DigitalCommons@C.O.D.

Solonenko, Alexa

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 35 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Peace of Mind 
Alexa Solonenko 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Solonenko, Alexa (2023) "Peace of Mind," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 35. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/35 
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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. 
Fertile Earth
dig in the most fertile earth, discover the richest soil
for its efforts to endure the years, the body will labor and toil
with yearning, a tree was planted, with hope to grant it flourish
its roots distribute wide, to find the earth itself will nourish
may its branches spread broad, for generations that will follow
to shade descendants born beneath its canopy’s casted shadow 
may your memory be entangled with this ever-growing Tree 
for as its branches bloom in spring, so will the years for thee 
and with the fruits of will, the Tree’s branches grow some more
fed by the bit of love it found, the rooted memory at its core
and if the will exists enough, to support this tender shoot
may it bless the earth with bounty, from a single branch’s root
so, cultivate your land, all of you, water it with desire
bind yourself to faith, begin, and hope indeed inspire
Εύφορη Γη
Σκάψε την γη την εύφορη, πλούσιο να βρεις χώμα  
Να βλέπει χρόνια ο κόπος σου το ιδρυόμενο σώμα
Με πόθο δένδρο φύτεψε και πίστη να βλαστήσει 
Κι ο μόχθος κι η ελπίδα σου θα δώσουνε να άνθηση 
Να  σκορπισθούν οι ρίζες του βαθιά στη γη να πάνε
Να απλωθούν οι κλώνοι του γενιές ν ακολουθάμε 
Κάτω απ’ τον ίσκιο τον πλατύ θα έρθουν οι απόγονοι 
Κι η θύμησης σου θα  μπλεχθεί  με Δένδρο που φουντώνει 
Κείνο το Δένδρο σε άνοιξη στα χρόνια σου θ’ ανθίσει 
Κι από καρπούς η θέληση τους κλώνους θα γεμίσει 
Λίγη αγάπη όταν βρει το Δένδρο θα φουντώσει 
Και η δίκη σου ανάμνηση στο χρόνο θα στεριώσει 
Σαν το φροντίσει η διάθεση το τρυφερό βλαστάρι 
Θε να γεμίσει όλη η γη πλούτο από ένα κλωνάρι 
Σκάψε την γη σου άνθρωπε πότισε την με πόθο 
Δέσου με πίστη κ’ άρχισε, την ελπίδα σου τη νιώθω 
Fertile Earth _George Karavolos
Peace of M
ind, Photograph 
 
_Alexa Solonenko
3332
1
Solonenko: Peace of Mind
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


