Motif The Creative Arts Journal of Concordia University Chicago Vol. 43
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Motif
The Creative Arts Journal of
Concordia University Chicago
Vol. 43
2021
Motif The Creative Arts Journal of
Concordia University Chicago
Vol. 43
2021
Editor: David Rogner
Assistant Editor: Andrew Pederson
Art Consultants: Nikkole Huss and BettyAnn Mocek
Music Consultant: Jonathan Stahlke
Graphic Designer: Maria Gedroc
Cover Artists:
David Woodruff, Blood Leaves, Photograph Detail (front cover)
Lily Austin, Mist, Photograph (back cover)
Concordia University Chicago
7400 Augusta Street, River Forest, IL 60305-1499
www.CUChicago.edu/Motif
© 2021 All Rights Reserved.
MOTIF is published once each spring
by Concordia University Chicago, River Forest
Table of Contents
Award Winner: Remaining True to Thyself: The Role of Emilia in Shakespeare’s Othello,
Madlyn Zingler.....................................................................................................................................................1
All I Want, Daniel Valdez.................................................................................................................................5
Award Winner: I imagine a reality in which my parents grow old together, Viviana Mendoza............6
IN MEMORIAM In Your Great Love We Are Secure, Melody Lipke and Adam Schweyer.........................................................7
Similar Suds, Coraima Gonzalez.......................................................................................................................8
Carl Flentge Schalk aNxiEty, Lydia Smith.........................................................................................................................................9
JOY, Lydia Smith...............................................................................................................................................10
Behind the Lens of the Photographer, Ashley Parker-McCarthy...................................................................11
September 26, 1929 – January 24, 2021 Wounds, Hannah Sochowski...........................................................................................................................12
Blood Leaves, David Woodruff........................................................................................................................12
A Homily for the Martyrdom of St. John the Baptist, Rev. Dr. Patrick James Bayens..............................13
Bella Bella, Maria Gedroc................................................................................................................................15
Seeds, Brian Czulno..........................................................................................................................................16
Gods of War, Nathaniel Bauman....................................................................................................................17
Mind Over Matter, Elizabeth Mora................................................................................................................18
The Things We Do for Those We Love, Megan Jacobsen........................................................................19
In the Pink / Dr. Visit, Laura Bergmann.......................................................................................................20
Vision, Melody Lipke........................................................................................................................................21
Playground Memories, Jeremy Lozada.........................................................................................................22
home alone, Samantha Sharland.....................................................................................................................23
The Real Me, Grace Miller..............................................................................................................................23
When We Move In, Viviana Mendoza............................................................................................................24
Serenade in the Park, Coraima Gonzalez.......................................................................................................25
Still Life, Laura Bergmann ..............................................................................................................................26
The Deep End, Melody Lipke..........................................................................................................................27
Final Rehearsal, September 2017, Hannah Sochowski.................................................................................32
My Immigrant Father, America Sanchez......................................................................................................33
Buppy, Kate Antal.............................................................................................................................................34
The 2021 Motif is dedicated to the memory of Carl F. Schalk, Evening’s Lament, Victor J. Garcia.................................................................................................................35
noted scholar of church music, professor of music at Concordia No llora lágrimas de sangre, Diana Rodriguez.............................................................................................36
Puzzle Pieces, Matt Linderman........................................................................................................................36
University Chicago from 1965 to 1994, and composer of beloved
Constricted, Chloe Martin...............................................................................................................................37
hymn tunes and anthems that are sung throughout Christendom. Peak of Her Mind, Samantha Sharland.........................................................................................................37
Snapshots from a 6 a.m. Sleep, Viviana Mendoza.........................................................................................38
Ascension, Chloe Martin.................................................................................................................................38
A Million Thoughts, Grace Miller.................................................................................................................39
Three Degrees Removed, Nathaniel Bauman...............................................................................................39
French Bridge, Sarah May..............................................................................................................................40
Suburbia, Noah Dunsmore..............................................................................................................................41
Gethsemane, Noah Dunsmore........................................................................................................................41
Black and White Design, Emma Wisniewski.................................................................................................42
In the Woods, Melody Lipke...........................................................................................................................43
The Shape of Fall, Daniel Valdez...................................................................................................................43
Covenantal Cross of Splendor, Joshua Teggatz.......................................................................................... 44
Déjalo Brillar, Oralia Rodriguez......................................................................................................................45
Motif 2021 2021Motif
By the time Desdemona first speaks in the play, it is apparent that she is already a deeply
Radke/Sorenson Prizes for Writing 2021 divided character. After Brabantio hears of the romance between Desdemona and Othello,
he summons his daughter to explain the situation. In front of her father, Desdemona pro-
The English Department and the editors of Motif are proud to include in the 2021 issue
the winners of the tenth annual Radke/Sorenson Prizes for Writing. These $250 prizes, fesses, “I do perceive here a divided duty” (1.3.209), a duty split between her father and her
endowed by an anonymous donor, recognize an outstanding poem and essay written by new husband Othello. On the one hand, to her father she is “bound for life and education”
a junior or senior English major. (1.3.210). Because he has provided these things, she tells her father, “You are the lord of duty.
/ I am hitherto your daughter” (1.3.212-13). On the other hand, she also feels duty bound to
This year the English Department is pleased to award the essay prize to Madlyn Zingler
for her essay “Remaining True to Thyself: The Role of Emilia in Shakespeare’s Othello.” her husband. He explains to her father, “And so much duty as my mother showed / To you,
Madlyn is a junior from Watertown, WI who is double-majoring in English and preferring you before her father, / So much I challenge that I may profess / Due to the Moor
political science. The poetry prize for 2021 is awarded to Viviana Mendoza for her my lord” (1.3.215-18). While she concedes that she has a continuing duty to her father for all
poem “I Imagine a Reality in which My Parents Grow Old Together.” Viviana is a the benefits he provided, Desdemona also acknowledges that, just as her mother did, she too
senior Secondary Education English major from Stickney, IL.
must now serve her husband. While she may truly love Othello, her continued focus on duty
The awards are named for two distinguished former members of the English in this passage seems to imply that duty is what dictates her actions and choices. This divid-
Department, Dr. Merle Radke and Prof. Karl Sorenson. Dr. Radke, who specialized in ed duty appears to leave little room for Desdemona to truly be herself. Instead, she has
American realist and naturalist fiction, taught English at Concordia from 1957 to 1987. merely been cast in the competing roles of daughter and wife she believes she should play.
