Glassworks Apprentice Summer 2019 by Glassworks Magazine

Spring 2019

glassworks APPRENTICE

special issue featuring young authors and artists from Kingsway Regional High School Woolwich Township, NJ a publication of Rowan Universityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Master of Arts in Writing

The staff of Glassworks magazine would like to thank Rowan University’s Master of Arts in Writing Program, Laura Fiorentino, and Kingsway Regional High School in Woolwich Township, New Jersey Cover Art: Moon Light by Emily Turner Cover Design & Layout: Katie Budris

EDITOR IN CHIEF Katie Budris SENIOR EDITORS Steve Royek Myriah Stubee ASSOCIATE EDITORS Jenna Burke Laura Kincaid Glassworks is available both digitally and in print. See our website for details: RowanGlassworks.org Glassworks accepts literary poetry, fiction, nonfiction, craft essays, art, photography, short video/film & audio. See submission guidelines: RowanGlassworks.org Glassworks is a publication of Rowan University’s Master of Arts in Writing Program Correspondence can be sent to: Glassworks c/o Katie Budris Rowan University 260 Victoria Glassboro, NJ 08028 E-mail: GlassworksMagazine@rowan.edu

Copyright © 2019 Glassworks Glassworks maintains First North American Serial Rights for publication in our journal and First Electronic Rights for reproduction of works in Glassworks and/or Glassworks-affiliated materials. All other rights remain with the artist.

glassworks APPRENTICE Spring 2019 Volume 4

MASTER OF ARTS IN WRITING PROGRAM ROWAN UNIVERSITY

The Beginning of Forever Vy Nguyen I embrace the future in meek, naive arms, Breathing in cool, frosted air through an unknowing nose, Basking in glorious, bitter winds striking young, blushed cheeks, Not knowing any better, still smiling, always. And when I look forward, I see miles and miles of untouched pavement, kissed by sunlight, Calling my name, our names, to run, run, run. I know sunshine cannot last forever, I know that the purity I perceive is only fleeting. I know that this moment— My stillness, the ground’s quiet tremble, my heart’s steady drumming— Will not always be so. So I chose to run, run, run In whichever direction, whenever, however, For as long, for as far, as the air and wind and sunshine can carry me I embrace the unknown, the enigma, The questions to which I may never know, may never need, answers. I never knew what joys, what colors, What a pure, sweet love I had missed out on Until this very moment, And for the first time ever, I am alive.

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The Garden of Eve Katelyn Rosario Blooming flowers, Roots deep, I can stare for hours. The smell of sweet lies Distracts the mind, Leading to our own demise. Without me, Your heart could never Feel carefree. A weedless garden, Brought to me by you, Trying to gain a free pardon. Emoting the same old song, To the beat of my drum, Fully aware that you are wrong. Stealing from the heart that feeds you Will never fully please you. This garden is mine, Incapable of destruction, Regardless of the storms you twine.

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Something Blue Rosie Chirip Every night we scan the stars, Some look for peace, Some look for hope. We’ve looked into space for centuries, Hoping to find something blue. We can look out into the cosmos, We can see for billions of miles. We’ve searched and hoped for another world, That could keep our hopes alive, That could make humanity new. But we find there is no other, No distant world for us to thrive. Nowhere in the far away universe, That can keep our dreams alive. Why do we keep searching, Why can’t we take care of our own? It seems to me much more simple, To just take care of our home. There’s nowhere beyond the horizon, No where we can travel to. We can search for a thousand more years, And not find something blue.

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The Petal Chaney Caraccio “Relaxed” is the thing with petals— The thing that sees the world from below— And is known for its beauty And seen as something to love The thing that has no mouth— Yet seems to speak a thousands words A symbol of grace and love— A promise kept away from everyone Each one different from another, Unique in its own way— Starts from nothing but a single seed To become a beautiful, inspiring Part of nature

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Off Season James Greene Most often, beach days are felt suspended in suffocating awareness of one’s surroundings. Everything tinted powder blue, And— moving slowly like a hesitant touch. Silver clarity— the tiny details hidden behind, but blurred at the edges, A mournful tug in the heart for an overcast, chilly day— brine scent in the air.

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Peak Nia McCombs The unchanging character of her springtime soul yearns for the fresh air that life has yet to bring. Radiant and real and amongst the roses a wish that was whispered out of her strawberry lips waits to be heard. Fierce in the eye of man, exuding the sweetness of womanhood and its developing creation through generations to come. It is then that her stubborn mind interferes with the opaque beauty that the world offers, and the mischievous honesty calls and she easily answers unknowing the mountains of consequences she will climb. But, continuing on that mount, a leader arises. Cultivating the minds of the others that are climbing, through overwhelming and unceasing love that flows to the valleys of a heart merging to the depths of a soul and wiping away unsureness. And there is boldness when she reaches the peak. Her stature is small, yet her purpose is great. Sweeping the masses of those who doubted.

