Gettysburg College

Espana, Luca

The Mercury 
The Student Art & 
Literary Magazine 
of Gettysburg 
College 
Volume 2025 Article 21 
May 2025 
Thumbs Up 
Luca Espana 
Gettysburg College 
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Espana, Luca (2025) "Thumbs Up," The Mercury: Year 2025, Article 21. 
Available at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/21 
This open access artwork is brought to you by The Cupola: Scholarship at Gettysburg College. It has been accepted 
for inclusion by an authorized administrator of The Cupola. For more information, please contact 
cupola@gettysburg.edu. 
Thumbs Up 
Author Bio 
Luca Espana, from Sherman Oaks, California, is a Senior at Gettysburg College majoring in Political 
Science. An avid photographer, he has worked in various roles on campus including Athletics 
Photographer & Photo Director for The Gettysburgian. An Eisenhower Institute participant, he has also 
enjoyed writing poetry in spare time as he returns to campus from a full Junior year abroad, in 
Washington D.C. and Kigali, Rwanda. 
This artwork is available in The Mercury: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/21 
The Mercury 
61
Thumbs Up
LUCA ESPANA


English

Thumbs Up

Grayson, Samantha M

The Mercury 
The Student Art & 
Literary Magazine 
of Gettysburg 
College 
Volume 2025 Article 37 
May 2025 
My Least Favorite 5 Letter Word 
Samantha M. Grayson 
Gettysburg College 
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 Part of the Art and Design Commons, and the Creative Writing Commons 
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Grayson, Samantha M. (2025) "My Least Favorite 5 Letter Word," The Mercury: Year 2025, Article 37. 
Available at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/37 
This open access poetry is brought to you by The Cupola: Scholarship at Gettysburg College. It has been accepted 
for inclusion by an authorized administrator of The Cupola. For more information, please contact 
cupola@gettysburg.edu. 
My Least Favorite 5 Letter Word 
Author Bio 
Samantha Grayson is a Political Science Major and a Writing minor with aspirations to attend law school 
following graduation. Poetry has always been an outlet and a source of comfort for her in times of 
uncertainty. The ability to put pen to paper when verbal words fail is so incredibly powerful. She hopes 
that her poetry and words help others not to feel so alone at a time in life that can be incredibly lonesome. 
This poetry is available in The Mercury: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/37 
94
My third-grade teacher, Mr. Derouin, hit play,
as Because of Winn Dixie illuminated the smartboard,
Each of us took our assigned seats on the circle rug,
The faded nylon itching the back of my thighs,
And the “8” stitched next to the once neon alligator head,
Made this rug, this classroom, these people and this teacher, my home.
Mr. Derouin’s silver but “not gray” hair lit up,
Underneath the fluorescent lights that did no one any favors,
Mr. Derouin asked, “The Preacher, he is rattled by grief; who knows  
what grief is?”
Like the face of the girl who didn’t know the answer to 4x6,
We all stared like the word grief was a dagger intended to destroy.
This was the year that the Sandy Hook Shooting rattled my town,
Taking away the lives of those like Mr. Derouin,
Like a bad dream come to life with no happy ending,
Instilling in everyone, no matter the age, what the word  
“grief ” could mean.
I used to carry ketchup packets in my backpack,
Not ever to be consumed but rather as a cautionary weapon,
Easily accessed in my front pocket, ready to be dispersed  
quickly across my body,
In the hope that my life would go on,
Even if I became a victim to a mighty captor.
The rusty zipper behind my water bottle held the metalized paper wrapper 
from last week’s Extra gum,
Home to my intricate plan comprised of exact movements,  
doors and windows;
The right corner was easily to be smashed by the pink Louisville  
My Least Favorite 5 Letter Word
SAMANTHA M. GRAYSON
The Mercury 
95
slugger atop Mr. Derouin’s window,
My escape from Classroom 2A to 14B all mapped out.
14B, not an exit but a pitstop,
Like Burger King on a long trip to North Carolina,
I’d blame my mother for “twins are not allowed in the same class,”
But I’d grab him in just in time to be swept into the arms of my father,
Lucky enough to say, “I’m glad you made it.”
Mr. Derouin died last week,
The wrapper of my Extra gum is long gone,
And classroom 2A was knocked down during construction last year,
Yet I still find myself rewatching Because of Winn Dixie,
Trying to understand why the Preacher was so  
consumed with sadness,
But, like that day twelve years ago,
I stare, unable to grapple with the five-letter word that takes  
so much, giving little in return.


