ergo fall 2015

Fa l l 2 0 1 5

Fall 2015

is the literary and artistic

publication of Alfred State. It is funded by the

Student Senate and is freely distributed each

semester. Students, faculty, and staff of Alfred

State are invited to submit their original works

of art, poetry, and prose by placing them in the

Ergo drop-box in the library, or emailing their

submissions to:

Our thanks to everyone who participated this

semester and keep the submissions coming!

Sincerely,

The Ergo staff

Co-Editors: Kali Blew, Kelsey Williams

Senator: Brianna Fallis

Editorial Board:Janelle Scrivener, Eric Stewart,

Anthony Collalto, Kali Blew, Kelsey Williams, Catherine Miner,

Jessica Holden, Megan Moran, Jordan Seltzer

Treasurer: Janelle Scrivener

Faculty Advisers:Dr. Aniko Constantine, Yvonne Cassidy

Janice Stafford, Dr. Brian Quinn

Staff Typist: Debra Tomm

With appreciation to those whose help andexpertise make each issue possible:

Document Center: Catherine Chambers,

Brent Cobin, Darcy HillMarketing Communications: Molly Andrus

~ Allison Osborn

It was flowing, always freely,

Never stopping, rarely slowing.

When we followed, we were going

Down a path that’s not our own.

Where we stood--it did not matter;

Through our legs, it did not gather.

It was flowing, always freely,

Down a path that’s not its own.

Where we stand--it does not matter;

Where we’re going, we go freely;

When we stop, it’s funny, really,

We have made that path our own.

Though, the river, it keeps flowing,

Never stopping, rarely slowing,

Unlike us who are not going

Down a path that’s not our own.

~Wyatt Sturdevant

Fall 2015 Ergo | 3

I am the GuyI am the guy who was the first member of my family to finish high school.I am the guy who worked his way through college and paid off his government loans on time.I am the guy who served three years in the Army during Vietnam.I am the guy who walked through human waste infested rice paddies and stood on mountains so dark you couldn’t see your feet.I am the guy who started at the bottom and worked his way up.I am the guy who always pays his taxes in full and on time.I am the guy who pays for his own medical insurance.I am the guy who has never spent time in jail.I am the guy who has never been arrested.I am the guy who has never been sued. I am the guy who has never sued anyone.I am the guy who offers to help you when you are broken down beside the road.I am the guy who volunteers to help others not as fortunate as I.I am the guy who salutes the flag when it passes by.I am the guy who believes citizens should have the right to protect themselves, but not necessarily with assault rifles.I am the guy who spent fifty years of his life in the work force and never collected disability.I am the guy who doesn’t place blame on others for my faults or failures.I am the guy who accepts responsibility for my deeds and actions.I am the guy who has always worked to better himself.I am the guy who still believes in the American Dream and not the Government Gift Card.

~Dave Benjamin, ’67

~Abby Luvera, Wanderlust~Alexis Mlott

4 | Ergo Fal l 2015

Above the Rest

Bridge: We all should have those moments when it’s our Turn in the sun When that special place called center stage is Reserved for only one That one-time spotlight chance that’s held Only for the best When something good that we have done puts Us above the rest.

Verse 1: Most rewards that we see in life don’t come Until we die For all our years of struggle we then end up Asking why What’s wrong with while we’re breathing Wanting it to be our turn? And get a little of the good life while the Candle burns?

Verse 2: Is it wrong to say I’ve paid my dues, but collected Nothing yet? While living in the shadows as the light guides Those who get? You know you’ve done some good things only Known to you alone But you have let them rest in peace hopin’ they’d Come home.

Verse 3: The world may never know your name may never See your face But that doesn’t change the fact you’re part of The human race Remember that footprints left in sand will always Get washed away But that doesn’t mean who left them was also Claimed by the wave.

~M. K. Bates

~ Allison Osborn

Fall 2015 Ergo | 5

Gods of a Child

As a child I often ponderedAt the nature of the world.

Two gods in dichotomy, thought I, must rule.One wise, yet jaded.

The other a fool,Yet kind and pearled.

I realized as I grew olderAnd time wrapped me in a bitter embrace,

The essence of this “god.”The kind one was my mother.

Whose smile was frayed and flawed.The wise one, more so debased.My father was cruel by habits,

Cruel by merely existing.Chemicals would flow freely through veins,

As all of us would cower like rabbits.He was no longer at the reins.

He was broken inside the demon, screaming.

In a moment, whether crazed or retrieved,A bullet severed that duality.

And to this day with guilty pleasure,I attest that I am relieved

At that demon’s self-inflicted seizure.For in life, hell was his only reality.

Today, on the topic of religion,I cannot really say.

I suppose I’m molded cynical,For my faith is but a smidgeon.

My morals are not biblical,My past, only, shows the way.

~Kohaku Kiiro

~Aidan Wilson

6 | Ergo Fal l 2015

4/c

As a child, I was free-spirited and loved being around people. I inquired about everything I saw, as well as everyone I met. There never seemed to be enough answers for my inquisitiveness. Through my eyes, there was a beautiful world overflowing with knowledge, and I was determined to indulge and bask in as much knowledge as I could find. I grabbed onto my untamed spirit and let it take me on unimaginable adventures. Life was good, and every choice I made was my own -- until I turned 17.

At 17, I was grown, and I knew everything there was to know about anything. Oh, the angst of my teenage years! I met a man, yes, a man, 29 years and some months. This man promised to love and cherish me. He said he would hold me above everything else and love me more and more with each passing minute, long after his death and mine. He claimed to be my salvation, my knight in shining armor. Sounds like a dream come true, right? That’s what I thought at least.

