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The Elm City



Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2010 with funding from

Lyrasis IVIembers and Sloan Foundation

The University of New Haven's
Journal of Arts and Literature

Volume 12

The Elm City Review

is a publication of the students of the

University of New Haven

*Above logo designed by Craig Thomas


Stephen Acevedo

Molly Seely

Madison Soldano

Sarah Gostin

Sara Malmlov

Matthew Heath

Asia Chea

Judy Costa

Ashley Johnson

Rachel Montgomery

John Starkes


Jeffrey Foster

Cover by:

Deshawn McGregor
"^Editor's Choice/Contest Winner: Art*

Special thanks to Terry Recchia, Donald M. Smith,

Ruth Somers-Phillips, the Undergraduate Student

Government Association, the B artels family, and the

University of New Haven 's English department.

The contents of this publication do not necessarily

reflect the official views or policies of the

University of New Haven.

All rights reserved by the artist, 2010

Printed by
Royal Printing Service

Table of Contents

A Child's Eyes

John Lumbra


Beauty and Pain

Deshawn McGregor



Ashley Ventrone


Drenched, and Will Never. .

. Asia Chea






Euphemia Tse


The Willow

Katie Kennedy


The Fact Collection

Madison Soldano


The Complex Machine

Melanie Rovinsky



Ankit Sharma


Do the Dead Care?

Brianna Halek



Ashley Johnson



Shniqua Christian


She's Falling Apart

HoUie Hale


Beauty in the Darkness

Kaitlin Kennedy


Beige Drapes



In the Park...

Doralie Ortiz


The Sky Darkens

John Lumbra


The Day I Thought of. . .

Sara Malmlov


My Momo



Attracted to the Unavailable

Maxine Morency



Emily Boelsems


Warriors of WWI

Molly Seely


Crimson and Silver

SC Bemadette


Worn Down

Jane Schwab



Phillip Duchesne



Randy Rinaldi


The Jazzman

Stephen R. Acevedo


Smiles on Your Window

Alyssa Matthews



Melanie Rovinsky



Doralie Ortiz


Story of a Beautiful Disaster

Nazly Bokhari


Spider's Legs

Kate Voos



Jim Kieman


Battle at St. Self

Ashley Johnson



Tagewattie Dasrat


Sunset Dinner Cruise

Kathryn Onorato


Black and White Utensils

Alicia LeBlanc


Glorious and Unexpected. . .

R.J. Montgomery


She, I, We

Ariel Carter


Our Song

Melanie Rovinsky



Tom Ford


To the Meal

Phillip Duchesne


Love & Betrayal

Shniqua Christian


Look Through My Eyes

John Lumbra


Tea Bunny

Andrew Marino


They Want, Need, and. . .

Ashley Johnson


Losing a Beautiful Angel

Ashley McDowell


Another Soliloquy

Madison Soldano



Phillip Duchesne


Wish for Me



Not a Hallmark Thank You

Alyssa Matthews


Into the Blue

Doralie Ortiz



Chrisopher Puig



Phillip Duchesne



Euphemia Tse


A Study in Scarlet

SC Bemadette





The Journey

Shniqua Christian



Tom Ford


Letter from the Editor:

I would first like to thank all who have
contributed to the production to this year's magazine,
and most of all- 1 would like to thank everyone who has
supported the Elm City Review in our goal to spread the
importance of creativity onto others. So- to my e-board,
members, English and non English staff and faculty, and
to all students who have submitted or merely picked up a
free copy of our magazine, I thank you from the very
bottom of my heart.

When first arriving to the University four years
ago, I, like many others, was a lost scared freshman; and
looking back at my college experience, I must say that I
have grown for the better; and I owe much of that to the
Elm City Review. Never in my life would I have
imagined myself in a leadership position, let alone being
a President. Through my experience in this organization
I have learned the value of hard work, duty, and most of
all, friendship.

To me, the Elm City Review is not merely
another club on campus. This organization is a family,
one filled with wonderful caring people. I have created
and strengthened relationships with countless faculty
members along with fellow students, and that is why in
my opinion, we- as a family, have accomplished so
much over the past two years.

