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Mosaic Gagus Literary, and it Moagayine 2020
The Hor, of Orgs
According to Greek mythology, Argus was a giant with one hundred
eyes. While some of his eyes “slept,” he kept watch with the others. Hermes lulled Argus to sleep with his magic lyre and slew him with a
stone. Upon finding the dead Argus, Hera, queen of the Gods, placed
his eyes in the tail of a peacock. The cover of Argus traditionally rep-
resents this ancient legend handed down to us by the Greeks. The
title was chosen to represent the different views and opinions of
readers as though each perspective were an eye of the peacock.
EdKorvial He aff
Allie Atkinson Editor-in-Chief Lessie Walters Design Editor Paige Parks Copy Editor Emeri Manasco Assistant Editor Macala Broussard Junior Editor Alejandro Dager Junior Editor Krista Hanson Junior Editor
McKenzie Seastrunk Junior Editor
Uchnow bedgrnerAs
Every year, Argue serves as a creative outlet for students to express their thoughts, passions, and talent. Under Student Media and more specifically, the English Department, our art and literary magazine has been operating since its establish- ment in 1976. Without the students, our organization would
not have lasted 44 years, so thank you to those who have sub-
mitted their self-created art, photographs, and writing. Next, | would like to express my gratitude towards my staff mem- bers, each of whom has played a crucial part of the overall running of Argue. To our faculty advisor, Dr. Rebecca Macijeski, | greatly appreciate your gentle guidance and constructive ad- vice throughout this process. A warm thanks to the former Ed- itor-in-Chief, Katie Rayburn who has always happily answered my questions and offered direction. A special thank you to our judges: Jacob Hammer and Daniel Hoefler (co-judges, poetry), Erin Lillo (prose), Anna Macijeski (fine art), and Lene Gary (pho- tography) — all of whom have been critical in determining our winners. Last but not least, thank you to the person reading this right now because your enthusiasm for literature and art
creates a space for us to keep producing these editions.
Editor 2 Wee
Emotions often color our thoughts and actions. Feelings can leak into other aspects of our life and have the potential to change how we see that person, event, or situation. But col- or is good for soul because it reminds us of the diversity that is the human condition. There is a line separating hatred and animosity, sadness and devastation, happiness and euphoria that must be acknowledged. The black outlining the shapes represents a silver lining, obscured by emotional turmoil but buried just below, so once the weight of your emotions Lifts, everything comes together in hindsight. It is only when we step back that we see the full picture, a mosaic of pieces comes to- gether, and we start to feel whole. In case no one has told you this, it is okay to get to know yourself in parts, for each reflect a side of you, a different beam of color on the spectrum, a differ-
ent shade of emotion.
The theme for this edition came to me as | was exploring the advice of one of my mentors and the former Editor-in-Chief of Argue, Katie Rayburn who explained how the theme should be broad enough for creative freedom but specific to you.
Through this line of advice, | came up with “Mosaic”. As a psy-
chology major and someone who finds interest in the com- plexity of humans, mosaic was on-brand for me. The intricacies of how humans think, feel, and behave can be reflected in the fragments that make up a mosaic. With the theme “Mosaic” in mind, my aim is for submissions to reflect the fragmentation of our human nature and the role of hindsight in seeing the big picture, for it is when we get to know these small parts of us
that we begin to truly understand the whole.
Corde CoA Winner
Poel:
1st place - little dandelion / Krista Hanson
2nd place - Aortic Dissection 7 Catelyn Errington
3rd place - Potion: Drink Me! 7 Allie Atkinson
Pose: 1st place - The Things They Taught 7 Macala Broussard
2nd place - Holding onto Shattered Memories / Melissa Taylor
3rd place - Clothespin / Ruben Smith
Photography:
1st place - Grow / Olivia Slayter 2nd place - French Quarter 7 Sean McGraw
3rd place - Gaudi's Mosaic / Madison Szekely
tine Apt
1st place - A Shattered Mirror's Reflection 7 Layla Easley
2nd place - Plant design 7 Emily Dawson
3rd place - Roller Skates / Tifphany McClinton
Table of Corde ends
Posy
Me and You, We Purple Heart
Veins of Gold
Inner Thoughts and... ForA
The Limitations of Wax Your Poetry
Atlas Shrugged Dumbshow
Broken Glass
| Am The Elephant Specimen
Recover
Potion: Drink Me!
your car smells like you...
