these were often mysteries that slowly drifted into place as 
you stretched your wobbly legs around the crew quarters. As she 
looked around the rest of the crew was in similar sorts, wiping 
the sleep from their eyes and looking at the others half suspi-
ciously as their trust formed for the strangers who were slow-
ly becoming familiar; all except one. A tall, lanky guy pulling 
long strips of paper through his hands and looking them over as 
it poured out of the bank of computers along the wall.
The tape. Something about the tape suddenly gave her an uneasy 
feeling, something she was struggling to pull from her memory… 
“The computer only prints tape during an emergency and digital 
copies might be corrupted or lost,” she recalled.
 “What’s the emergency? …Ren?” she asked, his face slowly 
23becoming familiar. “You remembered my name this time,” he said with a 
half-smile that he quickly put away. 
 “Nothing major, looks like the computer picked up some 
space junk worth stopping for. Has it ever done this before?”
 She walked over to the nearest console and tried to draw 
the commands she needed from the corners of her memory. But 
before she could input anything the screen lit up in a wash of 
green text.
Congratulations… Captain Alice! 
You have been selected to lead a special assignment, please standby for your brie!ng :)
 The message made her stomach sink. This was the pirates 
all over again.
THE SHIP 
 
 The ship did not have a name. At least not the kind that was 
usually granted during one of those ancient ceremonies where, for 
long ago forgotten reasons, a bottle of champagne is cracked on 
its hull. That was an honor reserved for the types of ships that 
carried some sort of prestige or great purpose. No, this ship was 
anything but special, only given a serial number: D3MTTR. Noth-
ing but a cog in the machinery of a galactic enterprise so large, 
it was hard to fathom. A planet cracker, meteor hauler, pirate 
vessel for a stint and now a cargo vessel for the cheap seats. 
When whatever splinter nation, religious sect or megacorporation 
couldn’t afford the exorbitant fees of the space gates, the cor-
poration was more than happy to provide a slow boat to “paradise” 
for a greatly discounted fee. Of course, this included a contract 
so long you could trail it behind the ship to find your way back 
once your utopia inevitably failed. Ultimately, the corporation 
didn’t really care what the ship was used for or by whom, as long 
as the invoices added up at the end of the year and the crew paid 
their taxes to whatever bureaucrat was sitting at the desk at home 
office. And it was always the same crew, each ship was coded to 
its crew and no one else could interface with even its most basic 
systems if the corporation didn’t approve it. Even during 
the pirate era, they woke up whenever anything needed human 
24
attention, much to the surprise of the pirates who thought they 
were in control. The ship provided guidance, logged the incident, 
and when the work was done the crew enjoyed a day or two swapping 
stories with the pirates and catching up on news, then back to 
sleep they went. Titles and ranks were never used unless the ship 
deemed a task dangerous or ethically gray enough to merit a pay 
bump. Like ejecting hundreds of hapless pirates into the asphyx-
iating darkness of space for lack of payment.
JUNK
 “So, Captain Alice,” Yuri, who always had a twisted sense 
of humor, asked. “What’s the special assignment? Are we eject-
ing these cruisers into the closest sun or just turning off the 
life support and selling the pods for scrap.”
 “Lucky for our Customers nothing like that.” Alice said, cor-
recting Yuri’s pet name for the over 1 million souls stowed in 
the vast hold of the ship. Each one nestled in a pod alongside 
all the trappings needed to settle on their future colony.
 “Home office wants us to check out some space junk the 
ship picked up. Ren, can you give us a breakdown?”
 Ren was frantically jumping between consoles, looking over 
scans of the object in between gulps of sludgy coffee.
 “Well, two things,” they said excitedly, “One. I’ve nev-
er seen anything like this. From first appearances it’s nothing 
special. It seems to be metal and it’s likely hollow based on 
weight, but I can’t penetrate the damn thing. I’ve thrown every 
scanner we have, even some of the old planet cracker stuff, and 
it’s like a black hole in there. Maybe some kind of shielding 
but I can’t really be sure. “...Second, and this is maybe, ok…”
 “Just spit it out!” Alice said with a bit of shortness, 
feeling ever more uneasy about this assignment.
 “I don’t know how to explain it but I think it’s from 
