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Keys to the Soul

Mount Saint Mary College's Annual Literary Magazine, 2011

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Dr. James Finn Cotter is an extraordinary man who has inspired and motivated students and colleagues, alike, for almost five decades. He is a priceless treasure here at Mount Saint Mary College since he began his career in 1963. Dr. Cotter has taught every-thing from Humanities, to Religious Studies, to Philosophy, and now he is a staple in the Arts and Letters division of the college. Not only does he teach, but he is the author of many works as well. This includes, but is not limited to, Inscape: The Christology and Po-etry of Gerald Manley Hopkins; Beginnings: the First Twenty-Five Years of Mount Saint Mary College; and A New Life: Learning the Way of Omega.

Everyone knows him and everyone respects him. He always has a smile for you, when you pass him in the hallways, and always remembers your name. Over the years, he has become more than just a professor to all of us. Dr. Cotter is a mentor, a person we can all look up to, and someone we aspire to be like. We dedicate this magazine to you, Dr. Cotter. We are eternally grateful for all the time and effort you have put in over the years to turn us all into better writers, poets, and people. Thank you.

Dedication of 2011 : Dr. James Finn Cotter

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Table of Contents

Inspired Poetry Nick Contarino 4

Settle Rachel Sangalli 4

The Mexica Steven Broschart 5

Look at Me Chelsea Hepburn 7

In the Blink of an Eye Derek Sirico 8

Big Read: Edgar Allan Poe Horror Stories 10

Untitled Sean Winchell 11

Flat-line Janelle Turcios 12

Ten Things You Want to Know About Me Salma Sarah Yasin 13

In a Horses Eyes Joyce Hausermann 13

One Tuesday Morning Cynthia Brescia 15

Nunca te olvidare Agustin Ponce 16

Untitled Sean Winchell 16

Untitled Rocca Rea 17

The Snowball Fight Kevin Kelly 17

Picture By: Danielle Kearns

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Inspired Poetry

Here comes those feelings again

It's that ebb and flow trend.

Highs and lows,

Just leave me alone.

Wait, where are you going?

Don't go without truly knowing.

"False face must hide what the false heart doth

know. ”

This smile is usually just for show.

How come I can never say what I truly mean?

Use quips, rhymes and analogies as screens.

Smoke and mirrors like a magician,

For you to really know me is what I'm wishing.

Maybe then you will see how I feel,

Until then there are two things to be real.

The days are long and the nights are short.

These feelings are something you cannot thwart.

The pains of reality make you weak.

The only peace of mind is through the silence of

sleep.

~Nick Contarino

Settle

A tree planted in the wrong soil will

never get the nutrients it needs to

achieve it‘s full potential. But it can‘t

find the right soil, or get there, with-

out first being uprooted.

A newborn bird rested on a burning

branch will never survive, unless it

takes the risk to fly…

Sometimes, before things can become

right, the wrong needs to be shifted,

and the familiar needs to change.

How can things fall into place,

if you don‘t let them fall?

Rachel Sangalli

Picture by: Nick Contarino

Picture By: Melissa Tiburcio

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The Mexica

By Steven Broschart

It was under the rippling flag banner that we marched

For Moctezuma we raised our spears, sharpened our obsidian blades and tightened the knots of our warrior man-

tles

The bravest of the brave, we were sent to inquire about the rumored white men for our Revered Speaker

Clad in our quilted cotton armor we crossed the dusty plains of the East, a trail of soldiers that stretched across

the horizon

The commoners whispered that the god Quetzalcoatl had finally returned to The One World. We wondered if

the legendary feathered serpent had returned home as he promised those many sheaves of years ago

But for us Mexica we pondered if he came in defiance of our rule, to dethrone the mighty Moctezuma in his golden

palace

But he was not Quetzalcoatl like we thought, but instead he referred to himself as Cortes. He had eyes as blue

as the sky, and hair golden like the sun. His face was pale enough to reflect the moon, it looked barren, lacking in

emotion

They say he arrived to this world on a floating house with big white wings

But this Cortes was neither a gentle man, nor a God at all. For he spoke constantly of gold, and of a faraway

place called Castillo

And under Moctezuma’s command we were told to appease this man, for Moctezuma would never say that Cortes

was not a god

But he ripped down our temples only to erect a fixture of his own, a man with arms outstretched and a crown of

thorns, blood seeped out of holes in his hands and feet.