Peaches and Lemons
The Islanders Falling off...
Window Shopping Aortic Dissection Fragments, Reborn
Forgetting (To Remember)
Allie Atkinson Mack Lacy Evander McQuilling Trinity Velazquez Garrett Ambrose Garrett Ambrose Catelyn Errington Garrett Ambrose Catelyn Errington Jada Boyd Catelyn Errington Chloe Blank Myjoycia Cezar Allie Atkinson Kirsten Sonnier Amira Moussa Ruben Smith Chloe Blank Catelyn Errington Carly Chandler Chelsea Beasley
Facade A Fickle Fire
Marilyn Brooks Allie Atkinson
12 16
17 19
21 24 26 29 31 33 35 37 40 42 44 46 48 50 53 55
Table of CorterAr (Cord. )
Portrait of Expression little dandelion
Potential
Her
Garden Bench
A Call to Art
iam beauty
What If?
weaving colors
Muse
untitled
Piece by Broken Piece
Prose
Where | Should Have...
Loss is Loss
An Old Man and His Muse
Bodies of Water The Game Warden Holding onto Shattered...
Clothespin Pick Me
Macala Broussard Krista Hanson Myjoycia Cezar Kathleen Hilliard Krista Hanson Myjoycia Cezar Kristina Simon Myjoycia Cezar Kristina Simon Allie Atkinson Kathleen Hilliard
Emeri Manasco
Rhiannon Lee Alexus McDonald Savannah Thompson Cheramie Kravitz Hannah Worley Melissa Taylor Ruben Smith
Caleb Howell
56 58 62 64 66 68 70 pal 72 75 76 78
84 88 93
96
99 103 106 114
Table of CorterAr 4 Cord. )
The Things They Taught Macala Broussard 118 Cthulu Rises from the... Ruben Smith 123
Photography
Grow Olivia Slayter 127 French Quarter Sean McGraw 128 Guadi's Mosaic Madison Szekely 129 fine Avie
A Shattered Mirror's... Layla Easley 131 Plant Design Emily Dawson 132
Roller Skates Tifphany McClinton 133
Preface The poem you see to the right is by Shay Hope Church, the winner of a contest to be featured in Argue. This opportunity was presented to students through a creative writing summer camp held on campus for going on three years. The aim is to assist those between 10 to 17 years old in expressing them- selves through a variety of creative genres such as poetry and short stories. The two-week long camp focuses on the impor- tance of utilizing feedback and criticism to improve one's piece and is geared towards helping students discover their style of writing. Shay Hope Church is a 10th grader from Natchitoches Central High School who states her poem “takes you home,
whether you're already there or still looking for it.”
An Ocoan Full of Fars
Pray Church
Scents of lavender prickle the air,
lost in a forgotten world
The trees climb above the clouds
Freer than the salt in the ocean.
Homesick from a place that doesn't exist Lost in daydreams; forgotten in nightthinking A nostalgic longing to be near again,
A blank space.
The overwhelming feeling of wanderlust
To get lost in space, lose track of time
and escape reality.
Pursue the longing need to cover up with a blanket of stars and lose yourself in the wind.
To kiss the moon goodnight
and hug the sun too.
never know what to expect little one,
this journey is all for you.
Agee Me and You, We Mle Atkingon My troubles travel with the smoke Thin, wispy, and trailing behind me. | almost relinquished all hope, Nowadays, I'm glancing less at the past behind me.
It took a while for me to find me
People are kaleidoscopes, colors bleeding onto the eye Some bright, blinding, staining anything in contact,
Others more muted, blended, taking comfort in
Being one busy body among the bustle of people—
We are mosaics. It becomes hard to distinguish between the colors and cracks. No matter how you piece the fragments together,
A prism of colors, shades of emotion, dynamically You.
