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The Bellwether Review promotes original art and writing cultivated by authors and artists attending PCC. We value showcasing work that expresses a diversity of voice and thought. We encourage a passion for meaningful creation, and provide a platform for students to appreciate art. ART POETRY FICTION NONFICTION Thank you for visiting our website. The Bellwether Review is a literary journal that hopes to promote and inspire creativity amongst those not only at Portland Community College Rock Creek but also throughout the broader global community of writers and artists. We hope you take the time to review these great pieces that were sent in to us and selected for publication by our editorial team. Visit our Submissions page if you are interested in having your work considered for publication in a future issue. Email us at bellwetherreview@gmail.com with any questions. LETTER FROM THE EDITORS Dear Reader, First and foremost, thank you for reading this year’s edition of The Bellwether Review . Students who submit their works for publication, as well as those who create the review, spend hundreds of hours working their craft, and we here on the editorial team truly appreciate the efforts that have gone into developing the outstanding works that appear in this year’s journal. One hundred and six works were submitted this year, and each one was reviewed and discussed by the editorial team, as we sought out what makes each piece special—what makes them beautiful—and ultimately selected those that stood out as exemplary to share with you, the readers of the 2024 edition. We here at The Bellwether Review team thank you for taking the time to appreciate the work of these contributing writers and artists, and we especially want to thank all those who contributed works to this edition. And with that, we hope to see you next year. Until then, take care. — The 2024 Editorial Team Copyright © 2024 Portland Community College Portland Community College reserves all rights to the material contained herein for the contributors’ protection. On publication, all rights revert to the respective authors and artists.

MASJID ROAD Shamik Banerjee Fishmongers’ cleaver knives don’t rest at all; Their heavy thuds outdo the termless spiels Of colporteurs dispensing large and small Versions of holy books. On mud-sunk wheels, Waxed apples, sapodillas, apricots Effuse their fragrance, trapping passersby Who check the rates, then stand submerged in thoughts— Some fill their punnets, some leave with a sigh. Outside the mosque, blind footpath dwellers wait To hear the clinking sound—the sound of true Relief—while dogs, flopped by the butcher’s gate, Get jumpy when he throws a hunk or two. Loudspeakers, placed on high, say “call to prayer” And all work halts; there’s silence in the air. Shamik Banerjee Shamik Banerjee is a formalist poet from Assam, India, where he resides with his parents. His poems have been published by The Society of Classical Poets, Sparks of Calliope, The Hypertexts, Snakeskin, Ekstasis, Ink Sweat & Tears , and Autumn Sky Daily , among others.

IN THE END David P. Sterner How will they live once they’ve all returned with tales of the dead and villages burned? Will they proudly speak of how bravely they fought or now live in shame and wish they had not? Will they think that a favor they’ve done for our world that on mothers and babes tons of bombs they have hurled? Or will they then see the evil in this deed they have done and fear that from God their souls will be shunned? How will they live once they’ve all returned with those shiny cold metals that so proudly, they’ve earned? David Sterner I was born in the small town of Grants Pass, Oregon. I have attended 22 different schools in Oregon, Montana, and Northern California—including PCC—which all exposed me to various cultures. My passions are art and science. I express my inner feelings by drawing, painting, sculpting, and writing. I study science to understand life and emotions, which I find very intriguing. Some of my achievements include winning blue ribbons for my artworks, being the lead singer of the Dave Everest Band, and receiving U.S. Patent #4,572,622 for a photographic lens. I have also authored a book titled DOR: The Missing Geometric Link . My hobbies include rock and fossil hunting, and I am proud to own the largest carnelian agate ever to be discovered in the Vernonia, Oregon region: it weighs a whopping 65 lbs.