Earth. And likely not just some junk lost by a ship along the 
same route.” Ren’s widening eyes made the sinking feeling in 
Alice’s stomach into a dull ache. “I checked the company re-
cords twice! We’re the first ship this far out in the sector, 
And more than that, it’s old. Like really old. Like really, re-
ally old.”
 “Exactly how old are we talking?” Alice asked as Ren scrib-
25bled on a piece of data tape.
 “Best estimate, and this is fuzzy until we can get a 
closer look because really there are a lot of factors at play 
here so…”
 “Ren, how old?” Alice grimaced.
 Ren finished his scribbles, which Alice could now see was 
a long string of equations, the sum circled in deep red.
 “10,000 years.” he said shakily, handing the paper to Al-
ice.
 Before she could even structure a response, the hub com-
puter chimed. Alice walked over and read the guidance from the 
home office. The dull ache broke out into a full cramp.
WARNINGS
 As Alice and Yuri approached the object in the quarantine 
bay, they couldn’t really see anything special about it. It 
stood about 10 feet tall, rectangular, slightly widened out at 
one end and completely black, like an upside-down obelisk. But 
as they got closer, they could see deep scarlet markings etched 
into almost every square inch of its surface.
 “We got a translation here, Ren?” Alice asked as she passed 
her hands over the obelisk.
 “Nothing yet. It’s definitely Proto-Romantic according to 
the computer, so we at least know it’s from Earth.”
 Yuri circled the object slowly, looking over the inky sur-
face for seams or some kind of mechanism. 
 “It’s sealed up nice and tight that’s for sure,” he said, 
huffing as he grabbed the unwieldy looking cutter from the cart 
and waved Alice to the side.
 “You got that old man?” Alice asked with a smile. You 
wouldn’t know from looking at him, but Yuri was the oldest mem-
ber of the crew by far. Maybe the oldest person that Alice had 
ever met. She had lost count of how many other ships Yuri had 
worked crew on and wondered his real age. He looked to be in 
his mid-fifties with a tinge of salt and pepper at his temples, 
but with a crew member you never knew. Alice herself was tip-
ping over 200 Earth years old, even though most of that 
time was spent asleep.
 “I got this,” Yuri said defiantly, starting up the 
26
cutter and laying it on the flat side closest to him. In an in-
stant, he was awash in sparks as the teeth, designed for cut-
ting meteor samples, made quick work of the exterior.
 “How’s that?” Yuri asked, appreciating the precise verti-
cal slit cut in the object.
 “I’ll need at least a few inches of wiggle room to get a 
good scan,” Ren chimed over the comms. “Can you give it another 
pass, maybe cut horizontal a bit so we can pry it open.”
 Yuri grimaced at the weight of the cutter but powered it 
back on and started the procedure from the new angle. Helped by 
the initial cut, things went smoother this time, until he felt 
it suddenly begin to catch.
 “I’m hitting something here, should I stop?” Yuri pipped.
 “Just a little more!” urged Ren over the mic as he watched 
through the monitors, unblinking and covered in a cold sweat. 
Yuri continued, smoke beginning to creep out of the object as 
the cutter struggled on whatever it was catching on. Suddenly 
the smoke got darker and poured out of the slit from the previ-
ous cut, the blade screamed.
 “Just a little more!” Ren urged again, the voice scratch-
ing at him from behind his eyes.
 Suddenly the blade gave one last sickening howl and in-
stantly shattered. Yuri covered his face instinctively, the 
pieces of blade and destroyed cutter shredded through the many 
layers of the hazard suit. Alice dove for cover, the fragments 
flying through the air like a grenade had gone off in the room. 
 “Yuri!” Alice yelled as she collected herself and rushed 
over to him.
 “I’m ok, I’m fine,” he wheezed as he tried to brace him-
self on the obelisk; blood spilled out from his hands and arms 
as the suit struggled to self-seal.
 “Just a little nick,” he said with a crooked smile as he 
collapsed into Alice’s arms.
THE CONTENTS 
 “What do you mean it’s empty?” Alice prodded. Ren had been 
gone for hours and his answer annoyed her. Especially given 
that Yuri almost died trying to open the damned thing.
 “Well, mostly empty; it’s full of junk. Old books and piec-
es of paper—it’s basically just trash. There’s maybe a handful 
27of recoverable artifacts, but again, it’s all written in that obscure Proto language, and the computer can’t get a 
clean translation on any of it. Especially now that it's 
all covered in Yuri’s blood.”