Mosaic Growth occurs in all directions
Outwards, inwards... even if the shards
Don't quite fit like they used to
Because of dull edges and unfamiliar scratches, In the morning, you are the warming glow people call sunrise
And when the night brings in the dark, you are your shadows
too
Still the moonlight gleams in a way that makes you want to
try again
Because you are inexplicably, indescribably You.
Argue Purple tleart Mfack, Ley
The walls of a hospital room are no longer painted in white
fluorescence,
But his hands shake just the same.
It's his first day sitting up,
Five days of forced reclination, and
The stutter of Life is accentuated by the click of injected
morphine.
The forced breathing remains consistent.
Sometimes he tries to speak:
Lips pursed, out, in, out, twisted against gums, tongue, the
roof of his maw,
Mosaic but the air chokes in his throat;
His words dissipate like
wisps of wind-swept steam
almost immediately after he hisses them out.
His eyes are blank, silver encroaching upon brown,
And | always thought that the silver lining was supposed to
be a Good Thing,
But he can barely see Me,
And he can't hear Me, either.
His heart jolts in his chest.
| count them by the seconds.
For five seconds, the pulse sits stagnant at 88.
Argue
On the sixth, it jumps to 122 and he wheezes,
claws clutching the arms of the leather recliner, and
His shoulders jostle because there's nothing else to do
but grab his Life by the throat and hang on, and
Death grows impatient with each defibrillation.
He doesn't know what to do with a wasted vessel.
He sits and waits and that's all he does and can do.
“This is what | was afraid of,” he says,
“I'm going to die here,” he says,
and | say nothing outside of “I'm sorry”
and He doesn't respond.
His Purple Heart sits on my dresser, collecting dust, His Red Heart doesn't pump correctly,
And They are one in the same.
Theres tope Past Goief and Teauna Kailyn Frederick
Argue
Veing of Gold
There are different ways
Of dealing with broken hearts
Pottery.
Some throw it away, Tired of shards and cuts Tired of the memory
Of being shattered.
Some hide it away, Dark corners, Dark drawers, Not willing to part,
But not willing to remember.
Mosaic Some fix the break, Using glue to piece it back together, Trying to hide the cracks, But always knowing
That faint line they tried to erase.
But there are some Who take what has been broken
And fix it with gold.
Kintsugi Golden Joinery Kintsukuroi
Golden Repair
Repairing a break
With lacquer and gold
Argue Silver and platinum, Showing the breaks
As the history of the object.
To take what was beautiful before And to make it beautiful again. This is the beauty
Of these people
Of this craft.
To take something
That would be thrown aside
And make it a work of art.
So when | give my broken pieces to you Once whole and since shattered,
| pray that you are the last,
70
The one to find the beauty in the breaks,
And fill in the spaces with the gold of your love
Sr MELEE: gest ERERSENE By
q
eauad WEzEa eae Late
me) RAOEE
1
Argue
Inner Toughif and Otter Noler T Hare Yared. or My Phone my ge
My heart is worth infinite honest love.
| will always offer the kind of love that is pure and uncondi-
tional, is that a bad thing?
In order to fall back in love with my life, | have to let go of cer-
tain things that I'm wasting my precious energy on.
| really need to learn when I'm being taken advantage of and
when to walk away from people who aren't appreciating me.
Trinity, Know when to walk away. You're getting yourself in
too deep.
You stop attracting certain people when you heal the parts of
you that once needed them.
Let them get a tree without you.
Remember to buy bread and cinnamon roll oatmeal.
12
13
Mosaic Stop stressing, don't think about it.
But fundamentally, you have the same problem: you don't
know how to make someone other
than yourself a priority.
| didn't realize that falling in love with you, meant falling out
of love with myself.
Love that we cannot have is the one that lasts the longest,
hurts the deepest, and feels the strongest.
My head and heart are constantly at odds. | am always fight-
ing between what | feel and what | know is reality.
How am | falling in love with you while my heart feels like it is
breaking? Stop telling parents things, just keep everything to yourself. Maybe it is time | harden my heart. It might do me some good.
God, | am so glad this is all over. It’s over, life can be peaceful
again. No more drama.
Argue Everything is gonna be okay, | can get through this.
Don't buy the toothpaste that tastes like washed-out mint.