He served for many years as department chair and was also the editor of Lutheran
Education. He passed away in 2017 at the age of 95. Prof. Karl Sorenson, who served Desdemona’s divided duties, however, are clearly contrasted with the freedom enjoyed by
in the English Department from at 1965 to 1999, taught a variety of courses in British Emilia throughout the play. This juxtaposition is perhaps most noticeable in the conversation
literature and drama. He also directed and acted in many plays, both at Concordia and
the two women have about adultery. After Othello rudely dismisses Desdemona, Emilia
in local community theaters. Prof. Sorenson passed away in 2004.
helps her prepare for bed. While getting ready, a distraught Desdemona askes Emilia, “Dost
We also gratefully acknowledge the Dr. Merle and Ruth Radke Endowment Fund, thou in conscience think … / That there be women do abuse their husbands / In such gross
which helps to fund the annual publication of Motif. The endowment was established kind?” (4.3.67-69). The abuse Desdemona refers to is adultery, to which Emilia confirms,
in 2017 to honor Dr. Radke’s service to the English Department at Concordia.
“There be some such, no question” (4.3.70-1). Desdemona appears deeply troubled by this
response, and further asks, “Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world?” (4.3.72). Emilia
admits, “The world’s a huge thing. It is a great price for a small vice” (4.3.78-9) and goes on
Remaining True to Thyself: to ask, “Who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a monarch?” (4.3.85-7).
The Role of Emilia in Shakespeare’s Othello Emilia’s response showcases the freedom she enjoys as a result of remaining true to herself.
Madlyn Zingler She is willing to ignore the duties of being a wife, particularly remaining faithful and subser-
vient to her husband, and pursue what is in her best interest. Desdemona, conversely, pro-
William Shakespeare’s tragedy Othello (1603) follows the tumultuous relationship of fesses she would not do such a deed and replies, “Beshrew me if I would do such a wrong /
Othello and his wife Desdemona. Iago, Othello’s standard-bearer, his wife Emilia, an for the whole world!” (4.3.88-9). Tying back to her introduction to the play, Desdemona
attendant of Desdemona, Roderigo, a conspirator with Iago, and Cassio, Othello’s second in remains strictly bound by her wifely duties. Instead of thinking for herself, she remains
command, also have central roles. Throughout the play, Iago attempts to manipulate nearly steadfastly fixated on the duty of a wife to stay faithful. In this case, she is not just divided
every character to get back at Othello, who he believes has slept with Emilia. Othello kills between her father and husband but is also divided from herself. Subsequently, Emilia moves
Desdemona after being manipulated to believe she has been unfaithful with Cassio, and on to ask Desdemona, “And have not we affections, / Desires for sport, and frailty, as men
eventually commits suicide. Emilia, in an act of strength, speaks out against her husband’s have?” (4.3.112-13). Emilia, in touch with herself, indicates that women too have desire, even
evil deeds, and is ultimately killed in return. While Desdemona is portrayed as a divided if society tends to suppress it. Because of this, Emilia is able to enunciate the truth about
woman who struggles with her conflicting duties, Emilia remains true to who she is and is women while simultaneously avoiding the societal manipulation of women’s wants and
therefore able to resist the manipulation of others. needs. Thinking in this way is just the first example of the immense freedom Emilia enjoys.
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Motif 2021 2021Motif
Remaining True to Thyself: The Role of Emilia in Shakespeare’s Othello Continued motive, it appears that Emilia is cognizant of the fact she may be doing something against
her better judgment. It is also important to note that she does not easily hand the handker-
Emilia’s most striking indication of this personal freedom, however, appears in her chief over; instead, Iago snatches it from her grasp. Even though Emilia tries to resist the
confrontation with Iago at the end of the play. After Othello has murdered Desdemona and manipulation of her husband, she cannot quite escape it as he still gets the handkerchief.
confessed that Iago told him of his wife’s infidelity, Iago arrives on the scene. Having heard After the exchange, Emilia shows regret, lamenting, “Poor lady, she’ll run mad / When she
Othello’s accusations, Emilia asks her husband, “did you ever tell him she was false?” shall lack it” (3.3.365-66). Her affection for Desdemona still shows. What this scene demon-
(5.2.214), referring to now dead Desdemona. Iago simply responds, “I did” (5.2.215), which strates, then, is that no matter how true someone may try to be to themselves, humans will
enrages Emilia. She exclaims to her husband, “You told a lie, an odious, damned lie!” always fall short, and therefore cannot completely avoid manipulation.
(5.2.216), believing completely in the innocence of Desdemona. Iago retorts, “Charm your
tongue” (5.2.219), a husbandly command to his wife to be quiet. Remarkably, however, The final abridgment of freedom Emilia experiences at the hands of her husband is the
Emilia ignores this command, going on to proclaim, “I will not charm my tongue. I am ultimate act of human manipulation: the taking of someone’s life. Against the continued pro-
bound to speak. / My mistress here lies murdered in her bed” (5.2.220-21). Emilia is not con- tests of her husband, Emilia proclaims “I will speak as liberal as the north. / Let heaven and
strained by her duty to obey her husband, and furthermore is able to avoid the manipulation men and devils, let them all, / All, all, cry shame against me, yet I’ll speak” (5.2.261-63).
of Iago as he tries to silence her. Emilia is resigned to speak fully and truthfully for Desdemona, showcasing the culmination
of her resistance to manipulation from anyone, even God or the Devil, who may stop her.
