Mallory Otten - Pine River Anthology

Mallory Otten
Pine Cones
Fusion is, at its essence, the state of two things coming together. Of two or
more things that are not necessarily related to each other joining hands to create something beautiful, something we can learn from, and certainly something
we can enjoy. While what comes together can be contradictory, or even shocking in the end it shows us something about ourselves, and about human nature
in general.
What this magazine is at its heart is an act of fusion bringing together both the
English and Art departments to create a fuller meaning. They feed off of each
other, inspire each other, and mesh into one piece through the sharing of ideas,
of passions, and that final goal we all have in mind no matter what our medium
happens to be – to create something unique that will inspire others and even
change perceptions about the world. It is on this common ground these students united, submitted their work, and under that mutual understanding that
they were able to bare their desires, fears and passions to the community.
So pleases come and explore. Come fuse your passions to ours, for it is here
that we can all find a common ground, to connect, and to be heard.
Written Work
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We are on Fire
Suspension
If my first name was Suzanne
The Fisherman
The Great Lake’s Summer
Current Events
An Apple’s Purpose
Snow Globe
Moonlit Mirage
A Man With No Secrets
My Wish
The Droplet
Monster
Delilah’s Paradox
Beachcombing
My First Ride
The Gravel Pit
Rain
Planted
A Child’s Song
John Benes
Carrie Frame
Meredith Brown
Carrie Frame
Matthew Wichtner
Ashley Hoke
Alexandria Corniuk
Carrie Frame
Seth Faulk
Elena Mausolf
Elena Mausolf
Rob Armbruster
Alexandria Corniuk
Seth Faulk
Caitlin Marsh
Alexandria Corniuk
Alexandria Corniuk
Jacob Hammer
Carrie Frame
Carrie Frame
Artwork
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Pine Cones
Predator
Translucent Flowers
Sunset in Venice
Marilyn
Playful Ocean
Bloom
TiareElena Jewels
Orange
October Wedding
The Woman in Blue
Gone Fishing
Koi
Eternal Youth
Slumber
La Flor
Wishes Washed Away
Standing Still
Pouring Gold
Happy Accident
Abtruse Abode
Eye of the Sunflower
Mallory Otten
Brittany Jones
Julie Helm
Kat Goffnett
Shelby Grambau
Julie Helm
Julie Helm
Meghan Kelly
Andrew Wright
Lynzee Brenner
Holly Ross
Taylor Mclane
Kelsey Irland-Wright
Josh Gove
Jacklyn Dittmar
Carolyn Kujawa
Meghan Kelly
Josh Cradduck
Lauren Moreau
Ashley Esselink
Elizabeth Webster
Molly Wiegand
The Pine River Anthology staff would like to thank all those who submitted
creative work for their continuing contribution to the Alma College community.
Special thanks to McKay Press, especially Scott McDonald, for the professional printing guidance. Also thanks to the English and Art Departments, our
wonderful advisors, as well as Student Congress, for their monetary and intellectual support.
Brittany Jones
Predator
3
We are on Fire
John Benes
Your last kiss was concussive.
It sent me careening
into the refrigerator.
It ripped fixtures from the wall.
Tossed drawers and cabinets,
throwing dishes and cutlery
in a brilliant cascade
of accusing silver and ceramic shrapnel.
It shook the very foundation of our home.
Leaving the appliances gasping for breath,
their spark brought up short.
It stole my breath too.
Leaving me red faced, heaving chested,
pulling in sip after ragged sip of something.
Something calmer than the air around your lips.
Something that did not reek of cordite and generous destruction.
Smoking ruins of a bombshell blast
in our once quiet kitchen.
4
Julie Helm
Translucent Flowers
5
Suspension
Carrie Frame
I once stood at the top of the world,
seeing the names of millions &
climbing the steps to what seemed like the closest to Heaven
I could ever get.
But it wasn’t enough.
Thousands of roses at the palace
told me otherwise, and I counted the days
until the day I could step off the plane once more
and be home.
Summer beckons me with the splashing of lake water
but I long to remain here in this night,
the moonlight glowing through the window
with the promise of long days ahead.
I taste the last spring air, feeling the lilacs on my tongue
sweet yet bitter
because I know I will soon be leaving once more.
6
Kat Goffnett
Sunset in Venice
7
If my first name was Suzanne
Meredith Brown
I’d be a different person altogether.