My Least Favorite 5 Letter Word

Hanley, Alexander E

The Mercury 
The Student Art & 
Literary Magazine 
of Gettysburg 
College 
Volume 2025 Article 41 
May 2025 
A Reflection on the First Man 
Alexander E. Hanley 
Gettysburg College 
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Hanley, Alexander E. (2025) "A Reflection on the First Man," The Mercury: Year 2025, Article 41. 
Available at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/41 
This open access poetry is brought to you by The Cupola: Scholarship at Gettysburg College. It has been accepted 
for inclusion by an authorized administrator of The Cupola. For more information, please contact 
cupola@gettysburg.edu. 
A Reflection on the First Man 
Author Bio 
Alexander E. Hanley is a sophomore Classics and Anthropology double major with a Latin minor. He 
funnels most of his time into researching how to achieve world love and peace, which he thinks feels a lot 
like drinking a crisp icy coke when he’s thirsty. He spends the rest of his time writing (with considerable 
angst) about unreachable charismatic men and hoping Ananke will do him right. 
This poetry is available in The Mercury: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/41 
106
He tilted his head and called me
   drama	queen,
  grin canted and blinding.
   I wanted to knock his pretty teeth out.
I dreamt of his calloused hands
 over my mouth,
  dragging me into his beat-up car
   and past the border.
The wire frames of his glasses
 begged me to snap them,
the dark curls of his hair
 aching to be tugged.
  I yearned to crawl through the sleeves
 of his well-loved army jacket,
    to nestle inside the cradle of his bones.
The intensity of my feelings disturbed me,
 the warmth
  and the dread
   and the rumble of emptiness in my stomach.
  He was a man,
   untouchable and teary-eyed.
He smoked his Newports and philosophized,
 regaling his flock with the vibrancies of his misadventures.
    It petrified me to realize how deeply
   I wanted to consume him.
I confessed to him about that ugly fantasy.
 Threading my fingers
  through the smooth blades of grass,
 the stars bright enough to believe
they were falling towards us.
   He could have beaten my cheeks bruised.
A Reflection on the First Man
ALEXANDER E. HANLEY
The Mercury 
107
 Instead, he narrowed his eyes
  and pressed his mouth into a thin line,
   more serious than I’d ever been blessed with.
He promised to whisk me away
 and lock me in his basement,
   where I could no longer run
 from his praises murmured deep into my skin.
No matter the content
 of the gore I vomited,
  he held my hair back
and wiped off the blood with his sleeve.
 I exposed my neck
  and he gently pressed his thumb to it,
   coaxing my anxieties into laughter.
I think I loved him right then,
 eyelids anvils as the horizon revealed the sun,
giggling and reassuring each other
   that we were not where we came from.
His hands trembled and his ashtray
  scorched past recognition.
He swore he’d bury the bottle
 if I stopped ordaining my own flagellant punishments
    The fullness of his lips threatened a grin,
  even with his car flipped and knuckles bloody.
     He disappeared
 so I could plead with him to come back,
  so that he could feel desired
and I confident that
 I could talk him out of anything.
Oh, to hold on to him
 and dig my nails in,
  to bark at his father
 and mend that broken glass jar.
  He cut his fingers when he was a boy,
scars permanent and the bits of glass
    still reflecting.
108
  I grasped his shoulders
   and shook him awake,
 but he was still there,
  tears suffocating and all voices deafening screeches.
He lit a cigarette
 and I picked at the lace of my shoe,
   pretending I didn’t notice the indiscretion.
  He shaved his head and stole his lunch.
He grinned and cooed,
  drama	queen,
 but his smile didn’t fit his face.
   He turned to leave and I rolled my eyes,
  certain he’d fall back into me.
I feigned disinterest and fought back a jab
    as he slipped away,
  his coat ripped from my dresser drawer.
 The house emptied,
without a sign that he had even existed at all.


