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Puckett, Kendalla

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 47 
Number 1 Spring 2025 Article 1 
Spring 5-1-2025 
Front Cover Affirmation 
Kendalla Puckett 
College of DuPage 
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Recommended Citation 
Puckett, Kendalla (2025) "Front Cover Affirmation," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 47: No. 1, Article 1. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol47/iss1/1 
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1
Puckett: Front Cover Affirmation
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Front Cover Affirmation

Weber, Karl

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 47 
Number 1 Spring 2025 Article 9 
Spring 5-1-2025 
Gateway 
Karl Weber 
College of DuPage 
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Weber, Karl (2025) "Gateway," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 47: No. 1, Article 9. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol47/iss1/9 
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Gateway
 Karl Weber                
 Photography
   On July 12, 2013, Nathan Woessner, then 6, fell into and was buried 
                       in an 11-foot hole on the dune for 3 1/2 hours. 
                      Chicago Tribune
Mt.Baldy 
Glynis Benbow-Niemier
What does it feel like to fall through sand, to pray 
for hands to dig you out? Do you hear the dune 
shifting around you like an enormous 
silk coat? Anomaly. Dune decomposition 
chimney. He waited hours to be pulled 
into air. Sand in his lungs: part dune now.  
Called singing sands: step and they speak 
back to you. Mt. Baldy shifts, swallowing 
trees, part of  the parking lot. We marvel 
at its pace as it heads south—despite marram 
grasses, dune roses planted to slow it, despite 
fewer people climbing for the view. This dune 
remembers its birth, the momentum of  ice. 
8 91
Weber: Gateway
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Gateway