English

Peace of Mind

Fortier, Mardelle

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 42 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Dear Kirill 
Mardelle Fortier 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Fortier, Mardelle (2023) "Dear Kirill," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 42. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/42 
This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It 
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more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
 Are you alive? I miss you and all the Russian culture I left 
behind. How I wish that I could see you: safe, surrounded by chil-
dren and grandchildren. That you survived; all those years under 
Brezhnev, other autocrats, Gorbachev, Putin. You must be disap-
pointed that iron rule returned and the blood-thirst for militant 
aggression. Have your relatives been spared?
 If only we had kept writing after my visit in 1971. I never 
did thank you for that glimpse into the real Russia. Live human 
beings, often warm and hospitable, emerged; not just my imag-
ined monolith of gray steel. I’d been taught to fear and loathe 
communism’s heavy hand.
 The U.S. government changed me. Grants provided a 
Russian language tour by students from a network of American 
colleges. What a great opportunity: to step behind the Iron 
Curtain during tensions between the two countries. To build rap-
prochement, one on one, as our federal government requested in 
exchange for grants. We would be young diplomats, spreading 
comradeship. Friends would not want to bomb friends.
 In the lovely season of belye nochi (white nights), you and 
I, Kirill, wandered through Leningrad streets, across so many of 
the 400 bridges. Before actually venturing past the Curtain, our 
leaders had emphasized rules: Soviets would not permit us to 
photograph anything of military interest–bridges, train stations. 
Do not go outside the 30-kilometer limit around cities. Never 
bring in religious materials such as pamphlets, Bibles. Do not even 
steal towels from hotels, creating an international incident like 
swiping glass bears. Above all, no matter what happens, hang 
loose.
 Kirill, I’m sure you realized that in my cohort, we did 
cooperate. We were not adversaries, though you warned us that 
our In-tourist guides were actually KGB spies. Bugs infiltrated the 
Leningrad dorms to pick up the least whisper of possible sub-
version. As we roamed, you with pal Sasha, linked to my room-
mate Robin, you young fellows joked against the regime—only 
on the street. (“Lacking TP, we wipe ourselves with Pravda, our 
newspaper called Truth, which is anything but Truth.”) You said, 
“Our parents would never have dared to speak to Americans. 
The regime has loosened… a bit.”
  You guys did not risk approaching closer than two blocks 
from our dorm. We could understand: you did not want KGB 
minions to take down names and visa numbers. 
 But you, through those summer days, did show us: ma-
tryoshka dolls, balalaikas, the lovely uncorrupted rivers, like 
slow-moving Neva. Over us loomed gigantic (many times life-
size) pictures of Lenin. You helped us find the Dostoyevsky 
Memorial Apartment Museum, where the brilliant author wrote 
Brothers Karamazov. The window overlooked Vladimirskaya, 
Dostoyevsky’s beloved church (by then, turned into an anti-reli-
gious museum).
 Thank you, Kirill, for the inside look at Russian life. You 
brought our little group to your parents’ no-frills apartment, 
where everyone on the floor shared a communal bathroom. Your 
mother served coarse rye bread, borscht, cabbage pirogi. I 
did not comment on the absence of citrus fruits and Coca-Cola 
(a deprivation throughout the summer). Ordinary citizens, we 
witnessed, lived differently from Party bigwigs, who enjoyed 
unlimited caviar, vodka, a dacha in the country. When your 
dad asked what we enjoyed in the USSR, I did not mention the 
Winter Palace, with its 1,886 doors, 1500 rooms, 117 staircas-
es; massive columns in gilt and jasper, throne room with an army 
of weighty chandeliers. Your family could only focus on present 
problems; “no more war,” your grandma pleaded to us. 
Dear Kirill _Mardelle Fortier
4140
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Fortier: Dear Kirill
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023
 I never asked you, Kirill, if ordinary Russians were hap-
py. Privately, Robin whispered that people on the street never 
smiled. She pointed out the nearly empty windows of stores with 
scarce consumer goods (most funds were focused toward mili-
tary expenses). At a bookstore, she mischievously requested the 
novel, Doctor Zhivago, knowing it would never appear on the 
shelf. Careers, our leaders had informed us, were chosen by the 
state, so none of you young men would ever have a choice. 
 Despite constant radio propaganda mumbling over the 
fulfillment of five-year plans, you must have seen the wide gap 
between fiction and reality. You must have realized that it was 
impossible to even catch a glimpse of a dream. “Put us in your 
suitcase,” Kirill and Sasha said as we prepared to leave their 
country. Their voices were fervent yet wistful, cynical; they knew 
they were flirting with a fleeting fantasy. Did you ever really 
know what freedom meant?
 Kirill, I confess: as our plane rose, as we flew closer to 
our homeland, elation lifted us high and higher. Unlike you, we 
could “move around the cabin.” Your world receded back into 
surrealism as we crossed back out of the Iron Curtain.     
 With today’s newspaper headlines (invasion of Ukraine, 
spring 2022), you exploded back into reality. My tears have 
flowed till they could flood into the Neva. How sorry I am that I 
could not take you with me, away from coercion, draft, war and 
losses of men over Ukraine. 
President Zelensky, Acrylic on Canvas  _Marilyn Peretti
4342
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The Prairie Light Review, Vol. 46, No. 1 [2023], Art. 42
https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/42


