2017

Harmonia:

Harmonia is the Greek Goddess of Harmony and

Concord. Born from Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess

of love, and Ares, the Greek God of War

Congruence. Concord. Harmony. Balance.

HARMONIA

The Creative Writing Journal

of the English Department

at SUNY College at Old Westbury

2017

Page | 1

Table of Contents

2 Letter from the Editors

3 Editorial Team Credits

Michelle R. Antonucci 4 Sins of the Sire

Brittany Steele 5-6 Father and Daughter Relationship

Kate Oberg 7 Salt Water

Alicia Fyne 8 Jamba Juice

Michelle R. Antonucci 9 Suit of Armor

Kendra N. Rivers 10 Gordon Heights

Kate Oberg 11 Swell

Christie Henriquez 12 But Who Are You?

Adam Segarra 13 The Marsh Incident

Kendra N. Rivers 14-5 Where is the World?

Jibreel L. Cooper 16 Morning

Mirza Farhana Shamim 17 Endeavor

Aja Assoon 18 Sensations

Jake Friedman 19 A Town in Rubble

Marvin Yanes 20 Two Contentless Entities

Marvin Yanes 21 Yesterday

Aldo J. Cholula 22-3 College Avenue

24 Submission Information

Page | 2

Letter From The Editors

Welcome, fellow peers and staff, to our 2017 Harmonia issue, brought to you by the

English Department at SUNY College at Old Westbury. We gather, once again, for

another year of wonderful short stories and poems, written with full hearts, as well as

a great deal of meaning. There have been many submissions, with a tremendous

amount of variety from each student. Within each piece of work among Harmonia, we

are reading the voices of the students who want to be heard, as well as having

something to relate to amongst their peers.

Within this years’ issue of Harmonia, we have discussions of politics, relationships,

life, love, neglect, strength, and confidence. Due to an exuberant amount of

submissions, we were sadly unable to publish them all in our 2017 issue. However, the editorial team would like to thank each and every single individual that was a part

of making Harmonia another successful issue filled with art and freedom of

expression. Thank you, once again for believing in the English Department.

We hope you continue to read, write, and discuss pieces of work amongst your

fellow peers and enjoy the beauty of it all. Here’s to next year, SUNY Old Westbury!

Yours,

The Editorial Team

of Harmonia

Page | 3

Harmonia’s 2017 Editorial Team is…

Aja Assoon Christie Henriquez

Anket Kohli

Gigi Larios Kristin Thomas

Faculty Editor: Cover Design:

Dr. Jessica Williams Gigi Larios

Page | 4

Sins of the Sire Michelle R. Antonucci

My Sire.

His sins are many, that you know

The fact that

his DNA runs through my veins

makes your blood

boil with disgust

And yet, you fail

to see the big picture

he is just one part…ONE PART

of the greater, larger whole

My eyes,

blue as a cloudless sky

are MINE.

My hair,

brown as the Autumn leaves

is MINE.

My heart, my mind

and the physical aspects that

make me woman MINE…not his.

See Me.

See the tree, not the leaf. See Me.

See the Whole, not the part.

The Soul within the flesh The Woman behind the man

whom you’ve abandoned.

Seemingly without guilt or remorse.

See Me.

See the Rose, not its thorn.

See Me.

See the Whole, not the part.

But I guess

The Whole means little

For as long as I

have HIS blood I am tainted.

Tainted with the Sins of the Sire.

For as long as I

Have HIS blood you will Shrink from me.

Cringe from me.

Avoid me.

And look upon me as you would a leper

Page | 5

Father and Daughter Relationship: Daddy’s little Girl doesn’t exist Brittany Steele

“I am lonely.” Only 12 years old and I began to feel lonely. How can a girl so young even

feel this type of way? I have friends, family and anything I could ask for but what was missing. I

had empty feelings inside of me with the wonder of why I wasn’t wanted by a man. A man who

is supposed to be my light in the dark and guidance through the obstacles of life. A man that is

my father beyond the genetics and name on my birth certificate. Where is he? Why doesn’t he

want me? Why did he leave?

“It’s my fault.” I look in the mirror and hate what I see. I was only 15 and hated what was

being reflected upon me. A man that is supposed to be the first man to love me doesn’t. Every

day was a different reason why it was my fault that he left. I hated who I was, my purpose, and

anything that reflected me. But this could not be seen by the naked eye. All smiles and laughs in

public but behind closed doors grew darkness and hatred. I was craving love and attention. From

family? No. But from someone that could replace the man who left.