A Reflection on the First Man

McHattie, Sage

The Mercury 
The Student Art & 
Literary Magazine 
of Gettysburg 
College 
Volume 2025 Article 43 
May 2025 
Between the Lines 
Sage McHattie 
Gettysburg College 
Follow this and additional works at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury 
 Part of the Art and Design Commons, and the Creative Writing Commons 
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Recommended Citation 
McHattie, Sage (2025) "Between the Lines," The Mercury: Year 2025, Article 43. 
Available at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/43 
This open access fiction is brought to you by The Cupola: Scholarship at Gettysburg College. It has been accepted 
for inclusion by an authorized administrator of The Cupola. For more information, please contact 
cupola@gettysburg.edu. 
Between the Lines 
Author Bio 
Sage is a junior English with a Writing Concentration major with a minor in Civil War Era Studies 
This fiction is available in The Mercury: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/43 
The Mercury 
111
Taking out the last piece of paper out of the carriage, Scarlett placed it at 
the bottom of the others. Done. Her assignment was finally finished and 
ready to turn in. She shut the book and set it back onto the pile, fastening 
the papers together. She let the autumn breeze blow out the candle on her 
desk before shutting it and locking it tight. She stood up from her chair and 
made her way into her room, shutting the door and locking it behind her. 
She didn’t want any interruptions while she read the letter she had received 
earlier that day.
 Her best friend, Graham, had enlisted in the military. The country 
had been at war a long time, longer than she had been alive really, and he 
had decided to fight. Scarlett wasn’t sure why. He had never shown interest 
in it until recently, or, at least, he hadn’t shown interest to her. He had been 
sending her letters ever since he arrived at the front, though, letting her 
know how he was handling it and the things that happened there. She had 
a feeling that he was leaving out more worrisome aspects as he wasn’t the 
type to make every detail of his life public, even to her. She had always had 
to find out some of those things on her own, like the time she found out 
about the way his father was treating him. He had told her after she found 
him with those bruises that he had never wanted to worry her nor have the 
pity. Graham was a fighter, though.
 She sat down onto her bed, retrieving the letter from her pocket 
and opening it. It was one of the shorter letters he had written to her. Usu-
ally, the length fluctuated depending on how much time he had to write to 
her that week. She smiled softly as she started to read the lines written on 
the page.
 