I believed that I was grown up, and I was taking charge of my life. I packed up what few belongings I had and moved 2,000 miles, from every friend and family member I had, to Phoenix, Arizona, to be with my “sweet-talking knight.” This was the start of the biggest change in my life. If only I would have been a bit more grown, then maybe I could have realized that I was not making a decision on my own. He had persuaded me with his fairy tale lies and promises of happily ever after.

Have you ever caught a butterfly? They are such beautiful, frail creatures. You know that if you touch the wings with your fingers, it

will no longer be able to fly, but you don’t want to let go of that beauty. That is similar to how the changes began in my life. My “knight” was so afraid that I would leave that he held me tighter and tighter. It began with small reasons why I couldn’t go out and meet people or find a job. He would often say, “I make more than enough money to take care of both of us. There is no reason for you to work.” As time progressed, he found ways of keeping me away from what friends I did have in Phoenix. He would make them uncomfortable in our home, so they would no longer come to visit, and he would always take the car, so I could not leave to meet up with anyone. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he went as far as messaging my friends and family back home using my accounts to tell them hurtful lies so they would no longer speak to me.

For eight long years I was separated from the only support structure that I had ever known. I wasn’t allowed to use the computer or have my own phone. Once he had me where he wanted me, and he knew that I was completely cut off from everyone, the veil came crashing down, and I was trapped with a monster. No more dreams of a white picket fence or a family full of smiles and love. No, what I faced left me a hollow shell. I was degraded and beaten down day after day. He would tell me every day that I was worthless, and I could never leave. Who would want me after he was through? When I finally built up the courage to tell him I had had enough and I was leaving him and return to New York, something in him snapped. He became really calm, and he started walking towards me. He pushed himself up against me, smirked, and shoved me into the closet. I fell,

~Elizabeth Brizzee

Forlorngirl

~Tyler McDonald

Fall 2015 Ergo | 7

4/c

~Tyler McDonald

and when I began to pull myself up, he slammed the door shut and locked it.

Eight prolonged years of degradation, ignominy, debasement, and abuse left me forlorn and desolate. The changes that took place within me left me withdrawn and isolated. I no longer wanted to be with people, and I was afraid even to talk to people. The consequences of these actions were still fresh in my mind, and the fear that he had instilled in me

went so deep that I felt there was no escape. The once free-spirited young girl, with an insatiable appetite for new atmosphere, people, and knowledge was gone.

When I look back on those years, I have to stifle back tears of fear and rage. Two years have passed, and I still have nightmares. I lost most of the luster that once made my personality and outlook on life so bright. I feel like a major part of myself is missing, like my mind and soul are comprised of

puzzle pieces. The outer pieces are included and pieced together perfectly, but the further into the puzzle you go, the more chaotic it becomes. The most essential pieces needed to complete the picture are missing.

After returning to New York, I sought help for the nightmares and the trauma. Even though the last two years of my life have been long, the road is becoming brighter and easier with each step I take. I may not have the same spunk and

spontaneity that I did before, but I am slowly recovering the missing pieces to complete my puzzle. As my life continues to move forward, I can only hope that my strength and willpower continue to grow, so I will no longer be a forlorn girl, scared of her own shadow and hiding within herself.

8 | Ergo Fal l 2015

Like the gills of a fish, my scars sparkle and glim-mer under the steady, hot gaze of the sun. They are fading. In over three years, I’ve not gone a day without thinking of them, without thinking of how much time has to go by before I finally decide to break out the scissors “one last time.” It is always “one last time.” I always thought it better to excuse such behavior as an act of closure, one that repeats itself over, and over, and over again. All that I would like to say, all that I need to say, cannot be squeezed into even the mere thirty or so pages of this publication. For this reason, I have chosen one sliver of my struggle, one small but significant slice of my story to share. You might have already gathered what it is.

Despite the importance of it, I cannot recall the exact moment in which I traded my old pair of scissors for a brand new pen. How could I forget, the book that inspired me to do it? The story I translated into a language all my own and the woman who did the telling of that original story. I first spotted Eat.Pray.Love on my high school English teacher’s bookshelf. As I stood facing the wall, the book in my hands, I was nearing the end of the worst year of my life and slipping into another one that would prove to be just as bad. I needed something, and I needed it badly. The something that I needed turned out to be that book and Elizabeth Gilbert’s sweet, caressing literary voice, chanting softly but with conviction to my psyche, “write about it.”

So I did.

It seems so much simpler in the telling of it now. Sometimes I even laugh about those few years of my life. Hell, I am even chuckling about it now, but it’s not funny. I wanted to die. I wanted to cut myself into about ten billion separate pieces, to pour an entire gallon of gasoline over them and to ignite one single spark over those remains. I wanted to start a fire of myself. All I could do was stare at walls and empty spaces. Upon waking up each day, I could not predict whether I would feel nothing or everything all at once. You could say that I wanted to kill myself, though it felt more to me like I just wanted to cease to exist; I did not need the pain of execut-ing such a decision. I was ready to be done already. I could go on forever, but I am sure I have laid enough foundation that you may catch a glimpse at the gist of this picture. I had found the ladder of balance-thanks to Liz and her incredible literary and evolutionary opus. It is quite a rickety old tool; such is the essence of balance. One may occasionally conquer only a single rung in a year; I have learned that this is okay. I recently stumbled across the chance to meet this woman who held a flame to my candle long enough that I may gather myself before finding what it takes to burn brightly on my own. Even better, I was able to hand her the letter I wrote so that she, too, might catch a glimpse at the light she coaxed out of the deep and winding trails of my soul. As is my perfectionist nature, I wish this letter could have been so much more, the kind of work that cracks open the heart of the reader and sets fire to the most vulnerable corners of the soul. I churned it like butter and cradled it like a child for months before I was able to simply let it be.