BELLWETHER REVIEW Poetry Check out our prestigiously chosen works from the students of PCC. Here you'll find some of our beautifully written short stories Our Flash Non-Fiction pieces are sure to capture your attention. Our Spring Collection Fiction Nonfiction Art See our new pieces of photography and art that were phenomenally crafted. About Welcome Editors 2021 Contributors 2021 A Literary Magazine like no other. Cover Art by: Jessica Graber

SEA AND STONE Dean Wilson Endless drifting sand carving the stone and shore, ever-changing meandering line as an invisible border between sea and stone. The sand does not stay, does not stop for a portrait to be painted like the words in a book of poetry. The sea does not hold back as it cuts and grinds stone into sand, casting about to destroy or create art. I stand between the sea and stone. Watching timeless lines shift beneath my feet. Dean Wilson Born in Oregon, our family moved around a lot. I used my first camera, a 126-roll film from the 1960s, very infrequently. Progressing through the Instamatic days of the 1970s, I bought my first SLT in 1976. This eventually led to a DSLR in 2015 and mirrorless from 2019. Photography is a passion for me that allows me to capture a feeling, mood, or a moment in time that tells a story. I capture landscapes with a creative eye of a place that may have existed for thousands of years or in the blink of an eye, which may suddenly disappear tomorrow. Instagram ~ @DeanWilsonCanby Facebook ~ Dean Wilson Photography

HISTORY OF THE BELLWETHER REVIEW The Bellwether Review had its conception in 1996, originally dubbed The Rock Creek Review , staffed by PCC Rock Creek faculty members. The Rock Creek Review was renamed The Bellwether Review in 2011, with the inception of the Advanced Creative Writing, Editing & Publishing course. The Bellwether Review was chosen to symbolize the artistic drive of writers and artists, by drawing on the significance of a “bellwether” being the leader in a flock of sheep, who wears a bell to signal the best direction for the entire herd. Today, the term “bellwether” more commonly refers to any person who takes initiative and sets trends, as those whose work is published in The Bellwether Review do in leading the way for artistic expression.

BULLY Shane Allison The last time I saw my cousin, Darrin Was at the burial of my Aunt Lurine. It wasn’t a sad funeral. I didn’t cry when they lowered her into Southside Earth. Instead of wrapping me with a hug, he shook my hand As if I was simply a friend of the family. He didn’t show me the same kind of love as those My kin folks give on my father’s side. Maybe it had something to do with my being queer. If so, I don’t want to know. Growing up he was never much of a cousin. Maybe because he was older than us and was never around. Too cool to spend time with a bunch of babies. He was worse than any bully I ignored in school because he was family. Teasing and picking until I had no choice but to fall into a fight Which I always lost because Darrin was the oldest, the strongest. He knew how tender the skin of a shy boy was. My mother asked if I remember chasing him with a knife in my grandmother’s backyard. All that anger I would have cut him for sure. I don’t know why my aunt left him the most out of her money. He never wrote her letters or sent her poems. I imagine with all the trouble that has plagued our brood, He will either see me at my funeral, Or I’ll see him at his. Shane Allison Shane Allison was bit by the writing bug at the age of fourteen. He spent a majority of his high school life shying away in the library behind desk cubicles writing bad love poems about boys he had crushes on. He has since gone on to publish several chapbooks of poetry, Black Fag , Ceiling of Mirrors , Cock and Balls , I Want to Fuck a Redneck , Remembered Men , and Live Nude Guys , as well as four full-length poetry collections, I Remember (Future Tense), Slut Machine (Rebel Satori), Sweet Sweat (Hysterical), and I Want to Eat Chinese Food off Your Ass (Dumpster Fire). He has edited twenty-five anthologies of gay erotica and has written two novels, You’re the One I Want and Harm Done (Simon & Schuster). Allison’s collage work has graced the pages of Shampoo , Unlikely Stories , Pnpplzine.com , Palavar Arts Magazine , Southeast Review , and a plethora of others. He is at work on a new novel and is always at work making a collage here and there.