 Scarlett,
	 	 	 It’s	been	pretty	quaint	here	this	past	week.	The		
	 westerners	have	yet	to	move	any	closer	towards	us.	My	time		
	 has	simply	been	filled	with	waiting	and	anxiety.	I	have	a	gut		
	 feeling	something	horrible	is	going	to	happen	soon.	Although,	I		
	 don’t	want	to	be	pessimistic.	I	hope	you’re	doing	well,	and		
	 your	classes	are	going	well.	You’re	almost	through	the	first	half		
	 which	means	we’ll	see	each	other	soon.	I	cannot	wait	to	see	you		
Between the Lines
SAGE MCHATTIE
112
	 again.	In	the	meantime,	this	letter	will	have	to	do.	I	miss	you.
	 Graham
Scarlett finished reading the letter and reread it again. She tucked the let-
ter in a box in her drawer, one she kept for the sole purpose of holding his 
letters. Quickly, she changed out of her uniform before crawling under her 
covers. Her mind swirled with thoughts. She had two weeks
before she packed up and headed to the front. It still felt too long. What 
happened if he didn’t make it to then? No. She couldn’t be that pessimistic, 
but that was a possibility. She wiped tears out of her eyes that she hadn’t 
even noticed before. Graham was going to make it. No one could kill the 
boy that easily.
*****
The camp was not at all what Scarlett expected. She expected to see somber 
men milling about and nurses rushing in and out of medical tents. She had 
never expected to see men sitting around a campfire sharing drinks and 
laughing. War had never seen like something that could be appealing in 
any way, but these men were finding the positives within it. The corner of 
her lips came up in a small smile that only got wider as she was lifted off 
her feet. “Never thought I’d be
seeing you here,” Graham’s voice spoke, setting her back down on her feet. 
 “I couldn’t let you come out here and take all the glory,” she said, 
turning around to face him. Her face fell when she saw the state he was in. 
He had cuts down his face and a recovering black eye. She was sure there 
was probably more underneath his uniform that she couldn’t see. “What 
happened?”
 “Oh these?” He asked, chuckling in order to downplay his injuries. 
He used to do the same thing when he would come over after his father in-
flicted similar injuries. “Just a few scrapes and bruises I picked up a couple 
days ago. Nothing to worry about really.” She gave him a look and he nod-
ded. She reached up to touch his eye, causing him to wince.
 “That doesn’t seem like nothing to worry about,” she told him, 
frowning. He shook his head, so she refused to push further, at least while 
they were in public. She lowered her voice as she took another look around. 
“I never would have expected this when I thought of war.”
 He gave a crooked grin and looked down at her. “It’s all a waiting 
game around here,” he told her. He seemed different now. He looked like 
he stood taller, he had gotten bulkier, and in a way he looked happier. She 
couldn’t put her finger on exactly why he seemed happier. It could have 
The Mercury 
113
been because he had finally escaped his father, or maybe it was because 
they were finally able to see each other ago. In the end, it could have been 
both. She hoped she was able to add to
his happiness.
 “Well, what do you guys do for fun around here?” she asked, re-
turning his smile. “You must keep yourselves occupied while you sit 
around and wait for excitement.”
 “We usually just chat or play cards,” he responded. “You up for a 
game of poker like the good old days? I have a deck of cards in my tent.” 
His grin grew wider as he spoke to her.
 “Only if you’re prepared to lose once again,” she told him.
 Graham chuckled, leading her out of the middle of camp. He led 
her away from all the noise into an area that seemed quieter. There were a 
couple of tents lined up on both sides and he led her through the flaps of 
one of them. The tent was only big enough for a bed, a chair and table, and 
a trunk. There were a couple things strewn across the chair as well as the 
table, but for the most part, it was clean. Graham had always been some-
what of a perfectionist, so it made sense that even at war his living space 
wouldn’t be a mess. At least, when he had time to clean it.
 “Take a seat wherever you want, and feel free to move that jacket 
if you want the chair,” he told her, kneeling on the ground and digging 
through his trunk. Luckily, the tent seemed to have been placed on a wood-
en pallet, so the floor wasn’t simply made of dirt.
 Scarlett moved the chair over from the table and sat it next to the 
bed, removing the jacket and setting it on the table. “This isn’t the worst 
place to live,” she told him, looking around and taking in her environment. 
“I was expecting it to be more...” her voice trailed off,
trying to find the right word.
 “Dirty?” He asked, pulling the deck of cards out of his trunk and 
standing up. His crooked grin reappeared, and his voice dripped with sar-
casm as he spoke again. “I think this is the most luxurious place I’ve ever 
lived.” Scarlett shook her head and grinned. “Well, it’s a
luxury considering the situation.”
 “Why’d you enlist?” Scarlett blurted out. It was a question she had 
been holding in for quite some time. She needed to know the answer, and 
she hoped he would be honest with her. She searched his face for any indi-
cation of his emotions, finding surprise etched all over his features mostly. 
She could also see a little bit of pain and sorrow.
Graham sighed, sitting down on his bed and setting the deck of cards down 
next to him. He leaned over, putting his arms on his knees. “I guess it’s my 
way of fighting back,” he admitted. Scarlett could see the sincerity in his 
face. “My whole life I’ve been a punching bag to my father, I want to finally 
114
be able to stand up for myself. I guess I see this war as a way to do that. Our 
people have become a punching bag for the other side. I refuse to just sit 
around and let it happen, not when that’s all I did growing up.” Scarlett had 
never seen him as passionate as he was about this. She could have guessed 
that part of the enlistment had tied back to his father somehow, but she 
hadn’t expected that. “And I want to be able to live in a better world, one 
without fighting. I want a world where I can get married, have children, 
and not have to worry about them being sent off to war to continue a fight 
that was never theirs. It shouldn’t even be ours, but here we are.”
 Graham had never been this vulnerable with anyone. She knew that 
from experience, and she could read it all over his face. He was scared to 
admit all of this to her, that’s what the look on his face conveyed. She gave 
him a small smile, covering his hand with her own. “I’m proud of you, Gra-
ham,” she told him. “Not only for standing up for what you believe in, but 
for being vulnerable with me. It takes courage.”
 He smiled back. “Thank you,” he told her, taking her hand into 
his and squeezing softly. His smile shifted into a grin again, and she knew 
he was trying to lighten the mood once again. “Alright, it’s time for me to 
finally beat you at a game of poker.” Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “I’ve picked 
up a few skills her, and it’s payback for all the times you’ve beat me.”
 “You’re on.”
*****
“I heard you get to go out on the front lines today,” Graham said, sitting 
down next to Scarlett by the campfire. He handed her a plate of food, and 
she took it gratefully. It had been recommended that they eat a full meal as 
there would not be much provided on the lines. While she was looking for-
ward to finally see some of the excitement unfold, she was a little bummed. 
They were only sending the students and some of the soldiers, which did 
not include Graham. She wanted him there with her. Graham snapped her 
out of her thoughts as he continued. “Now I want to prepare you for what 
it’s like out there. It can get pretty brutal and gruesome, very fast too. Usu-
ally, they do a good job at keeping correspondents far away from any actual 
danger, but just stay on your toes. Nothing is predictable while you’re out 
there. If anything happens, though, you cannot second-guess the decision 
you make. Does that make sense?”
 Scarlett nodded, setting the fork down on her plate. “That’s a lot to 
remember, but I understand,” she told him. “I’ll be careful.”
 “Make sure you get out if anything goes wrong, okay? I don’t want 
to lose you.”
The Mercury 
115
*****
Scarlett and the rest of her classmates headed out into the open field in 
front of them, the silence drowning them. She pulled her jacket tighter as 
the crisp breeze brushed past them. There was nothing to protect them 
from wind out here, let alone protect them from bullets. There was only 
a small structure situating back a little farther. The students had been 
instructed to run there if any shots rang out. She internalized Graham’s 
advice. She needed to keep herself on her toes
and stay vigilant. If anything happened, she needed to get out of that field 
immediately.
 There were maybe two trees that stood in the field, and Scarlett 
headed to sit under one of them. She leaned her head back against the 
trunk and watched. Troops dressed in full uniform patrolled back and 
forth, waiting for any sign of trouble. They always had to keep their eyes 
and ears opened. She pulled out a small notepad and a pen from the breast 
pocket of the jacket. Each of her classmates had been provided with a uni-
form that would allow them to carry all of the essentials they would need. 
They could only carry so much, though, so they gave them the bare num-
ber of essentials necessary. She sighed and waited.
*****
Shots rang out as Scarlett sprinted. They had waited a couple hours before 
the enemy approached and started attacking. At first it had been light, and 
the students had been sent to the structure, but the fighting slowly got 
worse. While the structure was further away from the battlefield, she had 
seen the specks of people getting closer, the bodies lying on the ground 
drowning in their own puddles of blood. She had made her own decision 
to run back to camp.
 As time went on, Scarlett’s legs propelled her faster and faster, 
and her lungs burned as she tried to gulp down air. She had never felt the 
need to run like this before, but once again she was internalizing Gra-
ham’s words. She needed to get out. She tumbled to the ground right at the 
entrance of the camp and felt a stinging in her ankle. She should’ve paid 
better attention.
 She climbed to her feet, the stinging in her ankle getting worse, 
only to find it destroyed and desolate. The only sound coming from the 
medical tent stationed near the center. Something wasn’t right. Had they 
been ambushed? Oh God, was Graham okay? Despite the pain, she
pushed herself to run to the tent, and searched down every aisle before 
finding him.
116
 Graham lay in a bed, a curtain covering the small space that was 
laid aside for him. A doctor stood next to him, a pair of forceps in his 
hand. He said something to Graham before he let out a scream. Scarlett 
flinched as she watched the doctor drop the bullet onto the table and set 
the forceps down. The wound was bandaged up and the doctor left, telling 
Graham he would return.
 Scarlett stepped through the curtain, frowning upon the view she 
saw in front of her. Had she known this was the last time that she was go-
ing to speak to him, she would have chosen her words differently. Instead, 
Graham made light of the situation until he was too tired to keep his eyes 
open. He didn’t wake up after that. The only thing Scarlett had left was a 
letter, addressed to her. She sat at his bedside as she ripped open the en-
velope. Inside was a letter in which Graham admitted to her everything 
he had ever wanted to say. He must have written on the occasion he didn’t 
make it back to her. A tear down her cheek as she folded the letter up, 
slipped it into her pocket, squeezed his cold hand one more time, and left 
the tent. 