This is what I wrote to the woman who inspired me to save myself:

Dearest Liz,

I hope you don’t mind if I call you Liz since--while I feel that we are somehow mentally connected--we have never actually met. I have been waiting patiently for quite some time to be able to write this letter and hand it to you. I feel that, had I been born 30 years earlier and on a remotely different section of the east coast, we would have been terrific friends. You possess just the type of character, mindset, and attitude which I have spent my entire life working to attain and master. I imagine there is much wisdom between the two of us, and many stories and adventures that we would take pleasure in being shared. Ever since a cherished English teacher placed your book, Eat.Pray.Love, into my life, I have made it my mission to read every slice of literature you have put out into the world. Your story has played an enormous role in the blossoming of my own writing life and the quest to patch up my damaged spirit. Your books helped me begin the process of saving myself from things worse than death, and they inspire me to continue and build on that process each day. I hope to one day see in myself the tight grip of language that it seems you have acquired. I practice every day, and I even have a blog, but all of my best work has been sealed up in envelopes, sent to friends and the occasional soul mate. My most honest work is locked away in journals, midnight emails laced with vodka, or tucked away in the notes app on my phone, waiting to be expanded into something real and “note” worthy. My best work comes from everyone and everything that makes me feel crazy and useless, guilty and unworthy. The problem is that I write only in honesty, and in my being honest about my life, I am hurting nearly all of the people I love. I have not written enough about the things that need to be written even though they carry the essence of my art and character. By not wanting to hurt others, I am slowly killing myself and have been doing so for years. So I have decided to write a book, Savannah (from the Prince of Tides) style, and that book will tell of all the mishaps, demons, and great depressions of my life with all the protection of Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak. It may take years, but I have to do it. I will write myself to safety once again, dispel the wrongs and unthinkables which have been forced on me, and relieve myself of the burden my worst decisions have laid upon me. My only problem is that I do not know how to go about writing this book. What is meant to be will come to me in time, I suppose. I am not worried about that.

It was an honor to meet you, Elizabeth Gilbert, one of the greatest pleasures of my entire life. I wish you much peace and happiness and thank you for living your life as you please, shamelessly, and sharing that beauty so the rest of the world may learn from it. I know, it’s hard. Much love from one genuine soul to another, Jessica Holden

Fall 2015 Ergo | 9

-Jule Torrens

~Eric Stewart

10 | Ergo Fal l 2015

The Weekend

I hate Fridays so much that sometimes I get cranky enough to throw things.I don’t know if everyone calls me mean because they don’t know.I come to school in the same clothes every day; I just wear them in a different order. I don’t know if everyone calls me dirty because they don’t know. I eat lunch free every day, and I pile the food as high as they’ll let me.I don’t know if everyone calls me fatso because they don’t know.I like my time at school most because things are always the same there.I don’t know if everyone calls me smarty-pants because they don’t know.I take my time in the bathroom, so that I can wash myself the best I can. I don’t know if everyone calls me smelly because they don’t know.I try to do my homework at school because I don’t have a computer to do it on.I don’t know if everyone calls me lazy because they don’t know.I get upset on Friday afternoon when we don’t have time to get an afternoon snack.I don’t know if everyone calls me whiney because they don’t know.I hope no one sees me sneaking off with the walkers after school.I don’t know if everyone calls me loner because they don’t know.

Friday is a difficult day because a lot can happen in a weekend.Friday, I think about how to arrange my outfit to be different for Monday.Friday, I dream of my piles of school food that I am leaving behind. Friday, I think about stealing extra books to read even though it means I will have to carry them all weekend.Friday, I dream about restrooms as clean as the school’s to wash in. Friday, I think about finding the closest public library to try to do my homework online.Friday, I dream that it’s Monday for school breakfast. Friday, I think about where I am going to spend this weekend.

My teacher stops me as the other kids pass by to go to their parent-filled homes.I look up at her, and she knows. She thinks I’m a mean, dirty, fatso; a whiney, lazy, smelly, smarty-pants loner. I look down at my shoes, old and a little tight, scuffed from walking the streets all weekend.She smiles at me and hugs me close. She knows I am not a mean, dirty, fatso or a whiney, lazy, smelly, smarty-pants loner. She knows I am just a kid like every other kid. I look up at her, and I know she knows I’m homeless.

~Katy Mormino (2009)

~ Na

talia

Syt

ch, U

nvei

led

Surr

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Fall in love with Yourself Fall in love with yourself first

because no one else will love you like you can.At the end of the day, you’re all that you’ve got.

So tuck yourself in at night;tell yourself that you’re worth it, and

that you did the best you could today. Why be mean to yourself?

Someone will do that for you.So be kind to yourself;

be very very kind to yourself. It’ll be so comforting when you realize

you are all that you need.Fall in love with yourself first,

so you don’t need anyone else’s love but your own.

~Jennah Kennedy

Your Warrior I Will Be

I will be your shining knightI will be your warrior of love and light

I will do for my lady what is rightI will protect you with all my might

I will be your guardian trueI will do anything for you

I will guard you when my help is dueAnd make sure that you get through

I will defend you, with sword and shieldI will keep you safe and never yieldI do all this because I care for you,

I am your poet-warrior, brave and true

~Curtis W. Decker

Fall 2015 Ergo | 11

~Janelle Scrivener

~Tyler McDonald, Beautiful

~Rachel Wormuth

~Rachel Wormuth

lipstick

RedPinkPlumMaroonCovering everything all over the roomPlanted in places ready to bloomMaking all the young boys swoonTheir appetites the size of the moonRedPinkPlumMaroon

~Rachel Wormuth


~William Campbell

~Rachel Field

Jacob

Bumps, bruises, and scars galoreCoating my bodyLeaving me soreYear after yearJust accumulating more

I left some marks on him tooNot nearly as manyBut still quite a fewIt’s always been like thisIt’s nothing new

I love him nowAlthough I never did beforeI understand whyWe were always at warFor blood is a bond That drives deep to the core

He’s gone from a boy and is now a manHis face sprouts hairOr as much as it canHe’s not a baby anymoreI must say I’m not a fan

~Rachel Wormuth

Fall 2015 Ergo | 13

~Jacob Furtner, Cirklana

~Corey Appleby


~Natalia Sytch, Friesian Onward.As if to pause,

Look around and sigh briefly, Deeply,

On the curbBefore heading with new reserve

To the other side of the road.

