SPRING '05 SEMESTER WRITING CONTEST WINNERS Sponsored by the English/Social Sciences Department Fiction 1st Place: “Alphabet City” Victoria Guerrero 2nd Place: “Last Dance” Anita Luckett Poetry 1st Place: “I Rose” Cynthia Saldaña 2nd Place: “As I Remember Him" Victoria Guerrero Honorable Mention “Gradual” Nancy Rivera “Stolen Innocence” Victoria Guerrero I Rose (a tribute to Maya Angelou) by Cynthia Saldaña When I was a kid you tried To leave me Left me there, Like you didn't need me, but …I Rose… Homelessness, depression No job, no education, No kind of preparation, but …I Rose… Dirty little secrets That lay hidden at home Never to be known, but …I Rose… Injustice at my door Made me explode with anger and distress, Mad at a system that is still a mess, No apologies, no one confessed, but …I Rose… 13, decided to leave With no hesitation Little did I know About the street temptations, but …I Rose… Met a man with age, filled with rage Decided he would hold me in a cage, but Page 2 …I Rose… I would like to thank "the Judge" Who thought for 4 years That my life was a prank They no longer believed in me, but …I Rose… Now, look at me Mother of six With a college degree, Writing and sharing My poetry, Thanks to the hardships That inspired me To be Who it is that I Am destined to be, "a Judge" I Rise I Rose I have Risen and I Will Keep On Rising! Alphabet City by Victoria Guerrero I grew up on Seventh Street and Avenue D, better known as Alphabet City which is located on the lower east side of Manhattan. I don't live there anymore, but the old neighborhood, memories and all, still live in me. I still remember the good times I had in my old elementary school, my favorite hangouts, the businesses in the area and some of the people. The building my family and I lived in was fourteen stories tall. I remember being a little girl looking way up and wondering if the people who lived on the top floor could reach out their windows and touch the clouds. I lived way down below on the second floor, which was fine with me because I'm afraid of heights. If you looked out of my window you could see clear into the Medical/Dental Clinic across the street. I remember seeing the people sitting in their chairs waiting for their number to appear on the little screen, indicating that it was their turn to see the doctor. When I was going to enter first grade my mother took me to get my shots. I was so terrified it took my mother and two nurses to hold me down; they quickly let go when I peed on myself. P.S. 64, was located two avenues away on Avenue B and Sixth Street. Some of my best memories are of the six years I spent there. It's where I had my first fight, the first time I kicked a boy where it hurts the most, and where I used to take Jeremiah's hair, which was down to his knees, wrap it around his neck and drag him around the gym floor. After school I would go to the penny candy store on Seventh Street between Avenues D and C. It was always packed with kids playing video games and just hanging out listening to music on the jukebox. You could go in there with ten cents and come out with ten candies. In the back, in a secret room, you'd find adults illegally playing slots and poker machines. After the cops raided it, for what seemed like the hundredth time, it went out of business. I was eleven. The amphitheater, located on the south side of my building, was where I went to see the beautiful shows that were put on during the summer months. I saw beauty contests, talent shows, and festivals celebrating Puerto Rican pride. It was also where I had my first kiss. I was fourteen and it had taken me a whole year to work up the nerve to tell Nelson that I liked him. When he leaned in to kiss me I burst out laughing because I was so nervous. I'm glad I finally stopped laughing because it was a kiss I would never forget. In front of my building was a large play area. It was surrounded by wooden benches where las bonchicheras would sit all day and gossip about everyone who walked by. The kids in the neighborhood, including myself, would play skellies, hopscotch, jump rope, and football here. Every now and then a gun fight would break out and everyone would run into my building until it was over. Across the street, on the same block of the medical/dental clinic was the Chinese restaurant, where I learned to say curse words in Chinese. On the other side of the clinic was the grocery store where my mother took fiao. When we ran out of groceries she would get the essentials on credit until the food stamps came in. Across the street on the other corner of Seventh Street was Dave's Pharmacy where my father spent lots of time sharing war stories with Dave and his other friends. Next to the pharmacy was La Placita, the neighborhood fruit and vegetable stand. The owners were a sweet Puerto Rican couple who spoke little English, but that didn't stop them form being adored by everyone who lived in the area. continued on page 13 Page 3 As I Remember Him by Victoria Guerrero I don't think of the man during the last of his days. The frail look upon his face, the cane in his hand helping him to keep his balance, the way he huffed and puffed to walk a short distance. I