I would speak French fluently and shave
my legs, I’d wear light cotton dresses
in pastel
I would study politics
I would not smoke cigarettes
(ok, maybe occasionally a clove…)
I would cover up my freckles with May
belline foundation, clean ivory smell
and I’d build my credit at IKEA, or
some fancy hair salon,
and I’d never feel depressed
and I wouldn’t write until my fingers morphed
into bunched caterpillar rings
and I wouldn’t be scarred by Latin men
no words would leave rope burn around my neck
I’d be cleaner and stronger,
my pores would be smaller
and I’d go running every day,
and I would meet a man this way
and in middle age I’d get divorced and move -to Belgium?
yes, to stuff my face with chocolates
I’d spend summers shrouded in black muslin on the beach
roasting fish on rocks
mourning the day my parents named me Suzanne,
not Meredith.
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Shelby Grambau
Marilyn
The Fisherman
Carrie Frame
This is what I want you to see.
Mist over the water in the early morning
not a ripple across its glass tabletop surface
Our boat pushes forward
as if it is Moses parting the Red Sea
cutting through the still water like a swift blade
My father feels the air with his fisherman’s gaze
his silver strands of hair shimmering
as he takes us to the secret spot
where the fish are just awakening beneath us
fins flitting like butterfly wings
unaware of our peaceful plans.
He knows the fish
Their slick scales are constellations
and he is the astronomer
swimming with them through the sky of lake water
They grow weary in our world, eyes searching sanguinely for a drink
They fear they will fall out of the sky
into the dry world past the bow
He lets go
and they swim back home through the galaxy of seaweed
I look to the sunrise, orange and blue, and see my father smile
reaching out and casting another line
in his own private heaven.
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Julie Helm
Playful Ocean
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Julie Helm
Bloom
The Great Lake’s Summer
Matthew Wichtner
Sweet dark cherries, in the summer’s sun
Waves crashing gently, as we sift across the sand
Arms full of food, we’re ready and we’re smart
The evening by the beach as we wait for night start
We skim across the water as the sand begins to cool
We watch the sun go under, hiding from the land
The sound of streaking matches, the smell of maple smoke
The sweetness of the air: a seal that’s just been broke
The stars have come to play, they glimmer in their joy
Lighting up the lake, and shooting through the sky
Nighttime starts to whisper, and cover us in cold
The stories by the fire keep us from getting old
13
Current Events
Ashley Hoke
Somewhere on the coast of Italy
Lies a ship
On its side
With people still trapped inside.
Splattered across every channel
Broadcasting anything
Believed to be worth watching
By anyone that is intelligent enough to watch it.
Although they believe themselves to be so
Damn intelligent
They cannot for the life of them
Figure out why
Somewhere on the cost of Italy
Lies a ship
On its side.
Meghan Kelly
TiareElena Jewels
An Apple’s Purpose
Alexandria Corniuk
My skin is smooth against your lips
A deep red color.
My shape fits perfectly into your hand
As you bring me to your face
To sink your teeth into my flesh
And taste the cool, crisp flavor of fall.
I know my purpose has been served
As my juices drip down your chin.
And I crunch between your teeth,
Sweet, but not too sweet.
My refreshing taste lingers
On the very tip of your tongue
Even after I am gone.
Just like that delicate woman,
The one that you slept with last weekend.
The one that you still reach for,
Fingers outstretched in the middle of the night,
Whose smell still lingers on your sheets,
Whose red lips you still crave against your skin.
But for now,
I know that I am enough
To satisfy your craving, at least for tonight.
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Andrew Wright
Orange
Snow Globe
Carrie Frame
I watch the people passing me by under the yellowish glow of the
streetlamps. They all seem to be moving with a purpose, and they walk
through the glittering snowflakes without pause to marvel over the beauty
of the winter scene. I am surprised at how beautiful it seems to me at this
moment despite the hardness that I feel in my throat and the emptiness that
reverberates deep within my heart. I finger the small suede box in my hands,
looking down at it with an expression that I can only imagine echoes my
heartbreak. I venture to open it slightly, and the second that I see the shine
reflecting the streetlight back into my eyes, I snap it closed and look away
once more. Over one simple word, my life has completely changed—turned
upside down and shaken like a snow globe—and I am lost from what I
thought was in my control. My future now lies before me as a big question
mark, and I cannot shake the constant and utter shock that keeps rippling
through me.