The moment in which you make a decision

That could--that willChange you forever.

A moment’s not enough to think it through

But enough to take a step. To take the plungeHeadlong into life.

Onward. It is the breath

BeforeThe first

Step. Cross the road. Water the grass.

Love the life I’m living, The body and mind,

The soul I’ve got.

Onward.The decision to look up,

And around, And away from pain,Away from suffering.

Just for a minute. Long enough to pick up the tool

That will guide me toAnd throughThe healing.

A hero’s taleOf an ordinary

DebilitatingSadness.

An overcoming of the senses.Filling in the holes,

Packing tightly, the soil, So that something new can grow.

To inject the tale of suffering Into the skin.

To tell it on the body, To let it be known and to set it free.

To understand it thoroughly, Well enough that I may let it go.

To see it for what it is, And for what it is not.

To separate itFrom myself.

Because IAm not

It.

Onward. For it is a necessary thing

To hurt, But not to hurt others,

And especially notTo hurt yourself.

For the struggle continues, But so does the life,So does the living.

For the sake of a hiding spotWhere I might not lose myself.

Where I may insteadStay found.

For oneMore Day.

Onward

~Jessica Holden

Metal to Mother

My mother is as unassuming as a cloud

But as assuming as the rain.

My mother is as beautiful as a rose

And yet as plain as a dandelion.

She is as harsh in anger as the sea

But also as calm as it.

My mother is as independent and dependent as a filly.

My mother can bear many things

Yet she cannot take them alone.

She is determined and unchangeable

And yet

Even when bad things happen

She adapts and is made better.

~Abigail Campbell

Fall 2015 Ergo | 15

~Natalia Sytch, Dakota

To Be Grace and Beauty

Two legs forward two legs back,They hit the ground in musical rhythm

How graceful, how beautiful.

The angle of the neck and the hair upon it flow freely,They pave the way to the gentle arch of the face and bright eyes.

Nostrils are flared and hot,Why so graceful, why so beautiful?

The great, strong body shifts,time goes by with each passing stride.He is stretching, reaching, extending

Will he run them all down,Will he be caught,

Does he think he is graceful and beautiful as he gallops?

What more can be done for us, he is so fast and agile?His black body is drenched in sweat but he glows.

There is power in every breath.Strength in every stride.

When at last he halts we catch him.We rope his head with a halter of gold.

He does not care for material things,That is clear in his eyes

He would go with nothing but his own brilliant coat.He does not need us,

He lives off the grass and the water of the earth.Yes he is but a horse,

Yet he is grace, he is beauty, and he is life.

~Abigail Campbell~Jacob Fassett


~Janelle Scrivener

~Janelle Scrivener

~Janelle Scrivener

~Jacob Shilling

~Jacob Shilling

~Jacob Shilling

Fall 2015 Ergo | 17

~Tyler McDonald

~Jacob Shilling

Moon RiseOn the moon-rise an echo soundsa howl rolls down the valleyshaking the wind and sky

Paws thunder across the earthweaving through trees like windhearts beating like a pounding river

Fur, fangs, and fierce eyesthe pack lives wild and freewolves sound at moon-rise

~Curtis Decker


CHAPTER 1

“Hurry up, Bailey. We are going to miss the subway train!” That was my friend Diana, calling to me so I would not be late for school…again. But I could not come just yet; I was not finished. I gently buried the dead bird in the mulch of the tree in the sidewalk, said a silent prayer, and then hurried to the bus stop.

I’m that ‘weird girl’ you know; the one who is always joyfully running to the park, talking to the animals, helping a beetle to safety, or just sitting there enjoying a conversation with a tree. You see, I live in The City; I won’t name it because it is your city too, and it is all the cities. I hate it here, every day of it. The cars, the fumes, the buildings, the crowds. There is no peace in The City, not like the old ranch where I was born. My dad made us move here for two reasons. One: his huge acting break; I’m sure you have seen him on all the posters. Two: the death of my mom. The second topic gets me sympathy, hours of consoling, and annoying adults trying to fix my brain from the trauma. I know my dad means well, but it would honestly be better if he would just come home once in a while.

Back on the ranch, my mom was the one who ran it, not my dad. Mom was the one who let me help with everything, who taught me how to love animals, to get my hands dirty in the garden, to go exploring. Dad was the one who went to every director to try out for every part. He seemed to think that being a rich actor would make it all better. To be honest, I loved the life of a poor rancher; it was close to the earth.

He finally did get a part one day; he called mom to tell her he would be home as soon as he picked me up from school. He picked me up right away, but then he went to celebrate. He and his friends stayed up late at the town diner while I kept nagging him to take me home. He finally listened and rushed us to the ranch, flowers in hand to apologize for his lateness when he saw the door was broken down. He called the police

immediately; the search went on for weeks, following the trail through the woods where my mom had been taken. They never found her and eventually told us they could not expend the police’s resources on a cold trail. So my dad sold the whole ranch: all the animals, land, barns, even my dog Sam. And then he moved us to The City.

