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Giacalone, Paul

The Prairie Light Review
Volume 40 | Number 1 Article 61
Fall 12-1-2017
Back Cover - "Stimulation"
Paul Giacalone
College of DuPage
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Recommended Citation
Giacalone, Paul (2017) "Back Cover - "Stimulation"," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 40 : No. 1 , Article 61.
Available at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol40/iss1/61
1Giacalone: Back Cover - "Stimulation"
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English

Back Cover -  Stimulation

The Prairie Light Review
Volume 39 | Number 2 Article 7
Spring 5-1-2017
table of contents
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Recommended Citation
(2017) "table of contents," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 39 : No. 2 , Article 7.
Available at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol39/iss2/7
table of contents
literature
Sing it Frank, Physical Therapy Micheal Lee Johnson 10
Give Me Booze or Give me Jesus Micheal Lee Johnson 11
Circle Dance of the White Buffalo Maureen Tolman Flannery 12
In the Fullness of Early Aging Maureen Tolman Flannery 13
PALM OF MY HAND Florence M. Zielinski 14
Returning to Recollection’s Place Maureen Tolman Flannery 15
Eleven Ways of Looking at Clouds Jill Spealman 16-17
The Smoothie: Message from Paris Mardelle Fortier 18
Nostalgia (Woody Allen, “Midnight in Paris”) Mardelle Fortier 19
You Asked Martha Attiyeh 20
Looking Out Over Poseidon Avenue Martha Attiyeh 21
In the Loop Alison Callaghan 22
Blowout Jeff Laird 23-25
I fall into a dream Claire Katsion 26
Two Virgins Martha Attiyeh 27
Point Dorothy Bandusky 28
Out-n-Up Jeff Laird 29
APPLE BLOSSOMS REMIND ME OF MY MOTHER Florence M. Zielinski 30
Parlez-vous de Danse? Alexandra Kurza 31
A Bad Egg Jeff Laird 32
Actually. I Do Write Comedies Jessica Shubert 33
Ishmael Writes to a Friend Back Home: [...] Wilda Morris 34
The Orb Matt McNichols 35
Hometown Wilda Morris 36
At the Hotel Duomo, Orvieto, Italy Wilda Morris 38
Perfectly Packaged Neysa Henderson 40-41
False Fairytale Alexandra Kurza 42
Benches Gail Cairns 43
The Warrior Healer Matt McNichols 44
Death Be Nimble Ryan K. Sauers 45
Star Child Matt McNichols 47
8    Prairie Light Review 1
et al.: table of contents
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art
unnamed 1 Alice Ventura Cover
Bedroom Kelsey Flinker 11
Self Portrait in Winter Tonia Jackson 20
Dark Clouds Kelsey Flinker 21
Old Edges Robin Liefeld 27
The Climb Robin Liefeld 31
Neptune’s Realm Tania Blanco 34
Alpha Zedd Teal Alice Ventura 37
Freedom to Grow Tania Blanco 39
The Journey Tania Blanco 44
In the Grass by the River Kelsey Flinker 45
Crow of Hellrot Alice Ventura 46
Nana’s Birdnest Amy Camp 55
Battleship Island Kelsey Flinker 59
Curious Babies Cheryl Rausch 60
Screech Owl - Grey Morph Cheryl Rausch 63
Puff Ida Kotyuk 48
Biblical Lives Reimagined Matt McNichols 49
How Insurance Adjusters get their Game On Ryan K. Sauers 50-51
In Memory of Erza Ronda L. Crawford 52-53
Mom Now Gina Farella Howley 54-55
At Night Amy Peter 56
At 17 Amy Peter 56
Stay Away Amy Peter 57
Choking Amy Peter 57
Off to War Karly Godbold 58
Mr. Leahy Joseph Ward 61-63
Spring 2017    9 2
The Prairie Light Review, Vol. 39 [2016], No. 2, Art. 7
http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol39/iss2/7


Blanco, Tania

The Prairie Light Review
Volume 39 | Number 2 Article 35
Spring 5-1-2017
Neptune's Realm
Tania Blanco
College of DuPage
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Recommended Citation
Blanco, Tania (2017) "Neptune's Realm," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 39 : No. 2 , Article 35.
Available at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol39/iss2/35
Ishmael Writes to a Friend Back Home: a Golden Shovel Poem 
            “Better to sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.” 
                        ~ Ishmael in Moby-Dick 
  