I will miss all of you dearly. We've had a great
journey together, and along the way have achieved
accomplishments far beyond I could have ever imagined.
It has been an honor and a great privilege to have been
your President and Editor-in-Chief I can never thank
you enough for the wonderful experience. This book is
for all of you- for my family- for the Elm City Review.

Best wishes,

Stephen R. Acevedo

The Elm City Review

....A Child's Eyes....
By John Lumbra

When you look into a child's eyes

The innocence is pure.

There is no hate.

All you see is love,

And with love comes hope and faith.

Hope fills the heart with a surety that everything is

great and everything will be O.K.

Of course hope and faith come hand in hand;

You can't have one without the other

With faith you can fmd happiness everywhere,

Because no matter how hard or painful things are,

you know that there's something better after here.

You know that somewhere there is no turmoil, hurt,

or deceit.
A child knows this because before they came here

they were up there.

Resting comfortably in the arms of the lord.

So the next time you have a chance to look in the

eyes of a child, smile and you'll get one back.

Because Love is one thing a child doesn't lack.

Beauty and Pain

By Deshawn McGregor


By Ashley Ventrone
*Editor's Choice/Contest Winner: Poetry*

I've walked the cold Manhattan streets

The salt sparkling like midnight stars

on- the -pavement

I've felt the sharp touch of the wind's chilled hands

and have witnessed rainbows of colors weaved into


city walls.


you make me bask in the way I evolve when I'm

around you

But I also recognize my unease to adjust to your


Deeply buried chuckles burst forth through my lips

as I frolic around your mesmerizing lyrical web.

I'm not usually such a sporadic dancer, for most


expect technical precision, but you're my exception.

You do not walk inside of the lines, nor do you

walk along side of them.

You are a man whose footprints leave scribbles all

over the city, interweaving with the New York City


Excitement perpetuates the system

but... I'm not taken away by hypnosis

Smooth just like the droplets of paint that cling onto

the building walls

Adventurous just like the graffiti works of art,

but unfortunately the paint only rests on the surface

and does not seek to seep deeper to see what's on

the other side

and I'm just a curious girl.

An eternity later I sit back at my desk

as if this experience was a dream.

I feel bits and pieces of your prints teetering on my

nerve endings,

and as I sit here, I close your book as

revelation keeps trying to find its way in. . . every

time I hesitantly slam a door in its face.

And then my eyes scan back to the City

as I sit here with my dead eyes, my broken ears, and

my wilting heart

I know a love has dissolved and a new one has

sprung body a conflicting melting pot

scattered pieces of the past, scattered pieces of

lessons to be learned... scattered pieces of


fragments of acceptance that crave to be accepted

I pick up my brush...! begin to paint my portrait....!

start to paint the truth

Stroke by stroke my face comes together... stroke by

stroke ! widen my smile

Stroke by stroke ! paint the tiny blue tear drops

upon my cheeks

and then ...I reach the eyes. ...and I'm left in a

confused state of mind once again

Drenched, and Never Will Dry

By Asia Chea

As I looked up towards the sky and cried,
The sky looked down and cried too.
Both our emotions connected
Where strings had never before touched.
I believe my pain is much stronger,
Because my heart was left crutched.
As I looked up towards the sky and cried.
The sky looked down and cried too.


By Anonymous

Ashleigh woke up in a sweat, wondering
what kind of dream it was for her to have awakened
with fear and anxiety coursing through her. She
could always remember her dreams; something
would stand out in her mind until all the pieces of
the dream came back in an instant. But this one
seemed lost on her as if it never occurred. She
looked at the clock and the bright red numbers read
2:58. She groaned and swore under her breath, but
then stopped herself and she saw something move
nearby in her peripheral vision. She looked to the
right of her though her eyes could not penetrate
through the veil of darkness; the moonlight didn't
even help. She raised her eyebrows in confusion
and curiosity as she crawled to the edge of her bed.
The closer she got, the darker it became, and she
felt like she was losing her sight. She looked back at
the clock again to confirm that she could still see;
the clock was still bright and red, but as she turned
back, the moonlight passed through her window,
illuminating her room in its entirety. Whatever
darkness there was in the comer of her room was
gone. She slowly crept back under her covers in
case any other strange thing happened and, just
thinking about the worst possible thing, she
suddenly pulled the covers over her head and curled
into a ball in fright. She closed her eyes and
drowned out the drumming of her panicked
heartbeat and soon she was back in a quiet slumber
till the morning.

