DigitalCommons@C.O.D.

Jain, Megha

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 16 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Morya 
Megha Jain 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Jain, Megha (2023) "Morya," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 16. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/16 
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. 
One of the other stylists came back with coffees for the 
employees, and I watched as my stylist stepped away to chug 
her cup quickly. 
“So… what do you want to do with your hair… today?” 
she asked, stepping back over to me. 
I was still looking at myself in the mirror. Because I can’t 
look up or down or left or right and I definitely can’t look at the 
hairdresser because I happen to like the tops of my ears thank 
you very much. What did I want? I can’t have it long because 
that’s all I’ve ever known. Long hair with neat ends to please 
an unsmiling mother who could never ever possibly be wrong.  
Can’t have it cut shoulder length because that’s not allowed. 
Shoulder length would be an obvious identifier that maybe my 
sister would be related to me and god forbid anyone knew we 
were related. Can’t get a pixie because then I’m going to get 
divorced three times. Pixie cut means that I have bad taste in 
men and that it’s my fault that I didn’t listen to advice from a 
snobby, stuck-up woman who has never been divorced once and 
thinks that remaining in an unhappy marriage is better than not 
being married. Can’t get it colored because that’s a disaster 
waiting to happen. Coloring my hair means that I hate my old 
hair color and if I hate my hair color then I hate the controlling 
yet uninterested man who gave me that hair color.
It’s not like my hair is the epitome of who I am. What 
can you really tell from a pixie cut? Or dyed hair? Or long hair 
with neat ends? Who made the rules for what my hair has to 
be? Who says you can’t do this, you can’t do that? If there are 
so many things I can’t do, what’s the point in having hair at all?  
Then I leaned back in my chair and finally made eye 
contact for the first time. The hairdresser blinked twice as I told 
her what I wanted for my haircut. Then a Cheshire grin spread 
across her face. She put down her scissors and picked up her 
clippers. With a buzz, it came to life.
“All of it, hon?”
“All of it.” Morya, Acrylic Color and Texture Paste on Canvas  _Megha Jain
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Jain: Morya
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English

Morya

Morris, Wilda

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 27 
Fall 12-1-2023 
To My Biological Father: a Pantoum 
Wilda Morris 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Morris, Wilda (2023) "To My Biological Father: a Pantoum," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 
27. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/27 
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 only knew the bad things about you,
like how you threw mother against a wall,
I never had a chance to really know you
because my mother kicked you out.
You threw my mother against a wall
and who knows what else she never told me.
After mother kicked you out
she ripped pages from my baby book.
Who knows what else you did 
that made her destroy the pictures of you?
She ripped whole pages from my baby book
I didn’t even know what you looked like.
What made her destroy pictures of you
and never tell me you had other children.
I didn’t even know what you looked like
or what kind of father you would be
until years later when I met your other children—
two grown half-brothers—
and learned you could be a kind father.
They said they knew you loved me.
Now I have two grown half-brothers
who say they know you loved me
though I never had a chance to know you
and had only known the bad things.
To My Biological Father: a Pantoum _Wilda Morris
The Hand That Nurtures, Color Photography and Collaging 
_Alyssa Ferraro,
 
 
Basilica, Original Sculpture _Daniel Popper
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Morris: To My Biological Father: a Pantoum
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To My Biological Father: a Pantoum