Now you know why I am here in The City. I understand my dad was grieving and wanted to distance himself from the pain; I get that, but I don’t get why I had to be distanced too. I wanted to be closer to all the things that reminded me of my mom. That’s why I did what she taught me: to help nature. It is hard to do in a city, especially The City, but that made me more determined than ever to help bring people closer to nature. Back to school now, I am being called up to give my presentation for science class. Most kids have done their presentations on the new developments at Borg Industries and how the technological advancements have made their lives easier. My presentation will not be popular. “My presentation is on the harmful waste and byproducts made by the latest developments at Borg Industries.” Instantly the class erupted in a cacophony of booing and complaints; even the teacher looked mad at me.

“Settle down class,” said Professor Wilkins with a scowl--for me or the class I did not know-- “let Miss Bailey give her presentation.” “Thank you,” I said. “As I was saying, the new technology that is being made and the process by which it is made are quite damaging to the environment. The smog levels have increased by ten percent since Borg Industries has taken over. Also, there is the problem of water pollution, asthma, and the addition to the global green-house effect.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” a boy at the back of the room shouted.

“There are other methods of production that would decrease the negative effects on the envi-ronment. Not to mention all the green technolo-gy the company should invest in like geothermal, solar, wind, and hydro power.”

“But wouldn’t that take away from the money used to get us better stuff?” a girl complained.

“Yes,” I said “but the benefits could be amazing! Clean air, decreased use of fossil fuels, greater protection for the environment and natural world!”

“But…” another student said. Well, you get the idea. No one really liked my presentation, I guess the prospect of all the new perks of Borg Tech was more appealing than saving the earth. Not to mention my classmates have been hearing my presentations for eight years. I had to convince some people to help nature, but The City was full of people who only thought of what they could gain, and they didn’t care how it was gained. I had found out that Mr. Borg, the head of Borg Industries, had started to buy parts of nature reserves and parks to use their natural resources to increase his production. Also, Mr. Borg had bought out most of his competitors which made him the king of the technology business, but people tend to forget that when they are playing on their mobile phones with a Wi-Fi converter built in to get free Internet access anywhere.

Later I was leaving school in a somber mood. Even after doing everything my mom had taught me to do, I still could not get my fellow students to believe me or want to make a change in the world. Well, all except my friend Diana; she seemed to understand me, if only some of the time. As I was walking down the steps, I decided to walk home to decrease my own carbon footprint. Thinking of my next project, I ran into

Terra OmegaI need you to listen. If you don’t, well the world might end. I’m Terra, but that does not matter; in fact, nothing matters…unless you listen. This is the story of my fight, my life long battle, and you need to choose your battle too. You could choose the “easy” side of the war, but I hope to convince you otherwise because my side is still worth fighting for.

~Curtis Decker

Fall 2015 Ergo | 19

~Curtis Decker

someone, and not as in a figure of speech.

“Ufh!” I said in surprise, “Sorry, I was distracted, I…”

“It’s fine; I was hoping to run into you, though not literally,” the boy said with a smile, a cute boy I might add.

“You wanted to see me? Why? And who are you again?” Gosh, he was cute.

“Sorry, where are my manners; I’m Jack! It’s a pleasure to meet you. I was very interested in the presentation you gave in class today! It was great!”

I thought for a minute, “Aren’t you our foreign exchange student? I am glad you liked the presentation; now I know there is at least one other nut case like me out there!”

He laughed, “Yes, I’m the exchange student, though I don’t know about the foreign part.” I had no clue what that meant.

“You said you wanted to meet up with me? Why?”

Jack smiled, “I wanted you to join my…club, if you will. It is a nature group, of people who are just like you.” He handed me a card “Call me when you decide.” Then he ran off, just like that, leaving me in the dust with a card and a smile.

~ Megan Hendershot

~ Nadia Parfait


Fe

r

r I s W h e el

s

~Alexis Mlott

~Janelle Scrivener

The Scarecrows

Silver diamonds stroke the night,A blood moon to hide the light.Hollow eyes to peer and make,Wicker bones to bend and break.

Rows of corn, mounds of Earth,Let them wallow in forgotten birth.Stuck on sticks, watch them take.Wicker bones to bend and break. Bloodless hearts, limbs of straw,Smiling in response to the raven’s caw.All that’s left when bound at the stakeIs wicker bones to bend and break.

~Jessica Spoth

Fall 2015 Ergo | 21

~Corey Appleby

“I want to be groundbreaking,” she breathed.

He nodded seriously, solemnly, humoring the grandeur and seriousness of her own emotions.

She bubbled on as a perfect representation of her passion for life. “I was born for this, born to be somebody.” Her voice faded in and out in undulating tones, bouncing over each careless word with emphatic intent. She always talked like that. Like everything she said was more important than it was. She talked about flowers like they were more than flowers: a metaphysical idea of beauty standards and fragility, a symbol of life and death, the sweet but temporary cycle. If he were to be honest, which he rarely was, she bored him.

But he humored her because she was beautiful--despite her opinions on what beauty meant--and her voice was sweet in a youthful, untempered way.

Sometimes he tried to think like her. She wouldn’t see a ferris wheel as a ferris wheel. It was a metaphorical ride, endless and continuous. It was their very lives.

They were in love, if you asked them. To her, he was her ultimate heart-piece. In her frantic pursuit of everything life had to offer, her own intensity exploded outwards and bounced off him, reflecting back to her in shimmering new light that made her think he was of the same mind. It was the state of youth in which first love is found only in its newness.

They circled up again, and he lit a lazy cigarette.

“Those things’ll give you cancer,” she reprimanded without anger.

If it’s not cancer, it’ll be something else. He thinks but doesn’t say. The lit end pulses orange, now red, in the darkened night.

~Catherine Miner

Fe

rr I s W h e el

s


~Tyler McDonald

~Sam Frauenhofer

PoeTI always wondered about the saying “I think therefore I am.”