A family of four passes by, and the littlest child, a girl, hesitates behind
her family to look at me. I am neither annoyed nor surprised, and I force a
smile. She is wearing a red velvet coat with matching earmuffs, and there are
snowflakes atop her little blond head as she glances at the box in my hands.
She doesn’t say a word, just looks quizzically at me as if waiting for me to
say something. In my loss for words, I hesitate, and her parents call for her
to follow. I nod as a form of reassurance that she should tag along, and she
nods in reply with a maturity far beyond her age before turning on her heel
and running to catch up to her family.
I look back down at my hands, at the box I cannot stand to look at
any longer. As I glance back up at the sidewalk before me, I notice a tiny red
mitten in the snow. In a moment of impulse, I jump up from my bench and
pick up the mitten, jogging quickly in order to reach the little girl.
“Excuse me,” I say as I approach them, “I believe you dropped this.”
I hold up the mitten. They thank me as I hand it to the little girl. She looks up
at me with confusion as she feels the weight in her hand, but she doesn’t
ask. I turn and walk in the other direction, the city splayed out before me
for miles. It shines with promise through the snowflakes, and I walk emptyhanded into its light.
Lynzee Brenner
October Wedding
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Holly Ross
The Woman in Blue
Moonlit Mirage
Seth Faulk
The palmettos will sober from their drunken frenzy
Enraged by the wind
And then the valley will lie
A gown of sandy silk
Washed head to toe with moonlight
Not a scorpion stirring for miles and lands.
Peace whispers
A rhythmic slur at first
Next a trumpet call of serenity
And there I will find you
Twirling beneath the sequined stars
Your moonshadows snaking along
The white gritty silk.
May I touch you, Desert Nymph?
But your body flits free
Kissing the freezing grains with your toes.
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A Man with No Secrets
Elena Mausolf
A fishbowl upon his shoulders.
no face, no head, no brains.
He didn’t need them.
Its lucid glass walls disguised the water within.
no skin, no eyes, no ears.
No expression existed.
Papery fishes slithered up and across,
no thoughts, no memories, no tears.
He had no feelings.
The golden rays pierced right through
the fishbowl upon his shoulders,
Not an obstacle in sight,
He had no secrets.
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Taylor Mclane
Gone Fishing
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Kelsey Irland-Wright
Koi
My Wish
Elena Mausolf
I want to drown in the ocean
with palm trees and fishes.
I want to gulp its salt:
let it gnaw away my insides.
I want to be a wave
and breathe no air,
to let my lungs be idle.
I want my skin to become water,
to stream away into the deep,
to let my troubles free and lucid,
to wash away my fear.
I want my heart to fill with seashells,
So they could rattle a joyful song
while I swim away from the world
into the tranquil blue.
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The Droplet
Rob Armbruster
From the inside out
My humble beginnings in a cloud
Within a shroud of vapor I abide
Until I am belched out, a lone droplet
Free falling I scream towards earth
As I persevere through the hazy atmosphere
A neighboring drop is taken
By a Boeing’s wing
So sudden, so simply
All the while still falling
Mindfully aware of my imminent destiny
I fall
Mattering nothing if I am whished by the wind
I fall
Mattering not where I land
I fall
In freedom from gravity’s slavery
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Josh Gove
Eternal Youth
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Monster
Alexandria Corniuk
The pain of losing it pierces
Through my body, even now.
He never loved me and never cared.
He only wanted one thing.
I was pushed hard to the ground
Pale fingers snapped my wrists down
Like cold, hard handcuffs.
Stitches were ripped apart
Ruining my new outfit.
I remember crying as he forced his lips on mine.
I screamed as he tore into me.
Pain rushed through my body,
But he wouldn’t stop.
Blood trickled out of me,
The deep color staining my tainted skin.
My insides ached, leaving me weak, vulnerable.
Deep purple marks were left across my body.
Laughter echoed through the room,
Followed by the zip of his jeans as he left.
Even now, he still haunts me in my dreams
But the worst part of it all is
I will never be able to tell my daughter
How much of a monster her father really is.
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Jacklyn Dittmar
Slumber
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Delilah’s Paradox
Seth Faulk
She was slim, her hair ran in ebony streams
To her hourglass waist
Her face was lovely in a pouty way
Sure she seduced him
No man could resist Delilah when she smiled
But did she love him?