WHAT IF I GOT THOSE CUPCAKES? Keith Kunze Wes picked me up after I was done with class at Clackamas Community College. I didn’t want him to pick me up from home because I didn’t want my family to see me with him. I also knew a lot of people in the area, so I wanted our first date to be a bit more out of town. I had never been on a date with anyone before. We had been chatting for months on a dating site and it was a big deal for me to meet anybody. I was still in the closet and ended any communication from a group called Exodus International whose slogan was “Change is possible.” At some point prior to meeting in person I told him about “ex-gay ministries,” which he seemed interested in. Exodus International formed in 1976 and claimed to have helped many men live a life where they can be a family man and have a happy marriage. What they didn’t advertise was the incredibly low success rates and the fact that you can’t change your sexuality. I made sure to emphasize this with him in an effort to prevent him from looking into it. He only realized he might be gay after he saw two men kissing for the first time. He’d recently moved to Oregon from Texas where he’d never met a gay person before. We both grew up Christian Evangelical and we shared similar beliefs. Every day I woke up to a “Good Morning” text from him except once—to which I reached out saying, “Excuse me, where’s my good morning text?” in hopes he’d find it funny (he did). Boundaries were set and we agreed this meetup was a platonic date. I was waiting for him anxiously and kept looking around to make sure nobody saw me hopping in the car. His orange Fiat was small and felt appropriate as he was wearing orange-smelling cologne. Wes wore a white button down underneath a gray sweater vest. On his face he had thick-rimmed glasses, probably because I told him I had a weakness for them. He also had a small gift bag with a paper rose on top. I remember being embarrassed and a little nervous because I didn’t want anyone to ask me where I got the rose from. Inside the bag was a book called, The Official Dictionary of Sarcasm, which I loved! We chose to go to the theater at Clackamas Town Center because they had a cupcake kiosk right next to the theater. My nickname among friends was “cupcake,” due to my love towards them and I wanted to see if they had Christmas flavors. Naturally, the theater was decorated for Christmas and the cupcake kiosk was in the food court, just across from the entrance of the movie theater. We checked the time and agreed we should wait on the cupcakes because the movie had already started. While we both weren’t big fans of using guns, we enjoyed movies with guns. The movie we chose was the remake of Red Dawn. I’d always loved action movies and the original was a classic, so it was an easy choice for us to make. To be perfectly honest with you, I don’t know how that movie ended. *** In 1999, two teens killed 13 others at Columbine High School. There were seven victims in 2005 during the shooting in the Living Church of God, located in Wisconsin. Thirty-two dead at Virginia Tech in 2007. In a movie theater in Aurora, there were 12 killed and over 70 injured in 2012, and that wasn’t even the deadliest one that year. “Everyone should have a gun on them so if there is a shooter, you can just shoot them first,” is an ideology I subscribed to for a long time. About 430 deaths happen per year in the U.S. due to accidental firearm usage. I was required to take gun safety classes as a kid and I’m not sure if that could prevent accidental deaths if everybody took those classes. Before 2012, there had been many conversations about mass shootings and gun control. We as a country have also experienced two of our deadliest ones since 2012: one at Pulse Nightclub in 2016, where forty-nine died and fifty-three were injured, and the biggest one where sixty-one people died and over four hundred were wounded during a concert on the Las Vegas Strip. Continued conversations about gun control happen often and little has been done to prevent mass shootings. *** I had knowledge of these incidents before 2012. Of course, I wasn’t thinking about them when we entered the movies. Just a few minutes into the movie, an employee of the theater came in. She sat right behind us looking petrified. After a few seconds, she leaned forward and calmly said, “There’s somebody right outside shooting a bunch of people. It’s really bad.” Then she leaned back into her seat. We looked at each other. I wondered if she was crazy but also remembered the face of the man who killed all those people in Colorado just a few months prior. The movie was the latest Batman film and apparently some audience members thought the gunshots were from the movie itself. I couldn’t help but wonder if I had heard real gunshots and assumed it was from Red Dawn. The employee left and after a few minutes, everything seemed fine. Suddenly, the movie stopped playing and she came back in. “Attention!” she announced to the audience, “there is a man shooting people in the mall. You are to remain in here until police escort you out of the theater.” Her posture was rigid. I remember she wore a navy-blue dress that looked very formal. She had no emotion in her voice, but you could tell she was in shock. Maybe the lack of emotion in her voice was her way of processing what was happening. Did she see it happen? It seemed like hours had passed before we were finally able to leave the theater. My mind and body felt numb; whenever someone tried to talk to me, I sank out of reality momentarily. The officers maintained a calm composure as they led us out of the theater through an exit I hadn’t noticed before. They gave firm directions and led us outside on the sidewalk near the entrance of the mall and theater where we were instructed to continue waiting. “Oh my God, there’s bodies,” said a bystander. I caught a glimpse of paramedics transporting motionless figures in wrappings. I saw that the cloth absorbed crimson blotches and quickly looked away, avoiding being exposed to their faces; I didn’t want to see them. Neither Wes nor I had much to say in the remaining moments. Eventually news reporters came and one started asking us questions about what happened and what we experienced. We told her everything and she asked if we could say it on camera. Both of us in unison firmly said, “No thanks.” She looked very surprised but thanked us for our words. It felt like a firework of reality hitting me in the face. This was my first date and it was with a man. Both of us were trying to be as discreet as possible. The dread of being seen on TV with a man my family didn’t know made my skeleton jump out of its own skin. The past hour I was only processing what was going on. I forgot about everything else in the world. I hadn’t realized it was extremely cold and a lot of people were shivering. It’s hard to explain but just being asked if I could “say it on camera” snapped me back into my reality outside of these moments. If people knew, would they say this happened because I was on a date with a man? Did I believe this? My church friends might say that. I’d finally cut off all ties to gay conversion therapy and this happens. Is there some tragedy everyone experiences when they come out? Is it bad that this is what I’m now focused on? How many more mass shootings are going to happen? Will this be the only one I experience? Keith Kunze Growing up in a rural small town in Oregon made being in the closet quite an intense experience. Journaling is something that I found beneficial and was a huge process in accepting myself as a gay man. Besides non-fiction storytelling, I enjoy a variety of other genres, but especially enjoy stories that are a “slice of life” with scifi/fantasy components. Playing video games, watching shows, and researching miscellaneous topics that might not be relevant to anything of importance are things you are likely to catch me doing at home. Currently, I am studying to become an elementary teacher, after taking a hiatus from college.