I reflected back on my life and what I wanted. I knew I wanted to be a journalist and I

knew I wanted to be successful, but without feeling loved and wanted how could I get there?

Everything was changing; my body, intellect, just everything. The world looked different, no

father no problem. I became interested in boys; I talked to a few but nothing serious. All that

mattered was that they seemed to fill that emptiness inside me where my father should have

been.

For some reason I felt as if I loved each of them. Not in a romantic way but for a reason I

can’t explain. I was insecure and was scared to be alone. If I told these guys that I had strong

feelings for them and fed them lies than how could they leave my side. Only 16, but I felt as if

this was what I needed in order to get to where I wanted to go in life. The word “love” was just a

word to me. I did love my father but grew hate for him at the same time.

“I failed myself.” This stage of searching for unwanted love to fill my heart definitely

reflected on me academically. I lost focus on me and kept my priorities on the boys I was dating.

I went too far and made a fool out of myself. When I hit rock bottom, he came back. My first

Page | 6

love, my father. He was the light in that darkness. I gave in and all was forgiven but soon that

guiding light dimmed and eventually gave out.

I realized that life will have obstacles that will help your future. You can go through pain

and stress, but eventually you find your purpose. I hit the “reset-button” on my life. I wanted to

be daddy’s little girl, I wanted that perfect family. I wanted my boyfriend to meet my father, so

he could judge him and accept him. I wanted to be wanted and to feel wanted by him. I now

realize that waiting for someone to change is like watching paint dry.

He now still reflects the same emotion towards me as he did when I was 15. And after

wishing, waiting, and hoping he would change to be the father I’ve always wanted, I decided that

waiting, wishing, and hoping was hopeless. The reason I am the woman I am today only reflects

in the absence he had in my life. I could live my life full of anger towards him or just simply

move on and be the woman I was meant to be. Being daddy’s little girl was only a dream or even

a fantasy, but I woke up and realized it doesn’t exist.

It is 20 years from 2013, my wedding day has approached. I am full of joy and happiness.

With a successful career, loving family, and friends what more could I ask for. I am in a room

surrounded by my bridesmaids, flower girls, and my mother. As she puts the veil on my head,

tears of joy run down her cheek. Suddenly, there is a knock on the door. A distraught man in a

black suit walks in, asking to speak to me alone. Everyone leaves and suddenly I recognize this

man.

He is the man that left, the man who didn’t love me, the man who didn’t want me and the

man only known as my father. His eyes swollen, red, and gushing out tears. He pleads for

forgiveness and wants to restore what was broken all of these years. The thought of finally being

daddy’s little girl filled me with joy. But as I said, it was only a dream. A dream I have finally

given up and a fantasy I no longer hope to be fulfilled. An apology can be forgiven but in life

you move forward. And I have decided to move forward without guilt of knowing what was left

behind. He taught me that.

I tell him I love him, I kiss his cheek, and hug him. I then leave him alone in this room. I

must keep moving forward with my life without looking back.

Page | 7

Salt Water Kate Oberg

And I swear I hear salt water flowing

And I swear that it falls to the ground

Like a leaf shaking soft in the moonlight

That just shivers and trembles and drowns

It’s hard to breathe while the fire burns so heavy

And the fever is not coming down

If you’re home a little while, leave the light on

We’ll pretend and I’ll keep coming ‘round

And after all that we’ve been through I’d finally turned my face to you

And after all that’s said and done I learn I’m not the only one

To fall

Every day, every night, it’s getting closer

It comes hard, try to fight, keep it still

Can’t let go, can’t let up, let it happen

But I got a strong feeling I will

Every day, every night, a little darker

Got a feeling, it’s all coming down

And I wait and I watch and I wonder

‘Cause you kissed me and turned back around

And after all that we’ve been through I’d finally turned my face to you

And after all that’s said and done, I learn I’m not the only one

The twists and turns of said and dones, to learn I’m not the only one to fall

Guess I’m not the one, after all

So I’ll be where the salt water’s flowing

And I’ll stay here and wait ‘til I’m found

Had a dream that you stayed here beside me

But you left me to shiver and drown

And I know that it’s right where you’re going

We’ll just smile then we’ll turn back around

I’ll memorize how the moon lights the water

And I’ll leave and I won’t make a sound

Page | 8

Jamba Juice Alicia Fyne

‘Is it weird that I used to love you?’