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Alive Becca Brown It plays in my head—like a poignant symphony that floods my mind with the images of a life—engulfed in pain— and all you could do was lay there—silent—with everything happening around you—clueless yet—as to what you have been through —but I was there—standing still in front of you—not being able to take my eye off of you—because that room—the blank walls and cold floors and machines that were clinging to your life—they mesmerized me— not because I was intrigued—but because these are what kept you alive—I laid my head across your chest—allowing my ear to marry where your maternal heart used to be safe and protected—but it wasn’t there—the rhythm that used to rock me to sleep—dried my tears when I cried—it wasn’t there, instead this stranger’s heart rang in my ear—but I think you’re still there—the most important part of you is gone—but I know you’re still There—this change is just a new part of you—one I have to learn to love.

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Self Portrait Jessica Zhang

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Full Kylie Ennis Faces are full of stories, In every line round the mouth, I see a tale. A tale of its journey; Of past grins and laughs... The wide spread smiles and the closed mouth ones... The snickers through the teeth and the hearty belly laughs... And the long late night conversations. Those are the conversations where new memories are made; The ones that last forever. Where new loves are made... Life time friends are found... And goodbyes to a loved one are concluded. But those mouths most beautiful, are with those lines It reflects they have lived a life full, They have celebrated life, They have lived life. In every freckle scattered upon a face, I see a tale. Those spots are of kisses from the sun, The time frollicking spent outside... The happiness and warmth of the world around us... The embodiment of youthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s free spirit... It reflects they have lived a life full, They have celebrated life, They have lived life. In every blue, green, brown, black, and hazel eye, I see a tale. Of pain and sorrow, The nights spent crying over lost lovers, and lost loved ones... The eyes straining to read at old age, for they have lost their springtime... Yet they are the windows to the soul, The true emotions can be seen... The raw turmoil held from others but kept within... It reflects they have lived a life full, They have celebrated life, They have lived life. The face is only a fraction of the body, And in the face alone hundreds of stories can be viewed, Imagine what the full body tells of your lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s story. You both physically and metaphorically represent your... Struggles... Joys... Losses... And the Times past... Of a full life.

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Flight of the Fledgling Laurel Hannigan Joyous, I place one trembling foot before the other, As a fledgling leaving nest, terrified yet thrilled For the beginning of the rest of a life lived loving and being loved. Here I find my heart embracing a world That calls to me with utmost seduction. Waiting—waiting—for the warmth of sun and cool kiss of rain, For the abstract brushstrokes of sunset that will grace the sky, For that golden light dripping tenderly down my naked form, And the unparalleled elegance of winter’s first snow, Soft but boldly, unapologetically pure. Rejoice! This pleasant day is only beginning, And I take its hand gladly. Rejoice! All that I know is from past days lived, And how many still unlived I do possess! Rejoice! We are brethren; we are children of the earth! What a miraculous thing! Rejoice! I inhale, I exhale, And take flight.

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The Nights to Remember Brianna DiFebbo Breaking free of that cold weathering depression— Gloomy days, fiercely cold nights Killing the light— Cold skin, frostbitten hands Looking for warmth. Then— The sun makes me feel alive— Nature returning to life, As the rays shine a little longer, And my luminous-tan grows a few shades darker— Like the night— Nights become immortal, Stars seemingly glow even brighter— These are the days I live for, And the nights I cherish more— Boat rides, and good times, Bonfires and star gazing, Firefly chasing, listening to waves crashing— These are the things I celebrate.

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Heavy Hearted-Poem Madison Gibbs I stayed up all last night. I waited for something so unreal I felt dumb— He asked, “Another game?”— And, I turned my phone over; I felt different. And, Everyone was blowing up my phone last night, With the same stupid question. Over and over and over again. Ur probably overthinking this. He may be kidding. You do not need him. You have your friends. He is completely irrelevant. Should I reply? I mean, what could go wrong?

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The Ocean Dress Matthew Warren Two Years, After the day They have passed. From summer to winter again— The ocean’s smell Clouds the air Resurfacing Damp memories Long since suppressed. Two Weeks Until they were to be Together— For life. The man Had his stone suit. The Woman Had her Ocean Dress. Two Minutes until the moment. Before the joining Of two worlds. A man with a mask With a forty-five With an intent. 4 Rubies 3 Pearls 2 Rings 1 Shot The Ocean Dress Floats silently In the Red Water

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Cognizance Beach Jake Gillespie My memory of you gets washed away, As you fade into waves of the sea Again, my mind seems to go astray The memory of you is killing me I sit on the rocks of the beach as I ponder Drowning your memory in the water below Will you ever find your way back, I wonder I want to run back but my heart says no All my friends tell me that I should move on But I see you in the night, you come to me I want to get rid of you, I want to be done But you stay in my dreams, you won’t let me be I try to control my mind from thinking of you But I hope you don’t do the same as I do Promise you’ll remember, for I’ll remember you Nothing compares to loving you.