While the use of the word “bound” does appear to imply some sort of duty Emilia is For her resistance, however, Emilia is stabbed and killed by Iago. Even in this final manipu-
obliged to adhere to, it is instead the necessary action associated with remaining true to her- lation, though, Emilia remains true to who she is. With her dying breath, Emilia begs, “O, lay
self. After directly contesting the commands of her husband to be quiet, Emilia goes on to me by my mistress’ side” (5.2.284) and professes, “Moor, she was chaste. She loved thee, cruel
explain why she must speak out about the murder. Emilia vehemently exclaims that villainy Moor” (5.2.209). Her affection for Desdemona presides as Emilia takes back the power from
has been committed before saying, “I’ll kill myself for grief” (5.2.229). While it could be rea- Iago. Though he may have taken her life, Emilia retains the power to fight for Desdemona
soned that Emilia is speaking out because of her duty to her mistress, this line seems to indi- until the end and to take her final resting place beside someone she truly loved. This death
cate otherwise. Willing to commit suicide over the grief she feels for Desdemona, it appears scene is remarkably different from that of Desdemona, who remains divided from herself to
Emilia has true love and affection for her lady, much deeper than simply a duty to an the bitter end. With her dying breath, Desdemona responds to Emilia’s question about who
employer. Emilia even goes so far as to call out Othello for his actions, reminding him, “thou has killed her with, “Nobody. I myself” (5.2.152). Desdemona’s fixation on wifely duty leaves
has killed the sweetest innocent / That e’er did lift up eye” (5.2.237-38). Emilia again shows her subject to the manipulation of her husband, as she lies about her death to protect mur-
her affection for Desdemona, highlighting how sweet and innocent she was while scolding derous Othello. While neither could fully avoid this final manipulation, Emilia turns it into
Othello, who would also be considered her employer. Through these exclamations Emilia the final declaration of her freedom. Just as Desdemona dies a deeply divided woman, Emilia
shows that duty does not bind her. Instead she remains stubbornly committed to remaining dies free and true to herself.
true to herself, her love and affection for Desdemona being part of this truth.
Ultimately, Desdemona’s divided duties and eventual division from herself leave her con-
However, Emilia’s general freedom must be reconciled with the two main instances of strained and susceptible to manipulation. Emilia, however, remains true to herself, and as a
manipulation she fails to avoid. The first of these occurs when Desdemona drops her pre- result effectively resists nearly every manipulation, even those of her husband. While Emilia
cious handkerchief. When Emilia sees this happen, she waits for Othello and Desdemona to eventually is killed for this freedom, she uses it for good, creating a beacon of truth in a play
exit and takes it. Alone, Emilia recounts how, “My wayward husband hath a hundred times / otherwise shrouded in lies and deceit.
Wooed me to steal it” (3.3.336-37). Evidentially, the idea to swipe the handkerchief was not
Emilia’s, but instead Iago’s. It appears Iago has manipulated his wife to help him execute his
plan to frame Cassio as Desdemona’s lover. Still, Emilia continues to describe how Works Cited
Desdemona “so loves the token” (3.3.337), showing her understanding of how much it means
to her mistress. Upon seeing Iago, Emilia asks her husband, “What will you do with’t, that Shakespeare, William. Othello (1603; 1622, 1623), edited by Barbara A. Mowat and Paul
you have been so earnest / to have me filch it?” (3.3.360-62). Questioning her husband’s Werstine. Folger Shakespeare Library, revised edition, Washington Square Press, 1993.
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Motif 2021 Motif
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I imagine a reality in which my parents grow old together
Photography – Poetry Collaborations Viviana Mendoza
Several of the poems and photographs in the 2021 Motif were part of a creative collab- They sit on the front porch
oration between Prof. Nikkole Huss’s Digital Photography class and Dr. David Rogner’s of a house they finally own,
Writing Poetry class. Students in the two courses anonymously “exchanged” poems and discussing how my sisters and I
photographs; each poet was assigned to write a poem based on a photograph, and each are always late for Sunday morning menudo.
photographer was asked to create a series of photographs inspired by a poem. Viviana My mother,
Mendoza’s prize-winning poem, “I Imagine a Reality in which My Parents Grow Old wrapped in her crocheted shawl,
Together,” was her response to Daniel Valdez’s photograph “All I Want.” Other collab-
insists that my father should’ve bought more tortillas.
orations in this issue include Melody Lipke’s “Vision” (inspired by Jeremy Lozada’s
“There’s never enough,”
“Playground Memories”), Samantha Sharland’s “Peak of Her Mind” (based on Chloe
she says, and my father doesn’t argue back.
Martin’s “Constricted”), and Nathaniel Bauman’s “Three Degrees Removed” (inspired
by Grace Miller’s “A Million Thoughts”).
He rises from the rocker
and smiles,
knowing that she only wants enough
All I Want because we’ve never had that before.
Daniel Valdez, Photograph
My sisters and I finally arrive,
approach empty chairs,
and hear my mother singing from inside the house.
We watch from the screen door,
how she savors sunshine peeking through kitchen windows.
As we open the door,
my father walks up behind us
and pauses to kiss each of us on the forehead.
Then we sit down to a breakfast
with no arguing,
only laughter,
menudo,
and enough tortillas.
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Similar Suds
In Your Great Love We Are Secure Coraima Gonzalez
Text: Melody Lipke
Music: Adam Schweyer The sink is a cradle and dirt awaits
the trip down the drain.
## œ œ
œœ œ œ
White suds sprinkle pinkish skin,
& œ œ ˙ œœ œ œœ œœ as my 17-year-old hands carry the cup over
tufts of dark hair, replicated motions
1. In Your great love we are se - cure,
2. When
3. Lord,
fa
from
- mine,
the
sword,
cross
and
You
dan
did
- ger
not
loom,
spare
passed on to me.