Janas, DJ

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 47 
Number 1 Spring 2025 Article 17 
Spring 5-1-2025 
Let's Blow Up Spider-Man! 
DJ Janas 
College of DuPage 
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Recommended Citation 
Janas, DJ (2025) "Let's Blow Up Spider-Man!," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 47: No. 1, Article 17. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol47/iss1/17 
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more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
 My classmates all had regimens to make sure they didn’t get too muscular: they didn’t 
run, and they never jumped, and they were proud that they bruised so easily, proof  of  their hard 
work. I did both too much and it had ruined my calves, and when I tried to undo it I just per-
formed worse in class. So I stopped going. Mom was so relieved she tried to take me out to dinner, 
but I couldn’t figure out how much butter they used when they were cooking, so I passed.
 “You should go to law school,” Mom said, and then, “or med school. Grad school.” 
She’d never gotten to brag about my ballet; she was trying to make up for lost time, now.
 “College,” I replied, “would probably be a good start.”
 “You had a future,” said Lucy. “You could’ve been so good.”
 I was born wrong for it, I didn’t say. “I don’t want it.” She just rolled her eyes and tried 
harder to convince me while I tried to figure out what I wanted to do. None of  it stuck, and instead 
of  researching I usually spent my afternoons scrolling through Instagram, checking my old class-
mates’ posts and critiquing their turnouts. I watched their toothpick waists and jutting collarbones, 
counted their chest bones until I felt sick, and then I decided I’d major in business and left my 
soul-searching at that.
 The weekend I told Mom this, she was making a four-cheese pasta with full-fat ground 
beef  even though Lucy had bought the ninety-nine percent lean last week. “Wonderful,” she said, 
putting everyone’s pre-portioned plates out. Lucy stared at hers and picked out one noodle with 
chopsticks she wasn’t good at using: rubbed off all the sauce, scraped the cheese onto the dish, and 
popped it into her mouth. I began counting her chews.
  “Business is safe,” Mom continued. “Great way to earn a respectable income.” Her eyes 
cut to Lucy. “Teaching can’t keep everyone afloat, especially when you want to start a family.” This 
was the topic of  every meal these days, even though Mom used to print off newspaper clippings of  
her shows to brag to her morning yoga classes. None of  her friends had dancers as children; all of  
theirs were in grad school, or in big tech, or working at banks. 
 After exactly seventy-five chews, Lucy swallowed. “I’ll do what I want, and I want to 
teach.”
 “The older you get, the harder it’ll be to start a family.”
 “Oh, god,” said Lucy drily. “Won’t someone think of  the children.” I bit back a laugh 
and ate my own pasta. I could only get to thirty-six chews before it dissolved in my mouth. I won-
dered if  this was more proof  of  my wrongness, and it ate at me until I dissolved, too.
 Why the heck did I let him do it?  And is it my fault?
 I’m sitting here, holding my broken Spider-Man guy. My brother Steven blew him up with a 
firecracker. And I let him.
 He said, “Hey, Mark, want to do something cool?” and of  course I did. He said, “Let’s take your 
Spider-Man guy, tie a string on his hand — you know, like his web — and throw him out the attic 
window. He’ll fly and swing around just like the real Spider-Man!”
 Why wouldn’t I? I’d be crazy not to!
 I admired my big brother. He did more fun things than I did. He was the star pitcher or 1st 
baseman in Little League, and when us neighborhood kids played sandlot softball, I was the catcher 
for him. By the time I was allowed to join Little League, he’d be out of  it, so I’d never get to play with 
or against him on a real field, but I knew that.
 He got to go camping with his jerk buddies, and I stayed home. But I climbed more garages, 
rode my bike further out into the far west, explored more wooded creeks, and swam in more pools 
and rivers with my friends than he ever did, so I had that on him.
 And he would beat me up. Now and then. But we were family. That’s what older brothers did 
to younger brothers. I’d be mad for two days, and then we’d play some game, and all was forgiven.
 And then he’d smack my skull into the heater. Now and then. But we were family. That’s what 
older brothers did to younger brothers. I’d be mad at him until the bump went down, and we’d watch 
Saturday morning cartoons together, eating Cap’n Crunch.
 He was kind of  mean to our sister, now and then, and he got me to help him take the heads off 
her Barbie dolls and throw them in the pool. That was kind of  fun until Amber got mad and yelled at 
me, and I knew I wouldn’t want that to happen to my toys. But Steven said, “Who cares?  She’s just 
a sister.” She was mad at us, but we were family. That’s what older brothers did to their sisters. She 
stayed mad for a while about that and some other stuff I don’t know about, but Steven didn’t really 
care and told me I shouldn’t, either.
 A couple of  times, my money went missing. Now and then. But we were family. That was what 
big brothers did to younger brothers. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. If  I asked about it, he’d just 
deny it. I suppose he needed it for something. One time, he created a club and told me to get my 
friends to join. It cost a quarter to join. We each gave him a quarter. He held the first ten-minute 
meeting in our garage and then never had one again.
Let’s Blow Up Spider-Man!
DJ Janas
16 171
Janas: Let's Blow Up Spider-Man!
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 And the cops came to visit our house one day because of  him.  I never knew what he did, but he 
had his adventures, so a cop visiting the house kind of  made sense. We were boys of  action. We were 
bound to get in trouble. Now and then.
 And he broke a few of  my toys. Now and then. But toys get broken. It happens. And some disap-
pear. It happens. One year, he gave me his cool racetrack for Christmas and then sold it in our dad’s 
garage sale in the summer. But then he gave me his Mad Magazines - the ones without covers, and 
that was nice of  him.
 So, when my Spider-Man got half-destroyed, I don’t know why I was surprised.  He told me, “I 
never said I wouldn’t blow him up. I just said it would be cool.” And I’d believed him.
 I like blowing things up.  A lot of  kids like blowing things up with firecrackers. Last year, I’d put 
together a model of  the Bismarck battleship, and it had a motor so it could sail in the pond, and we’d 
sent it out and it sailed in a circle until it veered toward shore enough for us to hit it with a stick and 
make it come in without having to wade out to it. And then Steven blew it up.  He said it did what it 
was supposed to do and, like the real Bismarck, it was time to sink it into the Atlantic. So, he did.
 So, I don’t know why I was surprised that he blew up my Spider-Man. I should have known he’d 
do something like that.  
 But I loved my Spider-Man.  He was my favorite of  the superhero guys I played with.  Now, his 
middle section was blown apart.  I could still glue the top and bottom together enough to still play 
with it, but it’s just not the same.  I could pretend he’s “battle-damaged” Spider-Man, but it’s just not 
the same.
 But what am I going to do?  I put Spider-Man in my brother’s hands and let him tie the string to 
him.  I expected that.  I let him tie the string to the attic window handle. I expected that.  He threw 
him out twice to get a good swing. I expected that, and it looked cool. Then he put that firecracker 
in Spider-Man’s bending spot and lit it. That I didn’t expect. He threw him out the window and sang 
the Spider-Man song. And there was a bang. And there were red and blue pieces going away from my 
Spider-Man guy. And then we reeled Spider-Man back in. The string was still tied to his wrist, but he 
wasn’t whole. Steven laughed and handed him to me.
 I am mad. But it’s my fault. I knew what he would do, but I let him do it.
 Jennifer Barg 
Photographty
Bonded
1918 2
The Prairie Light Review, Vol. 47, No. 1 [2025], Art. 17
https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol47/iss1/17