There is always the sense of what my words might be: seemingly plain, simple, a lack of whimsical metaphors or alliteration.

But when I write, I feel like there are words flowing through me like a dance trying to move itself from my fingers into concrete expression.

When I create, I urge the words to stir feelings and create the innate understanding, even though they may be only whispers in my head.

I feel that even without the correct pauses here or proper periods there, I am still somehow a poet, stringing words along the page without a thought, letting words live and breathe with only half connecting letters.

I am a writer when I want to be, when I say I am, not merely thinking or claiming, or trying to proveover…and over again…

I think therefore I am the poem writing itself into existence; my letters only half connected, strung along without a thought.

I am a poem.

I am.

~Dea Field, ’13

Fall 2015 Ergo | 23

~Ian Potash

Yet is a Powerful Word

“You can’t do it,That isn’t right”That’s all that they would say

And if they saidAnything elseIt’s not with me today

They said so oftenAnd so sureI started to believe

The only oneIn this whole worldWho did it wrong was me

I did not careI did not learnI did not even try

So it was strangeTo hear him sayThat I never say die

So what could causeThis 180What path did I choose

That made me careAnd try and wantAbove all, to improve

It was youWho started thisYou set me on the path

For all the painAnd doubt and fearI’d take none of it back

You may not knowQuite what you saidBut I’ll never forget

That word you addedChanged everything“You cannot do it, yet.”

~Rika MiddelkoopIn honor of Skyler Reisner

one of eleven

Bridge: The blood that’s runnin’ through our veins ain’t Common to other souls on earth And though for some it may have changed we’ve Shared our name since birth We may have traveled different roads through This life as to us was given But all led back to a common ground where We became–one of eleven.

Verse 1: No matter what our lot in life we all started Out just the same And what we did or did not have fate will Bear the blame One like another there is a pride to be Had in all At times each has seen the mountain top and Likewise felt the fall.

Verse 2: Our family tree has sprouted limbs Mom and Dad never got to see And sadly our fate is much the same on this Side of eternity Like birds can’t wait to start their signin’ as Each new day unfolds We each should desire to rekindle the fire Before our touch grows cold.

Verse 3: Ten remain, and one is gone as all the years Have passed us by And to those of us who live and breathe each Day should be a guide That tells us as the next one passes those missing Could be one more And there could be one less to hold than we had With us before. ~M. K. Bates

~Tyler McDonald

~Sam Frauenhofer


4/c

~Corey Appleby

~Corey Appleby

Fall 2015 Ergo | 25

~Will

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~Will

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Thank you, for you toodeserve a cool moodof appreciationlike no other creationfrom the emotional train stationwhere hands held high to the skytickle the airas angels above watch—it rains happy tears.Your smile grows big;you feel content like a kidwith all who are near and dear…yes, only you,blessed as the day,life full of selflessness,dedication,unfinished business,should be this freewith nothing else to say,other than, if I may…Thank you, for you toodeserve a cool mood!

~Keenan Sims

The empty seat

It was always the custom in the land of Suzume that fledglings would leave very young.

It had all started with Tsubame Hime. The young girl had always been assured of the safety of her fortress and warmth of her home’s hearth. But when she flew south for the winter, she never returned.

Nothing had driven her away -- no bad intentions, no wicked-stepmothers, no villains lurking around the corner. There was only her desire to escape the gilded cage of expectations.

And only once when she had returned many years later, she said, “distance makes the heart grow fonder,” a kindness to those she had left behind. She had claimed to want them to remember only the best parts of her while the faults slowly dissolved with the past. And so her words fluttered among the people and took hold.

Over time the children followed her and their children as well, the force of one generation pushing the next. It had become the way to show a hard-earned kind of love.

Those left behind knew the kind of love that makes them hold the ones they care about tightly.

But for as long as you’ve held them, you have to let go.

Those left behind had the kind of strength it takes not to run after the ones they love, watching them disappear into the distance, without daring to take a step to catch them.

It’s a good kind of selfishness, this love. Think of the strength it must take to want someone there, even after years of the empty seat at the table.

~Dea Field, ’13

haunted

These memories follow me around,even in my dreams.

Your demeanor, your wicked smilereappear at night.

I beg myself; please let me forgetall of your words that haunt my thoughts

and poke at my self esteem. I no longer need your approval.

Why did I ever? Why was I so scared?

Please stay out of my dreams.I promise I haven’t forgotten you,I know that’s what you wanted.

So please I ask, just let me heal.You’ve done enough damage.

So please, please stay out of my dreams.

~Jennah Kennedy


Some of us, while possessing a deep and burning love of our parents as I do, will meet someone who rises to that level. In some ways, they even transcend it.

When I think of the greatest human being I have ever met, I am brought to tears. There is no shortage of reasons as to why this is. Tragically among the first is that this person is no longer with me. However, the other reasons are not all sad. In fact, to me they are the most profound and potentially life-altering experiences I have had. My life changed the moment this person walked into my life.

It begins with his moving onto my street when I was young, about four or five doors down the road. I had neither a single idea, nor understanding of who or what he would be to me. Several months went by, and eventually my mother introduced him to my family. Being my usual self, I was skeptical. Who was this man who to me had just abruptly interrupted my extremely busy five-year-old life? Soon he and my mother began dating, entering into a rich relationship that would bring to my family and life untold love and transformation of character.

Upon first entering his house, I was introduced to my first youthful obsession. For the first time in my life I laid my eyes upon a gaming computer. This computer, while compared to today’s is essentially ancient, was then state of the art. On this computer, I could carelessly immerse myself in a number of games. The one that garnered the most of my attention was the MMO World of Warcraft. This game for many years was my source of escape from my troubles. Next the actual lessons would begin.