Depressed with life on land, I thought it better 
to head for Nantucket and set sail, to 
find contentment on a whaling ship rather than sleep 
walk through another winter. I left home alone with 
meager possessions. In New Bedford, I met a 
harpooner. An experienced whaler, sober 
and strong, Queequeg was a cannibal, 
but so congenial—more like a brother than 
a friend. His mistake—trusting me to select a 
ship. I picked the Piquod, whose captain was drunken 
with vengeance, having few values I’d call Christian.
Neptune’s Realm
Acrylic mixed media by Tania Blanco
Wilda Morris
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Neptune\u27s Realm

Henderson, Neysa

The Prairie Light Review
Volume 39 | Number 2 Article 41
Spring 5-1-2017
Perfectly Packaged
Neysa Henderson
College of DuPage
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Recommended Citation
Henderson, Neysa (2017) "Perfectly Packaged," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 39 : No. 2 , Article 41.
Available at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol39/iss2/41
Perfectly Packaged 
 I hate making mistakes. This seems like an obvious confession, 
since most people don’t find pleasure in the act of messing up, however 
with me it’s different. There is something in my brain that ridicules me 
every time I make a mistake. The part of my brain that ridicules me is 
the same part that tells me to not make the mistake in the first place. My 
brain is on this loop of: I told you so. It greeted me this morning with, I 
told you so, as I was scrubbing my wrists with my fingertips and lavender 
soap—his favorite. It wasn’t working. I don’t know what I was expecting. 
I wasn’t wearing one of those cheap tattoos that I used to get as a little girl 
from those beauty shops targeted at young girls who traveled in cliques of 
three. I was wearing the tattoo that was put here by the man with gaping 
holes in his ears, the one with a studded piece of jewelry protruding from 
his nose. I remember this man distinctly because he was the man with the 
needle—he was the one using it to brand me with my boyfriend’s name. 
As I sat there, a thought raced through my mind, Do I really love him 
enough? It lasted long enough for me to remember but not long enough 
for me to change my mind.  
 I think I hated him for it. I really do. I think that’s why I’m here 
now scrubbing my arm with every desperate attempt to forget him. I 
begin to remember what the definition of insanity is and I prepare myself 
to stop. It’s a thing I do. Every day, I check myself for insanity. I have this 
fear of becoming crazy. Sometimes I wonder if my fear of becoming crazy 
constitutes crazy behavior, but if I were crazy I think I would know. I step 
out of the shower. This is a big deal. This is the first day in a week that I 
have showered. I remember reading this article that warned us about all 
these bad things that happen to our bodies when we don’t shower. I’m 
convinced they’re not true. I think articles like this just reinforce people’s 
needs to be surrounded by squeaky clean people—those that aren’t dirty 
from their past. I think my boyfriend had that.  That syndrome where you 
can only be around people who have their lives perfectly packed togeth-
er—everything placed where it’s supposed to be, nothing out of order.  
 He would tell me I was indulgent with my feelings. I never under-
stood what he meant by that. I tried to ask him what he meant once but 
he shrugged it off, so I gave myself permission to, too. But now, as I am 
coming up on my eighth day without him, I scramble to understand every 
criticism he’s ever made about me. I’m trying to see where it went wrong. 
We always fought, usually about me. This time I started the fight—he 
wasn’t getting me.  
 “How am I supposed to understand someone who is up here,” he 
made a gesture with his long arms in the air, waving frantically above his 
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Neysa Henderson
head. He always confused me like this, I didn't 
understand why he couldn’t just use his words.  
 “I don’t know what that means.” 
 “It means you’re always in your heart.” 
 “See, I never would’ve known that that 
was what you meant by waving your hands in 
the air. It was very misleading.” 
 “You’re always in your feelings and it 
gets exhausting. I feel this. I feel that.” 
 “I just have a lot of feelings. I’m trying 
to understand them. I can’t let go of everything 
as easily as you can. Don’t make me feel bad for 
that. It’s not fair.” See, he has that syndrome. The 
kind that expects everyone to be spotless. But I 
have residue and it’s the worst kind. It’s the kind 
that sticks even after it’s baptized in water.  
 At first I thought that I ended things 
with him because of the tattoo. I’m still mad 
about it just not as mad as I am about his con-
dition. The tattoo makes me want to scrub the 
affected area but his condition made me want 
to erase everything that I am to please him. I’ve 
concluded that  the condition is contagious. I 
think that somehow when we kissed I got it too. 
Now I only have room in my life to love those 
perfectly packaged people. I think that’s why I 
had to end things with him.  
Spring 2017    41 2
The Prairie Light Review, Vol. 39 [2016], No. 2, Art. 41
http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol39/iss2/41