Amid our outcries of his heinous desecration his armies raised their wooden sticks that screamed out thunder, forc-

ing my men to fall as if their hearts had stopped with fear

Obsidian and steel clashed, our ranks fell with their crushing blows. Our cotton armor shone red with blood as the

enemy rode through our ranks

Cortes’ men wore suits that shone brightly in the sun and repealed all our arrows, even the hardest thrusts of any

spear could not penetrate; they sat invincible on top of great beasts that held them above the foray

Our swords of stone cracked under their oppression, and upon us they sent their ferocious dogs

For the Mexica we lowered our heads, for we had failed Moctezuma

We had stood bravely below our feathered banner, but now we hobbled below this strange man’s cross

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And with Cortes driving us, we returned to Tenochtitlan, covered in the blood of our comrades, bringing the sting

of destruction with us.

It was the eyes of our wives and children that looked away, shamed by our defeat. They walked away silently from

the square as we marched with the stain of our loss

For history would always remember us as the ones who stumbled and allowed this man Cortes, to crush our empire

and to end our way of life

Our fame is forever fueled by failure, for we had not been able to protect our land

For months we layed in recession, subjects to this white demon, slaves to the capital that once held us tight

This man Cortes, he continued to empty our city’s food supplies as he hosted lavish parties that never seemed to

end.

And to our gold stores he sent his men, we watched in dismay as they emptied our vast chambers of treasures and

sent them away to this far away land called Spain

But word spread among the people that our great leader Moctezuma, who had been held prisoner in his palace,

had organized a great resistance, which would empty our grand capital Tenochtitlan from its foreign invaders

And so, when the moon shown bright with its orange harvest vigor, Cortes and his men decorated the square and

sat down to gorge themselves with the fruits of our labor

We stood nervous, anxious to finally make our move. And while our armies stood undercover around the square, we

watched as Cortes drowned himself in our native octli

When the moon had finally finished its move across the dark sky, us Mexica made our move, for our city, for our

people and for Moctezuma

The enemy, drunken with their gluttony, reacted slowly as our men leapt like great leopards from behind their

posts. Our daggers slit their throats as they struggled to reach for their thunder sticks

A battle ensued as we fought them backwards towards the causeway that connected Tenochtitlan to the

mainland. A battle cry screamed out as we continued to push them backwards, men and horses fell into the river,

trampled and drowned by their own panicking numbers

Cortes and his men disappeared into the cold night; the only remains of his once great threshold upon our grand

city were the dying and dead that lay at our feet

But Moctezuma, who emerged from his locked room, urged us not to continue the fight, that we had taught Cortes

and his men a lesson, taught them that the Mexica were not to be intimated and subjugated

After our great victory we returned to our square, sat at their tables and thoroughly celebrated our victory until

the sun rose over the mountains

We ripped down his crosses that stood in the places of our sacred temples and replaced them with our own, for

Tenochtitlan was ours, returned to those who built it those many sheaves of years ago

But we were not aware of our grand mistake, for many moons Cortes roamed the countryside to rally our enemies,

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to one day return to Tenochtitlan, to destroy our nation and remove Moctezuma permanently from his golden

throne

And in due time he returned to our great capital with a force nearly quadrupled in size, composed of the

neighboring tribes that held resentment for us because of our former military conquests

And as I sit writing this in Cortes’ massive cathedral these many sheaves of years later, I often pondered if we

would have been able to conserve our nation. If only Moctezuma had ordered us to seize the moment and seize

our advantage over the hated white demon, freeing us from his evil rule that would oppress the Mexica forever!

__________________________________________________________________

Picture by: Nick Contarino

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Look At Me

You pass by a mirror and never look in it. Why? You see something you don‘t

like? Do you see anything at all? Or is it you think you see something, but not too sure what it

is? I am a product of you! I am a reflection of you! One that never goes away, whether I am

there or not, you see me and I see you too. I am a reflection of unresolved issues. I was always

there, but you never chose to see me. You never chose to rescue me, Now you can barley see

me......I‘m blurry, hard to recognize. You see a figure, but with no distinction, no identity. I am

far now..... tucked away with your unresolved issues, buried alive by all the parasites that eat

right through you. I can‘t seem to get out. This is where I will stay, I am last to be uncov-

ered. So many other issues have been waiting for their chance to see your reflection through

the mirror........But you just pass by and never look in.