Nance, Angel

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 38 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Kenyan Rose 
Angel Nance 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Nance, Angel (2023) "Kenyan Rose," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 38. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/38 
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. 
Grandma’s hair was long, glistening with silver, and 
undulating in soft waves. She never colored it. True to her South-
ern Baptist upbringing, she clung to the belief that a woman’s 
tresses were her sacred glory, while for a man, they were his 
shame. I am not sure what part of the Bible she drew this from.
When she washed her hair, she let it air dry and put it 
in a secure bun on the back of her head that touched the nape 
of her neck with a pile of unpretentious bobby pins. While her 
hair was her splendor, it was never entirely down except when 
air drying after a rigorous washing, which Grandma did the 
way she did all things—with unparalleled enthusiasm and vigor. 
She secured her hair in place, as the thought of trying to work 
with it flowing freely probably wasn’t practical.
At night, she would brush her hair like she was trying to 
remove thatch from a lawn, but ironically, with a delicate gold 
filigree brush that rested next to a matching comb that always 
lay together on a matching filigree mirror. I sneaked and used 
the comb sometimes. After the brushing, or dethatching as it 
were, she would quickly and deftly weave a single lengthy 
braid down the middle of her back to make it easier to sleep in 
at night or, sometimes, if she decided to take a midday nap.
Once, when I was four years old, a curious impulse 
overcame me one lazy summer afternoon while Grandma was 
napping on the divan. Yes, that’s what she called a couch. In a 
moment of youthful fascination, I tip-toed over to cut my grand-
mother’s opulent silver braid while she was sleeping.
What mysterious muse had possessed me to commit such 
an act, I cannot fathom, save for the mesmerizing allure of her 
shimmering hair. It was soft and flowing and sumptuous even 
though it was older, graying hair. My mom caught me just as 
the scissors were about to slice across the braid at the nape of 
Grandma’s neck.
I never saw Grandma’s hair turn completely white, al-
though I think she never got old enough for that. It remained an 
undulating silver river to behold until the day she passed away 
at the age of 84.
I also have wavy hair, which is exceptionally thick 
thanks to my Italian heritage, but silver strands now gracefully 
intermingle with the darker remnants of my youth. Some days, 
when I don’t have time for makeup or to dress nicely, I feel like 
my hair and smile are all I have left as I creep into old age. I 
wonder if I will ever see my hair turn wholly white. 
The Silver Age _Lea Sloan
Kenyan Rose, Black and White Photograph _Angel Nance
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Nance: Kenyan Rose
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Kenyan Rose

Cianciosi, Christine

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 41 
Fall 12-1-2023 
What's in a Line 
Christine Cianciosi 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Cianciosi, Christine (2023) "What's in a Line," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 41. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/41 
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. 
What if
Days are like soap bubbles
Nights, like the freight train
rumbling through a ghost town
Of late,
My heart beats grudgingly,
Daily chore, a Sisyphean task
Writing, an ordeal 
the letters appear like ants
scrambling for bread crumbs,
A straight line ends up wavy
and out of place,
I walk with a pebble in my shoe,
and tagging along everywhere 
like my shadow is a nagging fear…
What if?
What If _Abdul Malik Mandani What’s in a Line, Digital Artwork  _Christine Cianciosi
3938
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Cianciosi: What's in a Line
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What\u27s in a Line

Anwar, Huma

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 46 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Ocean of Emotion 
Huma Anwar 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Anwar, Huma (2023) "Ocean of Emotion," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 46. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/46 
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. 
I destroyed myself before anyone else could get the chance.
For every hesitation in fear, 
my heart fumbles a beat,
burrowed into the trenches of darkness, even they could not 
reach,
a peace.  I rose alone.
For every joy, the hate impenetrable. 
I have witnessed the worst in myself and let her live.
For the eternity in an instant of pain,
I can still laugh.
For every malice yearning eviction,
a gratitude armed true,
ready and 
waiting.
Ocean of Emotion, Acrylic on Canvas _Huma Anwar Grace _BrittanyAnn Schumacher
4746
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Anwar: Ocean of Emotion
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Ocean of Emotion

Conroy, Joe

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 48 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Fish Food Critics 
Joe Conroy 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Conroy, Joe (2023) "Fish Food Critics," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 48. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/48 
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. 
 