 “So, Yuri risked his life for a pile of junk, is what 
you’re telling me?” Alice scowled.
 “Basically, well… yes. And the new briefing came in. Head 
office wants us to dump it. Not even worth its weight in scrap, 
I guess,” Ren shrugged.
 “I can take care of it if you want.”
 “No, I’ll dump the fucker myself,” Alice said as she 
stormed off to the hazard bay, Ren ducking out of the way ner-
vously. 
 “You double-check Yuri’s lab work; don’t want him catching 
some space bug from that garbage pile,” she yelled back. 
 “You got it Captain!” Ren said timidly, watching her as 
she turned the corner. Once she was out of view, Ren’s demean-
or darkened. Biting down on his lip, he pondered the situation 
for a moment. Looking down at Yuri, he bit down harder, almost 
drawing blood, his mind racing. What should he do?
THE TRAIL 
 What an absolute mess. 
 The obelisk now looked even more bizarre than before with 
a jagged hole on one side and a pool of blood at its base. 
Fragments of its contents were all over the hazard bay: signed 
books and torn papers, beads and other bits she couldn’t quite 
make out. But what she noticed most was the smell—a smell of 
burning metal and herbs so strong, she wished she had worn her 
hazard suit. After the incident, initial scans showed no haz-
ardous materials or radiation, but the smell was absolutely 
horrid. As she put away the last of the tools, she sighed with 
anticipation of a long shower and an even longer sleep. Once 
she ejected this heap, she would assign the rest of the crew to 
clean up and try to forget the whole thing. Looking at the long 
trail of blood from dragging Yuri to the med bay made her spine 
shiver. They were this close to losing him over nothing.
 “He’s ok,” she thought as she punched in the sequence 
for ejection and started heading back to the slowly clos-
28
ing doors of the bay. Once those doors closed, the obelisk 
would be gone; maybe Yuri might even be awake, and they could 
laugh about the whole thing. As she crossed the room, she took 
one last look at the mess and turned towards the doors. But 
she only took one step before stopping cold. She snapped back 
around, her eyes laser-focused on a trail of bloody footsteps 
that led away from the obelisk. 
 Previously hidden in the shadow of the obelisk provided by 
focused spotlights, they now stood out thanks to the intermit-
tent room filling flashes of the ejection warning lights.
 “Fuck.” She uttered the phrase, motivating her legs to 
move. She ran back to the console and, with one hand, smashed 
the “ABORT/EJECTION” button before she got ejected along with 
the obelisk.
 “HUB REPORT, WHO’S IN THE HUB!?” she yelled into her ra-
dio.
 “Hi Alice, it’s Margot. Everything okay down there? We saw 
you aborted the ejection…”
 “GET EVERYONE DOWN HERE NOW!”
NOT ALONE
 As the room continued to blink with the disorientating haz-
ard lights, against her best judgment, she approached the foot-
prints. The first thing she noticed was the stride, incredibly 
long and scattered. The shape of the foot was also grotesquely 
long, more animal than human. As her reason gave way to curi-
osity, she began to follow the steps deeper into the bay—but 
suddenly, the trail stopped. Two final steps marked the ground 
side by side, a spot of blood between them, as if the owner had 
taken a second to think of their next move and vanished. As she 
examined the final marks, the room flooded with beams of light 
from the approaching crew and their flashlights.
 “What the hell is going on?” Margot asked.
 Alice grabbed her and searched for the words to respond, 
but then she felt it—a warm, wet tap on the crown of her head, 
it trickled down the side of her face and hit the floor below 
her. Looking down, she saw a scarlet drop of blood, and for the 
second time that, night she froze. 
 As she craned her head upwards, Margot followed Alice’s 
line of sight with her flashlight. The beam hit empty air for 
29what felt like an eternity until it landed on the vent—or what was left of it, directly above them. 
 “Jesus, that must be 40, maybe 50 feet off the ground. 
Did Yuri’s blood really go that far?” Margot asked, already 
knowing the answer. A large gash in the twisted and mangled 
grates was slathered with blood, strings of hair and filth.
 “It didn’t,” Alice answered, looking into Margot’s con-
fused eyes as her stomach twisted.
 The others stared at her in silence. Their eyes widening 
as they followed the bloody trail with their lights and up to 
the vent, while coming to the same terrifying realization.
 “It wasn’t empty,” Alice uttered. The black hole of fear 
and anxiety where her stomach once was pulled her in…