-Chelsea Hepburn

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In the Blink of an Eye

By: Derek Sirico

The air smelled sweet, like flowers. I was a boy, lying in my bed back at the old house. I

roused myself and went downstairs. My mother was cooking. ―Blueberry pancakes, your favor-

ite‖, she said as she smiled. It was the same loving smile I had seen time and time again but

never grew tired of. She set down a plate for me: Blueberry pancakes with butter and syrup. It

tasted even better than it looked. I ate, then headed back upstairs to ready myself for school. It

was the first day, and I was nervous. I picked out my best clothes and dressed myself. My mom

met me at the bottom of the stairs. ―Here‘s your lunch, dear.‖ ―Don‘t worry, you‘ll be fine,‖ she

said as she embraced me. I walked out into the cool fall air. It was sunny, not a cloud in the sky:

the perfect day. I looked back at my mom and smiled.---

But that‘s not who is sitting before me now. No. The flowing auburn hair, and eyes like

jewels. This is Bridget O‘Reilly on the other side of the table. We‘re in a restaurant, and a fancy

one at that, the dim lighting barely able to disguise the lavish woodwork and upholstery. There

were several silent conversations going on around us, and the faintest sound of music. I look

around then look at her. It‘s our first date. It‘s clear now. She smiles and asks me if I‘m okay. I

nod and smile back at her, our gazes locked, the candles flickering in her hazel eyes. She was

truly beautiful, love at first sight if you believe in such things. We ate, talked, and laughed, and

I was enjoying every second of it. When our lips first touched outside her house, I knew she

was the one. ―Good night‖ she said as she retreated into her home, our eyes never losing sight

of each other. The soft sound of the door latching may as well have been an earthquake, but I

knew I‘d see her again. I turned and headed back to my car, elated, and smiled.---

I reached my car and saw her cell phone. I grabbed it, eager to give it to her so that I

could steal one last glance. But when I got out of my car, night had turned to day, and I was

staring at a dilapidated building in what appeared to be some desert city. I looked in my hand,

but the phone was no longer there. The cold steel in my hands was unmistakable, the dead

weight of a fully automatic M4A1, military standard issue assault rifle. My car‘s tame idle en-

gine had turned into the strong rumble of a Humvee. I had just finished adjusting to these new

settings when I heard a scream from right next to me. ―RPG!,‖ Corporal Williams shouted be-

fore a wave of dust and heat hit me in the face. I was blown off my feet, my world rotated 90

degrees, the sky becoming my focus. It was the deepest blue, beautiful, yet suddenly black, as I

was now staring into the face of my commanding officer, Sergeant Baxter. ―On your feet sol-

dier! We‘re engaged on all sides, man your position, eyes high tangos with RPGs on the roof-

tops!‖ He grabbed my hand and I was back on my feet. I ran for cover as another RPG exploded

nearby. I heard screams and knew my friends were dying. Moments before I was looking into

the eyes of my love, and now I was staring down the barrel of my gun firing at mysterious men

on rooftops. ―Gunship‘s here! Take cover!‖ I heard Sergeant Baxter shout moments before the

sleak body of an Apache attack helicopter appeared over the rooftops, raining a storm of mis-

siles and bullets all around us. I tucked myself into a ball, covering my head with my arms as

dust and debris swarmed around me. I realized I was praying, praying this was all a bad dream

and that I would just wake up.---

―Wake up! Wake up, Daddy! Wake up, wake up, wake up!‖ I recognized the voice, but

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was scared to open my eyes, the taste of dust still trapped in my throat. ―C‘moooooooon, get

up! We‘re going to the beach! You promised to take us to the beach!‖ The voice was so famil-

iar, so innocent that I knew I couldn‘t possibly be in danger. I opened my eyes and was met

with the biggest smile I could have hoped to see. It was Amy, my youngest, the light of my life.

―Let‘s go! Mommy cooked breakfast, she said it‘s your favorite.‖ As soon as she had said it, I

remembered the nostalgic sweet smell from years before. She grabbed me by the finger and led

me to the kitchen. It was a modest little kitchen, a typical suburban type with just enough room

to get things done while maintaining the cozy allure. There she was, at the stove, the love of my

life. I couldn‘t see her face, but the auburn hair that graced her shoulders spoke mouthfuls. I

went to her and embraced her, her smell and the smell of the pancakes filling me with the best

possible mix of emotions. ―Good morning sleepy head‖ my wife said, the same smile I had

fallen in love with spreading across her face. ―Sit down, breakfast‘s almost ready, I made your

favorite.‖ My two other kids entered the room, Kayla the oldest and Danny my only son.