Between the Lines

Smith, Kenzie

The Mercury 
The Student Art & 
Literary Magazine 
of Gettysburg 
College 
Volume 2025 Article 44 
May 2025 
Stained 
Kenzie Smith 
Gettysburg College 
Follow this and additional works at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury 
 Part of the Art and Design Commons, and the Creative Writing Commons 
Share feedback about the accessibility of this item. 
Recommended Citation 
Smith, Kenzie (2025) "Stained," The Mercury: Year 2025, Article 44. 
Available at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/44 
This open access poetry is brought to you by The Cupola: Scholarship at Gettysburg College. It has been accepted 
for inclusion by an authorized administrator of The Cupola. For more information, please contact 
cupola@gettysburg.edu. 
Stained 
Author Bio 
Kenzie Smith is a junior majoring in English with a writing concentration who originally hails from Everett, 
PA. Her involvement at Gettysburg College includes being the Arts and Entertainment Editor for The 
Gettysburgian, the Poetry Genre Head for The Mercury, a Tour Guide for the admissions office, and a User 
Services Student Assistant at Musselman Library. She enjoys both creating works of prose and poetry as 
well as consuming different types of art. She spends her free time listening to music, writing, and 
spending time with friends. 
This poetry is available in The Mercury: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/44 
The Mercury 
117
I spit the blood from my mouth
And watch it slide down the
Porcelain sink,
The metallic tang sweet on my tongue. 
I stare into my sunken pits
Begging for life–
For the specks of sun to fall
Back into them.
Echoes of muffled laughter
Seep through the wooden door.
I flick the faucet on,
And the red thickness swirls away.
But the teeth hidden behind
My cracked and peeling lips
Will stay stained.
Stained
KENZIE SMITH