don't think of the feeling of skin on bones underneath my hands as I helped him to his feet, the way he looked away in shame with tears in his eyes. I think of the man who loved life, the man who played handball with vigor everyday when he picked me up from school, who swung all my friends on the wheel in the park and earned their love. I keep him, the man in the photo, that heavyset man with the smile on his face, standing proudly beside me in the Puerto Rican Day Parade. I keep him the man with his arms opened wide, always waiting, always welcoming me to rush into them. My dad's hands, warm and strong, caressing my hair and saying, I Love You Mama. Page 4 Last Dance by Anita Luckett I can remember this day because the air was heavy and the wind flew through the strands of her hair like impressions on the ocean. Her restless feet were pale and abrade, like she had been running for miles prior to her coming to this abandoned overpass that sheltered nothing but darkness and sadness. Her white wedding dress was frayed and heaved against the poles of the bridge. It is a bridge I come to when I just need time to reflect. I could tell that she was troubled by the tears trickling down her face and how her arms were spread in the air like a baby bird waiting to fly. As I got closer to her she took a step towards her destiny. I froze in my position, suddenly feeling like I held the strings to her last dance. I wanted to ask her why, but I knew this would only induce more pain, so I looked intently into her eyes hoping that somehow I could make it all go away. The water beneath us resembled a black hole and the only light I could see was from a broken street lamp. I tried to speak, but my voice gave out. As she danced along the edge I closed my eyes, hoping that something deep inside her would change her mind. But when I opened my eyes she was no longer there, not even a ripple of water to attest that she had jumped. Gradual (for my sister-iin-llaw) by Nancy Rivera Yvonne sleeps forever. Lungs run out of air, Breathing is shallow, gurgling gasping for another chance Says I love you in a panting voice, attempts to smile Dialogue is minimal, Coughing is persistent the phlegm clogs the passageway, Moans and cries for more treatment and medication, Appetite is no longer a necessity, Slowly sips ice water Listens closely to family and friends, Hugs and holds close with anticipation, Attempts to make her audience laugh Paces back and forth, Tries to take out the tubes and refuses care, In denial of what is going to happen Legs can no longer function, Bones begin to show through, 50 lbs lighter, Cares no more for her arroz con abichuelas, Forgets about moving and attaches herself to the bed, Hair falls off Face gets pale with less emotion, Cough is overwhelming, Hasn't seen a doctor in years and finally goes, Complains of a bothersome cold Allergic to comb and brush, wears an everlasting moño, Slightly overweight and proud of her chichos, Enjoys to cook and 'comer sin pena', Every one goes to her with their drama, a good friend First one screaming 'Que viva Puerto Rico!!' in the annual parade Dances to every song while taking sips of Henney, Walks the entire projects', chattin' with her girlz, Smokes her joint like a hippie in the 70's, Lights up her 2-3-pack habit Yvonne lives A carefree life. Page 5 At Night I Cry By Gary Roszko Sometimes I sit awake at night and cry out of pain or hurt to release everything within me I cry - Stolen Innocence By Victoria Guerrero The sounds were deafening. She could only listen to his moans as she screamed internally, hoping to be heard, but no one came to rescue her precious little soul. It was so long ago, though it feels like yesterday. She still hears his menacing whispers, still feels his heavy body, suffocating. She still feels his enormous hands, caging. Could life be so cruel, as to take away the innocence of a child so abruptly, so painfully? Can desire of human need reach such a point where malice overpowers human compassion? Unfortunately life must go on. No one will ever know the truth of what evils he committed. She'll move on laggardly, her silence slowly killing her soul, until one day she'll l find the strength to tell someone. Page 6 for the ugliness I see everyday for the babies with no mothers for the mothers with no babies for those that died so I could be free I cry for the poor But more tear drops for the rich. I cry because they think that paper makes them better. I cry for everything yet I cry for nothing cry because I know that we are born to die yet few of us ever really live. Sometimes I go to sleep so full of life only to wake up dead the next morning. Now I am tired of crying, tired of being unheard I won't shed tears for the fallen. I will stand and fight Not with my fist But with my mind. I will not pound on the door and demand to be let in nor will I sneak in the back door. I will force them to open the front door and welcome me. Then while I am on the inside my unheard tears will find a voice I will let it be known that we do not cry alone. We all have a unique story to tell Struggles we've been through, Battles we've won. They've made us stronger, --Wiser, --Made