California State University (CSU): Open Journal Systems

Laurence, Helen

English

Afternoon With Enya, Mozart, Ferron

Hyers, Scott

Rolin Jones 
BUTTONING YOUR DRESS 
There is a ship sailing for the orient tonight. If you 
Kill me and start running you can make that ship and 
Sell my fingertips to the natives. My hands. I traded 
Some grave robber a sack lunch for them but it wasn't a choice. ( 
He threatened me with a thermos of chloroform. He took my 
Birth hands and fled in a cloud of train smoke. Come away 
From the mirror, let me shake the toothpaste out of your head, 
Stick a straw in your forehead and suck out every juice in 
Your body. Say I smashed your face in stained glass. Made you f 
Eat the shards of your favorite saint- a feast of evidence; 
Photo booth kisses that could not move patio shingles, paddling 
Vikings lost on the Hudson. I know now it was wrong to hide 
The stitches from you, but I thought you might ask about 
All the long sleeve shirts. We can skip the movies if you 
Want to. My hands are much older than the rest of me. 
l 
1 
' 
- -
Scott Hyers 
Untitled 
- ). 


Untitled

Scott Schuetze, Jeffery

She\u27s Making too Much Noise

Emling, Kelly

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153IN THE COLONIES
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to
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fo
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on
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154 KELLY GAFFNEY EMLING
A
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ho
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an
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155IN THE COLONIES
bu
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In the Colonies

I\u27m not exactly sure what you want here. This is a fiction story about a girl who is trapped with someone she doesn\u27t want to be with.&nbsp

