Issue 10.2 Spring 2015

10.2 cover image

 

Artist Statement:

My name is Alysha Biemolt and I am currently a junior within the English Studies track. I started the pieces published in a two different courses here at the University. Since being inspired from the constructive criticisms from supportive faculty and peers I decided to continue working on them, until one day I decided to publish them. I am fortunate enough to have my works submitted, and am proud of these pieces.

"My Roommate from Hell" is a work of creative non-fiction detailing the events that transpired between my freshman year roommate and me. Some of the details have been exaggerated, but only for dramatic effect.

The day my Grandfather told me about the War is about a conversation I had with my grandfather in regards to his military service. He is a very particular about the details of his experiences with the military and war, and this poem chronicles one time where he sat me down and told me the whole story.

These pieces are both very personal to me, and I am happy that as an author I can share these experiences to the reader. Hopefully these works of mine can entertain, even if it is just for a short while. I hope you enjoy my work. Thank you!

 

Reminiscing with Grandpa

 

Alysha Biemolt

 

 

You wanted to hear my story.
So here it is,
My Dear.

 

Before I was who I am today,
This expired can,
I was the apple-butter of the block,
The honcho,
The business,
The pistol,
The boy,
I was a sheik.

 

You make that face, ha ha.
I was your age,
My Dear.

 

But they sent me to that place in hell,
Sent to do a deed
Sent into that far drop-world with the heat,
the Fire,
the Noise,
the Fear,
the Loss,
Pain, oh the Pain.

 

I was a devout man of sin.
I found a place,
My Dear.

 

It was an escape for all the men.
Heaven in that world,
That place was a church, saving happened there.
The Wine,
The Bread,
The Rest,
The Nuns,
I was devout.

 

That place was my church.
It had saved me,
My Dear.
I am back and I still go to my church,
It isn’t the same,
It has no steeple and is made of brick,
No Priest,
No Bread,
No Wine,
No Rest,
But there are Nuns,

 

And those dear Nuns, well,
My Dear,
still provide sweet release.

 

 

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