us who we are. Liife Has Just Begun We are warriors fighting to achieve We are achievers - and we will succeed. We end one journey to begin anew, In the quest for power, Education is the key. There are no gradations And only infinite expectations. When you reflect back on becoming a Monroe Graduate What will your story be? Will you mention the sleepless nights Or the day you cried over the person you loved telling you: "You would be nothing without me!" Or will you remember the person who inspired you? - Encouraged you to climb just a little higher? Who said you were beautiful? Who believed in you and saw the fire? Will your life read like a Novel? Or a Fairytale? What is your new found voice? What is your new found faith? Who have you become in the face of Adversity? Class of 2005 - LIFE HAS JUST BEGUN!! Written by Victoria Guerrero, Nancy Rivera, and Gary Roszko. (Special thanks to Professor Rodriguez for his faith in this project, as well as his editorial assistance.) We would also like to thank the wonderful and dedicated Creative Class of spring 2005 - guys, life has just begun! Page 7 The Senses of My Life By Margaretta Patterson How beautiful and translucent. You have the colors of a prism. Cherry red, deep sky blue, green of the Belizean Sea, with so many others in the light, they pour over me in complete unison. I feel pleasure in your existence. How bright and solid you stand. Picturesque like the Sedona Desert with its mountains so red and yet as strong as the vortex you feel but cannot see. Still amazing in all your glory. How sweet the scent. Like the rainforest after the rain leaves. The mist is continuously soothing to its habitats as the sweet smell of Jasmine floats in the air and the slight scent of eucalyptus embraces my soul. Passion's Flames By Diana Paulino Euphoria descends on me with delight. How wonderful the soft and comforting touch. I can't see it, but I feel it, her embrace is glorious. Now I succumb to the warm waters flowing over me. I'm evaporating-being one with her. I feel as if a great cleansing has begun. How delightful the sounds as though one thousand Harps were being played as one. Oh, how wonderful the chimes being orchestrated by the wind. Like the ceremony of the forest fairies about to take flight. Music of the forest delights my soul and I dance about for hours - a rhythm without end. A touch, soft and tender A whisper, full of desire A gasp of sweet surrender As passion fuels the fire No No No No words spoken between them promises to be kept lies being told tonight looking back, no regrets Longing to hold each other Such precious little time Both vowed to another Being lonely our only crime Tomorrow bringing sorrow A brief moment of this one night With the memory of this one night A release from passion's flames Page 8 Black is Beautiful The Flower and the Bee By Shakeema Smalls I am black and beautiful, deep dark skin, dark brown eyes with dark brown hair. This is me, dark as can be. I have a bright smile, which people love to see. I smile all the time 'cause that's just me. I love when people stare and By Myrna Henao admire my complexion, and here I was thinking it was my I feel naked when your eyes are on me. imperfection. Growing up I never knew that I would see the day that I would love my skin in every single way. I've I am trembling, I am sweating, endured being picked on, being teased, and kids being just I feel your fingertips playing with my plain mean to me for something I had nothing to do with. I hair. can't help if my skin is darker than yours, or my hair is darker than hers, or that my eyes are darker than his, Is that the moment? because that's just me. Take it or leave it because that's the Your breathing is heavy now, way it is. I touch your sweat, I am the darkest one in my family. I never understood You are getting closer and closer. why it was this way. My mom is not light, but not as dark as me. I never understood how this could be. My dad is kind My heart is pounding, of light or has caramel skin. Where am I? I don't fit in. I have Beating so fast. three sisters and two brothers, none as dark as me, but a few come close and that's ok with me. I cannot change the You are sipping my sweetness, way I am because that's just me. People judge you on the You are fulfilling my desires, skin you are in. That is not fair, but now I don't really care. I cannot move, You can be my friend and love me for the person I am on Your warm skin is touching mine, the inside. It's lovely in there. Too bad you won't take the time to see I am as lovely as can be, just get to know me. Please, don't go! Take it or leave it because that's the way it is. This is me, I need you so bad beautiful as can be. I have learned to love myself in every single way. I But you have other lips to kiss never thought I'd see the day, when the color of my skin Besides mine, doesn't determine whether I fit in. What matters is being How cruel that is. who you are and staying true to yourself and you will learn to love everyone else. This is me, dark as night, but sweet I am by myself - once again. as a peach on a hot summer day. I love myself in every way. I'd never change who I am any