The alarm pierced through the silence and
consumed Ashleigh's room with its shrill beeping.
However, the sunlight coming through the window
was what made her open her eyes. She sat up
quickly just before the alarm came on and slammed
her hand on the snooze button. She got out of bed
and ran out of her bedroom. She thumped down the
stairs, jumping over the first few bottom stairs, and
turned left. She hit something hard and landed on
her butt on the floor, pain increasing near her
tailbone. She looked up and saw that her mom was
also at eye- level and fuming.

"Ashleigh, I'm getting tired of your running
around! Where are you off to now?" She yelled,
groaning as she stood back up and loomed over
Ashleigh. Her mom wasn't always like this; ever
since Ashleigh's dad passed away in that car
accident, she had been anal and moody, which was
understandable she guessed. Ashleigh just wished
her mom wouldn't take it out on her when Ashleigh
dealt with things by running away to different
places that didn't remind her of home and of all the
memories of her father. She was headed there now
but her mom stopped her from making a smooth

"Uh. . .just down the street to Hannah's.
Apparently she has some big news she wants to tell
me and wants me to come as soon as possible."
Ashleigh lied, hoping her mother couldn't see the
slight nervous crack in her voice. Ashleigh got up
and stared at her mother as if she needed some kind
of signal that she could keep moving.

Her mother sighed, "I'm sorry. Go ahead. . .
Just be careful." She started to say something else
but then stopped. She turned away, stopped in her


tracks and then started to say something, but
stopped and looked towards Ashleigh again. This
happened repeatedly as if it was a broken record, a
skip in her mother's actions. Ashleigh's eyes
widened as she saw this constant repetition and
knew it wasn't humanly possible for anybody to. . .

Ashleigh woke up. It was all a dream? She
asked herself, even the darkness too? No, there it
was again. The darkness was much more vivid in
her eyes this time, as if it was jumping at her now
and spreading throughout the walls of her bedroom.
It was almost as if it wanted to consume her. She
screamed suddenly and ran down the stairs at top
speed, again running into her mother. She fell on
her bum but this time the pain was slightly and un-
humanly worse.

"Mom, what is this?" She asked, as she
noticed that her mom was now holding a knife in
her hand. Had she been holding it before?

"Ashleigh, I'm getting tired of your running
around! Where are you off to now?" Her mother
yelled. The knife gripped in her hand was to her
side with what looked like pieces of shredded
lettuce sticking to the sides. Ashleigh didn't answer
this time as she stared at the knife in her hand. She
looked up the stairs in an attempt to run but what
she saw was herself standing in the stairwell
looking down at her. A cold empty stare that
haunted her, almost as if it were telling her
something interesting was going to happen. She just
stood there robotically for a long period of time
before she heard the sigh again. •

She could hear the sigh from the distance as
if it were far away, "I'm sorry. Go ahead. . . just be
careful". She looked back at her mother and she saw


that her mother had raised the knife, aiming it at
her. The look in her mother's eyes was of pure evil
and hatred. But Ashleigh suddenly was not looking
head-on at the knife; she was now in the position of
where she'd seen herself at the top of the stairwell.
It was as if she had glided up the stairs and shifted
perspectives in an instant. She could see her mother
looming over her on the floor, the knife stabbing
into her heart as she reached out and tried to
struggle from her mother's tight grasp. Ashleigh's
eyes widened and tears fell down her face, as the
breath within her started to escape and blood spilled
from her mouth. Her mother took the knife out of
her chest and for a moment, Ashleigh had a bit of
hope that she would survive, but then her mother
stabbed her again and again. Ashleigh sat on the
stairs watching her death, a void of emotions
forming in her heart at the sudden realization. Not a
dream. It was a reality that was no longer hers