Dear Kirill

Emmenegger, James Bronco

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 55 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Wyoming Night 
James Bronco Emmenegger 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Emmenegger, James Bronco (2023) "Wyoming Night," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 55. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/55 
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 orenick@cod.edu. 
Unknown, Digital Artwork
_Christine Cianciosi
W
yom
ing Night, Photography 
_Jam
es Bronco Em
m
enegger
I need Totem, Jewelry
_Matt Hanson
Tempting Lagoon Ring, 
Jewelry _Karlette Murray
5554
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Emmenegger: Wyoming Night
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


Wyoming Night

Nelson, Joseph

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 56 
Fall 12-1-2023 
The Deal 
Joseph Nelson 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Nelson, Joseph (2023) "The Deal," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 56. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/56 
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. 
The room feels brighter than it should. My ears are conquered by the off-beat 
rhythms of table taps and leg fidgets. The faces that surround the table are 
weathered and worn from the lives lived. One man mutters to himself as a 
woman expresses the woes of the intense conversation she had with her sister. 
She persevered through her challenge, and was rewarded with another coin. 
“Lisa, that was fantastic work. You were able to maintain control in a situation 
you felt powerless in, and that’s the best we can do. Everybody, let’s give her a 
round of applause.” The organizer spoke with pride. He smiles looking around 
the room. Standing confidently the man gestures over to my place at the long, 
instant-coffee-stained plastic table. 
“We do have someone new joining us today. Now remember, this is a safe 
place. If anyone understands, it’s us. That’s why we are here. Please, tell us 
about yourself and why you decided to come here tonight.” He spoke as if 
reciting a proven script. I recited my version of the intro, which was really just 
my name and the admission of guilt. 
“I remember my first drink like the romantic is reminded of their first kiss.” The 
room’s eye contact was strong, a few sets of eyebrows raised like hands with 
questions. “I was eleven, it was my uncle’s wedding day. He must have thought 
it was a sort of initiation into manhood. Most likely expected me to call it gross, 
and surrender the frosted can of Miller Genuine Draft. It felt different though.”
My mind flashed back to a dream I had shortly after that first taste.  A flame 
conceives a raging red light that vanishes quickly in a cloud of smoke.
 “All you have to do to forget is to keep drinking,” a stranger spoke. 
“I won’t remember the bad stuff?” I asked with desperation. The stranger 
grinned, and inhaled another drag of smoke.
“My friend, you won’t remember a thing,” his voice echoed in my head. I looked 
around the room to notice the group’s impatience growing. I explained to them 
the feeling that they all knew. How that first feeling of catching a buzz is like 
the embrace from an old friend. But with every shot, every can, every glass 
of booze, the grip gets tighter and tighter until eventually it pulls you off the 
ledge along with it.
“By thirteen whiskey was a regular drink, by sixteen my blackouts were 
creating gaps in my months. The kids at school would whisper in class about 
how the smell leaked from my pores. Bullies thought the fat drunk kid was an 
easy target. I couldn’t help it, I didn’t know there was a way to stop, or even 
that I needed to.” Even as I vented to the room, I could feel the stranger’s hands 
on my shoulders.
“When did you choose sobriety?” a voice called from four chairs down.
“My twentieth birthday,” I replied. “But I’ve relapsed twice since. It’s funny, I 
remember co-workers begging me to drink with them again like addiction was 
a facade. As if there could always be one last time. Their excitement from 
college dorm parties would bleed into the summer work months. Bragging 
over conquered kegs and beer pong tournaments, they would see me as a 
fool who hung their jersey too soon. They’d bring drinks within arms reach in 
hopes of my weakness to take the bait.”
Looking back, older users were the worst. They couldn’t imagine that 
someone could crawl out of the abyss, leaving them behind. Comments 
would get personal, my heart would mourn these false friendships. My 
brother-in-law actually said if I relapsed I needed to invite him. Some said 
I was better as a drunk. Others remarked there was no such thing as a 
better version of me. The room all took a moment to shake their heads in 
disapproval. One man spoke up, 
“The most important thing you can have is a clean, and sober life. Alcoholism 
is a disease, and the cure is not to feed it.” He preached as others clapped 
at his devotion.
“I’ve started to realize that,” I gave a shaken half smile. “I’m just now 
realizing I have to stop taking these pills too, but it’s hard to have nothing. 
It’s been a couple weeks since my last downer.” I could feel the energy in the 
room get deeper. 
“So, what made you find us tonight?” the organizer questioned.
“Earlier today, I was having a rough time. I thought that if I could find some 
non-alcoholic beers, maybe a placebo effect might help. 
“You cannot have non-alcoholic beer!” one man shouted.
“Did you know there are trace amounts of alcohol in NA beer?” a lady on 
the other side of the room prodded me. “If you drink that, you are giving 
into temptation and you will backslide. More voices hurled their disapproval 
at me. 
“If he’s taking drugs this is the wrong place for him anyways,” an elder in a 
veteran hat stated his claim.
“He’s right,” the organizer spoke up. “Son your problems are more than 
alcohol, you’re better off finding another meeting,” his statement felt final.
I witness many dancing with what weighs my soul. They have the power to 
control the steps and can even choose the length of the song they move 
to. I watch from the side with the stranger’s hands on my shoulders, hands 
that brand the skin beneath to mark the struggle I can never shake. The 
memories I sacrificed, and will never get back. My skewed perspective that 
clouds the world before my eyes. The label that has meant many things for 
many different people, but has only ever meant one thing to me. The burden 
of a deal made young.
The Deal _Joseph Nelson
5756
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Nelson: The Deal
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