Perfectly Packaged

Peter, Amy

The Prairie Light Review
Volume 39 | Number 2 Article 56
Spring 5-1-2017
At Night
Amy Peter
College of DuPage
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This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It has been accepted for inclusion in
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Recommended Citation
Peter, Amy (2017) "At Night," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 39 : No. 2 , Article 56.
Available at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol39/iss2/56
At Night 
She's the one you love, 
I'm the one you lust for. 
She's what you really want, 
I'm what you desire. 
She's on your mind all day, 
I'm only on yours at night. 
It is what it is, I can't change it. 
I need to accept it, and decide if it's alright; 
because when I heard her name from your mouth in your sleep, 
I knew it wasn't me you were dreaming of. 
She's the one who lit your candle, 
I'm just here to fan your fire. 
She's your wonderful Desiree, 
and I'm just a momentary desire. 
Its her you want during the day, 
 and me only at night. 
My demons shape a part of me.  
I'm so happy with how far I've come, 
and that I've lived to see the sun. 
Still, I'll never forget who I was at 17. 
The conflict between my outside and inside worlds, 
and choosing which one to believe and live in. 
Covered in external and internal scars from making mistakes. 
Full of so much insecurity, shame, and hurt. 
The struggle between how everyone said I should be feeling, 
and how I felt. 
How not many understood my depression or anxiety. 
Young, and sad, and tired 
Wondering what the future would be like, 
if I survived. 
Well here I am, 
I made it. 
At 17, I wanted to die. 
At 18, I decided to give living another try. 
At 19, 20, 21, I made a new life, 
but I'll never forget. 
Never forget who I was at 17. 
Because she's always with me. 
Sometimes she even pays me a visit from time to time. 
Am
y 
Pe
te
r
At 17
56    Prairie Light Review 1
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At Night

The Prairie Light Review
Volume 39 | Number 2 Article 58
Spring 5-1-2017
Stay Away
Amy Peter
College of DuPage
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This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It has been accepted for inclusion in
The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For more information, please contact koteles@cod.edu.
Recommended Citation
Peter, Amy (2017) "Stay Away," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 39 : No. 2 , Article 58.
Available at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol39/iss2/58
Choking 
Choking on the lies I tell myself 
The lies I can't help but believe 
Choking on the tears 
The tears that fall for no reason at all 
Choking on the fear 
The constant fear of being misunderstood 
Choking on the bad feelings 
The bad feelings that take over 
Choking on the good feelings 
The feelings depression won't let me feel 
Choking on the air 
The air anxiety won't let me breathe freely 
Choking, always choking 
Mental illness grabs me by the throat and won't let go 
It leaves me in an everyday battle gasping for air 
Some days I win, some days I lose 
Strangled by my thoughts 
Choking 
Stay Away  
Not a small smile 
not a quick hello 
not even a passing glance. 
Don't look or speak in my direction 
my regretful failed romance. 
To see you fills my eyes with tears 
to hear you puts my stomach in a knot.  
If you think time has healed our wounds, 
it has not. 
I don't think about you anymore 
or miss you constantly 
but if I saw you or heard you 
it might all come back to me. 
So please my past love 
my first heartbreak 
Stay away.  
For my sanity's sake. 
Am
y Peter
Spring 2017    57 1
Peter: Stay Away
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Stay Away

Ward, Joseph

The Prairie Light Review
Volume 39 | Number 2 Article 63
Spring 5-1-2017
Mr. Leahy
Joseph Ward
College of DuPage
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This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It has been accepted for inclusion in
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Recommended Citation
Ward, Joseph (2017) "Mr. Leahy," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 39 : No. 2 , Article 63.
Available at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol39/iss2/63
Mr. Leahy 
I wonder how neighbors decide to keep their yards separate. I imagine 
each homeowner is responsible for a back fence. Ours must have been a 
nice quaint, traditional white picket fence at some point. 
 
My older brother Billy always complained that his little brothers got Good 
Humor bars. 
“Mom, how come we didn’t get ice cream?” 
Well maybe Brian and I got ice cream but the older kids had a swing set in 
the backyard and a full fence that might have stopped an errant baseball 
from rolling into the alley. Speaking of the alley, I watched the men as 
they paved, a nice bright concrete over the dirt, maybe cinders? A rut in 
the middle allowed drainage to sewers. Across the fence, a worker with an 
accent spoke to me. He asked if my mother could make a pitcher of iced 
tea. I went in and asked my mom; she did.  
 