"But aren't I supposed to go into the light?
What happens now?" She asked herself out loud,
more to the ceiling than to herself Maybe someone
would hear her. She went back into what was once
her bedroom and the darkness was still there
creeping in the comer. She reached out for it; it was
cool to the touch but it didn't feel foreboding. She
stepped into it, closing her eyes since the darkness
didn't help her direction. When she opened them,
she was back in her bedroom. The sunlight shone
through the windows and lit up the entire room. She
smiled, everything was better now. She felt real
again, she couldn't understand what happened.
Maybe the darkness had brought her back to life.
She threw down the covers and walked down the

stairs to see her mom. Her mom was in the kitchen
making sandwiches, neatly stacked on the counter;
three in total. She was mumbling to herself but
Ashleigh couldn't understand what she was saying
no matter how close she got. Her mom went to the
sink and ran the hot water in an attempt to get the
dishes washed, not noticing Ashleigh. She seemed
to be focused on the task at hand. She placed the
plates and utensils in the sink. As she was dropping
in the knife that she had used, her mother cocked
her ear as if something had startled her. With the
knife still in her hand, she walked past Ashleigh and
towards the stairs only to be knocked down.

Ashleigh gasped. With a faint whisper that
only the gods could hear, she said, "No."



By Euphemia Tse


The Willow

By Katie Kennedy

Like the branches of a willow

In the midst of a wind

Your hair flies freely through

The cool night air.

Waves ripple through your lonely eyes.

You're a picture

Whose comers are fading quickly.
Small depressions forming around
What was once a beautiful landscape.

A pile of ashes after bursting into flames

You rise up again and again,

Always resurrecting,


A relic.


The Fact Collection

By Madison Soldano

There once was a man who collected facts,

Storing them neatly, categorized.

In their own special place.

The many historical wars that had plighted Earth

He kept in baskets of intricately woven unicorn


Scientific discoveries on medicine, deep space, and


Were stacked in boxes bound in troll skin.

Which is quite close, I've been told.

To the consistency of leather.

Every country and its mountains, lakes, and rivers

Could be found within containers

Of intertwining tail hairs from the centaurs in the

nearby woods.

All the endless numbers of pi

He preserved in the dark basement.

Keeping the empty phoenix cages and fairy dust

bottles company.

But, out of all the countless facts in the man's


His true pride and joy was his world famous

Library of encyclopedias, which he gingerly placed

Atop long stretches of bookshelves

Made of the finest, most ornate,

Beautifully hand carved

Elves wood

Ever unknown to man.


The Complex Machine

By Melanie Rovinsky

Always on.

Working to a beat -

Silently moving mechanisms

that function and malfunction.

Skin stretched taut over

the grinding gears.


doing what it's told.

Breathing it all in - carcinogens, coke,

contaminants, corruption, cancer.

Beatings, broken bones, bruises, blood billowing

we batter our bodies.

Yet they cling on despite loads of abuse,

just to get the tasks done, just to fmish.

Mindlessly moving through the motions,

and somehow producing a coherent whole.

Minor glitches but never complete cessation.

Blood is pumping, muscles moving.

Never a thank you.
Go in. Go out.
Wearing very thin.
No sleep mode 'till

Just expectations.

Go up. Go down.

Wearing nearly out.

the plug is pulled.


L.I.F.E (I Love You)
By Ankit Sharma

From the blues of the sky,

to the blacks of the starry night.

From the Loud music of a club,

to the rented movies on iTunes.

From the Umbrella-protected rainy days,

to the shimmer of the summer sun on the beach.

Life Oh! Life I Love You!

From the top of a favorite list,

to the victim of the brutal hate.

From the wildness of a party,

to the half-burnt cigarette on the bathroom floor.

From the redness of a blossoming love life,

to the wide cracks on my beating heart.

Life Oh! Life I Love You!

From the loudness of a talk,

to the shrillness of a quiet silence.

From the attraction of a loud laugh on my lips,

to the saltiness of a flowing tear, running down my


From the float of a Frisbee in air,

to the joysticks of an intricate videogame.

Life Oh! Life I Love You!

From the pinkness of health,

to the pain inflicting bitter coughs.

From the comforts of a posse,

to the lonely company of my reflection.

From the energy drinks-induced all night studying,

to the emancipating feeling of a free day.

Life Oh! Life I really do Love You!


Do the Dead Care?

