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Online Art Gallery, Volume 7

Pathos is pleased to continue the Online Art Gallery installments into Winter quarter! Thank you so much to everyone who submitted last quarter. Submissions for the next issue are now OPEN and close Wednesday, January 23rd, 2019!  

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you can’t see my sick

Jessie Layman

slurp up     my brain stem

from a bowl        of cerebrospinal broth

umami-rich

chiffonade the basil            be gentle                 they bruise easy

sprinkle the spice               clear the pathways

slice

don’t dice

break apart

split in half

reveal the seeds

that sprout roots

on the roof of my mouth

pearl on my pallet     strangle my uvula

it hurts

not as much as last time

reconstituted noodles

new and screaming

splash of lemon

be gentle

excess curdles the milk

     dehydrated

slightly salted         crush the moon

to settle this ache

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Grandma’s Tongue

Brandon Romo

“You don’t look Mexican”

Well, I was born here.

My grandparents had their flag stolen upon arrival.

They toned down the Mexican stuff

and were allowed to stay

for a bit.

One evening, my grandmother spoke

uninterrupted in her backyard as she shook from the Parkinson’s.

I never knew she was trained to hate her accent

her words, 

her voice;

Her mind is sharper when she travels to the past.

Her brother vowed to eliminate his accent.

My grandmother, his youngest sister, adopted the same mission.

They succeeded.

And now, no tengo la lengua.

So, I take classes to try and find her accent.

Great-grandma uprooted the family to escape instability.

Grandma was 14 when she was excavated

like a sapling still grabbing hold of its soil.

Mexicanos don’t consider me their own.

And you make me check the “Latino” box on application assessments.

You categorize me,

while I struggle to identify myself.

I guess I’m just the right shade to be your enemy.

You tell me “Go Back!”

But I’ve never been

You see

I’m not from the neighbor’s side of the fence.

My family didn’t even hire Americans to build ours

after they were shouted down by your winds.

We hired Juan Maria y Rosendo y Jesus y Nacho for a job well done.

Our Feliz Navidad is tamales and Presidente con hielo

and flan for dessert

una casa con toda la familia.

Y ahora las fiestas grow quieter, 

so we don’t disturb your piece of the pie.

Still I pursue su lengua 

without the time to find it.

Perhaps it is already mounted in the oval office.

Tourists posing in front of that fleshy, pink trophy.

Maybe some Mexican will bring it back for me.

Necesito Eagles y Jaguars

to return my grandmother’s tongue.

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In Bloom

Emma Niggley

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