Welcome to MU Voices

Dorothy Parker once said, "I hate writing. I love having written." For many writers, this is a familiar feeling. Writing is hard. Writing requires time and dedication, and sometimes finding the right words feels like pulling teeth. Writing is hard, but the results that yield from the effort can be pretty spectacular. I only have to look to the winter 2019 issue of MU Voices for proof of this.

In this issue, you will find poems and short stories from our writers on a wide range of topics. Some, including those submitted during our Write Your Heart Out workshop, deal with love. Others grapple with breakups (Angela Maggioncalda) or depression (Rachel Fry). No matter the topic, all the writers who have contributed work to this issue are extremely talented and insightful. I hope you enjoy their work as much as I do.

Thank you for checking out this issue of MU Voices! Special thanks to Marwah Ayache, vice president of Madonna Pen and graduating senior, and Gabrielle Wobrock, a long-time Madonna Pen member and graduating senior. We will miss you both.

-Jillian Law, President of Madonna Pen

Welcome, readers

Thank you for checking out the fall 2018 issue of MU Voices, our literary blog. You'll find a heartfelt poem to a newborn nephew (Jillian Law), spine-tingling fiction about a dysfunctional family (Gabrielle Wobrock), original artwork (Caleb Lalinsky), a vivid description of a spiritual journey to Medjugorie (Daniel Magareno), a poignant goodbye to a dying brother (Barbara Glover), and more.

A special thanks goes to Jillian Law for helping to put this issue together. We hope you enjoy it.

A Letter to Greyson by Jillian Law

I. Your grandpa may seem like a shaky old man to you now, but once he had steel hands and sharp eyes.

II. The best lesson you could ever learn is from your grandma: how to let your pain make you softer. Trust me, this is not a weakness.

III. Your uncle is lost. Maybe he won't always be; I don't know. I can't see into the future. But I hope he'll be found one day.

IV. Your dad... Your dad is a high-speed sports car with a clock set six hours behind. Don't worry. You can always trust his navigation.

V. Sometimes I think of petitioning the Pope to give your mom sainthood. She performed a miracle on your dad. I don't worry about him like I once did.

VI. So why do you have three grandmothers? Ask me again when you're 14, and I'll lay out the history of our patchwork family as best as I know it. They all love you, though. Always be sure of that.

VII. My wish for you is that you don't grow up by yourself. I hope your parents eventually give you a sibling. Siblings are the best allies. You need someone to look at you and say, "They're crazy but we're not." Cousins are well and good, but they're not the same type of ally. The boys always had each other, but I'm young enough that I was on my own.

VIII. I promise that, if you play hockey, I will do my best to care. (But please play basketball. Or football? I could get into football.)

IX. Please be nice to girls. Don't pull on anyone's pigtails, okay? If you like a girl, tell her. Never touch anyone without asking them or if they don't want you to. This is how to be a good man.

X. I'm sorry you're inheriting this world, kiddo. I hope we can make it better for you soon.

XI. I worry about a lot of things, but I don't worry about you. Not one bit. I'll let your parents do that. You're in the best hands with them.

XII. You are so loved.

Worrysick by Jillian Law

My body is in Amsterdam, but my head is at home.

I try to write about canals and Anne Frank

And all I can think of are my dad’s shaky hands and my mom’s tired eyes.

I worry, and I can’t stop worrying.

Some days it is low

And instead I notice how quiet the streets are when I walk to class.

Nothing is awake yet, not really

Not before 10 a.m.

I wish my mind could just be here

I wish I could only notice how everyone buys fresh flowers here just because they can.

I do my best to catalogue the details of this place I am so fond of,

But sometimes I can only see the way my dad’s hands shake.

(Are they still shaking? I don’t know.)

I want to be in love with Amsterdam so bad,

But how can you be in love with a place when you’re entrenched in the pain of another?

In retrospect, I am sure I will say I loved Amsterdam

And I will not be lying.

But I will also be able to say that from home
Where I can go to church with my dad and listen to his voice no longer waver.

A Thing of Beauty by Gabrielle Wobrock

Today is a day of beauty because there is nowhere I’d rather be than here with you.
I want to call your name forever and ever.
Forever and ever is a very long time
Forever's not long at all as long as I’m with you.

96 & Southfield, original art by Caleb Lalinsky

The Seasons of My Heart by Rachel Fry

The snow was melting and the ground was thawing.

Nature had sprung back to life beckoned by the doves calling.

Too many days had gone by since I last felt the heat of the sun,

Too many months had passed since this eternal winter had begun.

I smiled giddily because at last spring had returned,

Bringing with it the warmth in which I had so yearned.

Everything was fresh and new as the butterflies fluttered,

Having been drawn to the sweet smell of the roses they’d discovered.

The cool, quiet mornings of spring soon transitioned into heated summer nights.

That Fourth the fireworks were louder than before, more vibrant and bright.

Caught up in the fervor of the summer, I had forgotten how quickly the seasons change.

For I was not prepared for the fall and its state of disarrange.

A chill was seeping back into my bones as I tried to hold onto the summer,

But the trees still shed their leaves, not the only ones feeling glummer.

Knowing better than most how the seasons change, I bundled up for the cold.

Those first lonely nights I ached, listening to the story the howling wind told.

However, I fell in love again upon seeing the glistening powder of the first snowfall,

 And I then wondered if I truly missed the heat of the summer at all.