At this time in my life, I was struggling in school, not academically, but socially. For me going to school on a daily basis was a struggle, one filled with great depression and anxiety of what would potentially lie in wait for me. Each day I would go through the process of wondering what foul and morbid thing would be said to me, or even what way someone would physically try to harm me. In my school I was an outcast. At home, I was miserable: hidden in my dark room questioning the value of my life and what purpose for me there was to live. Over the next few years, I would begin to learn and understand the most precious thing to have in life: love.

We would always spend time together, he and my family. We would spend many days at his house, a tradition I would always look forward to. Traveling to his house meant that I would be free from every burden I felt accustomed to. We would travel together as a family many times over the years to his mother’s home upstate. She embraced us as guests and as family. It was while there, in upstate New York, that I began to be attracted by the idea of a simple lifestyle. We would travel two hours from Staten Island to Stone Ridge, New York. Driving along whatever roads we took on those days, I would become entranced by the scenery. I could sit for hours in total silence staring out the window. I was content with my thoughts and with the knowledge that I was with company that loved and adored me, a feeling that I returned but wasn’t fully able to give back or express until he came into my life.

Silence to me for some time was a curse. I believed that because of my silence I would be judged as being just some awkward weirdo. Through him I was shown that silence could be a beautiful thing. He taught me that if I am able to be with someone and be happy without saying a single word, then I am

truly happy. Today between him and me there are no words spoken. Since he is no longer with my family and me, we are left with only memories, which are truly impossible for me to put into words. Truthfully, I do not believe this essay will be able to bring to life how much he meant. I do not believe words can revive the happiness that he was able to provide and love he was able to share. The only thing that can possibly give any justice to these qualities are the memories that only my family and I are able to share with each other.

His name was John. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, each word was its own single entity, filled with the purest and most other worldly love and compassion. To me he was the greatest friend I’ve ever had, a mentor, a lifesaver, and most importantly, a father.

The Greatest Man to know~Anthony Giammanco

over the next few years, I would begin to learn and understandthe most precious thing to have in life: love.

~Rachel Wormuth

Fall 2015 Ergo | 27

~Jacob Fasset, From a new perspective

~Janelle Scrivener


I am average in build and looks. I grew up with an average life, and loving parents. I moved to New York City like everyone else had, and worked in stocks. Just starting out, I’ve kept to myself. Just an-other nameless face in the crowd, if anyone even happened to notice my face at all. I don’t have any friends, no one would notice if I left. Except for her. And I loved her.

We were sitting together in the smoke-filled pub. Alice was having another one of those days where even I couldn’t reach her. Not much could, except the burning liquid going down her throat. Ex-cept the drugs humming through her veins.

The entire place was grimy; I couldn’t bring myself to take off my corduroy pageboy hat or my gray pea coat. Hell, I couldn’t even bring myself to unbutton the damn thing. Apparently Alice couldn’t either, although I suspected it was her current state of self-medi-cation not allowing her to entertain the idea. I watched her, slowly dragging on her cigarette, and considered the awful circumstances that had brought us together. She wasn’t looking at anything in particular; and despite our thighs touching underneath the greasy, black table, I knew she was far away from me now. It was moments like this that gave me a chance to freely examine her. She is beau-tiful, in the most discreet way. She wears her brown waves short and free, with one curled lock lying flat against her forehead. I noticed this to be a trend among women lately, but she wears it the best. Her face is full and soft, still promising a hint of youth. Her eyebrows are thick and daring, her lips kind and inviting. She sure is lovely, but sometimes I have to look away. I get to her eyes and a wave of distress washes over me. Beautiful gray eyes with no life behind them, no life in her.

By the time I met her it was too late. She had been gone from the world for who knows how long, but every now and then, I found her again. I didn’t have much to offer to her, a girl that deserves the world but was dealt a bad hand in life. I still found myself hoping that all that I am could be enough for her.

I tried reaching out to her with my presence alone. I knew she wouldn’t be able to fight her way to me anytime soon, so I sat by her side to ride it out with her. This isn’t my sort of scene, but neither was the show I met her at. She’s a dancing girl, but not the cheap kind that sells herself out to lustful men with a dollar at the end of the night. Actually, I don’t think those girls even hold out for a dollar. When money is tight, it might be less than a quarter. Hell if I know. But no, Alice kept her clothes on and belonged entirely to herself.

I might not have even noticed her if I hadn’t heard her cries for help in the alley. Her dress was muddy and torn, so at first glance I thought perhaps she had hurt herself. In reality, she was kneeling in the mud, frantically trying to help revive the mother of a small kitten that was shivering up next to her. Tears and make up ran si-multaneously down her face as she realized how hopeless the situa-tion was. Someone had kicked the poor mama cat until she couldn’t move, and it was a matter of time before the old gal passed away. I came over to be as comforting as I could, and watched while she held the cat until she stopped breathing. Her clothes were in tatters, but even worse, her self-esteem was in tatters as well. I introduced myself and assured her that there was nothing she could do.

She had no reason to trust me, but somehow she did. My flat wasn’t far from the show, so I took her and the small kitten back there and drew her a bath.

While she was doing all that, I wrapped the small kitten up in a blanket and searched for milk. I put on the teakettle and heat up the milk to give to the kitten. I figured out that the little gray puffball was too small to eat on its own, so I used a dropper to feed her. There was no way I was going to let Alice, whose name I asked on the way back, out on the streets at this hour. What was the hour? I pulled out my watch to see that it was half past two, which meant leaving was certainly out of the question. I let her take my bed and made up the couch for myself. Perhaps I should give her a set of my nightclothes to sleep in? …Yes, absolutely.