Womans Face
Tphany MeChnten
‘e)
5
Mosaic for A Gavrelt Ambroge If your past has held hardships Fraught struggles and choking breaths
| wish for your future to be kind
| would like for time to be gentle
If | could, | would smooth your past
Press gentle fingers to your history book
Rewrite every page to suit you
But that would change yew, and | adore you
If there is anyone in this world who deserves
A soft epilogue, an easy descent Itis you
Glorious, gorgeous you
Argue
| would be Joan of Arc for you | would tie your banner to my wrist And use your name as a battle cry
Though you need no champion, and | am not much of one
Devotion is a strange thing And my loyalty may waver some day But for now
(and ever, in any capacity)
You have me. Endlessly. Ardently.
You have me.
16
17
Mosaic the Limitattone of Wax Garret Ambrose lam tired of breaking my own heart Hopes and dreams pinned above my head As Icarus once looked to the sun If only that the last thing he saw before he sank to the sea
Was the bright, blue sky
lama hunter eyeing my own silhouette
Through the scope of a rifle of my own imagining Self-sabotage
In an overly complicated metaphor
And my hands do not tremble as | pull the trigger
If lwere a wiser, better man
| would admit to myself that self-hatred
Is the gasoline to fuel my engine
Argue But instead | wind myself up and watch me go Only to bring a hammer down
Scattering tin wreckage across my self-image
If | could learn
To run on ambition instead of frustration
| wonder how far into the sun | could fly Reaching and grasping the unattainable goal Or if the wax wings affixed to my spine
Would snap me in half like kindling
A memorial of man’s hubris
A parable for the limitations of wax.
18
19
Mosaic
Jour Feely
Catelyn Evringlen
| listen for meter in your speech And metaphor, like hard candy, Sitting beneath your tongue.
You are poetry to me.
What should poetry be,
Besides the warmth in your eyes
Or the calluses upon your palm? They tell the story much better than |, ILluminated only by fluorescent light And the thought of you
You are a simile—like or as
The universe—impossibly consequential,
Ever-present, enveloping, labyrinthine. And | am just the exclamation point,
Emphasizing all that you are, all that | wish to be
Age | have spent hours on your analysis, Studying your diction and your themes, Feeling your mood and tone, But | cannot assert your meaning to me | have read each line a thousand times, Only to draw a million different conclusions Perhaps this is what your poetry means to say: You are everything to be lost and gained, You are everything to be seen and heard, You are everything to be near and far, But beyond your everything-ness?
There lies a soul too infinite to be known
20
2
Mosaic Alar Sur Gavrel i Atlas bore the weight of the world Pressed his hands to the seas Cried effort into the mighty deserts Lifted mountains upon his shoulders
The sky above his head
|, thousands of years later, see a statue Aman, brass globe upon his back Stoic acceptance on his face
And my heart catches in my chest
For surely this man must be divine
| lift a miniscule world upon my back A population of one
Which is very hard to keep track of
Age lam in charge of shaky, ink-stained fingers And really quite terrible teeth Chewed up glasses A candy red my mother hates The scars of a tendency which has marked me A brain that does not process numbers
A heart that trods steadily along
lam the master of a million thousand aspects In the minutiae of a single citizen
Whom | really can't say | like
Whom | am certain
| do not love
But it is my burden to bear
A planet to curl my spine under
ZZ
23
Mosaic And to ask me to surrender what pains me
Would be to ask me to kill myself
So | will Keep going steadily onward Regal under that crushing brass globe Carrying it on into the breathless future
Until one day the weight is a crown
And to bear myself is no burden
Argue
Durmbshew
Calelyr Evvinglen
The curtain’s up, it's showtime!
The merry masquerade has commenced-- Complete with unconquered complacency,
Which knows no bounds from stage to crowd
You cannot sweat the makeup off once it's been applied And you cannot leave your seat until intermission. Your hands tremble, holding the playbill,
It's soaked through with sweat and doubt
Though the words inside advertise a comedy,
The lurching in your gut implies tragedy.
The actors laugh on stage, they hug and they kiss, But the tears running down their painted cheeks Shimmer, solemnly, in the shining stage lights. Cease your pretending, your pretentious play-acting!