? # # œœ ˙˙ œ˙ œ œ œœ œ œœ
4. If You, O Lord, are on our side
œ Bleach and laundry soap had once formed
suds on my 9-year-old hands, bonded together
as my raisin fingers fluttered. The conjoined bubbles
## had burst miniscule reflections, portraits of my brown face
& œœ œ œ œ
œ˙ œ ˙ œœ œœ œ œ
captured by hundreds of white mirrors.
The faucet blew them out, ending
And fears can - not our hope sub - due.
We trust most cer - tain in your name. my first lesson in cleaning.
Your Son who died and rose a - gain.
? ## œ ˙ œœ œœ
Then who would dare a - gainst us stand?
˙ ˙ œœ
œ ˙ Similar suds were played and pushed
by my 14-year-old arms over the floor,
leading foreign dirt to dance, dirt carried in by shoe prints
## œ
that stomped and stained the cracks, leaving trails
& œœ œœ œœ #œ
œœ œœ œœ œ œ I had wished to follow. My mosaics were dissolved
by dull and gray water, so I dutifully dumped
In what will pass or will en - dure,
For trou - ble, de - mons, life and tomb the waste down, sipped by the sink drain.
We now with glo - ry e - ver share
? ## œ œœ œœ # œœ œ œœ
Your migh - ty arm our joy has won,
œ œ œ œœ
œ Now small tsunamis splash by the power
of my sister’s tiny hands, trying to capture
the faucet’s stream of water, scrunching her face
# œ œœ œ œœ ˙
& # œœ œ œ
as I clean invisible dirt from her little body.
œ œ ˙
˙ œ Soon her own hands will do the same dance,
but I hope she’ll paint with the dirt and play with the dust
O Lord, we will a - bide in You.
Are con - qured in our gos - pel claim. and save the cleaning for another day.
In heav'n - ly tri - umph with - out end.
? ## œ ˙ œ œ˙ œ œ œ ˙
O Lord, You keep us in your hand.
œ œ œ œ ˙
©
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aNxiEty JOY
Lydia Smith, Collage and Poem Lydia Smith, Collage and Poem
SubtLe, dull My cheeks are sore from
looMinG Over me as ominoUs sHadowS Smiling bigger than a kid being sung to on their birthday.
stALking me At All Times of tHe day Unimaginable happiness
UnbeKnownst to Me Springs inside me like the flailing inflatable tube man at a car dealership.
the liGHts FLiCker in my head My heart beats rapidly like the giddy
a warning Of the appRoaching calamitY Giggles of a girl in pigtails chasing a butterfly on a golden Sunday afternoon.
jiTtering, shakiNg My mind rejoices like a stadium
UneXplainable Bursts of disComfort Erupting with the jumping and cheers of fans after a walk-off homerun.
returning in hopEs of eventually becoMing Normal This is the freedom of belting songs in the car on a summer night.
noW numb with static sensAtion This is the first hug after too long a period of separation.
overwheLming EVery fiber This is unending elation.
overcoming This is joy.
becoming me
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Behind the Lens of the Photographer Wounds
Ashley Parker-McCarthy, Photograph Hannah Sochowski
In the black swirl of sound,
my memories blur.
I lose myself.
The record welcomes the needle;
and so he glides,
scanning her every dip and scar
with gentle strokes.
When her wounds are touched,
they sing.
Mine only bleed.
Blood Leaves
David Woodruff, Photograph
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A Homily for the Martyrdom of St. John the Baptist
Rev. Dr. Patrick James Bayens
In the holy name of Jesus. Amen. “In your righteousness deliver me!” are the words of John, seeing the rats nipping at his
toes. And of Jesus, as he hangs forsaken for all the world to see: “Why, my God, have you
“In your righteousness deliver me!” So the sweet psalmist said. And John the Baptist, no forsaken Me?” Good question. But there was only silence: that great, deafening, apocalyptic
doubt, too. After all, Jesus had said to him, “It is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.” half hour of silence echoed again at the opening of the Seventh Seal. And after the silence,
Us. The two of us. Let’s do it together. And they did. John poured the water; Jesus received after Herodias had received John’s head from her daughter, this: “his disciples came and took
it. And now, today, Jesus pours it on John—a full baptismal flood—as the executioner’s foot- his body and laid it in a tomb.”
steps are heard coming down the dungeon steps. John and Jesus, together still. For St. Paul
said that we are “fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him.” And John did. Don’t miss that ending. ‘Cause a disciple named Joseph would do the same for Jesus.
And Mark—and only Mark—says that Joseph “took courage” to do so. For indeed, in Jesus
Today is the Holy Feast of his beheading. Part of God’s plan to bring heaven and earth and in John together, God is showing the world a whole new kind of living. It both requires
together, things human, and things divine. You heard the story: an event which artists, and enables a new-found courage to step out and tell the truth, even when telling the truth is
down through the years, have loved to portray. What it is about a head on a silver platter deadly for you. Such courage—to take up the body and bury the martyr, with every camera
that intrigues us so? Salome’s sexy little number is certainly a winner with Hollywood. on you—is only possible through Christ’s own kiss of peace to you: the Spirit given up and
And there’s the poignancy of that ‘gotcha’ moment after the king has sworn on national TV: blown into you by his expiring baptismal breath. The same breath that said, “Father, forgive
“Whatever you ask, I’ll give you, up to half my kingdom!” As told, it’s the second-longest them,” even as he was experiencing a migraine called hell, so that it can be said that “He who
narrative in the Gospel of Mark, surpassed only by the Passion of our Lord. is in you is greater than he who is in the world.” This is the Spirit who enables you to do
some things that once were not even a remote possibility, like “bearing one another’s bur-
A crucifixion and a beheading—just like Peter and Paul, whose graves are still fresh for dens” and “doing good to all” and saying, “Jesus is Lord.” That’s radically new.