With silver the captains bribed her
To find her lover’s weakness
She couldn’t answer her heart
Once, twice he lied about his source of power
How could he love her and still deny her?
But then he gave his secret
She cut his muscular hair
The army tethered and blinded him
Delilah couldn’t hurt him if she loved him
Then why did she cry
Seeing his sunken figure
Strapped to the temple columns?
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Carolyn Kujawa
La Flor
Meghan Kelly
Wishes Washed Away
Beachcombing
Caitlin Marsh
is a desperately
private act
best performed early.
Any later and you’ll have
the rest of the world
out picking through
the detritus
of your being,
pawing through
the flotsam
to see what bits it likes:
Tinfoil
for the magpies
and the war effort.
Driftwood
for the termites looking
for something aged
and seasoned.
There are prettier pieces
to be sure
hiding salt-bitter secrets.
Shells
curling cast-off bodies
in which the hermit crabs
may hide their
tender flesh.
Pearls
sugar-coated evils
made palatable
for tongues
behind tight-closed lips.
Check your map.
Do you know what you’re looking for?
You’ve arrived first.
Be quick.
The rest are coming.
33
My First Ride
Alexandria Corniuk
It was the first time I had ever gotten so close to such a beautiful
creature. I ran my hand over his thick, leathery gray skin as I hoisted myself
up, sliping my feet into the curves of his body. He stayed still as I climbed
up his side and swung my leg over his back. He began to move forward
with heavy, practiced steps. I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across
my face, but I knew he wasn’t treated well. The man in front of me held a
long, wooden stick with a metal pick at the end. He dug it into his skin; the
creature huffed as he swung his trunk and head up from the pain. It was as
if someone had just punched me in the stomach as I watched that man do it
again and again.
When I was finished and slid back down the elephant’s side, I looked
up into his eyes. Regardless of whether or not he was human or animal, I
could feel the pain he felt. From the pick, from the cement roads on his feet.
Ashamed, I brushed my hand down his trunk as my apology and turned
away.
34
Josh Cradduck
Standing Still
The Gravel Pit
Alexandria Corniuk
The old church was filled with all their family and friends, soft voices
carrying through the rafters and bouncing off the stained glass windows.
Everyone was dressed formally in long black skirts and crisp dress shirts, a
rainbow of dark ties filling the room. It was quiet. He could see her down the
aisle. She was beautiful – her long eyelashes soft against her cheeks. She
wore the most beautiful white dress that hugged her flawless shape and held
perfect red roses gently between her hands. He smiled softly, remembering
the first time he had ever kissed her.
The sun beat down on green grass that needed to be cut as they ran
through it, chasing each other and laughing. He grabbed her hand and
stopped her in the middle of the yard, his eyes lighting up with innocent
excitement.
“Abby,” he said, squeezing her hand, “let’s go to the gravel pit!” A
wide smile broke across his face, exposing his little teeth. One was missing
on the left side of the lower row.
She tilted her head slightly to the left, her blonde hair falling over her
shoulder. “The gravel pit?” she questioned. “Where is it?”
He pointed to their right where tall pine trees stood on the outskirts
of the yard, a barricade to the outside world. “Just past those trees!” He
started toward the trees, pulling on her arm to make her follow. She didn’t
hesitate to run after him, her purple dress flowing out around her as she ran.
They stopped, hand in hand, at the border of the trees. Abby tilted
her head back, her lips parted slightly as she gazed up at the tall pine trees.
Their needles were a deep, forest green, at least 4 inches long. The bark
was blotchy grey and brown.
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She reached out and touched one of the branches, pulling her fingers back
immediately as the needles pricked her fingers. She had never gotten this
close to one before; she didn’t have them at her house. “They’re evergreens,” he said, gently squeezing her hand again. “They
don’t die. They stay green forever.” She turned to look at him and met his
gaze. His hazel eyes stared at her, almost as if they were trying to tell her
something. She smiled again, her blue eyes lighting up.
“I like them, but they hurt.” They laughed.
“Look here.” He tugged on her arm again and led her around one of
the evergreens where the grass was worn down and turning brown from
being trampled on so many times. He pulled her forward, lifting a thin branch
over her head and pushing her ahead of him. They stumbled forward, bent
over to avoid being poked by any stray branches or needles.