Back to the fence. By my time, one swing remained on the wobbly, rusted 
set and my dad took it down not long after. I’m not sure what had hap-
pened to the fence. Maybe it wasn’t sunk properly. I recall a bit of erosion 
where the grass met the alley. Maybe it was kids coming over to play on 
the swing set, climbing on and hopping over the fence. So many things 
as a kid just are, you know? You wouldn’t think to ask, they just are. As 
the fence was then, pickets were missing, two or three in a row some-
times, like a second grader’s smile on picture day. Some attempts at repair 
had been made, unpainted, mismatched wood. Somehow the gate stood 
strong! 
 
And of course our back fence was one of the few on the block. East from 
the tracks, the Harmon’s, the Post’s, and the Stanley’s parked in their 
garages, all lined up. East of us, Mr. Robinson, old Harry, he had a garage. 
Most every house on the block did, in fact. A few didn’t. We were one. I’m 
not sure why, even after the alley was paved. We could have had a bas-
ketball hoop! Why didn’t we depend on Danley? My folks parked on the 
street. Instead of a garage, we had a swing set. At least Billy did. 
 
No garage meant we kept our bikes in the basement. Had to carry them 
up the stairs and out the back door in the morning and right back down 
at night. Quite a production for a five kid family. My job—as the young-
est—was to hold the door. During the day when the bikes were not in use, 
Spring 2017    61 1
Ward: Mr. Leahy
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they would be lined up on the sidewalk in the backyard, from gate to back 
door. 
 
The question of property, whose was whose, side to side, remains? To 
the east, the Robinson’s sturdy chain link fence separated theirs from 
ours. On the west, I think, was a white picket fence, in pretty good shape 
I recall. And if I recall correctly, the fence seemed to face out so maybe 
the white pickets that separated ours from theirs was part of the same 
fence in the back. Which means it was probably ours. I dunno. From my 
side, The Stanley’s were nice enough people, four or five older girls, two 
or three barking Irish Setters, dad Bud, a bit gruff, mother seemed odd. I 
broke one of her windows playing basketball. I don’t know why I would 
have expected her to be more pleasant about it; she wasn’t. 
 
Such was the condition of the fence one Saturday night, summer, early 
70’s. All was quiet. Brian and I were home alone. One of the Robinson's 
daughters had been married that day and many from the block were away 
celebrating. We’d just brought the bikes in from the back yard. Brian car-
ried; I held the door. Not five minutes later, we heard a tremendous crash, 
loud and long. I walked down to the back door and looked out through 
the screen. 
Brian asked, “What’s going on?” (It’s never so quiet as after a sudden 
noise, is it?) 
“There’s a car in the backyard,” I answered, as a matter of fact. 
 
A light blue sedan, had easily mowed down the remains of our fence, tore 
through the yard and rammed into the Robinson’s fence, uprooting two 
or three posts, metal, in poured concrete, moored a foot deep, before it 
had stopped. Oh, and the car had been driven in reverse! 
Brian and I peered out the screen door, probably not quite aware how 
close our bikes, and ourselves, had come to destruction. We recognized 
Mr. Leahy from across the alley, one house west, as he got out of the car 
and began yelling, loud and incoherent. We didn’t dare move. Luckily, just 
a moment later, we heard Mr. Robinson arrive home from the wedding. 
He walked down the gangway, eyed the vehicle, and quipped, with typical 
sardonic humor, “There’s a new one!” 
 
Events proceeded quickly from that point. My folks and the neighbors 
62    Prairie Light Review 2
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trickled home from the wedding, backyard lights switched on. The car 
was stuck, tangled in chain link and posts. The cops came, spoke with Mr. 
Leahy, cited for negligent driving, spoke with my dad and Mr. Robinson. 
Promises were made to fix the fences. The excitement quieted, lights out, 
bedtime. 
 
The noise returned early Sunday. A tow truck tugged while Mr. Leahy, the 
morning after, worked to clear the remains of a once great fence tangled 
under the back wheels of his blue sedan. 
Joseph Ward
Screech Owl - Grey Morph
Drawing by Cheryl Rausch
Spring 2017    63
trickled home from the wedding, backyard lights switched on. The car 
was stuck, tangled in chain link and posts. The cops came, spoke with Mr. 
Leahy, cited for negligent driving, spoke with my dad and Mr. Robinson. 
Promises were made to fix the fences. The excitement quieted, lights out, 
bedtime. 
 