Swystun, Rob

Rob Sw!stun
THE ANCHORESS
Sister André sa!s it is time to "ra! a#ain. 
Kneelin#, I wince as m! knees touch the cold stone 
floor. The! are sore and red.
But I dare not kee" her waitin#. 
The words come easil!. I have recited them a thousand 
times. Out loud, I sa! the "ra!ers the Sister tells me to. In 
m! heart, I "ra! that God releases me from this tomb. He 
had to sacrifice his onl! son for our sins, but I, too, am a 
sacrifice. M! "arents had to #ive me to the nuns because 
the! could not a$ord to feed me an!more. 
Little Cateline could not #o because she was too !oun#. 
Louis and Robert could not #o because the! hel" "a"a with 
the farm. Marie could not #o because she hel"s mama with 
the house. 
But me, I could #o. 
The nuns will care for !ou, m! "arents said. The! 
i#nored m! tears and m! "leas. The! said the nuns would 
feed me, but m! heart was too broken to eat. The! said the! 
would come visit me, but Sister André needed a com"anion 
for her five !ears of confinement. She chose me. 
M! "arents brin#in# me here was a si#n from God, she 
said.
The #irl who was sealed in with her durin# her last 
confinement died after less than a !ear. She was five when 
the! "ut her in with Sister André. 
103THE ANCHORESS
Now she is nothin#.
The #irl who Sister André chose for her first confinement 
did survive. I tried to s"eak with her, but she hides from 
"eo"le now, broken.
I am stron#, but I do not know if I am stron# enou#h 
for this.
Sister André sa!s it is time to "ra! a#ain.
I kneel on the floor, s"otted with m! dried blood. 
Yesterda!, the "enance was harsher than usual. M! "ain 
is nothin# com"ared to what Jesus su$ered at Calvar!, the 
Sister sa!s. 
“Fire!” Sister André cries suddenl!. She "ours what 
little water we have to share over m! red hair. I tr! to #et 
some in m! mouth. Beatin# me about the head with her 
hands, she screams that demons "la! in m! hair. She calls 
for shears throu#h the narrow o"enin#s the masons left us 
at the bottom of the wall. Thankfull!, no shears come. 
Ma!ha" God is listenin#.
“I know !ou tem"t me, like the Devil tem"ted Christ!” 
She screams. She knocks over the chamber "ot as she hits 
me. “Wicked! Wicked #irl!”
Tears no lon#er flow down m! cheeks. I cannot s"are 
the ener#! to cr!. Ever! bit of m! stren#th must be saved.
Huddled in the corner with her stained, #re! habit 
wra""ed around her, Sister André mumbles, barel! above 
a whis"er. I, too, sta! %uiet, lest her mood rise a#ain. 
The Sister cares not about me. Never has she asked 
who I am or where I am from. She has never listened to a 
104 ROB SWYSTUN
word I have uttered. I have sto""ed tr!in# to talk to her. It 
onl! makes her mad.
Sister André sa!s it is time to "ra! a#ain. 
If faith were a vessel for holdin# water, each "ra!er I am 
forced to sa! would be a dro" em"t!in# from mine.
“Onl! throu#h #reat sacrifice can we brin# ourselves 
closer to the lord,” she sa!s, “to know Christ’s eternal 
stru##le.”
A soft breeze loses its wa! and enters our tin! chamber, 
brin#in# with it the scent of hone!suckle from some farawa! 
dream where I am free and runnin# in the fields a#ain. It 
disa""ears and the unwashed stink invades m! nostrils.
I wretch.
She sla"s me.
It stin#s.
Sister André sa!s it is time to "ra! a#ain.
She raises a stone above her head and scratches another 
line into the wall. Each one re"resents a sunrise. So man! 
lines are on the wall. So man! more need to be scratched 
before I can be free a#ain. 
“Filth! Cathar!” She screams at me. 
I tell her m! famil! is Catholic, but she does not listen. 
“I was like !ou,” she sa!s. “M! famil! #ave me to Sister 
Genviève. She … tau#ht me.” Her face scrunches in "ain. 
“No!”
Her hands swi"e at an invisible threat. 
Sur"rised to hear m! own name, I ask, “Is that wh! !ou 
105THE ANCHORESS
chose me?” 
But she is #one a#ain. Hands clas"ed, she "ra!s and 
wee"s to herself. 
I dare not disturb her. 
A small loaf of bread is slid into the room at the bottom 
of the wall. I dive down and "ut m! mouth to the o"enin#. 
“Let me out!” I scream. “Please!” 
Footste"s scurr! down the corridor. “I am sorr!,” a tin! 
voice calls back. 
“Such insolence!” Sister André cries. 
I know the beatin# will be "ainful. 
Curled u" in the corner, she slee"s, like the kin#dom’s 
smelliest cat. 
I confess. 
In these moments, I wonder if I have the stren#th to be 
the Cain to Sister André’s Abel. 
Would God for#ive me? 
I swear I will not be as vile as her. But I fear if I do not 
act, I ma! be Abel, too. 
M! dress, stained and thin, barel! covers a skeleton 
with but a wis" of s"irit. 
Onl! memories kee" me alive. I remember runnin# 
throu#h wet #rass, starin# at the blue sk!, hearin# the buzz 
of bees, smellin# mama’s fresh bread, feelin# "a"a lift me in 
his arms. 
I o"en m! e!es. 
Darkness. 
106 ROB SWYSTUN
Vileness. 
A witch from m! ni#htmares. 
Sister André sa!s it is time to "ra! a#ain.
M! knees no lon#er hurt. The skin has #rown thick. 
I recite the words, em"t! of feelin#. 
Hands claw at m! dress. 
It ri"s. 
“No!” I scream. 
“Let the lord see !ou as !ou reall! are,” she sa!s. 
I stand. 
We stare into each other. 
“You let me be,” I sa! to her.
She draws u" her small frame and raises a hand. 
“You let me be,” I re"eat. 
She lowers her hand. 
“God will &ud#e !ou, filth! Cathar.”
I ste" back. 
She lun#es and clam"s a talon into m! hair. 
“You will be &ud#ed! You will be &ud#ed!” She screeches, 
knockin# m! head on the wall. 
We stru##le. With ever! bit of stren#th, I "ush her o$. 
M! head stin#s. 
Sister André smiles. She holds u" a lock of m! hair. It 
dri"s blood. 
“You will be &ud#ed,” she hisses. 
107THE ANCHORESS
She slee"s. Her sli#ht snorin# fills our dank cell as I 
shiver. 
It is time to "ra! a#ain. 
I kneel. 
“Dear lord,” I whis"er. “I feel I have been reduced to an 
animal. I have to act as the animals act to survive. Please 
for#ive me for what I am about to do.”