‘I think it’s weird that when I look at you, I don’t think ‘I love you’’.

‘Is that weird?’

i started saying our names over and over again until they rhymed.

‘When I’m nervous I fake a yawn.’

‘I feel most confident while I’m chewing gum.’

i still want you to think about me in a way that makes your head tilt to the side, and your eyes water up, and when you see me i’m moving in slow motion, and i’m laughing, and it’s fuzzy all around me.

when i saw you, i started laughing and moving in slow motion.

‘I’m always hoping there’s something stuck in my teeth because then things would make sense.’

‘I don’t make eye contact as a way of making eye contact.’

i made sure to make sure i didn’t look at you when i thought you were looking at me but when i looked at you you weren’t looking at me and i can’t tell if that makes me feel empty or satisfied.

i don’t want you to love me, but i want you to remember that you used to love me when you look or don’t look at me.

‘I always go out of my way to step on garbage while I’m walking to work. I do it with purpose. On purpose.’

look at how much fun i’m having. are you looking at how much fun i’m having? are you having as much fun as i’m having when you look at how much fun i’m having?

‘Do I have low self-esteem? Am I an egomaniac?’

‘People act like pennies don’t matter. Is science the opposite of that?’

what is the opposite of when people act like I don’t matter?

‘Probably science.’

i want to say hi to a million people when you’re looking at me. i want you to see me saying hi to a million people. i want you to know that if i wanted to, i could say hi to a million people.

‘I said hi to someone once, and they just walked past me.’

i want to make sure you see me leave first. i want you to think i have to go.

‘I should probably go.’

i was on the verge of a nervous breakdown yesterday, so i called in sick to work, and drove to a jamba juice. i parked in front of a jamba juice, rolled all my windows up, and cried for an hour. then i yelled for half an hour. then i thought about how i feel like

i only exist when my brain stops working, and then i laughed for another half an hour.

‘I really have to go.’

‘Okay.’

Page | 9

Suit of Armor Michelle R. Antonucci

What is the body

but the soul’s outer shell,

an armor of flesh

where the life force dwells

Therefore it matters not

that my outer shell is of white

for I’m the same as a soul

whose flesh is dark like the night

So how canst thou say

that a cause for disown,

is to choose for a mate

someone who’s flesh does not match one’s own

For love in itself

possesses an independent soul,

for it lives, moves, and breathes

beyond mortal control

It is cleansing like water

yet it burns hot with fire

the most natural form

of life giving desire

And the fruits of such unions

come to live and to be,

a testament to the beauty

of cultural unity

I am who I am

And I think it’s okay,

but your negative aura

pushes openness away

Though you may think

it’s vile, disgusting, unreal,

the reality is

you can’t change how I feel

Page | 10

Gordon Heights Kendra N. Rivers

What happens to a boy who is not groomed?

Does he die from a 22,

Or maybe he’ll sell rocks to buy jewels?

Does he drink himself to sleep--

And count the days by?

Like waiting for pavement to dry?

Or will keep scrolling up on his IG--

And never complete a degree?

Maybe he will drool

until he’s a fool.

Or maybe he’ll just be cruel?

Inspired by Langston Hughes’ “Harlem”

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore—

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over—

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Page | 11

Swell

Kate Oberg

If you walk through woods and feel like Frost

Look like Virginia, think like Proust

The trumpet stuns you when it starts

In Summertime, it swells your heart

When you can hear the snow fall down

Feel skies just burst, see shadows drown

The music has those certain parts

In Summertime, it swells your heart

And sometimes you just stop and stare

They wonder, seeing nothing there

People made of different parts

They’re numb to this, it swells your heart

Sometimes it feels there’s only grey

And summer seems so far away

Nothing felt, no words to say

Just hold your breath—another day

Even when it’s cold and stark

There’s beauty hiding in the dark

The violins come in, play their part

The metal’s tremor swells your heart

And if you read him, saw those stars

Turned his pages, wandered far

I couldn’t follow, grasped in fits

Didn’t quite get a lot of it

But there were some, there were some parts

I understood, it swelled my heart

Page | 12

But Who Are You? Christie Henriquez

Who are you that makes you view me differently?

Who are you that doesn’t see what I see?

A mouth

A nose

Ears

And Eyes.

You look at me quizzically,

Do you fear my size?

What is it you see?

A large shadow you think will swallow you whole?

What is it you see?

Two hands

Two feet

And quite a few toes?