The Deal

Ayoub, Max

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 84 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Back Cover - How Many Seconds in Eternity? 
Max Ayoub 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Ayoub, Max (2023) "Back Cover - How Many Seconds in Eternity?," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, 
Article 84. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/84 
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. 
    
  P
ra
iri
e 
Li
gh
t R
ev
iew
      Volume 46, N
o. 1 Fall 2023
“How many seconds in eternity?” asked the man.
I thought for a moment, then said, “let us count to understand.”
How long did it take for our universe to grow?
For the gasses to bind into the stars we know
And the planets around them, the one on which we stand?
And how long after that ‘til the first fish had swam?
‘Til they sprouted crude legs and crawled onto land?
Even when they grow to enormity, we have much longer to know,
“How many seconds in eternity?”
Well, for how long did dinosaurs roam the land?
And how long after them until the first man?
And just how long will man last? We may never know,
But still we must ask, for how much longer will our universe go?
When the final star burns out, and existence breathes its last,
The first second of eternity will have passed.
How Many Seconds in Eternity? _Max Ayoub
1
Ayoub: Back Cover - How Many Seconds in Eternity?
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


Back Cover - How Many Seconds in Eternity?

Hanson, Matt

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 59 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Farewell to Anticipation 
Matt Hanson 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Hanson, Matt (2023) "Farewell to Anticipation," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 59. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/59 
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 orenick@cod.edu. 
You’re standing in a room that feels both familiar and foreign to you. There are sounds 
all around you, the chatter of people talking over each other and some kind of music 
playing in the background. When you listen carefully, too closely, you can even hear the 
sounds outside. 
But then you look and see that there’s no one around you. The room you’re in is com-
pletely bare and it doesn’t have a single door or window or any kind of escape. You 
could swear you were just in a different room. It hits you then that you don’t know where 
all that noise is coming from. 
That’s when you feel it.
A pit, deep and dark, starts forming in the bottom of your stomach and it feels like 
there’s something there trying to claw itself out. You suddenly find that breathing itself is 
harder in this room. Every breath you take is shorter and more staggered, and you start 
getting lightheaded very quickly. Your eyesight goes next. The room starts turning hazy 
and you’re certain then that something is wrong.
 Give me a wisdom saving throw.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary. In fact, you know this feeling. It’s familiar. You feel 
it all the time. It must be a completely normal feeling. 
You feel the terrible, familiar feeling start to take over and you let it. The pit in your 
stomach is crawling its way up. It reaches your chest and clenches around your heart, 
squeezes until it’s all you can feel. Your breaths get even shorter, your lungs start ex-
panding and it feels like they could just pop like a balloon any second now. The room 
starts moving around you but you remain still.
Your body betrays your brain. It knows you need to get out of there despite the pain 
and the haze and the noises seeming familiar. But your body isn’t in control. Your 
brain is.
It stops you and weighs down every inch of your body it can reach. You stumble. 
Once and then twice before you feel your body collapse and fall to the ground.
 What do you do?
Five. My pink and yellow bracelet. The mismatched socks I have on. A book, I haven’t 
finished it. My blanket on the floor. The poster falling off my wall.
Four. Cold, it’s the floor underneath me. My phone in my–
Roll For Initiative _Bianca Tellez
Divine Delusion, Color Photograph  _Elise Matlock Farewell to Anticipation, Jewelry   _Matt Hanson
5958
1
Hanson: Farewell to Anticipation
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Farewell to Anticipation