They made it through the tree line and found themselves standing in
front of a dirt road. The road was lined with wild purple flowers growing out
of pointed green weeds. Abby leaned down and picked several of them.
“Eric,” she thrust the flowers forward so he could see them better. “Look
how pretty these are!” She laughed, her mouth spread wide into an open
smile. “Do you ever take them to your mommy?”
Eric nodded, taking the flowers from Abby. “All the time. Mommy says
they’re pretty. But let’s go down to the gravel pit. I want to show you the tadpoles!” He dropped the flowers and ran across the road, where the ground
slanted down. It was covered in sand and pebbles and more of the purple
flowers grew there, mixed with different weeds and plants. He slid down on
his heels looking back at Abby. She hesitated for a moment, her childish
eyes filled with the echoes of fear, but dared to chase after her friend.
Tall mounds of sand and gravel were piled throughout the small valley
and standing water occupied the whole right side of the area. The mounds
cast dark shadows that played across the surface of the water. Little circles
danced across the surface, getting bigger and bigger with each second.
Tadpoles of all different sizes swam around the edges of the water, disappearing into dark murkiness of the center.
Eric kneeled down just before the water, his small knees sinking into
the muck, the edges of his shorts brushing the surface of the ground. He
cupped his hands together and dipped them into the pond, scooping up a
handful of water. He stood back up again and called to Abby, who had wandered over to the bottom of one of the dirt mounds.
“Abby! I caught one! Come see!” Water dripped from the cracks be-
tween his fingers as he danced around. He loved catching tadpoles.
Abby peered inside his cupped hands at the small creature that
wiggled over his fingers. It was small – no more than an inch long – and a
dark brown color. Its body was a wide oval, almost flat with a nearly translucent tail. Its tail was just as long as its body. The eyes were tiny black dots
on the top of its head. She reached out a finger and stroked it gently, pulling
back as soon as it flopped around from her touch. It was smooth and slimy.
She rubbed her fingers together, feeling the traces of mucus left behind on
her hand.
“Pretty cool, huh? Mommy said I could bring one home sometime. I
haven’t done it yet, but I will! She said it will grow up into a big frog and then
we can let it go again in here, so it can be with all the other frogs!” He turned
and threw the tadpole back into the water. It hesitated for a second, just
below the water’s surface, before disappearing into the mud. “Here, I’ll show
you how to catch one! I was no good at catching them at first so don’t be
sad if you can’t do it.”
They kneeled, side by side, scooping up water into their tiny hands.
“Just put your hands like this,” Eric formed a little cup with his hands again.
“Look for a tadpole in the water and…” He dipped his hands into the water again and pulled them out with another, more developed tadpole in his
palms “Tah-dah!” He grinned. “You try!”
Lauren Moreau
Pouring Gold
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She cupped her hands like he had and tried to capture one of the
little creatures she watched swim around, but each one managed to evade
her fingertips. She tried once more and was again defeated. “I can’t,” she
pouted, sitting back on her heels. Her purple dress had a thick coating of
mud on the edges and her legs were brown all the way up to her knees. She
leaned forward, trying to reach the one just outside her reach with the little
tail and four little legs, but she reach too far and toppled forward, soaking
her entire front. They laughed and Eric found it to be an invitation to jump
into the water himself.
The two children ran and played for a while, racing each other around
the gravel pit and going up and down the smaller dirt mounds, pulling out
weeds with their hands as they scrambled up the sides of the gravel mountains. Frogs hopped out of their way to avoid being squashed by their feet.
Sand and rocks slid down the sides of the mounds from the weight of their
bodies as they races and dirt wedged itself tightly underneath their fingernails. But Abby and Eric didn’t care. They didn’t care that they were covered
in mud and sand or that their hair was stained brown from the muck. They
didn’t care how long they had been there. They were just glad they were.
Eric dashed over to the tallest dirt mound and raced up to the top
of it, stumbling and falling a little as the dirt gave away beneath his feet. He
reached the top before Abby had even gotten to the bottom. He struck a
pose at the top, his hands on his hips, his chest puffed out proud, and his
right leg slightly in front of the other.
“I am king of the mountain!” he cried. He looked down at his friend
and grinned. “And you, Abby, are my queen and together we will rule the
world!” He threw his hands high in the air and laughed before lying down on
his back. Abby struggled up to the top and laid beside her friend.
“What cha looking at?” She questioned.
“Nothing,” he answered. “I’m tired.”