The Anchoress

Corley, Dalicia

City Lights
Dalicia Corley
Setting: A hotel somewhere in the city.
She said she liked art, so I let her paint every 
part of me. Every grove, every imperfection. It’s 
perfect to her. She traced me with love and passion. 
And she touched my soul. And when she was done 
admiring me or so I thought she was, she started 
drawing the lines again until she remembered it. The 
parts I loved, the parts I hated, and the ones I said 
one day I’ll learn to accept. Except, she knew all of 
that before I told her by the way I would stare at her 
intensely. Other times, I looked away into the walls. 
Hoping for them to give me the answer of why I was 
involved. I knew she loved me, but why me? Why a 
coward? Why this person who can’t even embrace 
themselves, why are they now being embraced by 
the waist? What a waste it felt like at first. But her! 
She’s everything I wanted and more. She locked 
eyes with me once more, outlining my beauty and 
setting me free. She stares at me deep in thought 
and kisses me. What’s going on in the monologue 
in her head? I’m fed up with the unknown, though, 
going into any depths with her is an unlocked fear. 
It’s scary, but something that I enjoy. She’s joy itself, 
and as I lay in this bed, I hope for at least another 
night here in the city with her.
Location: Art gallery 
But she changed this when the lines began to 
change. She redrew a whole new me and shaped 
it into something I didn’t even recognize. But her 
eyes —oh, how they hypnotize. Her eyes softened at 
this image. It made me feel safe. It made me feel. 
Feel something I never felt before. Validation in a 
new nation of my mind. I loved it, I changed it, I 
altered it. And soon after her, I couldn’t recognize 
myself. The artist abandoning art is a treasure no 
one seeks, but someone on the street might take it. 
Take the chance. Take one on me, I beg. No one 
cries out to respond. She left me here to rot in false 
hopes and criticized the art that she had made. Why 
did you make me this way just to leave? Was it me? 
Or was the image you made too unreal, too softened 
to hold the single flaw that you loved. The tracings 
were too defined now. They weren’t the same. The 
soul you touched was full of your self-love and less 
self-hate. But when I needed you more you left me 
here with something I can’t recognize. Realize that 
this is something I can’t take. But please, if you ever 
stop in this city again… meet me here, don’t you 
wait.


City Lights

Miehe, Mathew

That Time My Boyfriend Ate My Parents

Carroll, Emma

91
Synonyms
Emma Carroll
I hate you as I love you.
With such
         passion and 
intensity.
Without any
        reason or 
end in sight.
Foregoing all
        civility and 
instinct.
I love you as I hate you.


Synonyms

Keith, Kamren

100
Sunshower
Kamren Keith
Parched, I am! Burnished and baked, I am!
Singed beneath not God’s eye, but fellow man!
Weighted blankets bake, I beg for a dram!
I pray, the words antediluvian.
But appeals to the sky burn in the blue
and left, I am, to this ruthless time span.
Against this roasting, I cannot rebel,
Yet patience rewards and I slake my thirst,
Torrent down my gullet, my belly swells
Too much, it swells, and doomed, I am, to burst!
Parched cracks bloated, glut versus starvation!
Far past pained, I am, of being submersed!
Yet, I am, despite all my frustration,
Naught but at clouds point my indignation!


Sunshower

Eitsirhc, Xam

121
Before
Xam Eitsirhc
I’s walk’d this street before
All the old folklore
Just up there round that corner
The horror of performers
And stories told by junky’s to the whores
Use to feel sum thing here
Use to feel alive, excited & fear
Use to have a grapevine to hear
Use to have a dry face…
Not one tear
I’s slept this road before
Could tell ya when
But that’s a lot of story
So’s much more
This is now… that was then
That used to be a haunt of mine
When I was onda grind
Way bax when and before
Down there was an old 2nd hand store
I’s used to pilfer for
The owner was a fence
The crowds seem thinner now
But much more dense
I’s remember before
122
The feel of the cement
And the coins that sang
As they danced
The link in a chain
All the litt’l comments
And games of chance
When there’s nothing to gain
XXXXX


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