Don't you know what's at stake?
Vg
25
Mosaic
If you make a funny face, it'll freeze like that
And if you tella lie, you can't take it back
Doesn't your costume itch?
Isn't your corset laced too tight?
Where is it that you've drawn the line?
Or has it blurred too much, beyond distinction?
Can you discern fact from fiction?
Or have you been cemented into an Elizabethan production, An infernal hell of your own design,
And when it finally descends into ember and ash,
Do you intend to let your patrons burn with you?
Argue
broken Glass Jide gd lam glass Cool and smooth on the surface Shining and gleaming brighter than a solar flare Glass is fragile, it should be protected with casing But this piece of glass is on its own now One fracture and everything shatters
Rocks as heavy as solid concrete and made of fears pile on
top of me | can handle 10 rocks, | can handle 50
But the pressure of 1,000 rocks on one slim, small piece of
glass can be too much
to bear
Tiny, ugly, black cracks in the surface Appear
Faint crunching sounds can be heard
26
27
Mosaic If you listen closely Crying out for help The cracks get bigger, making the surface Rough with their jagged lines all the way through my fingers and toes My once flawless face is reduced to slabs of crystal People tell me don't break
They tell me to hide the fractures
| break anyway
Sharp, broken pieces of glass scatter on the cold, hard floor They try to put the pieces back together They try to restore it to the perfect,
smooth glass they want it to be
Argue But no matter how many times they try to fix it on the surface
The glass will always be broken
26
29
Mosaic
T Am The Elephant
Calelyn Envinglen
lam the elephant
In the middle of the room.
You wouldn't dare say it
But | know the words are there, Precariously perched,
On the tip of your tongue, Seconds away from dropping Like the atom bomb.
A last resort for some,
But others are eager to pull the trigger And say the unthinkable,
But how unthinkable is it really?
| see the looks, the eyes, the stares Peeling back my layers.
Does she know?
Argue She does. A hand on my arm is a threat
To the secret beneath my skin.
No, please don't touch me there
You're not supposed to know.
And please don't feed me lies
| can't stomach them anymore.
Your words cannot straighten a funhouse mirror Nor can they tighten the buckle of my belt Tell me, which number on the scale Determines how much I'm worth?
Do | add or subtract my dress size?
Was that one X or three?
| suppose I'll take my pills and teas
And spend my days in shapewear
Begging for the love they told me | don't deserve.
30
Mosaic Srecimen Chlee Blank What defines me won't define anyone else So | guess that's why it’s so hard to see through This murky water from the bottom of a lake | guess that’s why living with myself Is a pill | must take and | guess that's why my family looks at me like an hourglass That's just been given a shake Like my time is running out Like I'm some temporary thing Like I'm a pest that needs to be stomped | guess that’s why when | look at my face
| get confused because the surface of who | am
Makes much more sense than the algae
| guess that’s why when my clothes don't fit again and again
| feel better because at least something is changing
37
Argue At least something notices I'm becoming anything at all At least something can take part in my process of being At least something doesn't yell at me for being too quiet
| guess it’s better to define myself as water
Or anything moving because I'm alone So, | guess that’s why the bottom of a murky lake Is much more appealing Than bobbing to the top and seeing
Nothing
32
33
Mosaic
Kocovor Do you ever think about the things that have caused you to
get where you are? The turning points, the well-taken advices, the breakdowns?
They snowball into one mass making you appreciate the
struggles you have gone through. The tears... were worth it. The stress... was worth it.
The feeling of drowning under multitudes of problems
With no one to offer the life jacket of a solution, somehow...
was worth it.
And it all added up. The lessons were learned. But there is something more.
Now, what is the next step?
Angue
How do | recover?
Recover from the negative, angry thoughts that fueled me
for so long
And gwow..
Because if there was no growth, what was it for?
| must grow and surpass.
It is the only thing left to do.
It will be taxing,
But it will be worth it.
And soon, maybe | will realize... Zam worth it.
