Elizabeth Obermeier // Graphic Design
Abby Koch // Graphic Design
Iandra Estupinian // Photography
Angela Chen // Photography
Riley Custer // Intaglio
Mitch Keller // Photography
Riley Custer //
Melissa Gillete // Photography
Elise O’Regan // Graphite
Jessica Pleuss // Photography
Shelby Prindaville //
Rachel Steinkamp // Photography
Tracie Tuttle // Oil on Canvas
Kiosk, 1997, Volume 59
Eric Knell
Two distant souls
weary from the dance
take their seats
to watch dreams brush by
as a sea of coupled hearts
teeming with passion
swells between them
both longing,
both hoping,
both praying
for that one moment
when the sea will divide
and unite their lonely eyes
and unite their lonely eyes
as they take the floor
to embrace one another
granting His wish.
Devyn Reilly // Mixed Media
When my sole came loose
on a street in New York
and began slapping the sidewalk
like Bozo, Clarabelle, Chaplin,
my flat-topped friends stood off.
We had ditched school,
piled into the Chevy,
and driven across Jersey
to NYC for the day.
But now they were gone,
drifting up the sidewalk
while I fished in trash cans
along the curb until I caught
shiny wire from a dead bouquet
and wound it around to bind
my sad sole. I tried to catch
my friends again, but I was
a boy limping along like a bum,
and I lost them in the press
of St. Mark’s Place, where I hobbled,
weird in my wired shoe,
and no one asked me for change,
and no prostitutes wanted a date.
It was if I had dropped through
some grate in the world.
That’s when a long-hair
sitting on the sidewalk
gave me the victory sign.
“Hey silver-shoe,” he cooed,
“that is completely cool.”