Mark’s first readers. Here for us is the martyrdom of the man who said, “The kingdom of
God is at hand!” The man who felt righteousness flowing in his veins, and boldly told it like We come here every day to have read to us Jesus’ last will and testament; to have it read,
it is, kept it real, as we said back in my college day. And keeping it real is what landed him in have it sung; have it broken, have it poured; what his holy apostle calls “the riches of his
jail. Until Herod’s wife—who was auditioning for The Real Housewives of Galilee—tells her grace”: John getting blessed by a sword coming down on his neck. We need this story. And
daughter to have John’s head brought in along with the dessert. That’s what doing righteous- the one at the end of Mark’s gospel too. About the executioner, who, when he saw “the way
ness together with Jesus will get you. in which Jesus died,” confessed him to be the Son of God. Truly. You want to spread the
faith? You want brutes like executioners to believe? You want guys who put their knees on
And Mark wants his hearers—like you—not to miss the point. “Fulfilling righteousness necks, and those who look the other way, to come to the knowledge of the truth? You want
together” meant that John would get his head severed from his neck because a drunken king those who loot and burn and destroy to have malice toward none, and charity for all? Then
and his cronies couldn’t keep their eyes off his stepdaughter. It meant that the holy, pure, a course on martyrdom is the class you need to take. For “the blood of the martyrs is the
spotless Lamb of God, our Beautiful Savior, got bloodied up really bad and nailed to the seed.” They are the firstfruits, the Apocalypse says. And the offering of the firstfruits frees
ignominious, the scandalous, the accursed wood. And that’s a new kind of righteousness up the rest of the crop—to be afraid of nothing. Holy John has freed you to live in a way that
indeed. That has nothing to do with the old kind that God gave to Moses through angels. is not humanly possible. The way of Jesus in the world.
That righteousness, that justice, ensured that you’d get restitution if someone did you wrong.
It got you a lawyer, and a day in court. It kept Jew separated from Greek, slave from free, In his + holy name. Amen
clean from unclean. It said, “Love your neighbor.” But nothing about your enemy. Or per-
secutor. Or praying for him. Nothing about the guy with the sword who’s just doing what
he’s told. Nothing about forgiving 70 times 7. That’s all Jesus stuff—that came packaged
with the Incarnation. It’s the stuff of the cross, anticipated in John—that forerunner of a
whole new creation that was for him “at hand.”
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Bella Bella Seeds
Maria Gedroc, Acrylic Painting Brian Czulno
In my mind
Lies a packet of
Unopened seeds
Ready to be planted
In a world where
They are needed
Where they will be
Cared for,
Watered,
Nurtured,
Fed sunlight from
A million unified souls
The blooms are of
Unknown colors
Genus and species
Anonymous, ready to be
Tended by those deserving
Of such beauty
Yet still, they rest in that
Desolate corner of my mind, untouched
Slowly shriveling into nothing
Maybe some younger seeds
Gathered by children, free from hate
Will sow the garden in my dream
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Gods of War Mind Over Matter
Nathaniel Bauman Elizabeth Mora, Pen and Ink
War is a matter not so much of arms as of money.
-Thucydides, ca. 400 BC
The fields, drenched in blood and gore:
where rulers sent their men to die,
their lives spent for the gods of war.
The answers found in ancient lore
explain to us the reasons why
the field’s drenched in blood and gore.
Men fought for gold, a tyrant’s hoard,
and killed for apples from on high;
their lives spent for the gods of war.
Their swords and spears struck to the core
and never left their objects dry –
the fields. Drenched in blood and gore,
These warriors gave a prideful roar,
their comrades dead for victory!
“Their lives spent for the gods of war!”
In vain I pray that nevermore
an orphaned child will raise the cry,
“The fields, drenched in blood and gore,
their lives spent for the gods of war!”
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The Things We Do for Those We Love
Megan Jacobsen
Your mewling broke my thoughts as
You were a ball of gray tabby fur, obsessed
your tiny paws clawed up my leg.
with the strap on my sandal. Your milky, baby teeth chewed
on the thick fabric, the faded blue of your eyes focused on defeating
You crawled into my open hand and curled
the great beast of my foot.
your tail as your blue eyes closed.
I stared at you on my dirty bathroom floor as you slowly tired,
You rested there, trusting
curled up like you were in that ditch earlier.
me to hold you.
There was no mother in sight—
Your little body rose and fell with every new breath,
never a good sign.
warmth seeping into me. This, I knew,
was worth digging a grave.
I held you close to me, claws gripping my hand,
and wondered what your mother saw that I could not.
Sometimes parents are like that,
knowing when their children are past saving.
In the Pink / Dr. Visit
You weren’t eating right away. Laura Bergmann, Magazine Mosaic
A parasite, burrowing deeper,
or maybe there was a tumor making you too sick to try.
There was so little I could see. Even less I could do.
Maybe I should have left you there.
There were plenty of stray cats, after all.
What was one more?
Better not to get attached to something about to die.
You’re not supposed to name animals in rehab.
I set you back down, watching you totter around.
I remembered:
lifeless opossum corpses, no bigger than my hand, pulled from their nest of bedding;
two spotted fawns, nuzzling our hands for milk one day, cold on the ground the next;
a tiny squirrel, twitching in the throes of death.
I wondered if you were next.
I looked at the shoebox, lined with baby pink rags,
and thought of how your limp body would rest in it when I shut its lid.
The clay earth of the yard wasn’t easy to break,
especially not with the rusted shovels in the shed.
I hoped I could dig deep enough so I wouldn’t
see you with the next flood.
19 20Motif 2021 Motif
2021
Vision Playground Memories
Melody Lipke Jeremy Lozada, Photograph
I’ve passed the playground in Madison Park
every day on the way to work and never noticed.
But today, it’s dripping, a pathetic plastic
structure abandoned in the rain.
Raindrop gnats pepper my glasses,
and make me wish for my forgotten coat.
It’s too cold to stop, but my stubborn sneakers
are halted at the playground gate.
Through twisted rust of chain link
the jungle gym’s neon rungs and bars
tangle like peacock feathers and animal limbs,
and smooth plastic slides stretch like frog tongues.
It was in a place like this that I invented a bakery
with only rocks for flour. I rescued space monkeys
and conquered sea monsters with only my laughter,
then made best friends just by sharing a pair of mittens.