BF
35
Mosaic
Petter: Drink Mel 8” place Mle Atkingon | get drunk off what ifs
And drink down to the last drop of dreams, But | become exhausted and sleep again While a wide-awake world passes by me.
| don't know why it seems
| was cursed to never be a part of both worlds. One is tugging, begging me upon the shore
As waves lap against the grains, the bits of memories
Sprinkled here just to be unsettled when | come back... | always come back. My knees kiss the sand, | exhale a shaky breath Salt rattles in my lungs, sand seeps between my fingers As | try to grasp what was never mine
This sand does not belong to me
These memories no longer do anything for me
So | turn them over to the shore.
36
37
Mosaic your car smell like you bul U algo kind of smelle like diet an unforeseen departure ripped away like flowers from a garden
only for them to rot on a forgotten windowsill
this is simply a new incarnation of a tale as old as time instead of a hermit-turned-husband
all you are left with are moths where your heart should be
a coffin of distance separates you from the ones you love this one is just the final nail to seal it shut somehow worse than the ultimate end
you know they are somewhere, existing where you are not
a selfish notion, but nonetheless
Argue imagine a grand reunion filled with golden warmth and beaming joy a time where everything will fall back into place
and the static in your mind becomes clear again
refrain from harboring trivial sentiments
for out of these feelings, resentment emerges
poisoning the image of the very person you mourn turning your head against a fabricated enemy
surging from a place deep in your heart
spreading a current of darkness where there once was light
the universe is your opposition sorrow its devoted companion time is your only solace
smoothing out the sharp edges of your pain
38
until it can finally be grasped and hurled far away
making ripples in a pond of stagnant memories
Fnnley Plaster
39
Angue
Poacher and Lemeng Amiva, Mowesa | was a lemon,
Sour and bitter
She was a peach,
Warm and sweet,
| was bright and fun at first,
She fell in love and | strung her along,
She fell hard,
| did too,
But lemons don't bruise,
Like peaches do,
40
41
She was warm,
| was sour,
She didn't care,
For she loved me better.
Mosaic
Angus
The Itlandere Falling off the Edge of the Werld and No One Caring Kuberv Gmiltc
all claws that dig deep into the marsh,
the white man came with his oil drills, his tankers, his digging
machines, that rusty metal biting a hole in the lush green. all destruction is elemental and natural,
they dug deep channels for no fish to swim, except their
pipes of sludge, chaotic clusters of forgotten freshwater pools. all swirling gray masses that move fast,
the white man came to decimate the land with as much force
as hurricanes, diluted orange water and wishful prayers. all fingers scraping up the world below,
they shaped land with their own hands, their own devices of
energy and mass,
ar
43
Mosaic not even the gods would be proud of the work.
all decaying houses on stilts silently rest,
the white man came to move the people who remained to a
new plot of land,
yet nothing moves at night except the murky water.
these are the native people,
humble homes of togetherness and shadows and boards,
yet they are threatened by man-made nature.
they should cling to the vines that they have climbed for so
long,
feel the tide against their coarse, dry skin, and know that their land is stolen away by anything
that walks.
Chlee Blank Today | don't know but tomorrow I'll find a chance to understand how Or why it is when | dance in this room
With no one to watch and nothing to lose
| feel infinitely free
This need to breathe deeply
An undeniable language between me
And my aching feet
| hope for a day when someone sees Through the window out by the beach That they feel just as carefree
Whether or not they laugh at me
“ef
45
Mosaic | wonder if maybe that day Or perhaps that night, when | walk away From that window they see
Where they watch me pretend to be free
| wonder if maybe the person Would remember that | do it for them That | dance to make them smile
| wonder if they'll dance with me
Angue
Aortic Dissection 2 rave Calelyn Evvinglen
| paint my hands in glue, Tracing the divets and whorls With thin layers,
Sticky, milky lines.
| watch it dry, slowly.
The white fades clear And gives my fingertips
A dull sheen.
Nails beneath the edge, Anxious to pull, to peel, To tear away the film Veiling my blushing palm Like a band-aid.
But, the funny thing about
A band-aid is that
46
sud
Mosaic Even though it covers And hides the hurt It does not dull the pain. Perhaps, if | sink my heart in glue, And let it dry clear, |can rip it off, And maybe, The ache will come with it And | will wrap it in tissue And toss it in the trash. But camouflage is not a cure Nor is heartbreak a gash That can be sewn shut And slathered with ointment
So that it won't leave a scar.