Stained

Haines, Cassidy

The Mercury 
The Student Art & 
Literary Magazine 
of Gettysburg 
College 
Volume 2025 Article 45 
May 2025 
Last Thoughts by Rebecca Nurse 
Cassidy Haines 
Gettysburg College 
Follow this and additional works at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury 
 Part of the Art and Design Commons, and the Creative Writing Commons 
Share feedback about the accessibility of this item. 
Recommended Citation 
Haines, Cassidy (2025) "Last Thoughts by Rebecca Nurse," The Mercury: Year 2025, Article 45. 
Available at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/45 
This open access poetry is brought to you by The Cupola: Scholarship at Gettysburg College. It has been accepted 
for inclusion by an authorized administrator of The Cupola. For more information, please contact 
cupola@gettysburg.edu. 
Last Thoughts by Rebecca Nurse 
Author Bio 
Cassidy Haines is a junior English major with a writing concentration from Ocean City, New Jersey. She 
serves as Student Administrative Assistant for the Gettysburg College English Department, Magazine 
Editor for The Gettysburgian, and Chapter President of Tri Sigma. Her poetry was previously published in 
the 2024 edition of The Mercury when she also acted as Fiction Genre Head. Her favorite place to read is 
the beach. 
This poetry is available in The Mercury: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/45 
118
Rebecca	Nurse	was	one	of	the	first	women	accused	of	witchcraft	during	the	
Salem	Witch	Trials	of	1692.	As	a	wife,	mother	of	eight	or	nine	children,	and	
well-respected	woman	by	her	community	in	Salem,	she	was	known	as	a	
deeply	devoted	religious	woman	and	an	amicable	neighbor	often	tempted	
toward	charity.	Despite	this,	she	was	accused	alongside	some	other	Salem	
women	by	kids	who	later	admitted	that	they	fabricated	their	stories.	She	
was	71	at	the	time	of	her	execution.	The	University	of	Virginia’s	Salem	
Witch	Trials	Documentary	Archive	describes	her	trial	and	the	other	wom-
en’s,	and	credits	quotes	to	them,	which	have	been	used	in	this	poem	in	the	
quotations.
My beloved children, grand and great,
Before my rope is tied, know this:
Your mother’s love knows no bounds.
The warmth of the hearth within my soul
Embraces all, steadfast and unconditional,
A home for any drifter, mine through blood
Or by chance and divine luck.
Your mother loves you,
And will through eternity’s end.
Your mother’s love knows no bounds.
Though my strays have shunned the women
Who nurtured them, each of us lined up
Like sheep for the slaughter,
My love and my faith promise them:
“You do not know my heart.”
Last Thoughts by Rebecca Nurse
CASSIDY HAINES
The Mercury 
119
Your mother’s love knows no bounds.
Tethered to you long before infancy and
Ingrained in you far beyond my last breath,
I prayed for each of you, night and day –
The Reverend lies, and all Salem knows,
“I am as innocent as the child unborn.”
Your mother’s love knows no bounds.
Raising generations of our village, I devoted
Every waking hour to you, God, and Salem –
I instilled my faith in you and the town, and
In return, God blessed me with community at the church:
Rows of familiar smiles greeted me from Sunday’s pews,
Where we women were granted voices to sing, where our
Prayers united in harmony, all equal in the eyes of God.
Then the Reverend arrived, and the men’s baritone
Shadowed our soprano, closed in around us, and,
Guided by the Reverend’s words, reminded us: alive, we’re
Lesser than them, but we’ll be treasured like gems in Heaven –
Until the accusations of black magic spread, when
His tone shook the Earth with anger, and none of us
Were saved by the men or children we love, none
Proven guiltless by the god we live for
And will die for, no matter that
“The lord knows I have not hurt them.”
Your mother’s love knows no bounds.
When, by my side, Sarah Good cried, “If you take away
My life, God will give you blood to drink,”
I saw sparks in the eyes of our onlookers: an eager,
Evil thrill behind the fallacies of Salem’s “holiest,”
An itch to kill, to taste the blood of the “witches.”
I held Sarah’s hand, imagining yours, as the Reverend,
Eyes gleaming in excitement, delivered our sentence:
The end of life for all accused. Tears flooded Sarah’s cheeks, but
I stood silent, red-faced – not shocked, but burning hot
With wrath, threatening to boil over as I opened my mouth,
Until I heard a whisper that must’ve been God,
120
Reassuring and familiar, welcoming me home with a
Promise that “blood, Salem’s guilty shall drink.” 
Your mother’s love knows no bounds.
Centuries from now, we will find each other again
When modernity turns its back on itself, and
Its mothers, daughters, and sisters will unite to fight
For the witches and women martyred by
Knives in our backs, baseless fears –
Blood, they shall drink.
My children, my blessings,
I’ll love you forever. My time has come,
My rope falls as the sun sets.