―Morning Dad!‖ they said in unison as they sat at the table. Bridget set down the platter of pan-

cakes and we ate. Just watching my family interacting with each other, the looks on their faces,

the true meaning of happiness, was enough to bring tears to my eyes. It was the best moment of

my life, perfect in every way. I wished it would never end. I looked at my wife and we both

smiled.---

And that‘s where I must leave you, because my time is running out. The years came and

went. I lived, fought, loved, all to the fullest that I could. The light is growing dimmer. There

are 4 shadows above me. They‘re saying they love me. I know these voices, I recognize their

hands. My family is here, grown up, successful, everything a father could want. I know it‘s not

a dream, yet it feels like I was just leaving my mother‘s doorstep just seconds ago. I guess that‘s

what they mean, at the end, your entire life flashes before you in the blink of an eye. I get it

now. I wish I could write down everything that I‘m feeling right now, but I suppose there‘s a

beauty in the mystery of passing on. You may realize it too someday. I took one last look at the

shadows above me, smiled, and closed my eyes.

Picture By: Jillian Torre

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Blood Seeps Beneath Her Mangled Body . ~ Jamie Testa

The Big Read: Edgar Allen Poe Horror Stories

–October 2010

The Bloody Rake

scraped the ground.

~ Joseph Petrizzo

Her scream the color of

blood.

~ Rachel Sangalli

The dripping insanity ripping my flesh. ~ Christopher Fandino

He grabbed my arm with a fierce grip. His

skin was rough like sandpaper, when he

looked at me his eye pierced me like a knife.

His laugh was wicked, making me cringe.

He scrapped his top teeth with his tongue as he

got close to my face. He whispered in my ear,

“If you say one word, may you rest in peace.”

I closed my baby blue eyes while goose-bumps

crawled up my back and sweat dripped from

my forehead.

~Samantha Killmer

Picture By: Kevin Berry

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Untitled

By: Sean Winchell

A flaming field filled with beautiful red daisies Blankets the grandeur of majestic rolling hills in early fall. The wind rustling past my ears tells me of winters ap-proach, But busily buzzing, the bees are oblivious to the cold days to come. The sun, making one last attempt for the year to bolster the beauty on this hill today, warms me, But as quickly as this wonderful reprieve comes, the wind works his way onto the scene again and chills me to the bone. The flowers shake suddenly, but do not give to the winds arrogance, They know their time has not yet come, for they are too beautiful, and too important. Their steadfast strength makes me smile, and warms me in a way the sun could not. So although their beauty lasts but a short while, Their lesson is eternal, Always bend, but never break.

Picture By: Jillian Torre

Picture By: Melissa Tiburcio

Picture By: Joyce Hausermann

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Flat-line

By: Janelle Turcios

Flat-line no longer am fine

Empathy

I wish clarity and eternity could be a guarantee...

...but I'm thankful for your honesty

Break

was hoping for you to see that we should be...

...but anticipation led to frustration now I'm pregnant with pain, feel like I'm going insane...and

all I wanna know is where to go

Love is the essence of your presence...

...but I can‘t be the coach of this game. Exclamation point. You make the calls and you yell the

plays...just let me know

oh,

and I don't want to meet the competition in this condition, right now my happiness is a bit oppressed because I

don't know how to act my best

so here I go,

I thought your love was mine but you can't even define. She, her and miss can see to her dismiss, if you wish. I'd

rather not get in the middle of this.

no,

hands in the air...I surrender I don't care.

Ultimatum, gotta hate ‗em...

...but you gotta confront. Stick to your gut control your heart, always a start.

just know that mine...

– flat-line –

...stuck in this moment in time.

I hope that you can see, but for now just drinking my tea, my only remedy...

...i gotta be.