To me I see your spirit

Not the color of your skin

For me I see a face

Nor dare I question your kin

If they were a member of the KKK

A Nazi

An Owner

You are who you are

Be you as you must

Look to your left

Look to your right

Befriend one with trust

With honor

With pride

Don’t notice their skin

Who gives a crap

If they are purple or blue

Who cares if the person next to you is

A Muslim

Or Jew

Whether they follow Christian faith

Or none at all

It’s 20-17!

Who the hell are you not to appreciate it all?

Page | 13

The Marsh Incident Adam Segarra

Teller Coddington was a man who fancied himself an expert in all matters of life. "A

scholar of the human experience," he was known to refer to himself. But as he waded through

that cloudy stretch of marsh replete with algae and lilypads, a sense of trepidation overcame

him. He paid no attention to the end of his tie, now saturated with the repulsive green water, or

the tiny insects that made themselves comfortable upon his satin blazer; his mind focused only

upon a feeling, impossible to ignore, that a great burden was about to be placed upon him.

When he met the gypsy, who adorned herself with ornate silken garments, and radiant jewels,

he could not help but take the entire episode as nothing more than a joke. However, he hadn't

quite wondered until then why he had actually agreed to go on this little trek. It was as if her

voice disguised some daunting, yet beautiful power.

Then, just like that, it was upon him. Teller Coddington felt every nerve within his body

simultaneously tense. At the end of the murky stream, between the black shadows of ancient

flora, and beneath the endless cosmos above, yet somehow within all three, was an apparition.

A smoky blur of illumination, cyan in hue, yet somehow crimson, violet, and viridian all at once.

Teller could not move a muscle. He was locked in place with only the company of this being and

his rapidly breaking mind. He stood there, inwardly admonishing himself for his inability to

confront the ghastly figure, staring into it, wanting nothing more than to avert his eyes. An

uncomfortable vulnerability swarmed his mind to the point that his only release was through the

form of tears escaping his eyes. As the man continued to stare at the shapeless entity, the

warm, familiar sounds of buzzing cicadas now mixed with a swath of alien, unfathomable

noises that danced upon the air around him. Soon, his vision was filled with images of some

inscrutable place, though he could not sense that it was from a time other than his own.

Teller Coddington had never been more fearful in his entire life, yet at the peak of this fear,

hidden by a lifetime's worth of insecurities now washed away by this great force, was a sense of

sanguine bliss. And just as this fleeting state was reached, the apparition was gone, and Teller

Coddington remained.

Page | 14

Where is the World? Kendra N. Rivers

Where does our interest lie?

In a 2 by 2 screen that screams!

-Look at me-

[Selfie!]

We cannot fear the dark

interest of venom

Of jealousy.

That relies in our lies.

-Oh

wait-

[Selfie!]

Who could have

imagined?

Our world full

of demonic interest,

would lie in the palms

of Our hands?

-Excuse me –

[Selfie!]

I guess we were not kidding.

When we all chanted that night,

he got the whole world in his hands

Or

She got the whole world in her hands.

BUT, that doesn’t matter

because….

Page | 15

-Hold On-

[Selfie!]

We are

Self-made

Self-branded

Self-franchised

We are Our Own

Publicists and Promoters

Who knew life could be so simple

Without a clue?

Without a clue,

to understand

Our

Beginning and that there’s an

End.

Forever young, is Endless

And pointless.

There’s no art in deceit

And Mass Consumption.

But, just Robots who are trying to become

Macro-Popular in

The Amazing Race of Trends!

-And Oh yea-

[Self-Free!]

Page | 16

Morning Jibreel L. Cooper

Many people I know complain about traveling in the morning. But I like it, it’s a process that you

must adjust to. I like the cool, abrasive mornings that rebuke me. The fluorescent storefront signs

burn “WELCOME” shaped holes through the frozen blue of morning. Just like a troubled

friendship, the heavy gloom allows glints of light to sneak through its exterior. Eventually the

cover of night is stripped off dawn’s bed and more board the bus. Some come on, and some

leave. I don’t personally know any of the people, I prefer not to speak in the morning, but I

would like to believe there’s a sense of familiarity among us that serves as a foundation of

normalcy at the start of the day. This near palpable, although unarticulated, sentiment of comfort

between us silent travelers is delicate in its function (I hope I’ve succeeded in romanticizing my

bus ride). This quiet acknowledgement piques my interest in the lives of those around me. I make

lives for them, I’ll give them character. The grey-haired man in the blue blazer has reoccurring