I walk into my bedroom and open the bottom drawer of my large, cherry wardrobe. I make sure to pick out the softest clothes I could find and lay them carefully on the bed. They would probably be a bit large, but I decided it wouldn’t matter.

As far as I know, she slept peacefully through the night. There was one incident, however, where I sleepily awoke to her standing over me. Figuring it was part of a dream, I rolled over and carried on with my slumber. The kitten even slept through the night. It wasn’t until dawn, when the kitten began to mew, that Alice and I both awoke. In the harsh daylight, it occurred to me how inappropriate it may have been to have her stay over. Even if we had been going steady, this was not something that was done. Not where I came from anyhow. This was the city though, and all the rules seemed to be different from what I was used to. Alice was cheerful enough, introducing herself to me again before heading out with the kitten. We made plans for dinner the following week.

~Laura Tingley

I Loved Her

There has never been anything special about me.

Fall 2015 Ergo | 29

This was how we started. That was about five months ago. Nothing sexual happened, nor has anything sexual happened since that first meeting. We learned about each other and grew from each other. She was young and troubled, lost in life, in a city that didn’t care who she was or what happened to her.

…Until she met me. I cared about everything in her life. I cared about her, and I cared for her. I took her in and have yet to leave her side. She is kind and compassionate; she thrives under love. The kitten was also saved on that night. We named her Sunny since Alice found her in such a dark time. Sometimes that damn cat gets through to her better than I do.

Lately she had been acting different. It’s interesting to find yourself ceasing to exist to someone. I saw her, but she didn’t see me. I am a ghost, and she keeps living as if I’m not here. But I am here; I am al-ways here. I loved her. When she can’t love herself, I hold her until she finds temporary inner peace. I loved her. When the cruel streets of New York proved to be too treacherous for a young woman, I waited after every one of her gigs to walk her safely home. I loved her. I don’t ask for anything from her. I don’t particularly want anything from her. I loved her. I loved her. I loved her. But, maybe soon I would cease to exist in her world. Such a thought was too morbid to form eloquently, so I try my hardest not to dwell upon it.

I hear my name through my thoughts, like a light in the fog. Alice insists upon leaving. While I am taken aback by her abruptness, I often find myself running through life trying to keep her happy. I gently give her my arm and lead her out of the pub into the chilly September evening.

I did say that there has never been anything sexual or romantic between the two of us, but do I ever wish there were. In my heart, I secretly hope that tonight will be the night. I wish this every night. All I want of her is a kiss, just one. But much more than that, I want her love. I can tell that she is a precious flower, and so I need to be careful and sensitive of how fragile she is in this life. I want to be a part of her life; no matter what way it is that she needs me.

She suddenly stops in the dim lighting of a maple tree and turns to me. My heart is fluttering as my hopes soar high. This could be it! After all this time, a real relationship might begin to form! I blissfully close my eyes and pull her closer to me. As suddenly as I close them, however, they are wide open in alarm. I look down and all I see is blood, so much blood. I panic; worried that Alice is hurt, before realizing that the only blood on Alice covers her hands. Her velvet,

beautiful hands are covered in blood and holding a small knife. I let out a cry and sink to the ground. My head is fuzzy, and I am completely oblivious to what is going on. Alice kneels in front of me with a smirk. The pain from my wound doesn’t hurt nearly as much as my heart does seeing the amusement smeared all over her face. She charmingly explains to me the plan she had all along. The care with which she killed the mother cat, hoping someone would come to her aid. It would have been all too easy to end the life of a stranger. There would have been no poetic allure. She knows because she had done so previously and felt unfulfilled. To seek out a man for the purpose of getting to know him, getting him to trust her, is where the real thrill lies. She explains to me that it’s always a man because of her math teacher that molested her. I remembered the story, but would have never dared to think that she murdered him. A shudder runs through me while more blood drains. In my last moments, I can’t even hate her because she had been through so much in her young life. Instead, I hated myself for not daring to have more experiences in my own life. I reached my hand out to hers and gently gave it a kiss. It would be the only kiss I was allowed. And with my last breath upon my lips, I whispered her name.

I loved her.


~Crystal Kopec

~Crystal Kopec

~Crystal Kopec

~ Alexis Mlott

~ Rachel Field

Fairytale

The clock shivers with tales of midnight,And the glass slipper shatters with the hurried flight.

The lavender feel of a kiss on scarlet,Just as the last petal falls for the beast and the harlot. The unseen peers back from the mirror on the wall,

Engraved in stone are the blasphemies of Baal. Poison was the apple from which the dew dripped,

And unbroken stood the chalice from which the moon sipped.From black silk to hollow white page.

Crimson light falls on the robes of the sage.The wand turns love to lust with untamed powers,

And the handsome glamour of youth the hag eagerly devours.But down fall the vain with that mirror on the wall.

Snow covers blood with the fate of them all. The queen of the innocent heart shouting, “off with her head!”

And the fair maiden lay silent on the stone cold bed.Large black cauldrons boil insanity with laughter,

It’s all just the story of happily ever after.

~Jessica Spoth

Ode to Jeff

Few greater men I have ever metThat are as true and honest as Jeff

His ways carved in stone, perpetually setAny woman would be lucky

To have caught him in her netHe worries me a great deal

Unable to tell what he will do yet

In a world so loudSo full of sound

He speaks so little Few words to be foundBut when they do flow

They spill out so profoundLike an abstract paintingSplattered on the ground

He’s not around as much as he used to bePhysically and emotionally drained There is rarely much of him to see

Working his fingers to the boneSkinnier than a dogwood tree

Putting off eating to do his workAlways remaining so impeccably low key

When he is there, his presence is feltHe’ll always be like a brother to me

~Rachel Wormuth

~ Aiden Wilson

ergo fall 2015

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