Picture By: Jillian Torre

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Ten Things You Want To Know About Me WHO IS MY FAVORITE PERSON

By: Salma Sarah Yasin

You may be thinking that the answer to this question is some famous movie star or pop sensation. Well if so, you are wrong. Although this person is not known nation-wide, he is quite popular for his age. Ok, I’ll cut to the chase: My favorite person is Arman Dean Yasin. That’s right, the seven year-old sporty/ preppy kid that goes to Vale Farm Elementary School. How are we related? If you could not tell by the last name, Arman is my brother. We are eleven and a half years apart, but close at the heart. Arman is my pride and joy. He is the main reason for my happiness in life. For over a dec-ade, I was an only, and lonely, child. Sure, I had cousins to hang out with, and friends to play with at school, but once I came back home, or got off the school bus, there was only my mother and I. My dad was at work most of the time. From the time my brother was born, I felt an infinite bond was made between us; a connection which would last forever, and could never be broken. My brother is cute, cool, and loved by many. As soon as he walks into a room, he gets so much attention, and is quick to make friends. His teachers adore him. He is a very smart boy, who loves school and his friends. Arman is naturally good at playing video games. He is especially into racing games. He is also a very talented dancer. Arman’s sport hobbies include baseball and swimming. Every spring, Arman plays baseball on our town’s team. He prefers batting, but is ex-cellent at both batting and fielding. For a little boy, Arman has quite an arm for pitching a base-ball. I have everything I need here at college. The one thing missing though, is my brother. I look forward to college breaks so that I can go home and spend time with him again. We can hang out, have sleepovers, read books together, go to the movies, play tennis, baseball…it really does not matter what we do…as long as we are together, we are connected. Let’s face it… when we grow old, it will just be the two of us. Years apart, and close at the heart!

In A Horses Eyes By Joyce Hausermann

From the moment Otho set his eyes on Tullia that day, he knew something was wrong. Otho has always

had a certain connection with horses. He couldn‘t talk to them, but he could sense what they were feeling just by

looking into their eyes. Tullia‘s eyes were usually filled with warmth and compassion, but today they weren‘t.

Otho was orphaned as a baby, and the owner of the Circus of Maxentius took him in. He always stayed

near the horse stable and watched as the riders prepared their horses for the races. Now that he was older, he

worked in the stables and took care of the horses when they weren‘t racing.

His favorite of all the circus horses was Tullia. She was a caramel-colored beauty that made pulling a

chariot look effortless. Tullia‘s rider was Sergius. Otho didn‘t like Sergius very much, but he tolerated him because

Tullia tolerated him.

Otho walked closer to Tullia‘s stall and gave her a loving pat on the neck. Otho knew something was ter-

ribly wrong. She felt weak, and didn‘t respond to Otho as she usually had. Otho became very worried. The chariot

races would begin in half an hour and he knew that Tullia couldn‘t race. He decided that he must go tell Sergius

that he couldn‘t race Tullia.

He sprinted out of the stables and up to the racers‘ quarters. All the while, he was thinking of how he was

going to approach Sergius to tell him about Tullia. The only time Sergius ever talked to Otho was when he was

ordering him around.

As Otho neared the race quarters, he could hear men laughing inside. He opened the door a tiny bit,

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slipped through, and hid in a dark corner of the room. He didn‘t want to draw too much attention to himself, but he

knew that what he had to say was urgent. He stepped out of the corner and spotted Sergius right away. He walked

over to him, trying to look as tall and manly as he could. He knew that if he showed fear, the riders would have a

blast tormenting him. He approached Sergius and tapped him on the shoulder. Sergius turned around in surprise,

but when he saw Otho, his expression became one of disgust.

―What do you want?‖ he sneered

―Ummmm… I just came to tell you that I don‘t think you should ride Tullia today.‖

Sergius erupted with laughter as everyone around him stared at him.

―That‘s funny, boy,‖ he said. ―If I didn‘t ride Tullia today I would have to forfeit the race, and I never

forfeit a race.‖

―But you can‘t ride her!‖ Otho blurted out

―Why not? Why should I listen to a stable boy?‖

―Because Tullia is very sick. I can‘t tell you how I know… I just know.‖

―You listen to me, there is no way I am forfeiting this race. I suggest you leave before I get really angry.‖

―But…‖

―LEAVE!‖

Otho stormed out of the racers‘ quarters. He was so furious at Sergius, and the worst part was that he

knew he couldn‘t change Sergius‘ mind. He thought of how sick Tullia looked, and racked his brain for some other

way to stop Sergius from racing Tullia.

While he was thinking, he heard hundreds of people below him entering the Coliseum. He hadn‘t realized

how late it was, and he knew if he didn‘t prepare the horses, he would be in a lot of trouble. He ran as fast as he

could back down to the stables. The first stall he approached was Tullia‘s. She looked as if she were pleading with

Otho not to make her race. Otho felt horrible, but he didn‘t know what he could do.