Maglicic, Mia

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 11 
Fall 12-1-2023 
stranger 
Mia Maglicic 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Maglicic, Mia (2023) "stranger," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 11. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/11 
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. 
but she leaves, gritted teeth and
a shrinking reflection of “keep in 
touch”
she leaves me with the idea that
goodbyes are impermanent
when really they are the most
solid thing i’ve ever felt
i say i’ll miss you but
my words are hollow –
how did we ever
have anything to say?
i hoped it would be us in the end
but we grew up and now
my fingers are numb
and my teeth ache
i think about it often –
do you?
do you wish we had more time?
but she has forgotten.
she doesn’t hear me –
i am speaking to
an empty room
now the lip gloss has dried out.
the teddy bear’s threads unravel 
and
the places we stand, giggling, in 
the photos
don’t exist anymore
but i remember it all
and i have nowhere to put it down
please don’t be a stranger
the august sun overwhelms,
silently
grape popsicles sting the inside
of soft cheeks
and sticky fingers reach
for a faded door inside
a familiar laundry room,
machines rattling, dull blue tiles,
a crevice under the old countertop
for two small bodies to curl into
we embrace the buzzing of
fluorescent lights like dewdrops
embrace morning
our hands press the worn patterns
on the floor and uncover
a tattered box, a capsule of time
cotton candy lip gloss,
frayed stuffed animals,
flimsy polaroids
of a forgotten, buried time
our blurry fingerprints
trace the past –
does your chest feel this heavy too?
does your popsicle taste this bitter?
my vision turns to static,
a thick, sour sensation –
i yearn to linger
a bit longer.
stranger _Mia Maglicic
Examination, Black and White Photograph  
_Elise Matlock
1110
1
Maglicic: stranger
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


stranger

Karavolos, George

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 34 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Fertile Earth 
George Karavolos 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Karavolos, George (2023) "Fertile Earth," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 34. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/34 
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. 
Fertile Earth
dig in the most fertile earth, discover the richest soil
for its efforts to endure the years, the body will labor and toil
with yearning, a tree was planted, with hope to grant it flourish
its roots distribute wide, to find the earth itself will nourish
may its branches spread broad, for generations that will follow
to shade descendants born beneath its canopy’s casted shadow 
may your memory be entangled with this ever-growing Tree 
for as its branches bloom in spring, so will the years for thee 
and with the fruits of will, the Tree’s branches grow some more
fed by the bit of love it found, the rooted memory at its core
and if the will exists enough, to support this tender shoot
may it bless the earth with bounty, from a single branch’s root
so, cultivate your land, all of you, water it with desire
bind yourself to faith, begin, and hope indeed inspire
Εύφορη Γη
Σκάψε την γη την εύφορη, πλούσιο να βρεις χώμα  
Να βλέπει χρόνια ο κόπος σου το ιδρυόμενο σώμα
Με πόθο δένδρο φύτεψε και πίστη να βλαστήσει 
Κι ο μόχθος κι η ελπίδα σου θα δώσουνε να άνθηση 
Να  σκορπισθούν οι ρίζες του βαθιά στη γη να πάνε
Να απλωθούν οι κλώνοι του γενιές ν ακολουθάμε 
Κάτω απ’ τον ίσκιο τον πλατύ θα έρθουν οι απόγονοι 
Κι η θύμησης σου θα  μπλεχθεί  με Δένδρο που φουντώνει 
Κείνο το Δένδρο σε άνοιξη στα χρόνια σου θ’ ανθίσει 
Κι από καρπούς η θέληση τους κλώνους θα γεμίσει 
Λίγη αγάπη όταν βρει το Δένδρο θα φουντώσει 
Και η δίκη σου ανάμνηση στο χρόνο θα στεριώσει 
Σαν το φροντίσει η διάθεση το τρυφερό βλαστάρι 
Θε να γεμίσει όλη η γη πλούτο από ένα κλωνάρι 
Σκάψε την γη σου άνθρωπε πότισε την με πόθο 
Δέσου με πίστη κ’ άρχισε, την ελπίδα σου τη νιώθω 
Fertile Earth _George Karavolos
Peace of M
ind, Photograph 
 