The noise returned early Sunday. A tow truck tugged while Mr. Leahy, the 
morning after, worked to clear the remains of a once great fence tangled 
under the back wheels of his blue sedan. 
Joseph Ward
Screech Owl - Grey Morph
Drawing by Cheryl Rausch
Spring 2017    63 3
Ward: Mr. Leahy
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Mr. Leahy

Rausch, Cheryl

The Prairie Light Review
Volume 39 | Number 2 Article 64
Spring 5-1-2017
Screech Owl - Grey Morph
Cheryl Rausch
College of DuPage
Follow this and additional works at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr
This Artwork is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It has been accepted for inclusion in
The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For more information, please contact koteles@cod.edu.
Recommended Citation
Rausch, Cheryl (2017) "Screech Owl - Grey Morph," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 39 : No. 2 , Article 64.
Available at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol39/iss2/64
trickled home from the wedding, backyard lights switched on. The car 
was stuck, tangled in chain link and posts. The cops came, spoke with Mr. 
Leahy, cited for negligent driving, spoke with my dad and Mr. Robinson. 
Promises were made to fix the fences. The excitement quieted, lights out, 
bedtime. 
 
The noise returned early Sunday. A tow truck tugged while Mr. Leahy, the 
morning after, worked to clear the remains of a once great fence tangled 
under the back wheels of his blue sedan. 
Joseph Ward
Screech Owl - Grey Morph
Drawing by Cheryl Rausch
Spring 2017    63
trickled home from the wedding, backyard lights switched on. The car 
was stuck, tangled in chain link and posts. The cops came, spoke with Mr. 
Leahy, cited for negligent driving, spoke with my dad and Mr. Robinson. 
Promises were made to fix the fences. The excitement quieted, lights out, 
bedtime. 
 
The noise returned early Sunday. A tow truck tugged while Mr. Leahy, the 
morning after, worked to clear the remains of a once great fence tangled 
under the back wheels of his blue sedan. 
Joseph Ward
Screech Owl - Grey Morph
Drawing by Cheryl Rausch
Spring 2017    63 1
Rausch: Screech Owl - Grey Morph
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Screech Owl - Grey Morph

Fortier, Mardelle

The Prairie Light Review
Volume 40 | Number 1 Article 7
Fall 12-1-2017
Trains in the Dark
Mardelle Fortier
College of DuPage
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This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It has been accepted for inclusion in
The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu.
Recommended Citation
Fortier, Mardelle (2017) "Trains in the Dark," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 40 : No. 1 , Article 7.
Available at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol40/iss1/7
1Prairie Light Review  Fall 2017
Trains in the Dark
Mardelle Fortier
In a long Midwestern night the lonely train 
sings as it passes like a ghost 
and I burrow deeper into blankets 
to dream of Paris, Gare du Nord. 
  
In darkness, Degas leaves the train 
and strolls, half-blind to his studio, 
where his eyes caress a little ballerina 
for painting after painting of poses. 
  
In deep fog-feathered evening the train 
beats as it marks the seasons passing 
and I wake from dreams and try 
to sleep, stirred by fantasies.  
  
Rocked by a train, Degas remembers 
touching Cassatt’s neck as she paused 
between brush strokes. His acid tongue 
wiped out a romance fragile as pastels. 
  
Through dark the train moans as it passes 
breathing across my life--never entering, 
leaving me restless and longing; music 
like a fickle lover’s ambiguous kiss.
PLR F2017 FINAL.indd   1 11/1/2017   4:51:15 PM
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Trains in the Dark

Boettger, Ronald

The Prairie Light Review
Volume 40 | Number 1 Article 20
Fall 12-1-2017
My Therapist's Garbage Can Talks To Me
Ronald Boettger
College of DuPage
Follow this and additional works at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr
This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It has been accepted for inclusion in
The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu.
Recommended Citation
Boettger, Ronald (2017) "My Therapist's Garbage Can Talks To Me," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 40 : No. 1 , Article 20.
Available at: http://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol40/iss1/20
13Prairie Light Review  Fall 2017
My Therapist’s Garbage Can Talks To Me
Ronald Boettger
Would you please put your Kleenex right here? 
I won’t mind if it contains a tear. 
I know it’s filled with pain from the past.  
Be assured that it never will last. 
I’ll care for it until itis gone 
After you first start to talk to Dawn. 
Now be true and face reality. 
That’s your first step toward normality. 
Most people don’t know what is needed. 
By just being here you’ve succeeded. 
Get rid of your trash and make things right. 
I’ll do my job in your time of plight. 
Hurtful feelings need tobe expressed 
So bring to life what you have repressed. 
I’ll be right here in your time of need. 
But you’re the one who must take the lead.
PLR F2017 FINAL.indd   13 11/1/2017   4:51:17 PM
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