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Giantâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Causeway, Ireland Tatyana Prepsel

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Almost Unconditional Amanda Chhour My mother always said my father was made from dirt and rubbish. She glistened—plated porcelain and jade. In the winter my soul loathes, porcelain reigns a bleached face. In the summer my soul knows, my mother sees dirt. But I—and my father—are beyond dirt and rubbish. We are the stone and the gold of Angkor Wat—born from the gods of Angkor Thom—our blood, the banks of Tonle Sap—our eyes, the swamps of Siem Reap. But despite this beauty, we are in constant War with ourselves and those around. We are in Poverty from loving too much or too little. We are in Hunger from longing but never seeking. We are in Debt from those who have done nothing but take. My father always said my mother was made from the same things we are. But she is armored with porcelain and jade.

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Lost Eli Ingram The lowly bird chirp from behind the wall— The most excitement I gain, from my pathetic brain. This room brings back memories; I am in great pain. In, out, in, out—the breaths of the trapped. The now gusty breeze through the divots in the brick The chills shiver me colder and colder—jaw shaking—no control. Stuck, stuck in this room—no escape, no chances— Trapped thoughts—I don’t want remembrance. The door locked—never opened—not a soul to help. Trapped—in, out, in, out—the breaths of the trapped. The door locked, with no chance of escape for me Nothing to do—trapped in this old, dead room.

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Locked Victoria McCormick feeling a sense of self has always been quite hard for me. the strangest things—this is felt, like—in my qualities. one thing— my long, two feet of lovely locks, brown hues that people pay for but I am lucky; I did not. I take a lot of pride in it, my hair. they say it is feminine and that it makes me appealing, but they’re not genuine. something has been changing in me, and I don’t know why—maybe I want to cut those long, brown locks to really catch his eye. a change is what I’m looking for, a change from the girl that I was, ‘cause life’s been changing quite a lot, and now—all I see is flaws.

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Sunflower Girl Kat Bott Misunderstood. Your mind, your soul—I see, through long grown thorns—Sadly, they’re rooted strongly to you. You don’t need them— they breach your stem—Roughly. sunflower girl—Hear me, they’re still rooted to you. Your lovely soul—it is brightly grown in yellow sun; those thorns belong on red.

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Come Find Me Colin Hickey After today, I’ll never be the same. To be honest, I shouldn’t really care. It’s all a hilarious joke, a game; Those who feel the same, they refuse to share. Or maybe it’s just me who is crazy, Everyone else just goes on with their day. Clearly, I’ve no choice but to be lazy; I have to pick a spot in bed to stay. If it weren’t for expectations, I would; Every step kills me a little bit more. Try to find the answer, but it’s no good; I guess no one’s gotten through the locked door. Hopefully someone finds the missing key; Whoever solves the riddle—come find me.

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Intimacy Lucas Hampel this young man with a future— attentive—painting a picture diligently improving my game proud of what I became— turning nothing into something— I am motivated always cultivated— others—wasting their time minding my own business nevertheless— definition of cleverness I know HE is beside me— shaping me into who I want to be

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The Davids Abby Patel Miles away, in a perfect world, they have it better, the green grass, below blue skies, taking away from our torn up town, where innocence dies, and life doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t live. Though the rain will fall, causing a hurricane, sinking us deep, floating them above, pushing past the currents, towards the beach they lay, just another obstacle, we overcome day by day, The sun is shining, but itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s far from here, glowing on the fortunate, shading on the low, this unfortunate world, we must begin, ten feet behind, as they take the head start, in front of us, attempting to catch up behind. We will never be as powerful as them, our Goliaths.

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The Mona Lisa Meghan Haggert I broke the Mona Lisa last night, And I shared pieces with the world. I am a betrayerâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; I should have kept it curled. It slipped right off my tongue, A skier in the slopes. Your trust I decomposed, Forgive me, for dashing hopes. At the time, my mind was white Not realizing what I had done, But now we can start afresh, Back where we first begun. She took years to paint, Yet, just moments to shatter, So I shall reach for my brush and canvas, To prove your trust, truly matters.

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contributors Lucas Hampel Laurel Hannigan

Kat Bott

Colin Hickey

Becca Brown

Eli Ingram

Chaney Caraccio

Nia McCombs

Amanda Chhour

Victoria McCormick

Rosie Chirip

Vy Nguyen

Brianna DiFebbo

Tatyana Prepsel

Kylie Ennis Madison Gibbs Jake Gillespie

Abby Patel

James Greene

Katelyn Rosario

Meghan Haggert

Emily Turner Matthew Warren Jessica Zhang

About This Issue This issue is a collaboration between the editors of Glassworks magazine and students from Kingsway Regional High School in Woolwich Township, New Jersey