And when I finally turn away from that place
I know I’ll be late, and without a coat too.
And although my glasses are distorted with speckles
I wonder if my vision’s improved.
21 22Motif 2021 Motif
2021
home alone When We Move In
Samantha Sharland Viviana Mendoza
paw prints the pitter patters When we move in,
line the porcelain counters and of her paws it’s supposed to be temporary.
soap suds wake my attention,
slide down the edge of the sink and her body my parents say,
squeak as I scrub them clean. brushing against mine, “for a short while,”
purring an apology. “until we can buy a house again,”
I look around
“in the meantime,”
hearing only her meow, when the house falls into a snore,
“until we are back on our feet,”
seeing her bow. and the purring is no more,
there rests a hollow home.
but i am only six,
and i like pretty things,
so what i hear is:
“not long enough to plant rosebush seeds on the side of the house,
The Real Me like we did at the old one,
Grace Miller, Drawing let them turn into roots,
or sprout flowers.”
but i want to,
and i think my mom does too.
i think she wants to put down seeds,
let them grow in the dirt,
and sprout into something beautiful.
so while i’m away at my first day of kindergarten,
she plants a few.
“they need a chance to grow,”
she says,
and she decides to stay.
23 24Motif 2021 Motif
2021
Serenade in the Park Still Life
Coraima Gonzalez Laura Bergmann, Gouache Painting
She is drawn to sit on piano steps alone
in the empty gazebo — where first vows
were sung then shrieked to break.
The park assembles an ensemble
to quell the plucking
of her out-of-tune heart.
Cars, lined up in the aisle,
rev their engines, rumble, showing off for her
and boost their pride.
Muffled stereos sing in the dark
for an invisible audience
with a plus one.
A water fountain trickles a gentle tune
for her cotton ears. A wailing siren joins
in to blast her ache away.
Thump thump of a basketball coaxes
her beatless heart. The lamppost sleeps along
with the trees – a soft humming.
She wanders back home at the end
of the symphony,
her shadow as her closest company.
25 26Motif 2021 2021Motif
The Deep End
Melody Lipke “Come on, Emma, they’re starting the welcome speech soon.” She strode away from the
teepee. Emma followed, breathing in the scent of the blue spruce and dust and the thrill of
Silver Arrow Camp was a cluster of log buildings plopped into the side of the Rocky the week ahead.
Mountains at an elevation of 9,000 feet. Emma had only been there five minutes but had The camp director talked for a while in Moose Lodge, waving around a glossy blue
already determined that nothing was as ravishing as the pine in the air and the whispering pamphlet. She screwed her eyes up to slits and said that they all needed a chance to get away
aspens, or the cool respite of water down her throat after a day in the rocks and dust. Emma from the ugly city and their hovering parents. She laughed, but Emma frowned. The reason
stared in awe, thinking about the concrete suburbs she had left behind when Alice’s mom she decided to come to camp had nothing to do with getting away from her parents. She’d
had driven them there that morning. been so nervous to come that her mom had to coax her out of bed with a plate of her dad’s
Alice grinned at Emma’s wonderment. “You haven’t even seen the best parts yet. There’s famous blueberry waffles.
a zipline, too.” She pointed at a large log building with tall glass windows. “That’s Moose Emma thought about the scratch of her dad’s morning whiskers against her face when
Lodge.” Above the building loomed Pikes Peak, embossed sharp against the cerulean sky. she’d hugged him goodbye. Her dad was an architect, and sometimes after school he would
Kids and their parents milled around the camp, shouldering bulging backpacks and pour her a cup of frothy coffee and let her sit on the leather chair in his office while he
running across the clearing in front of Moose Lodge. showed her blueprints with scratchy graphite on a sketchbook. Something about sitting in
Girls coagulated into clusters, hugging and calling out each other’s names while a that chair made her decide she wanted to be an architect too one day. Emma scratched at a
counselor who smelled of sunscreen and had a glob of it on her nose took the Alice and bug bite, sniffling.
Emma girls to their bunks. Their feet snapped pine needles on the narrow dirt path. Emma Alice peeled her attention away from the speaker to search Emma’s face. “What’s
had expected a cabin, but as they approached it on the trail, she could see that it was a large wrong?”
teepee made of white canvas, streaked with dirt and stretched over smooth Douglas fir Emma took a shaky breath. “I … miss my dad.” She froze, wondering if that was the
supports. A cluster of ten bunk beds filled the interior. There was a hole in the top, and the wrong thing to say. Alice’s dad had passed away when she was a baby.
bottom of the canvas hung a foot over the dusty trampled ground. Alice’s expression didn’t change. “Hey, let’s get your mind off it, OK?”
Alice picked a bunk bed near the exit and threw her duffel bag onto the top bunk, Alice led Emma to the edge of the woods under bristly shade of the trees and sat down,
clambering up after it. The entire metal structure of the bed creaked. brushing aside bits of bark and yellow grass to huddle in the sanctuary. “Camp is going to
Emma tried to suppress disappointment. She’d imagined sleeping on a top bunk. be fun, but you have to not let yourself get homesick. Watch this.” She pressed her fingertips
“Oh, you want the top bunk?” into the moss of a spruce tree and then ran her hands up and down the aspen trunks, coat-
“Yep.” Alice’s head popped down from the top bunk, blond hair streaming all around ing them with a thin white film. “This is how they made sunscreen back in the day.”
her face. “I’ve had a top bunk all five summers I’ve been here. Besides, the bottom one gets Emma nodded, although she didn’t believe it. She listened to the murmur of a passing
too cold, and if you don’t have a mummybag you’ll freeze your butt off.” bumble bee, trying for a genuine smile, and knowing that she should be excited to have a
Emma shook her head. This was her first time at camp. She’d tried to follow the packing friend. Her parents had wanted her to make a friend so badly, and although she and Alice
list, but it had only said “Sleeping Bag”. Emma wracked her brain for everything her mom had seen each other in the halls in elementary school, they were never close. Maybe this
and dad had told her. Wear earplugs at night if she couldn’t sleep, go to the nurse immediate- meant she didn’t have to worry about being a friendless middle schooler.