“Me too,” she sighed, closing her eyes.
“Hey, Abby?” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
“What?”
“Do you think we’ll be friends forever?”
She opened her eyes. “Yes. You’re king and I’m queen. That means
we have to be.” She laughed, her voice carrying over the gravel pit and
echoing through the clouds.
He reached over and grabbed her hand. “Good because you’re my
best friend.” He squeezed her hand tightly.
“You’re my best friend too,” she said, squeezing back.
He sat up and looked at her for a moment before leaning down and
pressing his lips gently to her right cheek. Then he hopped to his feet, his
cheeks burning red. “I’ll race you back!” he yelled, taking off towards the
ground.
Abby giggled, her cheeks also tinted pink as she clambered to her
feet and chased after him again.
He reached the end of the aisle and placed a shaky hand on the edge
of the smooth chestnut casket as he looked down at her. He drew in a long,
soft breath, trying to stay composed. He reached out and placed his hand
against her icy cheek. Hot tears welled up in his eyes as he traced the outline of her lips, her chin, her eyes with the tip of his index finger.
“I miss you,” he whispered. “Abby…I love you.”
Tears slid down his broken face as he stared at the love of his life. He
guided his hand down her neck and over her collar bone, following her bare
left arm down to her fingers where his engagement ring sat upon her third
finger. He squeezed her hand tightly before leaning down and kissing her
forehead. He pressed his own forehead against hers, their noses touching
and closed his eyes.
“Goodbye my queen.”
41
Rain
Jacob Hammer
Sparkling like rain
Words fly down and say
“Awaken
Listen to us fall on the rooftop”
Eyes slowly openandbegin
If I were an astronaut
I’d fly to all the stars
And talk to them
In their loneliness
Raindrops on leaves
Make their way down slowly
Sliding
Slipping back to earth
I could disappear
In a million breaths
Over several years
(vanishing)
Soaked into the earth
(Between dirt
Between clay
And rocks)
To join rivers
Deep beneath the roads
Man made above
(Some day to join the sea)
This is the exogenesis
Of everything I once
Stood for
What I was is no longer
Me
Floating away
Clouds across horizons
Encouraged by winds
Growing over lakes
Fed by rivers
Channelled from
Rain on rooftops
40
To start again
In September
(Holding my breath)
I hear the rain outside
And I run into it
Ashley Esselink
Happy Accident
41
Planted
Carrie Frame
She is not a bird.
Her arms are not wings;
her skin not feathered.
She cannot take flight into the cool afternoon sky;
cannot escape the gravity of the peeling tree trunks
the deafening sound as each cherry blossom
crashes into the Earth.
She cannot feel the clouds in her hair
with each soaring stroke
of her smooth, silky wings
as she reaches for the heavens.
She cannot feel her body become weightless
as she lets herself fall through the air
catching herself just before the treetops
rise to meet her elusive eyes.
But she does not wish to be a bird.
Wonderstruck, she plants her feet on the sun-hot asphalt;
dares to catch the cherry blossoms
before they fall like twirling missiles to the ground below.
And her hands are overflowing with pink
but she refuses to give up;
refuses to take flight
42
Elizabeth Webster
Abtruse Abode
A Child’s Song
Carrie Frame
I want to hear the birds sing to me
as if I am in a fairy tale, a place where the streetlights
don’t shine down on all that is broken & sterile
because there is nothing broken or sterile to speak of.
I want to see sunflowers
where all of the burned out cigarette butts lie on weathered sidewalks
trodden on by the heels of the crestfallen.
I want to return to childhood, catching fireflies for my father
so I can show the world a little bit of wonder,
a little bit of majesty,
before they try to convince me otherwise.
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Molly Wiegand
Eye of the Sunflower
45
Art Director
Meghan Kelly ‘13
Cover Design
Meghan Kelly ‘13
Josh Gove ‘14
Layout Design
Meghan Kelly ‘13
Kelsey Irland-Wright ‘13
Photography
Meghan Kelly ‘13
Lynzee Brenner ‘13
Art Staff
Kelsey Irland-Wright ‘13
Lynzee Brenner ‘13
Ashley Esselink ‘15
Kat Goffnett ‘13
Brittany Jones ‘12
Josh Gove ‘14
English Staff
Erika Schnepp ‘13
Advisors
Sandy Lopez-Isnardi, Art
Robert Vivian, English
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