Fall 2015

Vantage Point Volume 1 | Issue 1 Article 1 2016 Fall 2015 Vantage Point Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.uvm.edu/vantagepoint Part of the Arts and Humanities Commons Recommended Citation Point, Vantage (2016) "Fall 2015," Vantage Point: Vol. 1 : Iss. 1 , Article 1. Available at: https://scholarworks.uvm.edu/vantagepoint/vol1/iss1/1 This Article is brought to you for free and open access by the College of Arts and Sciences at ScholarWorks @ UVM. It has been accepted for inclusion in Vantage Point by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks @ UVM. For more information, please contact . Point: Fall '15 VANTAGE POINT VOLUME XVI Issue 1 | Fall 2015 Dear Reader — Margaret Atwood once wrote: “A word after a word after a word is power.” We hope you enjoy the powerful, moving, and evocative work collected here. We are very grateful to our writers, editors, and advisors for their enthusiasm and dedication. As you peruse the pages of this volume, let Vantage Point be your invitation to join the ongoing conversation art and literature create between us. The Editors Published by ScholarWorks @ UVM, 2016 1 1 Vantage Point, Vol. 1 [2016], Iss. 1, Art. 1 CAROLINE SHEA, ALI WOOD Journal Directors CAROLINE SHEA, ALI WOOD, EMILY GRACE ARRIVIELLO, EILEEN PARKS, JOSH HOLZ, LAUREN CHAPMAN Copy Editors JOSH HOLZ Layout STEPHEN CRAMER Faculty Advisor ZACKARY ADAMS Cover Artist SUBMIT TO VANTAGE POINT! FACEBOOK! facebook.com/vantagepointuvm https://scholarworks.uvm.edu/vantagepoint/vol1/iss1/1 Vantage Point always accepts submissions during the academic year. Send us your work at: We release two issues per academic year, the first in the fall and the second in the spring. VISUAL ART should be tagged with a title and medium. Artist statements are welcome and encouraged, but may not be published with the piece. Images should be sent as .TIFF or .JPEG files in high resolution. Smartphone images will not be accepted. LITERARY WORKS should be under 700 words and have a title and author name in their file name. Revisions are only accepted if they are substantial. You may send up to six (6) submissions. All mediums are welcome for submission. 3 2 The Art of You CONTENTS Arielle Hurwitz Untitled  Claudia Garber In My Dream You Still Smile Point: Fall '15 8 The Burden of Lungs 29 10 Caroline Dababneh 31 12 Ali Wood Girl14 Lucas Hall Work Ethic Carolyn Pedro waiting to fall and ripple Anonymous july third 15 17 18 Cas Buk Roubatu 20 Josh Holz 22 Ali Wood For You, John Cooper Clarke  Andrea Cory Savages of the North Andrea Cory Published by ScholarWorks @ UVM, 2016 Caroline Dababneh When the Truth is She Won’t Last the Winter 32 33 Emily Johnston 34 Stephen Chevalier 35 Peanut Butter 1 peanut butter on photopaper Stephen Chevalier Lofty36 acrylic on canvas Emily Johnston Denim37 digital photograph Emily Grace Arriviello untitled38 acrylic on canvas 24 25 Julianne28 Caroline Dababneh Scattering Seeds Peanut Butter 2 Haunted19 Your Funeral Caroline Dababneh peanut butter on photopaper Anonymous Michael Finley Fire and Rain Ashlin Ballif Banquet39 35mm film Zackary Adams 5 3 Vantage Point, Vol. 1 [2016], Iss. 1, Art. 1 The Art of You Arielle Hurwitz Feed me poetry in hot spoonfuls as you kiss my busted lip: I want to fill you. Lay my head against your wet and red I want its smell and sounds to fill me too. Once we’re full of us and still itching, I want you to strip me. Cover me only with feathers and soil, let the space between us grip me. I want you to wrap my thighs with gauze, give me stars to chew on so all I taste is light and awe. Tell me everything that never matters to them, the things that seem to only matter to usto the souls that withhold, the bodies that don’t settle, that can only live by kicking up dust. The ruddiness in your summertime cheeks emulates the art I breathe. The truth that is grasping in your eyes is written in the language of my sighsand sometimes I think I can see my doodles arise, as I connect the dots of the freckles on your skin. One day, I will paint you, splatter you with glue and paper mache youturn you into my final piece, my everlasting wondrous need, my longest kept secret. Make you fill me as I have filled you, I will bleed with the poetry of you. And whenever I am wounded https://scholarworks.uvm.edu/vantagepoint/vol1/iss1/1 you will soothe my sunken creases, the art you are will spark the art that needs to be created. We knew the bodies would never last, too much chaos and movement, too much time we’d have to pass, so please just let me have your fingers, the ones I wrapped in rings of poetry, feed them to me in hot spoonfuls, give it to me then let go of me. Recycle all that art that I breathed on to you, let it come back inside me full of nuance and renewed. Then take away your body, take away your fate, leave me with images, with a you I can create. Your heart beat is too poignant, summertime always makes me cry, so please, turn yourself to art, make that your goodbye. 7 4 Point: Fall '15 Untitled Claudia Garber Three wet olives squeezed together at the bottom of the glass abyss so far from where they began, their friends gone. Hollow. You reach two fingers in. No luck. Jerk the glass jar to no prevail. The scent of vinegar and sweat mingling inside the bottle seeps out into the air. A glass carcass of what was once full. Full of plump black wet olives. Now, all that is left, like three pebbles wedged in between the stones at the floor of a pond. You cannot coax them out. The excess juice runs down your fingers tinged with the murk of pond water. Maroon, salty tears. Three olives like mushrooms embedded in the roots of a tree smooth round anchors. You pry out a knife pierce the thick flesh—cool and deep one two three Published by ScholarWorks @ UVM, 2016 olives out of the looking glass forced onto the plate. The juice still trickling out of the jar. Across the highway between wrist and elbow. Fugitives. Guilty. 9 5 Vantage Point, Vol. 1 [2016], Iss. 1, Art. 1 In My Dream You Still Smile Ali Wood It happens even before the sun wakes up, that dizzymaking brain fuzz shuddering throughout before my lungs can remember how to breathe. My arms and legs numb and limp at my sides, struggling to heave me out of sweat-stained sheets. I don’t bother for coffee – what I need is the color yellow. Raincoat, honeybee, school bus. Baby crib, buttercup, dog snow. Something to shake my bones, and my hands cannot wrestle the car keys from trembling so hard, a skeleton man dance I never laughed at. and works between rows of fragrant tomato plants. Of things that have gone. Here and now my mind is still and just still enough as the nightmare seeps out the crown of my head, drips down my spine, and pools into the sea’s waiting, outstretched palms. I pick up a conch shell and want to hug it, hold it close to my ears, and fo (...truncated)