ly if she got a scrape, don’t go in the deep end of the pool. She’d had to promise for that last The sun blazed bright orange before it set and warmed the tips of the trees, casting dap-
one because she couldn’t pass swimming lessons and could hardly doggy paddle. Alice’s pled sunlight on the group of forty campers. It browned mosquito bitten skin, and stained
mom had run into Emma’s parents at their school bake sale, and ended up inviting Emma caps and t-shirts alike with pubescent sweat. The clearing outside Moose Lodge was bustling
to camp. Emma’s parents almost hadn’t let her go, but they knew she could use a friend like with the campers, and teenaged counselors in matching polos who sent the campers to get
Alice, who didn’t seem to have any trouble making friends. But for all her worrying, Emma’s ready for bed. They stood outside the teepee to brush their teeth, spitting cold spearmint
mom hadn’t said anything about a mummybag. “What’s a mummybag?” foam into the dirt. Emma watched the other girls do it for a moment, then hesitantly tried
Alice laughed as if it were too obvious to say. Emma laughed too. it herself, watching the glob of toothpaste bubble in the dust.
27 28Motif 2021 2021Motif
The Deep End Continued Alice was waving her hand in front of her face.
“What?”
The forecast threatened severe cold, and Emma even overheard the counselors contem- “Let’s jump in.” Alice slid her hands under the hem of her pajama shirt and threw it off.
plating letting the kids sleep in the Moose Lodge in case it was dangerous. They decided She stepped out of her pajama pants and kicked off her sandals. Emma’s sharp intake of
against it. So, Alice and Emma and all the other kids slipped into their bunks, whispering breath echoed in the room at Alice’s sudden nude skin. Waves of shock stung Emma. She
goodnight after their counselor shouted at them several times to stop talking. wanted to run away, but instead she stood perfectly still. Emma tried to keep her eyes trained
Emma gazed at the top bunk with longing. Cold air seeped through the gap at the bot- on Alice’s long hair that hung down her back. A cross necklace that Emma had never seen
tom of the teepee, and her numb toes scraped against her socks like a bunch of frozen grapes before hung crooked against her throat.
as she tried to scrunch them. She dug her fingers into the freezing bedframe and determined Emma’s stomach turned. She turned her body away from the pool. “I don’t think my
that she’d ask Alice to sleep on the top bunk the next night. She thought through what she’d parents would like me doing this.”
say, watching a slice of stars emerge through the hole in the teepee. “Stop being so homesick, Emma. If you keep thinking about your parents all the time,
It was too cold for Emma to sleep, so instead she imagined herself snuggled between her neither of us are going to have any fun.”
parents on the couch at home, watching a movie, but the thought only brought tears to her Emma shielded her eyes from an enormous splash that boomed and echoed throughout
eyes. And it was frigid. She gave in and let her body rack with silent sobs. Alice was awoken the room. She moved her fingers in time to see Alice’s head disappearing below the water on
in the middle of the night by the gentle shaking of the bed. She checked her watch. It was the other side of the pool.
2:46 A.M. Alice listened to Emma’s almost inaudible crying for a few minutes, and then for Alice surfaced and looked up at her, agitation etched into her features. “Since you didn’t
any other sounds before climbing down from the top bunk to shake Emma’s shoulder. want to jump in with me, I did it myself.”
“Hey, get up and come with me.” The room had a bare tiled floor and ranged from four to ten feet deep across the large
Emma peered up at her from her sleeping bag, swiping at her eyes. “What?” room. Emma supposed she could at least get into the pool. Before Alice could say anything
“Please?” more, Emma turned her back, quickly slid out of her pajamas and sat down on the stone
“Fine, ok.” Emma slipped on her shoes without tying them and met Alice outside the ledge of the shallow end of the pool and let herself slip into the water. She sunk into the cold
teepee. “What is it? Do you have to go to the porta potty?” blue, up to her waist. She crossed her arms over her chest, goosebumps peppered across her
Alice started walking. “No. Just follow me.” Emma started to protest, but Alice held a arms.
finger to her lips. “You’ll wake everyone up and then we’ll be in trouble.” Alice’s hair was slicked back like a water seal, and light undulated and swirled against
The ridges of the mountains were almost imperceptible creases at the edges of the the plain white walls as it reflected against the water. The water on her bare neck seemed to
darkness. Alice flicked on a flashlight and swung the beam onto the narrow pathway. glow blue. “Come over here,” Alice shouted from the other side of the pool.
Once they had trekked up the trail from the teepee to the main camp, Emma caught her “I…I can’t.”
friend’s shoulder. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” Alice brushed water from her eyes and squinted across the pool at Emma. “You can
Alice shook her head. “Don’t you trust me? This will cheer you up.” swim, right? What twelve-year-old can’t swim?”
Moose Lodge looked sharp and foreboding in the dark and hushed silence. Alice led Emma felt her heart punching against her ribcage. What twelve-year-old couldn’t swim?
Emma around to a back door and opened it, grinning. Emma thought about turning back, Emma inched closer to the place where the floor dropped off to the deep end.
but didn’t want Alice to think she didn’t trust her. Her instincts were telling her to keep her Emma pretended to laugh. “ ’Course I can swim.” She didn’t want to go in the deep end
mouth shut. Alice made her way through the mess hall and opened a door on the other side because she’d never kept such a blatant lie from her parents before. She didn’t like the idea
of the room that Emma hadn’t noticed earlier. that she could be influenced, but then reminded herself of how cruel middle schoolers could
Emma’s stomach dropped. It was the swimming pool. The undisturbed water shimmered be to the kids without friends. Her toes inched forward, and in a moment of breathlessness
in a shaft of moonlight through a window near the ceiling. For several moments she felt and she felt her body drop off the deep end.
numb, not feeling Alice usher her inside, or the door swing shut. She could hear Alice saying Momentarily, she forgot to move and started sinking, but then remembered to paddle,
something over the pounding in her ears, but she couldn’t remember what it was. keeping her head bobbing over the water. Unsteady, but afloat.