Last Thoughts by Rebecca Nurse

Nath, Leah R.

The Mercury 
The Student Art & 
Literary Magazine 
of Gettysburg 
College 
Volume 2025 Article 46 
May 2025 
home 
Leah R. Nath 
Gettysburg College 
Follow this and additional works at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury 
 Part of the Art and Design Commons, and the Creative Writing Commons 
Share feedback about the accessibility of this item. 
Recommended Citation 
Nath, Leah R. (2025) "home," The Mercury: Year 2025, Article 46. 
Available at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/46 
This open access poetry is brought to you by The Cupola: Scholarship at Gettysburg College. It has been accepted 
for inclusion by an authorized administrator of The Cupola. For more information, please contact 
cupola@gettysburg.edu. 
home 
Author Bio 
Leah Nath is an Environmental Studies major and Writing minor. She enjoys painting for fun and singing 
with the Sunderman Conservatory, as well as playing with her cat, Jiji. She hopes to write for a living, 
bringing awareness to the wonder of, and threats to, the world around us. 
This poetry is available in The Mercury: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/46 
The Mercury 
121
my
memory has been fickle for as long as i can remember,
the pictures stick with the aggression of glass into the grooves of finger-
prints or slip away silent and cold;
the attic of my mind is overflowing with books, once engraved and inked 
with the stories of lifetimes but in the
night,
i take bleach to my insides and scrub the blemishes clean once more from 
those pristine pages
(only the deepest-scratched poems remain marked down the length of my 
throat and those i keep for myself with the
reverence of a religious lover)
the sun leaves me alone with myself and the dusk, and i leave me, too;
the abandoned space where you’d walked through these rooms demands to 
be filled and the words roiling deep in
the seas of my stomach
never
break a promise;
waves crash against the lining of my organs with the force and devastation 
of a millennia of grief, again again again,
the whispers and ghosts and swallowed truths beating their way out of me 
in the loneliness emptiness darkness of
the eventide the black of the sky
suffocates
my insides as i try to shove the storm of voices back down my esophagus, 
choking on my own mind i choke with
my own mind i choke my own mind the wind whistles through the cracks 
under the door and reverberates through
my ears, ringing squealing yelling yelling yelling my skin is vibrating with 
the cacophony of the hurricane of the
attic of my mind yelling choking beating i
pull the shelves and shelves and shelves of books down from their haphaz-
ard stacks,
years
home
LEAH R. NATH
122
raining down around me in a torrent
i
sit on the worn wooden floors of my dusty attic, surrounded by my unwrit-
ten lies, the corpses of evergreen
hideously deformed by the word-oceans spilling from my pens; my piano-
born, war-torn hands drench the
parchment scarlet and
ancient and
desperate
with the asphyxiation of time;
but
you deserve to come home to music made of love and have open pages 
waiting to hear your stories and
to get to read my writing, too;
i let the lighter clutched to my chest fall away from my papers, let the ham-
mer fall with a heavy thud, let
myself
fall
to the hardwood, study the whorling grains of tree mirrored by my finger-
tips;
close my eyes
you come to knock on my door (i can always recognize your knock, the 
same way i once had my father’s footsteps
memorized, but
better),
touch the tip of my nose,
walk to the piano room,
i place your hands atop mine atop those yellowed keys
(your hands over mine look like the most beautiful milton ive ever seen)
mixing with the rusty stains of crimson across my knuckles are splintering 
blue ink stains (my pens bleed like me,
too), and overtop of the ivory keys i write in swirling violet,
i love this life and
you;
The Mercury 
123
your voice echoes through my skull
first as the pulsations of my own skeleton
then as the low-hummed notes of your singing, blending
into the first breaths of mo(u)rning and the kaleidoscope of color,
luminescence, seeping unfurling
like a perfectly
slowly peeling
blood orange
through my windows
i lick the sun off my fingers
you watch me with the slightest shadow of a smile dancing across your face
my fingertips kiss yours when i hand you another shining slice of light,
as if to say,
‘thank you for
welcoming me
home
to
myself ’
your smile tastes like
sunsoaked
citrus; i
close my eyes to feel the laugh of your lips against mine;
and i feel like
a person
for a moment of my life