Dangerous Sun

Orozco, Benjamin

Femmenigma

Eve Cheby, Lisa

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 o
rd
in
ar
in
es
s 
o
f m
y 
b
ei
ng
:
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
ho
w
 th
e 
d
ia
p
hr
ag
m
 c
o
nt
ra
ct
s 
to
 w
el
co
m
e 
in
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
ai
r, 
re
la
xe
s 
to
 le
t i
t g
o
 w
he
n 
al
l t
ha
t i
s 
ne
ed
ed
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
is
 e
xt
ra
ct
ed
; h
o
w
 it
 is
 b
ri
lli
an
tly
 p
la
ce
d
 to
 m
as
sa
g
e 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
th
e 
th
o
ra
ci
c 
d
uc
t, 
m
o
vi
ng
 ly
m
p
h,
 th
e 
p
ur
ifi
er
, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
th
e 
b
ea
re
r 
o
f l
ig
ht
, t
hr
o
ug
h 
th
is
 b
o
d
y.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
M
ay
b
e 
it 
is
 a
ll 
th
at
 li
g
ht
 th
at
 m
ak
es
 it
 p
ai
nf
ul
13
1
PO
ET
R
Y
to
 lo
o
k 
in
 th
e 
m
ir
ro
r. 
I w
an
t t
o
 m
em
o
ri
ze
 
ea
ch
 fo
ld
 o
f b
el
ly
 th
at
 h
o
ld
s 
m
y 
o
va
ri
es
 a
nd
 to
 lo
ve
 
m
y 
kn
ee
s 
eq
ua
lly
, i
m
p
er
fe
ct
 m
at
ch
 th
at
 th
ey
 a
re
. 
I w
an
t t
he
 m
ap
s 
o
f v
ar
ic
o
se
 r
iv
er
s 
to
 b
e 
m
y 
la
nd
m
ar
ks
, 
an
d
, i
n 
th
e 
m
o
rn
in
g
, I
 w
an
t m
y 
ha
nd
, f
ul
ly
 a
w
ak
e,
 
to
 re
co
g
ni
ze
 I 
am
 m
e 
b
y 
th
e 
cu
rv
e 
o
f m
y 
b
re
as
t. 
13
2
PO
ET
R
Y


Reading myself in the dark

Th
e
 D
o
ct
o
r 
A
tt
e
m
p
ts
 a
 S
im
ile
It
’s
 li
ke
 s
cr
ap
in
g
 y
o
ur
 fi
ng
er
s 
d
o
w
n 
a 
p
ie
ce
 o
f f
ab
ri
c,
 th
e 
d
o
ct
o
r 
m
im
es
 
th
e 
m
o
tio
n,
 s
o
m
e 
th
re
ad
s 
ar
e 
le
ft
 b
eh
in
d
In
 th
is
 c
as
e,
 th
e 
fa
b
ri
c 
is
 m
y 
ut
er
in
e 
w
al
l 
an
d
 th
e 
fin
g
er
 is
 a
n 
o
ve
rs
iz
ed
 Q
-t
ip
 re
m
o
vi
ng
th
e 
m
uc
o
us
 m
em
b
ra
ne
s 
an
d
 m
y 
b
o
d
y’
s 
fr
ee
d
o
m
 to
 c
ho
o
se
w
he
n 
it 
w
ill
 s
he
d
 w
ha
t i
t d
ec
id
es
 it
 n
o
 lo
ng
er
 n
ee
d
s
To
 e
xp
la
in
 to
 th
e 
d
o
ct
o
r 
th
e 
p
ai
n 
o
f t
hi
s 
d
en
ia
l
o
f m
y 
su
p
er
 p
o
w
er
 to
 w
o
un
d
, t
o
 re
le
as
e,
 to
 p
re
p
ar
e 
to
 g
ro
w
st
ro
ng
er
, I
 a
tt
em
p
t m
y 
o
w
n 
si
m
ile
13
3
   