day. I'm just me, black and beautiful, in every way. Page 9 I'll Show You Who I am By Nancy Rivera I'll show you who I am Where does reality begin and end? does it lie within a circle's flow? Am I me from the past, or me from now, and where did the old child go? Did you know that it's easier to believe the bad and think that we're the cause of hurts played out upon us deep and long? Turned inside out and back again the sense of who I used to be is caught in a drowning thunderstorm Can you recognize the smell of fear, or see what color it paints your dreams? Have you ever willed your lungs to breathe yet prayed that very breath would somehow cease? Did you know that breaking bones go crunch and the sound will never leave your ears? Did you know that bodies break, not bend, as the spirit fills with tears? Did you know the sound from your lungs can become a devil's scream, harsh and thin and shrill? And that dying forces can overcome us and some scars never heal? You can't find who you are inside to connect to what is real You think he can't enter your spirit, that you're fighting off the blows, but time reflects your error as he settles deeper than you know I wear the mask, I dance the dance of a woman free from scars and pain, but remove the mask and I'm unrecognizable even though I look the same Page 10 Chick Flicks By Jevin K. Ramjattan We could sit and watch chick flicks together. Cry until our eyes burn, reminiscing about forever. Huddle up and wipe each other's tears in the warm glow of our TV, on the floor, at the base of our chairs, with popcorn stuck in our teeth. At every breakup we hold each other tight. At every love scene we hold our heads and cry. Sensitive sides emerge, deep in love, these pent up minds submerge. Now, as the credits roll, We kiss: Like a romantic comedy, but in the end, It's more Romantic, then comic. When We First Met (Dedicado con mucho carino para Lina) By Luis Crespo Do you remember how we first met? It's one of the sweetest memories I possess. I look back and see us both-two strangers, meeting for the first time. Who would have guessed then how our friendship would grow, and become as binding as only we both know. Whether tempest blows, or gale or storm, to know that I have you to lean my head on, Whether strife you encounter, or battle, or war, I'm here for you. Maybe, when the years have passed, and I, with my wrinkled cheeks, am sad, perhaps with all hopes dashed to the ground, perhaps dreams, all shattered, shall surround, the thought of you will make me smile. For though my eyes are weak and old and my mind is feeble, there remains one thing I can never forget I will still remember, when we first met. Page 11 "Let it go!" By Cynthia Saldaña Goodnight By Stephanie Diaz So many stories to tell, That when I hear them, It rings a bell Is this girl in my world? Can she see what's in me? Bulldoze the bed where we made love, bulldoze the whole room. Shattered pieces of glass are reflections of my heart's pain. Coincidence, not But her story Said a lot - Forget about the clock on the wall that once told us time was on our side - Five generations of pain So many women with strain How to deal with The stress on the brain, It's insane - May the hands fall off. Flames of my anger burn with memories I see in pictures, my soul withering away, the color fading like a rose in the throes of death. Forget about the damn dreams That I held filled with smiles and laughter. Damn the thought that love was mine to keep but more like a butterfly that could not be held. I walk my path in silence. Now the darkness of the night is a reminder of my loneliness. The house is empty. Shadows cover its light. The happiness that was once there is now exiled into someplace unknown. Goodnight. Page 12 How two stories are almost the same. What can I do to break this cycle? Speak to the weak? Let them learn The lessons you have To teach? My girl Go on and preach! And even if you cry We'll understand the Pain you hold inside, And feel what it is to set your story free, Let go of the misery. And then you will see That you are changing history! Surrender By Stephanie Diaz Don't look at me any more. Your eyes are fierce and shadowed, on the hunt. Mine are like mirrors, you see the reflection of the pain in my soul Hear my heart pounding like a drum. It is love, it is war. I suffer from the scars you leave, each one deeper than the last. I'm who you want me to be. It is my love for you that makes me surrender? what am I to do? With every battle I lost, I lose more and more of me. You've left me wounded, cut, and bleeding, creating a widespread panic throughout my being. I am in love, I am at war. "Alphabet City" continued from page 3 On the side of the amphitheater you crossed the street to the walk bridge that led to the East River Park. During the summer, my mom would spend hours there sunbathing while my brother and I played on the swings. My brother lost his virginity there when he was eighteen. He made the mistake of confiding in Nelson, my boyfriend. Nelson told me and, of course, being the perfect little sister, made a local broadcast it to everyone I knew. In my building lived the lunch lady from my elementary