It was dinner hour at Lou’s Prime Palace, a small restaurant 
with a fish tank for the customers to stare at while they waited for 
their food. It was a plain looking fish tank with small pebbles and a 
decorative castle. A handful of small fish dashed from one end to the 
other staring at the guests seated all around them. Like the guests, 
they were eagerly waiting for the waiter to come out of the kitchen 
and feed them. After an agonizing twenty minutes of swimming in 
circles anticipating their dinner, the kitchen doors swung open and 
out walked the waiter with fish food in hand. He sprinkled a handful 
into the tank and eagerly waited to see how the fish liked it. As he 
stood and waited patiently the customers began to turn their heads 
and stare, confused by the waiter looking into the fish tank with such 
intensity.
The fish nibbled on the food as it drifted down towards them. 
Once it was all gone, the guests expected them to resume their swim-
ming and for this strange waiter who was now taking out a notepad 
for some reason to go get their food. But instead, he waited with 
bated breath for the fish to respond. And to everyone’s surprise, the 
fish did respond. They all gathered around in a circle and began to 
talk to one another in a sophisticated manner. Two even put on glass-
es, took out notebooks, and began writing down their thoughts. Unlike 
most fish, they had very good memories.
“This one was...Different from last week.” One of the fish 
started. “Different, but I am pleased to say it was satisfactory.”
“Quite so.” Another responded. “I tasted a hint of basil in this 
dish. Which is surprising considering we are fish. The head chef grows 
it all himself and often saves it for his guests.”
“Perhaps he had some left over from last week. Remember he 
saved the best for that food critics meal last week?”
“Ah, yes. Mrs. Farrel. She was rather picky, wasn’t she? And so 
rude! I’m well aware that food critics can be pretentious but my word! 
The mouth on that woman! To talk in such a crude manner about his 
dish in his own establishment. It was quite unprofessional.”
“Indeed.”
“Quite so my friend.”
The waiter was writing down everything he could about their 
reaction to the fish food. A few people had moved their chairs closer 
to listen to them. 
“Back to the topic at hand, gentlemen. How would you rate 
the dish for this evening?”
“Well, it was different. Not very flavorful, though. Unfor-
tunately, I will have to lower my score to a six as opposed to last 
week’s high marks.”
“I agree. I commend the chef for stepping out of his comfort 
zone and looking to new horizons in the world of fish food. But he sim-
ply wasn’t ambitious enough. He should have done more, embraced 
the adventure in dining he had seemingly set out upon! Instead, he 
only stopped short. A rather short journey to explore the endless pos-
sibilities of fish food. A pity.”
The fish glanced at the waiter who now wore a worried 
expression on his face. His notes were very negative up to this point 
and he knew the head chef was still feeling down after a very rough 
week with the recent outburst and subsequent scathing review from 
Mrs. Farrel. Having his own fish be negative would put him in an even 
worse mood. He was a very emotional chef, and the fish could sense 
the waiter’s anxiety from the thought of having to bring him the news 
that he had let them down.
“Well, I personally don’t think it was all too bad.” One fish 
spoke up. “I believe we should raise our scores for the chef’s ambi-
tiousness. He has taken very good care of us during our lives here. He 
even bought us that little automobile to decorate our tank.”
He pointed his fin towards a small model of a sports car the 
chef had bought for them at a flea market a few weeks ago. It had 
definitely been a welcome decoration; the castle had become a bit 
of an eyesore for the fish. Not that they didn’t appreciate it, but the 
medieval aesthetic was not their favorite. 
“That is a nice car. I’d bump up the scores a few points for it.” 
One customer said. Some people in the crowd shushed him, eager to 
hear what the fish had to say. By now, nearly everyone in the restau-
rant had moved their seats around the fish tank.
Fish Food Critics _Joe Conroy
4948
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Conroy: Fish Food Critics
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“Gentlemen!” One fish started. “I must remind you that we 
are critics. We must have integrity when it comes to our work. I do un-
derstand that we should show empathy for our dear friend the head 
chef, but if we are soft on his work, we will be doing him a disservice. 
We must help him to become a better chef by being critical! A man 
cannot hope to improve himself with compliments that come from a 
place of pity! I fear he would become complacent with his mediocrity 
and not strive to better himself.”
“This is true...Oh, this is quite difficult for me. But your words 
speak truth my friend. We must remain critical. However, perhaps 
some words of encouragement could do our friend some good?”
“Yes, yes! Words of encouragement.”
“The right direction!”
“Improve on this formula!” 
“It’s a solid foundation!”
A few more sentences of encouragement were thrown out, 
all of which the waiter hastily wrote down. The customers nodded in 
agreement with each compliment the fish threw out. When they had 
finished, they all returned to swimming while one swam towards the 
waiter.
“That’s all we have for tonight, good sir.” The fish told him. 
“Give our compliments to the chef. Tell him we all wish him luck in his 
culinary journey. Don’t let this setback deter him! We are all rooting 
for him.”
The customers went back to their meals and the waiter went 
back to the kitchen to share his notes with the chef.
Once he got home from work that evening, the chef read the 
waiter’s notes while he sipped on his cheap wine. The kind words from 
the fish were welcome ones. He smiled and laid back in his recliner. 
His confidence was slowly coming back. He was grateful for his fish.
Frankenturkey, Sculpture  _Carolyn Faivre
5150
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The Prairie Light Review, Vol. 46, No. 1 [2023], Art. 48
https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/48