Let\u27s Blow Up Spider-Man!

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 47 
Number 1 Spring 2025 Article 40 
Spring 5-1-2025 
Bodies in Privacy Contort for Voyeuristic Hedonistic Oddities 
Kendalla Puckett 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Puckett, Kendalla (2025) "Bodies in Privacy Contort for Voyeuristic Hedonistic Oddities," The Prairie Light 
Review: Vol. 47: No. 1, Article 40. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol47/iss1/40 
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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. 
A Silence Kept 
Lidia Rogers
He drives me crazy—not in the way the poets write, 
not in sonnets or sighs, 
but in half-read messages 
and stolen birthday horses, 
in old arguments about Easter 
and silence when I want words. 
I never thought you'd like me, 
never thought you’d even look, 
but at midnight, when the world was quiet, 
you were the first to remember me. 
Like a secret you almost told, 
a whisper before the dawn. 
You save my pictures like keepsakes, 
but forget my messages like scraps. 
Calls me stubborn with a half-smile, 
but won’t say what he really means. 
The clock struck twelve, my mom beside me—just another birthday, 
I thought.
 Then my phone chimed. 
His name. Just two words:
Happy birthday. 
My heart lurched, a ridiculous thing, betraying me again. 
But maybe this is what we are— 
halfway between holding on and letting go. Maybe we’ll stay like this 
forever— 
a message sent, 
a silence kept. 
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Puckett: Bodies in Privacy Contort for Voyeuristic Hedonistic Oddities
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Bodies in Privacy Contort for Voyeuristic Hedonistic Oddities

Oles, Zofia

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 47 
Number 1 Spring 2025 Article 46 
Spring 5-1-2025 
Binary Code 
Zofia Oles 
College of DuPage 
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Recommended Citation 
Oles, Zofia (2025) "Binary Code," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 47: No. 1, Article 46. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol47/iss1/46 
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Binary Code
Zofia Oles  
Digital Photography   
Uncle Sam: Salutations!! It’s your Uncle Sam, and welcome to the Great 
American game! 
Me: Sam used to be my favorite uncle til he got some fancy ass job and started 
acting like Tom,  then forgot he from the same concrete jungle we all from. 
Stand up straight, smile, and work painfully hard EVERY day, with none of  it 
showin’ on your  face and… you might win.  
THE GAME IS BULLSHIT AND IT'S RIGGED!! AM I THE ONLY ONE 
SEEING THIS?? 
Uncle Sam: NO NO NO NO NO! Too loud, too reckless, too ghetto. Ms. 
Houzell, do you  REALLY know how to play the game? THEN TIGHTEN 
UP! 
Me: OK bro, for real though? Keep ya head down, be nice, and don’t be TOO 
smart! So when you see their eyes start to dart, you know it’s all good on your 
part. Lean on your community, that’s not always necessarily the people you see 
in the house daily. Community can be anywhere, anybody, however… when 
the veil comes off, don’t storm no lobbies.  
Uncle Sam: Aaah, I see ya brought ya homeboys with ya, the ol’ cultured cheat 
code. Scorekeeper deduct one life!  
Me: Billy sang of  strange fruit hanging from trees and once they started to see 
the message being  broadcast… they were on her ass.  
Malcolm called them white devils and said if  he was killed it’d be by their 
hand, yet it was gonna  appear to be a black man. 
But the real problem was he spoke to masses and different classes of  ALL  
people from what I understand. 
You’re probably panickin’, sweatin’, wonderin’, “How do we win, what the fuck 
is the cheat  code?” 
    I don’t know…
That One Uncle…
This fool met Kendrick. 
Ciara Houzell
52 531
Oles: Binary Code
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Binary Code