school. All the kids knew her, but not because she served us lunch at school, but because she was also the garden lady. Her name was Margarita. She and her husband planted gardens all around the neighborhood trying to make it seem more tropical and colorful. I loved to look at all the pretty flowers she planted. She died when I was fifteen and her gardens died with her. I go back to my old neighborhood often but it's not the same. Most of the places I remember no longer exist, like the amphitheater. It was knocked down a few years ago. Most of the businesses have been replaced with new businesses and most of the kids I grew up with have either moved away, are in jail, or are caught up in drugs. Most of las bonchicheras have since died and have been replaced with thugs looking for trouble. It may not be the same, but as long as the memories are alive in me it won't ever be gone. Page 13 More Then You Will Ever Be By Mary Ann Garcia Come To Me By Mary Ann Garcia I was in your arms Thinking I belonged there But I was just a fool You weren't playing by the rules Sun beams bouncing off your gleaming eyes Whisking me off to the beach in my daydreams I can walk down that road again With someone like you by my side I could sense you slipping away The fear in your eyes that I would plead for you to stay But I held strong and Let you go your way My faith in love cannot be destroyed You make me laugh so much I had forgotten I cried Heart looking for a home Sometimes I still think you're here too Turning on lights, T.V. and the radio Still can't escape the ghost of you I can't cry for yesterday Here today, fearing tomorrow I still stand strong Despite the drowning sorrow I can smile to cover a lie And tell you that I'm fine But now you are pale faced Because I'm in a better place - More then you will ever be Page 14 There was a feeling of a soft hand Caressing my tender heart So one story ends and this is Where I will start…again Swallowed pride, with closed eyes and Toned down hurt walking towards The chance that many are afraid to take See the fruits of a little patience Sensing your private emotions I dreamt of holding your hand I open my eyes and see you Come to me Four Walls By Sarah Altamirano The four walls that I wouldn't forget I looked at those four walls until he was done, crying in fear that it wouldn't happen again The coldness of this place will never leave my mind I have cried and cried His rough hands were like sandpaper against my soft skin, trying to catch my breath every time his hands left my mouth He gave me so much pain that I will never forget burning through the deepest depths of my soul At this moment I thought I was at the end of what I thought was a wonderful life He stalks out of the room, I do not knowing what is going to happen next I am now running down the street screaming for help Now to the precinct for a line up four walls, closing in again La Bomba (for my grandmother) By Shanua Rodriguez The voice calls From deep inside will I pull it for you and for me I will canta a song of call and response for my Boricua ancestors out of the utmost respect for the bomba that has grooved me and schooled me Calling from unseen places, my grandmothers and grandfathers before me help me play and repeat Hearts with strong hands I'm willing to play with Indio heart & Afro seasoning I will play, gripping and grasping the words, feeling your feet pound the pavement traditionally just like the ones kidnapped before you I will play Tears stream down my face hand slaps and sweeps wrists gripping and grasping the words feeling your feet pound the pavement traditionally in the ancestral light and I will play with dark hands with Boricua roots Willingly Page 15 The Literary Magazine of Monroe College Creative Campus is a publication of Monroe College Bronx, New York 10468 New Rochelle, New York 10801 Subversive Moon by Jorge Rodriguez Subversive moon tonight between you and I. The sigh of silk, the intoxication of your heat, sublime. Subversive moon tonight between you and I. Fall, 2005 The hunger for you lips, your hair, your thighs, beneath this dark Borinquen sky. Copyright © 2005 - Monroe College Student Contributors Sarah Altamirano Luis Crespo Stephanie Diaz MaryAnn Garcia Victoria Guerrero Myrna Henao Anita Luckett Margaretta Patterson Diana Paulino Jevin K. Ramjattan Nancy Rivera Gary Roszko Cynthia Saldaña Shakeema Smalls Subversive moon tonight between you and I. Layout & Art Shanua U. Rodriguez Losing ourselves in this passion, this temptation - Faculty Advisor Jorge Rodriguez You are invited to contribute to future issues of Creative Campus Contact Professor Rodriguez Email: [email protected] Or drop by Room 916 West Hall Monday through Thursday from 12 pm to 2:30 pm Evening students may submit items to Professor Ted Goldstein, Director of the Bachelor’s degree program New Rochelle students may submit items to Professor Suzanne Young, Milavec Hall All entries must be submitted on 3.5" disks or emailed and labeled appropriately. This issue is dedicated in loving tribute to my father, Miguel Rodriguez. I miss you. you are my dark queen, and I am your wicked denomination. Subversive moon, between you and I.