dental appointments; he knows he hasn’t been the kindest host to his teeth in the past and

recently they’ve been leaving the premises at an alarming rate. The parka clad woman to my

right adjusting her makeup is a secretary for a local chiropractor (I never said the lives I made

were interesting). We make our way through traffic with the sharp cacophony of the surrounding

world blending into a steady hum. We’re just passengers, completely unremarkable, but each day

we’re treated to observe life taking place in the gaps of space that are born when we leave. My

ride ends at the train station, a battered brick building whose glass partitions glow with the

collective warmth of the bleary eyes that briefly inhabit it. I trade my mobile backdrop for one

more permanent. No longer am I the vestige whizzing by before detected, I now take refuge in

assuming a more stationary role. The time has come for me to wait and be patient. The others

inside wait too; they shift back and forth like the pieces of chess board as they come and go. I

prop myself up against a smooth steel pillar and bide my time counting the gray linoleum squares

that make up the floor (I think about 75 in total). I occasionally look out for the next bus I must

take as the process will restart itself in a new form—and I’ll exist within it.

Page | 17

Endeavor

Mirza Farhana Shamim

I made a promise to myself, no more crying in front of them,

The people who want me to suffer, who want me to cry,

I would rather wait till my tears dry,

Let me reveal a secret, yes, it was a secret for me,

I looked for a hand to strengthen my hand, for years!

I looked for the eyes to see my shadow, for years!

Maybe it was a bit late to realize that of that was fantasy,

No more waiting for the hand to be stronger,

No more dying for pure love and sympathy,

And I decided to handle all the negative force,

They chase me, all them, of course!

I made a habit of turning the negative attitudes from others

Into positive motivation and not as a bother!

Trust me, you will enjoy the failure of those who want you to fall back,

Only when you move forward, following your own damn track!

I won’t let my tears trickle down my cheeks in front of those who wish me to cry forever,

I won't let them enjoy my sorrow, no and never!

Maybe it was a bit late to realize that life is not long enough to wait for happiness,

No one knows the certain definition of this strange “term”,

I would rather live with positive thoughts to leave some contribution to humanity,

And of course turning on the light of hope, stepping on the negative “germ”.

I know people who feel that I'm sad and empty,

I think of them, they were and are in my heart.

Life is a gift, the most valuable gift ever!

It needs the best care that I promised to endeavor.

Page | 18

Sensations

Aja Assoon

Shattered Dreams, Distance, Sound

Change, everlasting, peace, a scope

A goal, a realization, Blue, red, white

Black, purple, colors, a rainbow representing

A story. An idol, an ideal, a reality.

DISTANCE, dreaming is substantial to a naturally charitable existence

SOUND, sounding out understanding, never despairing.

A symphony of sounds, souls and suffering

A display of daring, desperate deals

An army of amazing acceptable aspirations

a lovable nature all representing the complexities of life.

Page | 19

A Town in Rubble Jake Friedman

A stone stairwell I vaguely remember is scattered and discarded; the lush red violet vegetation

which bordered it has thinned and left scant and sickly specks of orange and browning needles.

A weak brush of whiting tree trunks yields to defeat with no strength left to carry perishing

pride—their faithless, forgiving spines fallen from a once opal sheen. There used to be a stiff

stockade which housed many healthy sheep. Soaked and rotting wood slants, putrid to the nose,

pathetic to the eyes; a few wooly coats still shake their knees, dreaming of food with no energy

to get it, and no hope of ever finding any. The bellwether, black, fat, and the same unmoving

looks south, after where the sun sets, and watches an old home. I go in, and see what little

remains of a family I still love. There is stone, strong as before, stacked for the walls they once

cared to make. The rest in a heap with no grout to keep them together. I see my friends and my

family dead in the puddle sitting cold, as though they had long expected me for supper.

Page | 20

The Contentless Entities Marvin Yanes

Two souls, two wild spirits

United by the sacred law of sand-made men

But, segregated by their judgement

Of morality.

The dead smile of the moon,

The black veil of the night,

The evil hands of the cold wind,

The shy shadows of the massive Guanacaste trees.

All of them witnessed it: They saw the scoundrel morality;

All concealed its sad and agonizing face.

Two bodies,

Two completely complex worlds

United their lives in an April night,

When the strong and neglectful wind of April

Dances with the dry and arrogant dust.

Two bodies touched

Two bodies danced

Two bodies hugged

Two bodies kissed

Two bodies made love

Two bodies screamed

Two bodies killed...