Schrage, John L.

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 47 
Number 1 Spring 2025 Article 56 
Spring 5-1-2025 
Morninghawk 
John L. Schrage 
College of DuPage 
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Recommended Citation 
Schrage, John L. (2025) "Morninghawk," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 47: No. 1, Article 56. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol47/iss1/56 
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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. 
Bitten by mosquitoes in dark bayous.
Crawling slow as lizards. Without applause
Moon strums a lonely banjo.
Riding into Jackson Square through fog
on a flat tire. One last saxophonist
wails in early morning hour.
Seeking a lighting café, to live on
with chicory coffee.
Trying to find the hopeful poet
that I was last year. 
Morninghawk
Mardelle Fortier
John L. Schrage
Digital photography
In Search Of  
Wooing at the Writers’ Gathering
 “Welcome to the first ever get-together of  the LaGrange, Brookfield, and Western 
Springs writers groups,” Hannah announced.  She was a member of  the LaGrange group and 
was the one who came up with the idea of  having a social gathering of  the three groups, which 
was being held in the cottage behind Irish Times in Brookfield. “Remember, this is for fun. There 
will be no writing exercises and no prompts.” Laughter from the crowd. “Just enjoy the evening 
and get to know each other.” 
 Howie was planning on enjoying the evening and getting to know one person in partic-
ular, Riley McNicholas, who was a member of  the Western Springs group that Howie had joined 
about three months ago, though he’d been fairly quiet at the five meetings he’d attended.  She 
probably didn’t even know who he was, but he knew who she was.  She was from Ireland and was 
probably about 28, his age. She was headlong into writing a book that she’d been workshopping 
at their writing group. In his estimation, she was a very talented writer... and a very pretty writer. 
He would have a beer, circulate a bit, and then approach Riley for a real conversation.  
 And that’s what he did. After about thirty minutes, he saw Riley sitting on a stool with 
her back against the bar, clad in tight blue jeans with one leg crossed over the other.  She looked
John L. Schrage
Jim Swinehart
Biking to the French Quarter
60 611
Schrage: Morninghawk
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Morninghawk