Fish Food Critics

Sana, Adam

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 63 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Paper Fingernails Imprisoning My Body 
Adam Sana 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Sana, Adam (2023) "Paper Fingernails Imprisoning My Body," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, 
Article 63. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/63 
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. 
From under my skin
those intrusive thoughts fester,
tentacles gnawing on my arteries,
blood, the source of power.
Darker, deadlier
those envious eyes, alluding,
my mouth drinking from 
the cup of tiresome tragedies.
There is a reluctant burden,
behind every delicate beauty,
behind every smiling mask.
Eardrums bursting from the shriek-
ing,
torture of my beloved angels, 
sickening.
The bells tolling, for I cannot hear 
you,
my love blinded by my somber 
thoughts
with tape entombing me to the 
table,
weary, as my shriveled dark mind 
is lost.
Eating further and further in
where my lungs have dried up.
So tired, my heart beating slowly
pausing only for the important moments.
Lampshades too bright for my dusty new 
eyes
the light so fond when praised by the 
darkness.
Little cold stars shimmer into the night,
dangling above my hanging head they 
sleep.
A shadow looming over the wooden 
surface,
casting a deadly spell, a binding curse 
over me.
Living in a lie, a miniscule world,
while feeling emotions so immense,
while mourning inside this house of 
horrors.
With fingernails so utterly long
they curl around my appendages,
so encapsulating, a keratin prison
unbreakable, unable to live freely.
With luminous eyes no longer dusty,
those scissors become so fearsome
when they trim my paper-thin figure
leaving holes where my sight used to be.
Paper Fingernails Imprisoning My Body _Adam Sana untitled, Acrylic On Canvas _Aidan Meade
How long is the process of regression?
Crawling, you cry to be heard,
but from my perception of utter discretion,
lying, you’re the killer of the word.
Searching, your crying to be cured
with not a whisper to be found,
eyes, watery teardrops only blurred
such somber succulence to be crowned.
Amongst these destinies you have drowned,
through the delicacy of the hypnotic door
mundane melodies camping under the ground
that escape lingers without a soul’s core.
With luckier fingertips to win the war
golden statues bow to you with a question,
every corpse becomes dust across the floor.
How long is the process of regression?
Unlucky Child _Adam Sana
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Sana: Paper Fingernails Imprisoning My Body
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Paper Fingernails Imprisoning My Body