As he was preparing the other horses for the race, he thought of a plan. It wasn‘t a great plan, but it was

the only thing he could think of to help Tullia. He was going to pretend to forget to get Tullia ready. That way,

when the riders came down for their horses, Tullia would be unprepared, and at that point, there would be no way

for Sergius to prepare her in time. Otho knew this was going to get him into a lot of trouble, but it was worth it if

he could help Tullia.

Just as he had planned, he prepared every horse except Tullia. When the racers came down to get in their

chariots, Otho heard his name being called very loudly.

―You foolish boy! Why isn‘t Tullia ready? How am I supposed to race a horse without a chariot?‖ Sergius

screamed.

―I‘m sorry, sir,‖ Otho said, pretending to seem surprised. ―I completely forgot about Tullia. There are so

many other horses. I must have skipped over her.‖

―Ha! You think I don‘t know you‘ve wanted me to forfeit the race all day?‖ He began to fasten Tullia to

her chariot.

―No! Stop! You can‘t race her. You don‘t have enough time to properly fasten her to the chariot,‖ Otho

called.

―Don‘t try to stop me. You are not making me forfeit this race.‖ Before Otho could stop him, Sergius

hooked up Tullia to the chariot and was taking her out into the Coliseum.

Otho ran after Sergius but could not catch up. When he finally made it out into the Coliseum, his heart

sank. The white flag that starts the race was falling through the air. He was too late; the race had already begun. He

scanned the track until he locked eyes on Sergius and Tullia. He could see Tullia straining to keep up with the

other horses. When they were coming around the bend for their second lap, it happened. Tullia‘s legs gave out, and

she fell hard against the ground. Otho ran as fast as he could onto the track, not listening to the people in the stand

yelling at him to get off. When he was almost to Tullia, Sergius climbed out of the fallen chariot.

―You stupid horse!‖ He said as he raised his hand to hit her.

―NOOOOOO!‖ Yelled Otho, sprinting towards Sergius. Sergius turned around and gave Otho a look that

told him he was in trouble.

―You! This is all your fault,‖ he screamed, and before Otho could react, Sergius hit him squarely between

the eyes. Otho fell hard and everything went black.

When Otho woke up, he felt extreme pain in his head. He looked around the room and realized he was in

his friend Agorix‘s room. Agorix was his only true friend at the Coliseum, besides Tullia. Agorix did general

maintenance on the Coliseum and, like Otho, he also lived there. After Otho sat up he remembered what had just

happened. He jumped to his feet and wobbled a little bit. He was about to run out the door when he heard Agorix‘s

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voice.

―Where are you going?‖ Agorix asked

―I have to find Tullia. Where is she?‖

―She‘s in her stall, but I don‘t think you‘re strong enough to go see her yet.‖

―I have to see her,‖ Otho said as he ran out the door. He ran out of Agorix‘s room and down to the stables,

his head pounding the whole way. When he got to Tullia‘s stall his heart leapt. She was lying on the ground with a

cast on her leg, but she was still alive. Tullia looked at Otho and Otho knew she understood he did all he could.

That night, Otho slept in the stall with Tullia. He felt that if he left her alone something would happen. He

laid there listening to Tullia‘s deep, long breaths. It truly felt like the chaos from that day was finally over. He

turned over and fell asleep, in complete exhaustion, knowing at that moment that only death could part him and

Tullia.

____________________________________________________________________________________

One Tuesday Morning

By Cynthia Brescia

It was just an ordinary day in my small hometown, starting like any other. I got ready for school

and began out on that sunny morning. You see, it wasn‘t just an ordinary morning, little did I know that

from then on, that Tuesday morning had the potential to impact my life forever. You see my Dad

worked on the thirty-first floor of the World Trade Center in New York City. He was there that day in

September, ready for work bright and early. I was in fourth grade at the time. I went to school and was

in class when some of my friends started getting called out of school, though I didn‘t think anything of

it. Not before long I heard my name called for dismissal. I walked down the hallway and saw my mom

with her eyes full of tears. The first thing that came to my mind was my grandpa died, being as he just

suffered from a stroke the month before. Instead she told me that no, Daddy‘s building was hit. At that

point being a fourth grader I still didn‘t fully comprehend what she had just said. That five minute drive

home was the longest and most silent time of my life. I arrived home and what I saw on the television

had left me in a state of shock. A million thoughts were running through my head, was my dad alright,

did he know how much I loved him, and was last night the last time he would be there to kiss me good-

