DigitalCommons@C.O.D.

The Himalayan salt ranges, one of the world’s most compelling geological sites, are located in northern Pakistan. Stretching across 300 kilo meters from the Jhelum River to the Indus River, and with its highest peak of Mount Sakesar at 1570 meters high, this region is known for its numerous geological aspects, as well as its coveted natural resource of pink Himalayan salt. This presentation aims to provide a comprehensive overview of the Himalayan salt ranges, exploring their history, formation over geologic time periods, and significant geological features in the eastern, central, and western regions.
Faculty Sponsor: Professor Joseph Filomen

Imam, Zainab

Exploring the Geological History and Features of the Himalayan Salt  Ranges: A Comprehensive Study

Paulius, Mary

Withering Away

Fate, Tom Montgomery

My Mother\u27s Hands

Mandani, Abdul Malik

Call of the Sea

Fortier, Mardelle

Seeking by Bicycle

Ammar, Amal

Kusa and Warak Enab

Colophon

Kuper, Kelly

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 25 
Fall 12-1-2023 
The Birth 
Kelly Kuper 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Kuper, Kelly (2023) "The Birth," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 25. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/25 
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. 
It’s hard not to think about what this could have been
When my heart is full of promises we just could not have kept. 
One day I will find the words to describe what this all meant, 
But now instead of trying to, I’ll put it all to rest. 
I’ll keep each stolen moment like a collection in my breast.
And something I will never have is any one regret.
Sometimes love is fickle and can fight you to the end,
But sometimes it’s too precious, it’s better when it’s left.
Given time to exist, given space to breathe.
Giving all we’ve ever wanted even when it’s clear to see
That paths are meant to cross, 
Ours was only brief.
Pulled in and then away like we’re two waves upon the beach.
I walk into the floodpath and 
the world goes on. I take pictures of sunsets and 
the world goes on. I miss being sad because
I could pretend everything stopped when I did. 
I could pretend I was the most interesting thing 
in the room. Last week a woman walked onto 
the highway and cars swerved neatly around her 
like water against an immovable object. 
I don’t walk onto the highway. I walk on the 
crosswalk and look at the apartments where 
neighbors are arguing: big broad gestures
like actors in silent films, stuck in a tin-box 
windowpane. You could almost make a show 
of what they’re saying, soap operatics about 
cheating husbands and neglectful wives. 
I used to make a game of it. Now I don’t.
Instead I go home.
Forward _Mina Pattanaik
Iced Freddos _Hadley Weaver Rivera
Unusual Attribute (on left), Photography 
_Dariana Rozier
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Kuper: The Birth
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


English

The Birth

Hill, Tom

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 62 
Fall 12-1-2023 
After Sexton, Stafford, Olson 
Tom Hill 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Hill, Tom (2023) "After Sexton, Stafford, Olson," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 62. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/62 
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. 
Four. The floor. It’s cold. The bracelet I’m wearing. My sleeves, I’m pulling on them. My 
phone in my pocket.
Three. The vent, it’s too loud. My breathing, it’s also too loud. And everyone’s voices 
coming through the vent. 
Two. A candle I had on last night and the detergent lingering on my clothes. 
One. The coffee I drank this morning.
I take a deep breath but it doesn’t work the first time. So I count. And then I try again. 
In for four. Hold. Out for four. Hold again. I do that over and over until it’s the only 
thing I can think about.
 Very good. Now give me an intelligence check.
The room changes around you once more. It was never empty or bare to begin with. 
You were just thinking a little too much is all. Everything overwhelmed you and there’s 
absolutely nothing wrong with that. 
As you breathe in you feel that sinking feeling start to fade. The air you take in fills 
the pit until it disappears almost completely. It’s still there but you can manage it a 
little better now. Your brain catches up with your body on every exhale. Your hands 
move to feel the way you breathe and, with each rise and fall, the rest of your mus-
cles relax themselves.
Time passes and you keep counting in fours. When your vision clears and you can 
perceive everything again, you find the space around you empty. It’s a comfortable 
kind of empty this time, though, with no cacophony of sounds or the haze clouding 
your surroundings.
You know this place and know that it’s safe. All those monsters fighting you inside your 
head are gone for now. You’re safe.
 We exit combat.
 for my Sister*
My family often departed from Truth.
In gray-blue moon, the train would approach
that station. No one wanted to linger.
We spent our lives in moving cars.
Frozen in snowy North, sunny fields beckoned.
We traveled to Disney World.
Next, the train stopped at the depot of Truth.
In darkness, no one wished to get out.
Perhaps, a body would be found inside.
Through the lonely whistle of starlit sojourns
no one spoke of Truth. Yet it stayed
on the line, a shadow in collective memory.
      *
Here it comes. We close our eyes.
Rumors float in mist, swirling around IT.
What will be found inside?
*Mardene Eide, now deceased 
Whatever it meant—
“A kiss to bring the evening home.”
We pulled apart.
All along the block
Trees tossed new buds 
Skyward—
Sun-sliced/wind-mussed/burnt out/gone.
And take also those lilies of the parkway,
Sharp white/petal-peeled/stem-bent/slick.
After the rain, 
we set our bluestem boat to swirl,
that shabby vessel of intention,
tied and flattened and gutter-bound
and I said: “I know well
the grass blades that you mention.”
Plus this:
the day’s heat, pulled taut, broke.
Plus this:
dim rattle of thunder, moving off, 
saying: 
You’re next. You. 
Plus this:
the sky, a dirty canvas
the sky, cracking a little
the sky, well—
The Station _Mardelle Fortier
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After Sexton, Stafford, Olson _Tom Hill
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Hill: After Sexton, Stafford, Olson
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


After Sexton, Stafford, Olson

Emmenegger, James Bronco

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 46 
Number 1 Fall 2023 Article 67 
Fall 12-1-2023 
Fire 
James Bronco Emmenegger 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Emmenegger, James Bronco (2023) "Fire," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 46: No. 1, Article 67. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol46/iss1/67 
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. 
In the shadows of my room
Something spelled impending doom.
A figure with a smile
From it, dripping bile.
I closed my eyes but could still see
The broken figure inching towards me.
I tried to scream but my voice was no good
The creature was the same, as I’ve seen in the woods.
I tried to run but it was too late
Suppose it’s been a while since the monster ate.
I tried to yell, I tried to hide
Didn’t think it would ever come inside.
I used to see it between the trees
Sometimes they would hunt in threes.
Its jaws were open, they looked so strong
Looked like it was laughing, but something went wrong.
Its head shot to the left and then to the right
The look in its eyes…I think it was fright.
There was a rumble, then a roar
And finally a sound, like a wounded boar. 
The wretched thing at the end of my bed
Cowered in the corner as my heart filled with dread.
If this thing was scared, what should I be?
I shut my eyes tighter, why can I still see!?
Slowly but surely, the noises grew louder
A snarl, a growl, it was coming from under
Under my bed…UNDER MY BED
The terrified monster jumped up and fled.
It was quiet for a second, and then one more
Before the thing crawled to the middle of my floor.
I couldn’t move my head I could only hear
The clack of its claws, I felt my end was near.
Shaking and crying, yet not ever moving
I felt the pain of my flesh that it was removing.
My bones were cracked, my soul felt broken
But all of a sudden, I had awoken.
I sat there and wept as the sun got higher
How could I explain, without sounding like a liar?
Sleeping Soundly _Luiza Okarski
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Emmenegger: Fire
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2023


Fire

College of DuPage

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Exploring the Geological History and Features of the Himalayan Salt Ranges: A Comprehensive Study