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 47 
Number 1 Spring 2025 Article 5 
Spring 5-1-2025 
Scholarship Info 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
(2025) "Scholarship Info," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 47: No. 1, Article 5. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol47/iss1/5 
This Prefatory Note 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. 
Rolling Submissions
The Prairie Light Review accepts submissions throughout the year. 
We review pieces in the following categories: original fiction, cre-
ative nonfiction, drama, poetry, graphic essays, black and
white/color photography, jewelry, fashion, ceramics, and 2D/3D 
artwork of  any medium.
Visit COD’s website for complete guidelines: https://www.cod.edu/
student-life/publications/prairie-light-review/. 
When ready, please submit up to four pieces of  work to:
prairielightreviewsubmissions@gmail.com
Scholarship Info
The Budilovsky Literary Scholarship provides one $500 award per
semester in conjunction with the best writing published in 
Prairie Light Review. To be considered for this award, the entrant 
must remain a for-credit student at COD the following semester and 
have written a quality piece of  any type (i.e., essay, poem, short sto-
ry, etc.). Preference will be made to pieces that are autobiographical 
in nature.
More at:
@cod_plr
prairielightreview.com
https://www.cod.edu/student-life/publications/prairie-light-review/
About
Prairie Light Review is the student-run art and literary journal of  
the College of  DuPage. This biannual publication seeks to showcase 
the diverse work produced by creative individuals surrounding us. 
Ourpublication exists entirely because of  our loyal community, as we 
only accept submissions from District 502 and College of  DuPage 
students, staff, faculty, and alumni. Each piece submitted is evaluated 
anonymously by student editors in order to ensure objectivity. Stu-
dent editors work through acquisitions, editing, design, and market-
ing processes to produce the literary journal. 
Join
To join our editorial team, enroll in English 2210 for the upcoming
semester!
Direct additional inquiries to:
Dr. Trina Sotirakopulos, Faculty Advisor
sotirakopulost@cod.edu
2 31
et al.: Scholarship Info
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Scholarship Info

Cystic Fibrosis (CF) is a chronic genetic condition that significantly impacts respiratory and digestive health. This paper explores how structured nutritional strategies combined with regular physical activities can improve outcomes for individuals with CF, including enhanced lung function, healthier weight gain, and reduced hospital admissions. Excessive mucus production impairs digestion and nutrient absorption, increasing the need for caloric intake and micronutrients. According to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation (n.d.), individuals with CF require 1.5 to 2 times the daily caloric intake of those without CF. This paper highlights the importance of ongoing nutritional assessments such as BMI, micronutrient levels, glucose tolerance with interdisciplinary care. Improved understanding of these interventions supports the development of comprehensive treatment plans that can enhance quality of life and disease prognosis in people with CF

Hultmark, Chuck

McDermott, Maggie

Monge, Daisy

Ninan, Christian

Management of Cystic Fibrosis With Diet and Exercise

White, Nola

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 47 
Number 1 Spring 2025 Article 22 
Spring 5-1-2025 
Blooming 
Nola White 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
White, Nola (2025) "Blooming," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 47: No. 1, Article 22. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol47/iss1/22 
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. 
Blooming
Nola White 
Photography
Have you ever thought about the events that took place on 
     January 4th 1999 in Atlanta, Georgia? 
                      Me neither, really.
                    I didn’t even hit Ask Jeeves, you can let me know if it’s cool.
  Who cares about this day though? 
    Somebody, probably. 
             My anniversary is a day that makes me cry. Every year, without fail.
Not
 because I hate my wife(God honey, don’t read that wrong). But
because I know all the people in my past that never 
        got to know her. 
       Big D, the 6’4” Canadian Cowboy
       Richie the cocaina connoisseur 
 Laverne. She doesn’t have a nickname due to a legal injunction. 
I have the privilege to exhaust myself howling in laughter at their memory. 
   I’m no longer forced to confront myself with their reality. 
 As it no longer exists. 
     All that remains is me and others, then they will fade into the  
void.
 Like a diesel truck coming into contact with The Incredible Hulk™ that is reality and 
memory.
       It’s all more fun
   when we know 
   it’s fake.
Glorious Memorious
John Santaga
22 231
White: Blooming
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Blooming

Karasek, Estefani

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 47 
Number 1 Spring 2025 Article 24 
Spring 5-1-2025 
Ruth 
Estefani Karasek 
College of DuPage 
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Recommended Citation 
Karasek, Estefani (2025) "Ruth," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 47: No. 1, Article 24. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol47/iss1/24 
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. 
Ruth
Estefani Karasek
Photography
24
Would You Care to Know Me?
If I were an honest woman, 
I’d tell you the story 
Of how these scars were woven 
 I’d beg you not to leave, 
“Just stay another song, 
    You remind me of a lyric,” 
Ever flowing, 
Gone to say goodbye- 
                           And I shall see you in a while.
Kathryn Bell
251
Karasek: Ruth
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