night? I looked at the clock, it was 10:32 am, and exactly one hour and 29 minutes since the plane hit my

dad‘s building. The time seemed to be moving by slower and slower each minute. Finally, the phone

rang, my mom picked it up and it was him. In the background we heard sirens and him breathing heav-

ily, gasping for air. He said he was okay, gave us two of his co-workers numbers to call their families

and said he‘d be home as soon as he could. The feeling of knowing that my dad was okay is something

that‘s indescribable to others. My father arrived home at nine that night. He looked drained and was cov-

ered in debris. Next stop we were at the hospital making sure his lungs were okay after inhaling all the

smoke and ash. That Tuesday was the longest day of my life, what was only a day felt like a lifetime.

After everything that night I was just glad to have my whole family back at home where we belonged. I

can never fully express how grateful I am that my dad was a survivor that day. Every year this day is

something that is extremely hard for my family. Being off at college, this is the first year since the

tragic events that I am not together with my family on September 11th. I couldn‘t imagine my life with-

out my dad. I will always remember that day and thank God for watching over him and my family. I

send my love out to all the families that were affected that on Tuesday morning.

16

Nunca te olvidaré

By Agustin Ponce

I remember the lessons you taught

me

You will always be my grandpa,

―nunca te olvidaré!‖

You taught me games

To be played for fun

I remember the lessons you taught

me

Your smile

Will never leave my mind

―nunca te olvidaré!‖

You showed me a life

To be lived to the fullest

I remember the lessons you taught

me

Your voice

I will always hear

―nunca te olvidaré!‖

Untitled

By: Sean Winchell

The ocean stretches towards eternity before me

While Apollo‘s brilliant tag along blinds me with the sand‘s

reflection.

Wistfully watching, the wind weaves works of wonder and

leaves them quietly in my ears,

The water wrecks the beach with time, as beautifully as an

avalanche does a mountain,

And the gentle breeze continues on its course, I am but a mere

momentary break.

The warm earth rises from below, each grain heating my being

as I dig in,

Here, God and Nature collide casually, leaving me to simply

enjoy this wonder.

Picture By: Melissa

Tiburcio

Picture By: Jillian Torre

17

Untitled

By: Rocca Rea

The accent of a pen's tip tapping, too terse to translate,

is back in circulation. It's becoming more and more common

to see colors I thought I forgot for miles, and sense the

lives I lost to decisive delusions, and remember that throughout

all the shifting and the stumbling and the stuttering, all the animals

walked with the bending light. And they went on to wade through

sanctity that went up to their knees, and it made them wet with

the world in a small sort of way. But you didn't move, you barely

changed shape, when they passed and lamented at shaking reports from

the elephant gun, you stood perfectly still and beautiful against

the broken rays at your feet.

The water rose

and the wind showed favor, parting

at the fold that we knew we'd inherit,

or already did.

Breaths gained direction, attention;

but I swear that we both smiled as we turned

and crawled to shore.

Picture By: Jillian Torre

The Snowball Fight by Kevin Kelly

The dirty snow around the school,

A blanket tarnished by the street,

It witnesses the winter‘s cool

But then gives way to banging heat

The snowballs that the children throw

Can sometimes cause an icy death

When pistols let their bullets go

And young ones draw their final breath

There‘s quarters lying by the curb

So kids rush out and reach for them

And then the snowball fight occurs

Their brothers guarding each of them

Some white and shiny stuff is tossed

And very often not replaced

Its softness dies and might stay lost

To let its goodness go to waste

While students hurt themselves each day

As some still lead them to their end

And people fear to walk their way,

What good can newer snowfalls send?

18

This year’s Keys to the Soul magazine is filled with delightful stories, moving poetry, and stunning photography. Thank you everyone who submitted to the magazine. Con-gratulations to those who were featured in the magazine. Remember to always keep writing and producing works of art. Find the beauty in everything. Capture it in a story or in a photo. Never be afraid to share what you create with the world. Know that there will always be someone who wants to see it. You just need to put it out there.

Published by the Literary Society

President: Danielle Kearns

Vice President: Dana Conroy

Secretary: Djamilia Iagia

Treasurer: Giuseppe Conte

Editor: Dana Conroy

Co-Editor: Stephanie Weaver

Faculty Advisor: Dr. Peter Wikowsky

Picture By: Danielle Kearns

Cover Picture By: Meagan O‘Gallagher