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Ortega, Julio

Vargas Llosa y el fuego de la tribu

Montobbio, Santiago

Desde Leonardo Sciascia

Weldt-Basson, Helene C.

\u3cem\u3eAvenida 10 de Julio Huamachuco\u3c/em\u3e by Nona Fernández: An Exploration of Individual Guilt and Collective Responsibility

Parra, Max

Carlos Monsiváis, \u3cem\u3eFatefully, Faithfully Feminist. A Critical History of Women, Patriarchy, and Mexican National Discourse\u3c/em\u3e, Nashville: Vanderbilt University, 2024

Phillips, Eleanor

The Alembic 
Volume 103 Issue 1 Article 17 
4-22-2025 
Ode to Old Bay Seasoning 
Eleanor Phillips 
Providence College, ephilli3@friars.providence.edu 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.providence.edu/thealembic 
 Part of the English Language and Literature Commons, and the Poetry Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Phillips, Eleanor (2025) "Ode to Old Bay Seasoning," The Alembic: Vol. 103: Iss. 1, Article 17. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.providence.edu/thealembic/vol103/iss1/17 
This Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Providence. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in The Alembic by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Providence. For more information, please 
contact dps@providence.edu. 
12
Ode to Old Bay Seasoning
Eleanor Phillips
My mom isn’t from Baltimore, but her heart is and so is her crabcake 
recipe. On Easter and her birthday the kitchen is filled with the famil-
iar smell and she cooks, humming James Taylor. I know if she could 
she’d follow the trail and the smell and never look back.
We sit out back picking crabs, fingernails and cuts stinging with it. I 
sit between my father’s sister and brother, none of us able to look each 
other in the eyes longer than grief allows. Beer cans and jokes are 
speckled red and spiced; the crickets and horses watch from the yard.
The girl I grew up with, once three houses down the street now at a 
college seven hours south but one I know well; each of our favorite 
memories sprinkled with it. She cooks me eggs and potatoes, dous-
ing them in my seasoned childhood, one I never imagined she would 
understand. But she does now, and it pulls our knot to an impossible 
tightness; it cannot be undone.
My mom’s college roommate makes us Bloody Marys along the inlet. 
The drink is the name of this woman that binds us, as if the whole 
thing was conspired by the little yellow and blue container with the 
red pop-off top. I buzz with alcohol and tomato juice as the sun burns 
my cheeks a matching crimson.
The small side with the holes or the wide opening so you can spoon 
it out. Whichever I choose depends how much I want the nostalgia 
and aching for this integral part of me to cake my lungs and blaze my 
mouth. Smell tortures me with love, grief, times I can recreate but 
never get back, all without the warning other senses allow. 
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Ode to Old Bay Seasoning

Gualtiere, Ian

The Alembic 
Volume 103 Issue 1 Article 29 
4-22-2025 
Passenger Seat 
Ian Gualtiere 
Providence College, igualtie@friars.providence.edu 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.providence.edu/thealembic 
 Part of the English Language and Literature Commons, and the Poetry Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Gualtiere, Ian (2025) "Passenger Seat," The Alembic: Vol. 103: Iss. 1, Article 29. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.providence.edu/thealembic/vol103/iss1/29 
This Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Providence. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in The Alembic by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Providence. For more information, please 
contact dps@providence.edu. 
20
Passenger Seat
Ian Gualtiere
How much longer until we can sleep?
This car ride into the deep,
as the sun hits your hair in the front seat.
Passing trees litter all that moves 
yet they stand silent, ever present grooves.
Immortal beings that hold the truths.
How much longer until the beach?
Sand stretching out of our reach
and somehow entering hairs into each.
Impossible to get out, unable to find the one root.
You stand squinting, smiling in a green swimsuit.
The camera captures your cute
forever snapped in that moment.
Your love fills the blue sky so potent,
as the waters rush around with foam and 
soaking us to the bone.
With winds whipping like a cyclone, 
throwing us away so alone. 
How much longer until the color change?
Your beauty knows no range, 
even as the leaves fall in exchange
for shorter days and colder nights.
Golden hair such as yours has every right
to flaunt to those passing in the light.
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21
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As the sun starts to lose her power, 
rays still continue to shower 
those who are lost in the hours.
You are my sun, keeping me in the warmth.
Keeping me from wandering north,
back to my cold moon that has formed.
But then I remember that the moon gets his light from the sun,
leaving me and you to be one.
Even far apart they can still help each other to have fun.
Dancing in the sky during night and day,
no one else gets to have a say. 
How much longer until the flowers in May?


Passenger Seat

Spireng, Matthew J

The Alembic 
Volume 103 Issue 1 Article 55 
4-22-2025 
Proud to Call Him a Friend (for Jeff) 
Matthew J. Spireng 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.providence.edu/thealembic 
 Part of the English Language and Literature Commons, and the Poetry Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Spireng, Matthew J. (2025) "Proud to Call Him a Friend (for Jeff)," The Alembic: Vol. 103: Iss. 1, Article 55. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.providence.edu/thealembic/vol103/iss1/55 
This Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by DigitalCommons@Providence. It has been accepted for 
inclusion in The Alembic by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@Providence. For more information, please 
contact dps@providence.edu. 
42
The friend who abandoned us
when we were walking
in the 2.3-mile race, the friend
who dropped back to walk with
an older man who would have
had to walk the race alone
and would have finished
last if our friend hadn’t slowed
at the finish so he instead
would finish last. That friend.
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Proud to Call Him a Friend (for Jeff)
Matthew J. Spireng


Proud to Call Him a Friend (for Jeff)

Washburn, Michael

Not Even Past

King, Sydney

A Reflection on Growing Up as a Girl

Providence College Department of Theatre, Dance & Film
Angell Blackfriars Theatre
The Drowsy Chaperone, Music & Lyrics, Lisa Lambert & Greg Morrison, Book by Bob Martin & Don McKellar
April 4-13, 2025
Director, Katrina Pavaohttps://digitalcommons.providence.edu/chaperone_pubs/1001/thumbnail.jp

Theatre, Dance, & Film, Providence College Department of

Providence College 
DigitalCommons@Providence 
Playbill and Promotion The Drowsy Chaperone (2025) 
Spring 4-4-2025 
The Drowsy Chaperone Poster 
Providence College Department of Theatre, Dance, & Film 
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 Part of the Acting Commons 



The Drowsy Chaperone Poster

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