home

Hanousek, Chloe E

The Mercury 
The Student Art & 
Literary Magazine 
of Gettysburg 
College 
Volume 2025 Article 47 
May 2025 
Daughter 
Chloe E. Hanousek 
Gettysburg College 
Follow this and additional works at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury 
 Part of the Art and Design Commons, and the Creative Writing Commons 
Share feedback about the accessibility of this item. 
Recommended Citation 
Hanousek, Chloe E. (2025) "Daughter," The Mercury: Year 2025, Article 47. 
Available at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/47 
This open access poetry is brought to you by The Cupola: Scholarship at Gettysburg College. It has been accepted 
for inclusion by an authorized administrator of The Cupola. For more information, please contact 
cupola@gettysburg.edu. 
Daughter 
Author Bio 
Chloe E. Hanousek is from Syracuse, New York. She is pursuing a double major in Psychology and 
Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies at Gettysburg College 
This poetry is available in The Mercury: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/mercury/vol2025/iss1/47 
124
Whispering beneath day
Spring laughed through grass.
With a tulip’d smile,
she blooms.
Daughter
CHLOE E. HANOUSEK


Daughter

Hayao Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind is a philosophical exploration of fulfillment, rooted in Buddhist and Taoist principles. The film contrasts the destructive forces of greed and individualism, embodied by Kushana and the Tolmekians, with the harmonious collectivism of the People of the Valley of the Wind. Nausicaä, the film’s heroine, challenges traditional gender norms by being a strong, selfless leader who seeks peace and balance rather than power. Her journey reflects the Taoist ideal of surrender as a path to enlightenment, ultimately sacrificing herself to unite humanity and nature. Through stunning visuals and rich storytelling, Miyazaki presents a roadmap for a meaningful life—one guided by wisdom, compassion, and harmony with the natural world

Aulicino, Grace

CAFE Symposium 2025 Celebration of Academic First-Year Engagement 
2-12-2025 
The Valley of the Wind and Buddhism 
Grace Aulicino 
Gettysburg College, auligr01@gettysburg.edu 
Follow this and additional works at: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/cafe2025 
 Part of the Buddhist Studies Commons, and the Film and Media Studies Commons 
Share feedback about the accessibility of this item. 
Recommended Citation 
Aulicino, Grace, "The Valley of the Wind and Buddhism" (2025). CAFE Symposium 2025. 12. 
https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/cafe2025/12 
This is the author’s work. This publication appears in Gettysburg College’s institutional repository by permission of 
the copyright owner for personal use, not for redistribution. Cupola permanent link: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/
cafe2025/12 
This open access poster is brought to you by The Cupola: Scholarship at Gettysburg College. It has been accepted 
for inclusion by an authorized administrator of The Cupola. For more information, please contact 
cupola@gettysburg.edu. 
The Valley of the Wind and Buddhism 
Abstract 
Hayao Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind is a philosophical exploration of fulfillment, rooted in 
Buddhist and Taoist principles. The film contrasts the destructive forces of greed and individualism, 
embodied by Kushana and the Tolmekians, with the harmonious collectivism of the People of the Valley 
of the Wind. Nausicaä, the film’s heroine, challenges traditional gender norms by being a strong, selfless 
leader who seeks peace and balance rather than power. Her journey reflects the Taoist ideal of surrender 
as a path to enlightenment, ultimately sacrificing herself to unite humanity and nature. Through stunning 
visuals and rich storytelling, Miyazaki presents a roadmap for a meaningful life—one guided by wisdom, 
compassion, and harmony with the natural world. 
Keywords 
Buddhism, Hayao Miyazaki, Animated Film 
Disciplines 
Buddhist Studies | Film and Media Studies 
Comments 
This poster was created based on work completed for 138-2 - Plato, Personhood, and Popcorn: Big Ideas 
on the Big Screen, and presented as a part of the ninth annual CAFE Symposium on February 12, 2025. 
This poster is available at The Cupola: Scholarship at Gettysburg College: https://cupola.gettysburg.edu/cafe2025/12 



The Valley of the Wind and Buddhism

This project studies a recent Buddhism scandal in Vietnam, examining whether the apology offered by the authorities was successful. From this, the project explores if “sám hối” (or repentance) could be considered a form of apology