By Brianna Halek

She looks at all of the flowers placed on the stones.
Does it matter? The people who place them only do
it for themselves, so that maybe they'll feel better.
The dead won't care; they probably can't know that
they are receiving these frivolous gifts. . . They
might not exist in any form at all, and if they do,
they may only see blackness. And that's what she's
the most afraid of. Imagining that death is just a big,
black, silent space of suffering... She's always been
afraid when it comes to the reality of death. The
ideas in faith and religion are an impossible comfort
because she doesn't know what to believe. How can
the truth of it all ever be known? Even with this
fear, though, she enjoys strolling through
cemeteries — when it's still light out, of course — so
that she can read the names on the stones. Touching
a couple lightly with her fingertips, she reads the
dates they were bom and the dates they had died.
Some who died at the end, the middle, and the
beginning of their lives. One particular stone read:
Abigail Tyler, January 10^^ 1899 to May 22"^^ 1903.
After reading this, she contemplates why such
young people are always taken away from the
world, from the things that love them, without any
explanation. But that's death. There is no
explanation, there is no reason. This makes her
angry and her vision blurs as she gives birth to tears
over the many bodies. She wants to know that her
life and the lives of her loved ones won't be taken
away abruptly. Wants to know what has happened
to all that is buried beneath the fertile grass she sits
upon, and what will eventually happen to her when


she inevitably lays down with them. She hopes that
what she'll find is that death and being dead is less
frightening than life.



By Ashley Johnson

I don't understand the big deal about death.

What is it that seares people about their final


A bigger question lies, I wish to apprehend:

Why do people care about another's intended end?

If my body's not mine, if it doesn't belong to me,
then what's the big deal in ceasing to be?
Why does one little word cause so much fuss?
All I want to do is to "catch the bus."

WTiy does the judgment of humanity dictate what is


How do they know best, how could they possibly


that "things will improve" that "life holds hope"?

I'm sorr>', but I just don't think I can cope.

I can't hold on until that faraway day,

when things might be better, when they might be


You see. hell doesn't comply with the laws of


It much prefers to prey upon the weakness of


Pain doesn't abide by the time of "tomorrow"

Suicide doesn't know there's an end to borrow.

Nightmares are unaware they dwell only in the


That's why I don't believe that ever>thing will be



I have this rotting core that lives inside me as we


It's this constant decay that makes me so weak.

It's abandonment of hope that makes me ever so


It's the loss of self that makes me always so teary.

It's impossible to explain, impossible to describe.

Yet somehow, humanity feels it is qualified to


strong opinions in opposition to this cosmic sin.

Don't judge me. You haven't been where I've been.

What will be, will be, that's what I've read.
Live and let live, I've heard it been said.
And by the same token, how could you deny,
that it's just as important to die and let die?

It's all too much. And if s all the same.
Let me become part of the earth, part of the rain.
As I w^as before, let me become once again,
a collection of molecules, free from pain.



By Shniqua Christian

A person you can count on through thick and thin,

Are the people you keep at heart, despite their


They'll have your back when no one else will,

They'll tell you no and never give you that pill.

Friends are the people you can count on,

When everything's going wrong for far too long;

They help you out when you're in trouble.

Never asking you for anything in return, not even a


Friends are the people you can call on.

To tell your secrets to without thinking wrong;

They'll keep nothing from you because of your


They'll be by your side throughout eternity.

Friends are the people you can be yourself with.
You can be the clown that you are in their midst;
From dusk till dawn there'll be no criticism,
About your behavior and who you were, even in

They are the ones that stick by your side,
No matter the circumstances or where you reside;
Your peeps, your brethren, your partner in crime.
Is the perfect friend you can fmd, forever in time.


She's Falling Apart

By Hollie Hale
(Based on a song by Lisa Loeb)

"Time for dinner," I heard my mom yell at
the bottom of the stairs.

I groaned and walked down to meet my
parents at the table. I didn't want to be there; I had
no desire to be near them. Or anyone, for that
matter. I just wanted to be alone. I was slipping into
a depression but no one even seemed to care. I
know my parents could sense something was
different about me, but they never questioned it.

They pull up their chairs to the table

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Online LibrarySigmund FreudElm City Review (Volume 12) → online text (page 1 of 7)