   
   
   
   
   
It
’s
 li
ke
 y
o
u 
ne
ed
 to
 u
ri
na
te
 re
al
ly
 b
ad
, f
o
r 
a 
w
ho
le
 w
ee
k
B
ut
 I 
re
al
iz
e,
 a
s 
he
 n
o
d
s 
in
 p
ra
ct
ic
ed
 s
ym
p
at
hy
, 
th
er
e 
is
 a
lw
ay
s 
a 
tr
ee
, a
n 
al
le
y,
 a
 p
la
ce
 to
 fi
nd
 e
as
in
g
Fo
r 
m
en
M
at
ri
ar
ch
y,
 if
 it
 s
ur
vi
ve
d
, 
w
o
ul
d
 h
av
e 
g
iv
en
 m
e 
a 
G
o
d
d
es
s
C
up
 a
nd
 fe
d
 m
e 
ch
o
co
la
te
 a
s 
I b
le
d
I c
an
no
t t
el
l i
f t
he
 c
le
nc
h 
in
 m
y 
b
el
ly
is
 in
fe
ct
io
n 
o
r 
ra
g
e
o
r 
th
e 
ch
ili
 I 
at
e.
 N
ex
t t
im
e,
 I 
vo
w
,
to
 d
el
iv
er
 m
y 
m
o
o
n 
b
lo
o
d
 in
 a
 c
ha
lic
e:
he
re
 is
 m
y 
en
d
o
m
et
ri
um
, p
o
ur
ed
 o
ut
 fo
r 
yo
u 
to
 te
st
 in
 re
m
em
b
ra
nc
e 
o
f 
th
e 
un
q
ue
st
io
ne
d
 w
is
d
o
m
 o
f p
at
ri
ar
ch
y
I r
ef
us
e 
to
 d
ri
nk
. 
13
4
PO
ET
R
Y


The Doctors attempts a simile

Sevanesian, Me\u27Chele

M e ’ C h e l e  S e v a n e s i a n
B r i m s t o n e
|  40 |
We counted vertebrae
My back was thin enough
You named the black holes after my absence
They pointed at us and said
It was a shame a girl like me could love a man like you
But I know that the evil that lives in my jaw gnaws
So while yes,
You are evil
I am insidious.
When we found the home made of Brimstone
We knew it was made for us.
Spider webs freshly made and damp
The wood was inhabited by termites
The mightiest of parasites
The day was dark and mildew driven
The best type of days
When you made a proclamation
That a house can be dark
But a home must have light.
You said it was my job to keep the lantern burning
So I promised
I would never let it dim
It was my job to keep our light
So just like that I swore
I was more than a tunnel vision checkpoint.
Dead roses replaced with vibrant yellow daisies
New wood paneling
No spider webs on my window sills
|  41 |
You were trying to change me,
Screaming
“Stop changing, leave it be let it decay find the beauty in death in 
dark,
What if we run out of light,”
“You are beauty in darkness,
The bearer of brightness,
Of beauty,
I do not need decay
To close my eyes
I am not changing you,
I am showing you.”
I had fallen asleep on the only broken thing left,
A tattered couch with one leg still intact
It smelled like years of laughter and looked as if it had been
Through the ringer,
It was the last thing that reminded me of myself
He took that from me too,
He didn’t want to add memories to the ones already there.
He said this would create our own
“Keep the fire going,
It is getting dim,
I want more light”
But I am a woman of tunnel vision antics with no light at the end of
It.
No need for warmth,
I can find the light and warmth in my self,
But I did not shine bright enough for him,
So I set the house on fire
Ripped the pages out of the books
Out of my journals
Brimstone |  Sevanesian
|  42 |
I set you a flame in the house we built from brimstone
And every day I sweep away the ashes
And I am glad I found the warmth from the lantern
That you gave me power over.
Brimstone |  Sevanesian


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