The misery of their crime

Can be seen in their breathless souls,

Not in their eyes.

Their flesh hid their fatality;

It knew,

It knew that two bodies were condemned.

...their happiness was never born.

Yesterday,

Yesterday, they accused and murdered

Their true essence.

Yesterday… two bodies abnegated

Their genuine halves,

To please,

To please,

Just to please their antagonists,

And their average interiors with putrid matter.

Tomorrow… tomorrow,

Two soulless bodies will rot

In the grave of oblivion.

And yesterday:

Will burn with the lack of selfishness they had…

Page | 21

Yesterday Marvin Yanes

Yesterday because of negligence, I met you.

Yesterday ran away and will never come back to the palm of your hand.

Regardless of how many laps the earth performs,

You will be unable to fly to my caliphate.

The ravens of destiny await you;

They will devour your path,

And they will mislead you, until you die of thirst and hunger.

Then they will lift your corpse over the dark clouds,

To be thrown to the sharp and steep peaks of the mountains

Of your sad and poor injudiciousness.

Page | 22

College Avenue Aldo J. Cholula

I can merely conform to any distance

To worship her skin close to mine

Commit to an asylum

Cradling an estranged love

Essential to the endurance of the lot parted

Collective prime extensions of her hand

Knitted among my comparisons

Summed to a composite backbone whilst above

Perspective stars illustrate our contrast

Dying ahead of infinite violence and space

Beneath brightness collected constellations

Endless shade skewed by light spectacles

Splendor implemented by her eyes

Through no fear of the unknown

Starry contours lay forward

Secret history lay past

Beyond grasp

Parts replicating growing harmony

Following gentle autumn winds

Paced by new familiar rhythm

Connected mirror between both souls

Existent to synchronize each stride

Perambulating each refined sense of sophistication

Off campus through Quads of contemporary landscaping

Sprinkled with Ash tree leaves and skittering chipmunks

Onto ancient roads built by ancient men

Across the abyss of historical structures and pavement

An alleged endangered species

The former predator purposely lost, unable to camouflage

A rekindled superiority obsession

Walked upon us

White skin protected in a dense dark coat of fur

Detailed stock stood out

To identify his wandering prospects

Patches of wounds surround his furry coat

Reminders of battles lost in ignorance and despair

One scar distracted away from the empty glare shot towards us

Left the creature almost faceless

Branded red with the blood shed by his confederacy

And a blue intensity in his eyes flagged loathing

Page | 23

Carried proudly on behalf of the enemy

Embedded underneath each stitch covered wound

An assortment of battle scars only made the creature stronger

His back, a frightening disfigured emblem

Haunted by the souls of the millions perished by its imagery

Another symbol of loss

Yet emblematic of legendary patriotism

An immortal legacy that supreme pallid creatures pass down

To their young, through feeble conquest

His aptitude tattooed on every inch of his fat, dented body

I shifted with my beloved

Cowardly let go

and fell to a detour aside simultaneously, while the brute attacked

with a sovereign reach

that stole our bid to avert the parallel concrete channel

He sent a tainted dagger

Clouded in smoke

As we devoured the righteous incense

past our open mouths

ringing out her bleeding ears

Poison running through every cavity

Every vessel that connected our hands and hearts

“That is wrong, nigger lover”

Fear crept up

Heads down we walked through this old town

Once dominated by his kind

Painfully letting the muck rotting our hearts

Traveling through our conscious and manifested through her tears

Walking our mind in the past

Millions of years

Genes triggered inferiority in our DNA

Inherited from our ancestors

Poisonous bleach laced daggers

Perpetually entrenched in our bodies

A burden newly bestowed

An estranged gap in the night sky

My tainted light complexion

Her infinite darkness

Leftover from her dying heart

Collapsed within herself

Which no light can ever escape

Page | 24

To submit your work to a future issue of

Harmonia, The Creative Writing Journal

at SUNY College Old Westbury….

Potential contributors can submit up to 3 pieces per

semester. All written submissions must be sent to

HarmoniaJournal@gmail.com as Microsoft Word files

(.doc or .docx). You must include titles for each of your

submissions as well as your full name as you would like

it to be published. Short stories should be no longer

than 5 pages. Poems should be no longer than 3 pages.

You will be contacted with the editors’ decision

approximately 4 weeks after the semester’s deadline.

For more information, see the English Department

website www.english-ow.com

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