29 30Motif 2021 Motif
2021
The Deep End Continued Final Rehearsal, September 2017
Hannah Sochowski
Alice spun in the water, laughing. “That’s why we’re going to be great friends in middle
Remember that time we danced in the rain?
school, Emma. You know how to stop thinking about your parents and have fun.”
We ran down those concrete steps
Emma sucked the scent of chlorine into her lungs, hoping that the air would keep her
in our crinolines and Converse,
glued together. She was hardly treading water, jerking back and forth awkwardly. She
and just for a moment, we weren’t on a stage.
clenched her teeth tightly to focus on keeping her head above the water.
It was only a minute later that Alice climbed out of the pool and began drying herself
We ran down those concrete steps
off with a towel from a rack by the door. Emma followed, waiting until Alice was turned the
from the stage door to the street.
other direction before climbing out and wrapping a towel around her body. She shook with
Just for a moment we weren’t on a stage, but
relief before sliding her soft pajamas over her damp skin.
under a moon and not electric lights.
Alice smiled, pleased. “Aren’t you glad you trusted me? This was fun.” Water puddled
under them as they turned their backs from each other to change back into their pajamas.
From the stage to the street,
Emma could smell nothing but chlorine. The scent overwhelmed her other senses, and
we screamed into the sky and sang
Emma swiped a few times at the water droplets on her face. Her hair must have been drip-
under a moon – and not electric lights –
ping onto her cheeks. “Yeah, I’m glad.”
in the thunderous night above.
When they left the building, the air stung the girls with a greater wrath than before.
The chilly air snatched the rosy color from their cheeks, so they ran down the path to their
We screamed into the sky and sang,
teepee so that they could get back in their sleeping bags sooner. Dust flew up on the path
those rain drops from heaven
and stuck to their damp skin.
in the thunderous night above
It had only been fifteen minutes since they’d left, and after listening at the teepee flap
finding company with our powdered faces.
for a few moments, shivering and shaking, they determined that everyone was still asleep.
There came only the uncertain hoot of an owl, the question with no answer. They entered
Those rain drops from heaven
the teepee, and though agony of cold should have felt worse to Emma, it didn’t. It was
soaked through our costumes. Together, we
replaced by fresh pangs of anguish thrumming in her mind.
found company. With our powdered faces,
Emma steeled herself to ask Alice for the top bunk. She didn’t know if she could take
we held hands, hugged, and danced.
the cold any longer. Alice’s teeth flashed a smile in the dark, and Emma thought better of it.
She’d rather be alone than friends with someone like her.
Soaked through our costumes, together we
The fabric of their sleeping bags whispered against their skin as the two girls slid into
twirled and spun in the street,
their beds. Alice’s murmur floated down from the top bunk. “We can’t tell anyone about
held hands, hugged, and danced.
this. OK? Pinky promise?” Her pale hand hung down from the top bunk.
Capturing this moment, completely free, we
Emma looked at Alice’s pale hand glowing in the moonlight for a moment, then
squeezed her eyes shut, shivering, refusing to clasp her hand.
twirled and spun in the street
in our crinolines and Converse.
Captured: this moment, completely free; we’ll
remember that time we danced in the rain.
31 32Motif 2021 Motif
2021
My Immigrant Father Buppy
America Sanchez Kate Antal, Oil on Canvas
My immigrant father, whose story starts in the golden coast, for decades planted the seeds
to his American dreams, only to have his selfish American children cultivate the riches
he watered selflessly.
My immigrant father, who taught me to wake up before the sun, has sleep-deprived eyes
that make my heart ache.
A man who reads the English dictionary at 4am.
A man that’s never been given the chance to show others how smart he is in his native tongue.
No, he’s never touched a corporate door or held degrees of social status, but my immigrant father
has the hands of a man who fears no work.
My immigrant father, who named his firstborn America, stands before me mesmerized
by the doors he never got to enter, walls he never got to be inside of, buildings he’ll never
get to walk through, opportunities he never had.
My immigrant father has slowly been killing himself building the American dream,
in exchange for his selfish American children to be living it.
His hands work in exchange for my dreams.
His heart beats for my dreams.
My dreams are his dreams.
33 34Motif 2021 Motif
2021
No llora lágrimas de sangre
Evening's Lament Victor J. Garcia
Diana Rodriguez
for those we have lost to COVID-19
Cuando lloro, others don’t seem to notice
Adagio q = 56
B♯dim7
F #min D #min7b5
# # # 4F min7
# D #min7b5 G #min7b5 C #7b9 I wonder if it is hard to see
& 4 ú œú . j j j
œ œ œ #œ œ œ.
las lágrimas translúcidas
ú œ œ œ œ.
ú #ú œ œ œ # œœ œ ú œ sneaking their way down my cheeks
? # # # 44 ú ú
#ú úú ú ú œ # # œœ absorbing into my clothes
ú ú ú #œ leaving vanishing clues that they were there.
I stare at my blurred reflection
C #min7b5 F #7b9 G #min7b5 wishing for red streaks to stain my face
### nnn
4
B min B min/A G7
& # œœ œœ # œœ n œœ # œœ . j œ œœ œ œ j œú œ nœ
œ œ. œ œ n œú
for lágrimas de sangre to pour out
. œ œ œ œ # œœ œ ú œ
J
marking every surface that they touch.
? # # # n úú ú úú ú ú ú nnn Refusing, for even a second
ú ú ú nú to be ignored.
F min/C B min7b5 G min7 F #min7b5 B b7 D 9sus G #7
G #dim7
####
C C Maj7 C7 B 7#5 A 7#5 D9 B♯dim7
7
Puzzle Pieces
& œœ œ œœ œ ú j œœ œ # œ b œœ n œ œ œ œ
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œ
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