_Alexa Solonenko
3332
1
Karavolos: Fertile Earth
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


Fertile Earth

Markos, Karian

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 51 
Fall 12-1-2023 
One Urban Tree to Another 
Karian Markos 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Markos, Karian (2023) "One Urban Tree to Another," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 51. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/51 
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. 
I admire you from across the avenue
as more gray-on-gray, uniform buildings 
sprout from new foundations
You—the scrappy tree that persists through the development
Your gnarled trunk and roots cry rebellion
bust through the concrete designed to contain them
half your branches are missing and those that remain
grow at an angle that would have Pythagoras perplexed
spring has come and you are without leaves
indefatigable, you require no sustenance but determination
You should have toppled long ago but you’re still here
flipping the bird to city trucks with vendettas 
for infringing on power line sovereignty
You stand your ground—defiant, eternal
more alive than all of us
I admire your resilience, your grit 
a beacon for us all, there you stand, proud
broken in body but not in spirit
against all odds and heavy machinery
One Urban Tree to Another _Karian Markos
Jackson, Digital Collage  _Megan Novak
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Markos: One Urban Tree to Another
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


One Urban Tree to Another

This composition is about a treasured necklace. In addition to a vivid description of this beautiful item, the writer emphasizes its sentimental importance

Schweikle, Alexandria

Writer- Alexandria Schweikle 
Class- Spanish 2251: Conversation and Composition I 
Title in English- My Favorite Necklace 
Abstract-  This composition is about a treasured necklace. In addition to a vivid description of 
this beautiful item, the writer emphasizes its sentimental importance. 
Mi collar favorito 
Aunque es algo pequeño, es posible que un objeto pueda tener mucha importancia para 
alguien. En mi caso, un objeto que tiene importancia para mí es mi collar de oro. Para algunas 
personas, es solo una joya. Pero para mí, es una de las cosas más importantes de mi vida porque 
representa recuerdos positivos y las calidades de amor y pasión que yo valoro. 
Ahora, quiero que puedas visualizar el collar. Para describir su forma física, mi collar es 
muy elegante. En el exterior, es de color dorado y es muy brillante; me recuerda a los rayos 
dorados del sol. Tiene la forma de un corazón, y es del tamaño de una moneda de diez centavos. 
Puede parecer pequeño, pero el impacto que tiene en mi vida es gigante. Es genial porque 
además de ser solo un collar, es un medallón. En el interior, hay dos fotografías: una de mi novio 
y yo después de mi último concierto de orquesta, y una foto de nosotros cuando fuimos de 
vacaciones a Wisconsin Dells. Cuando me pongo mi collar hermoso, me siento feliz porque 
representa algunas cosas que son importantes en mi vida. No importa a cuántos collares reciba en 
el futuro, siempre apreciaré mi collar de oro y la sensación que me da. 
 
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Schweikle: Mi collar favorito
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


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