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 82 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Gratitude 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
(2023) "Gratitude," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 82. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/82 
This Back Matter 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. 
Gratitude
The team at Prairie Light Review is grateful for the support of Dr. Brian Caputo, 
Dr. Mark Curtis-Chavez, Dr. Diana Del Rosario, Dr. William “Ben” Whisenhunt, 
and Dean Robyn Schiffman. The finished product of this journal would have been 
impossible if not for the unwavering support of our faculty especially in English, 
Creative Writing, Humanities and  Art - as well as across all the divisions (and 
the Honors Program!). Thanks for continuing to encourage students to revise 
and submit their submissions. Much thanks to Chuck Steele, Shannon Hernandez, 
Jelymar Mejia, and the Office of Student Life for their support and assistance 
with publicity as well as Jennifer Duda. Thanks to the CoD Library and Staff. 
Additional gratitude is due to Karen Kuhn, Cathie Walker, Dr. Lisa Stock, and 
the Budilovsky family. We are so grateful to the talented in dividuals at Alpha 
Graphics in Lisle for their support in printing the book.
Colophon
Twice a year, College of DuPage invites all COD students, faculty and staff, as 
well as the entirety of District 502 to submit original literature and artwork for 
publication in the community liberal arts journal, the Prairie Light Review. This 
year Prairie Light Review accepted works of original fiction, nonfiction, essays, 
drama, poetry, graphic essays, photography, and 2D or 3D artwork of any 
medium to be considered for publication. Students enrolled in English 2210 
worked as student editors to read and evaluate all submissions through a fair and 
anonymous system of evaluation. The class was guided by our faculty advisor, 
Trina Sotirakopulos, who oversees class proceedings, leads hiring decisions of 
class officers, and advises on creative and technical decisions of all varieties. 
Throughout the semester, our officers- Editor in Chief, Production Editor, and 
Marketing Editor- serve pertinent roles in ensuring the quality of our publication. 
Our Marketing Editor manages all of our social media and community connections, 
ensuring that the public is aware of the opportunities available to them, and the 
details of upcoming events. The Production Editor creates the overall design 
of the journal, deciding formatting, color scheme, piece placement, and other 
technical decisions. The Editor in Chief supervises all operations of the team, 
makes executive decisions on submissions, and advises Assistant Editors in their 
work. Final edits are approved by our entire team before the finished publication 
is sent to the printers.
Cover: 80 Pound Matte Paperstock
Design: Adobe Photoshop CC 2024 Adobe InDesign CC 2024. 
Finance and Operation: the publication is funded through College of   
DuPage’s Student Life
Publishing: AlphaGraphics, Lisle, Illinois
Paperstock: 70 pound Matte Paperstock
Typography: Tw Cen MT Condensed and Tw Cen MT, available through Adobe & paid 
for by Student Life       
Photography: All photography in this magazine is provided by residents   
of District 502
80
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et al.: Gratitude
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Gratitude

Art is one of the most impactful forms of persuasive communication. This  is, perhaps, because it makes us question who we are and what we  believe in. The games published by FromSoftware, namely, Dark Souls,  Bloodborne, and Elden Ring, all have deep philosophical messages.  They aim to make the players think, to make discoveries about them selves, and to make deep moral decisions. For my project, I investigated  and formulated claims on what these games try to make us feel, as well  as providing philosophical context for these claims through the works of  Georg Wilhelm Friedreich Hegel, Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, and  Friedreich Nietzsche.
Faculty Sponsor: Professor Casey Slot

Brando, Rowan

Transcending the Hunt: The Art and Philosophy of From Software  Games

My paper outlines how and why globalist and Western policies have led to the significant decline of democracy across the globe, and why that may simply be for the best when the governments we\u27re trusting to adhere to democratic values are failing to do so, and gaslighting the electorate to think they aren\u27t. I give information about how globalism has been branded versus the actual results of said policies once put into action. I detail the hypocrisy of Western governments that preach democratic values while benefiting from and enabling the enforcement of undemocratic methods and organizations, and why that makes them an unviable alternative, as evidenced by recent events.
Faculty Sponsor: Professor David Goldber

College of DuPage

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Morya

To My Biological Father: a Pantoum

Kenyan Rose

What\u27s in a Line

Ocean of Emotion

Fish Food Critics

Paper Fingernails Imprisoning My Body

Gratitude

Transcending the Hunt: The Art and Philosophy of From Software Games

How Globalist Policy Action Has Led to the Decline of Democracy

7,467

11,908