Voices is produced each fall and spring semester by students enrolled in Journalism 139 under the direction of Professor David Pink, with the help of Instructor Scott Fustin.

Submissions are accepted from current students, alumni, faculty, and staff. All submissions are assessed anonymously, and current student winners in art, prose, photography, and poetry are awarded prizes. Acceptance, publication, and awards are based on artistic quality as perceived by the student editorial staff.

The views or opinions expressed in this magazine are those held by the artists and authors.

Current and past issues of Voices, submission forms, instructions, and deadlines are available at rvcvoices.com.

Cover Art – Sad Clown by Audrey Peterson

1) Sleeping Medium: Collage Artist: Eleanor Boersma

2) LOL Medium: Oil Pastel and Colored Pencil Artist:Yoselim Sanchez

3) Riddles Author: Ronnie Thompson

4) letitgrow Photographer: Eleanor Boersma

5) tutonka Medium: Collage Artist: Eleanor Boersma

6) The Mechanic’s 23rd Psalm Author: John Hahn

7) Higher Than the Ground Photographer: JoAnna Sawallisch

8) Innocence Medium: India Ink, Colored Pencil, and Ink Artist: Michael Guzzardo

9) Them Bones Author: Grant Schubert

10) Almost Seascape Photographer: Marina Martinez

11) Cancer Author: L. Brandon Brito

12) Active Still Life Photographer: Christian Hanson

13) Valentines Cake Photographer: Shawnice McCraney

14) John Medium: Colored Pencil Artist: Ira Jelnov

15) The Youth Nowadays doesn’t know how to Catch a Fro(g)irl. Author: Rebecca Denham

16) Antelope Canyon, AZ Photographer: Ying Chi

17) Sanctuary Turned Prison Author: Kiara Morgan

19) Thoughts for a Lifetime Photographer: Molly Wilcox

Table of Contents

1

Sleepingby Eleanor Boersma

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LOLby Yoselim Sanchez

3

Existence always speaks in riddles

I AM- that which I AM

not to be named, for it cannot fit our desire. Rivers flow under the weight of our names,

but the Ganges does not call out to itself

We are alone

-- We must name the nameless,

and talk in tongues to our loneliness

My name is your’s, but I’m fixed

Here Our quest for deathless life

Escape will make both impossible

death alone Take heart thou dying child

forever it was never meant to last

Nothing

god

Me I’d be less lonely in silence

Void friend of rocks and trees.

just (empty)

words.

Riddlesby Ronnie Thompson

4

letitgrowby Eleanor Boersma

5

tutonkaby Eleanor Boersma

6

Steve is my mechanic, I shall not break down.

He maketh me to sit down in the waiting room,

He provideth me with hot coffee,

He restores my transmission.

He guides me in the paths of smooth pavement

For his reputation’s sake.

Yea, though I drive through the valley of the shadow of potholes

I will fear no flat tires,

For Steve is with me;

His gauge and his wrench,

They comfort me.

He prepares a bill before me

In the presence of my empty wallet.

He anoints my head with motor oil;

My washer fluid runneth over.

Surely, women in sports cars will follow me

All the days of my life.

And I will dwell in the service shop of

My mechanic

Forever.

Amen.

The Mechanic’s 23rd Psalmby John Hahn

7

Higher than the Groundby JoAnna Sawallisch

8

Innocenceby Michael Guzzardo

9

I have chased him

smelled his ghost

tasted the apparition

but i have never longed to catch him

only to hold him

in some undefined space between an embrace and a strangle

to feel his love and his death

burning through my flesh

his blood is my blood.

I have read of them

the men who have built buildings

and destroyed them

shackled humans and drunk their culture

created monuments to themselves

their blood is my blood.

I have seen these men

in my dreams and nightmares

thriving and wasting away

pale flesh melting from the skeleton

wooden teeth banging a funeral cadence

arms outstretched to claim me

their marrow seeping out

writing my name in cursive at their feet

while I shakily stand

on buried bones.

Them Bonesby Grant Schubert

10

Almost Seascapeby Marina Martinez

If I close my eyes real tight I can see those colorful fragments dance to life.

All while I crush the air between my fingers, warmth coiling around my palms.

If I close my eyes tight I can pretend the IV drip is merely a drum, each collapse a beat to

a song.

The people in coats cease to exist.

The dark room, cold air, a tiny place to sit.

The doctors become apparitions, it wasn’t my intention.

They explain with a grimace on their faces, but I couldn’t resist, I confess, they were all

dead at best,

The bitterness that itched the bottom of my throat, how they spoke; grotesque.

Cancerby L. Brandon Brito

11

12

Active Still Lifeby Christian Hanson

13

Valentines Cakeby Shawnice McCraney

Johnby Ira Jelnov

14

15

Young, spry hands reach

like quick silver –

yet the chasm of clasped fingers

holds only empty air and disappointment.

But what happens

when it is filled with writhing

Life?

The Youth Nowadays doesn’t know how to Catch a Fro(g)irl.

by Rebecca Denham

16

Antelope Canyon, AZby Ying Chi

17

When I was sixteen my mother left her sanity in a suitcase five states awayThe church became my sanctuaryThere they taught me to pray

“Come Lord Jesus be our guestand let this food to us be blessed”Unless you’re a homosexualThen we pray for your repentance And call ourselves holier than thou

I was raisedWith the threat of eternal suffering if I everconsidered anything other than the 2000 year old holy book,Which must be taken literally at all timesAnd by all times we mean except when we want to eat shellfishOr wear cotton blend clothing

Three times a week I spent the day in churchFidgeting in uncomfortable pewsstaring at a cross on the wall with the wordsRepent and Rejoice alongsideI tried to repentbut never seemed to figure out how to rejoiceOther girls smiled and volunteered to make browniesthey wore purity rings around their fingers Their well manicured, pink nail polished fingers that looked nothing like my chipped black and blue nails

I spent years on my knees Hands claspedBegging for forgiveness and hopeI needed to understand it Why I am this way?I received what I thought to be messengers from GodTelling me that the reason I didn’t understandWas because God only enlightened those He had chosen

Sanctuary Turned Prisonby Kiara Morgan

As I grew olderThese church walls grew closerThey no longer protected me,From a screaming woman who could never just say“I love you”They blocked me in.

So I ran. Ran away from Christianity and declared myself AgnosticStopped wearing a cross and learned to swearGoddamn mother fuckers want to make me holyThey tried, they really didSome still are.I get letters in the mail, telling me that I know the truth about what God wantsAnd I tore them up until I realizedI do know the truth.

If I wasn’t supposed to leave the prison my sanctuary had becomeIt wouldn’t have been full of darkness

18

19

Thoughts for a Lifetimeby Molly Wilcox

20

Voices Staff

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1) Bradley Rydholm2) Hannah Embry3) Mary Rudny4) Michael Cervantes5) Rebecca Denham6) Sarah Martinez7) Sydney Gerue8) Theresia Treviso9) Kayla Downey10) Skylar Juric11) Victoria Sockwell