Agee Fragmenlf, Koborn Carly Chandler Shards of me Strewn ‘round the room Pick myself up and hide it away
Broken and lost and fragmented FPugments
Fragments of what | was, Who | used to be A pile of glass,
of personality
Shards of a smile Crack across my face
All the pieces | hide away
48
49
Mosaic
Chip away at what | was
Rebour
A new day, a new life
Asmile made new
Fragments pieced together,
Me, reborn, a mosaic of me
se a Chelrea Beasley Mustard oozing out Making that sound kids laugh at Drip Drip Dropping onto the bread
Preparing sandwiches
You're reminded of her Dancing in the summer rain Drip
Drip
Dropping into your life
With suddenness and extreme that you never could have
prepared for
50
57
Mosaic Fixing two glasses of sprite,
Because it is her favorite and therefore yours as well
Drip Drip Dropping into the cups
But mostly onto the floor
Clear as day you see her Laughing as you try to clean up and somehow make it worse
Tears squeezing between the smile lines
Drip Drip
Dropping into open hands
Staring at the plates and glasses and silverware
Not quite sure what to do when she is gone
Argue
And the table is just for you
a2
58
Mosaic
Facade
Marilyn Brocke
It's easy to go with the crowd, to fit in
To force yourself to conform to the norm
It's harder to tread alone
To go along to the beat of your own drum
To let go of what is expected of you and become the best
you
| know because I'm one of you
I'm the one who sits alone
I'm the one who listens to the beat of my own drum Sometimes that beat is a classical song
Making me feel wrong from blasting a wordless song Looking at me like | was wrong
But if only you knew, how it felt to be free
Living life to make yourself happy
Thinking for yourself and never letting anyone else gas you
Argue up or put you down Creating your own crown
Never making yourself one of the crowd that makes fun of
others—
Behind their backs but never to their face
They wait until you walk away and erase you from their case Then find someone else to fit into your place
Little did you know, you'd be the one pleading your case
Playing face and trying to create a facade that you were just
like the rest
Erasing your individuality so that you can start blaring things
with the best
Putting down the rest and pretending that all along you were
the best
So, you put on a facade and pray to God
ot
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Mosaic A Fickle Fire Mle Atkingon Like the flicker of a flame, you were gone. I'm not one to deny responsibility | know | sparked your fire, But | liked your inviting glow. When | felt what it was like to get burned Your fiery passion was no longer charming And just as quick, your absence hit me. Open palms, | try to find my way through the night For a light always cuts clear into the darkness
Everything feels like empty space since you left
| miss your ember, ever near, kissing me with warmth
A fire can be re-lit, but one's heart is a fickle thing,
The way crackling wood leaves ashes in its wake
Agee Portrait of Expression Macala, Brougsard This canvas is smooth to the touch Only roughened by the severity of my strokes Red from my love Blue from my sadness Purple from my pain | find controlin how | express my feelings This conduit will say more than | ever could Through writing Through sound Through brushstrokes
This paper knows more about me than anyone who feels
they know all This canvas is my novel It is my mouthpiece
Itis my art
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Mosaic
It is me
| paint myself as who | wish | could be
The Dancer Amira Mourga
Dt
Angue
litle dandelion Polaco Krigla Hanger Mother [ver] : bung up Ca child) with core and affection.
Under my mama's bed sat treasure boxes, full of things I'll never understand. Her small television played the cooking channel,
recipes | promised I'd remember, but always forgot by morn-
ing. Her backyard was a forest of magical plants;
a stone path led me home every time.
To a sunroom that made watching the rain easy. | met bees in her front yard and was told, “don't chase them, honey.”
But they were my first friends.
A woman | never saw as anything less than beautiful.
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59
Mosaic | was six years old. My mama took us to Home Depot, | picked out my own little plant: a single dandelion in a purple pot. They say dandelions are weeds. Not meant to be watered or cared for.
But | loved my dandelion.
That summer, she promised to take care of my flower.