FAT BOY Shane Allison I’m barely awake checking emails And social media messages When my mother asks me If I want anything from the store. She does this sometimes, As if she’s some kind of space Martian From Mars who is new to planet Earth And doesn’t know her way around a supermarket. With sleep seeds still in my eyes, I tell her to get yogurt, Turkey cold cuts, and chicken pot pies. I tell her to throw waffles in the cart, Plums and green grapes without the seeds. I know she’ll forget most of what I ask For, like kiwi and dragon fruit. Raisin bread instead of Cherry plums. I don’t want to clutter the corners of her mind With things like blackberries and almond milk. Needed ingredients for smoothies To lower my blood pressure. She will come home armed With an arsenal of bags Filled with turkey wings, Ham hocks, Neck bones and frozen okra. Finger cookies for dad And canned vegetables pickled in some soupy, Salty concoction. She’ll come with chocolate milk, Sugar Pops and Frosted Flakes, Zero sugar root beer for Dad’s bad blood And her kidney disease, which was News she broke to me in the lobby at the cancer center Minutes before her CAT scan. The calories I burn at Planet Fitness Will only be regained under her reign Where everything must be cooked With butter, bacon, or grease. She doesn’t know that it takes more than push‑ups To flatten a belly like this. A thousand thigh crunches to keep them from rubbing together. My friend Chuck lost 90 pounds on Noom. I would give both my nuts To shed 90 pounds of fried food flesh, Suck out the midnight cravings with a vacuum hose. My mother doesn’t know what it’s like to look down And not be able to see your dick without having To hold your belly in. “You look fat sitting on the sofa,” she told me once. “Are you still going to the gym?” she asked when she Saw me coming out of the bathroom with my shirt off. Tonight I’ll write out a grocery list on the back of this poem: Pork loin Salmon Beet and pomegranate juice Almond milk, Yogurt, Blackberries and whiskey, A little something extra for the smoothies. Shane Allison Shane Allison was bit by the writing bug at the age of fourteen. He spent a majority of his high school life shying away in the library behind desk cubicles writing bad love poems about boys he had crushes on. He has since gone on to publish several chapbooks of poetry, Black Fag , Ceiling of Mirrors , Cock and Balls , I Want to Fuck a Redneck , Remembered Men , and Live Nude Guys , as well as four full-length poetry collections, I Remember (Future Tense), Slut Machine (Rebel Satori), Sweet Sweat (Hysterical), and I Want to Eat Chinese Food off Your Ass (Dumpster Fire). He has edited twenty-five anthologies of gay erotica and has written two novels, You’re the One I Want and Harm Done (Simon & Schuster). Allison’s collage work has graced the pages of Shampoo , Unlikely Stories , Pnpplzine.com , Palavar Arts Magazine , Southeast Review , and a plethora of others. He is at work on a new novel and is always at work making a collage here and there.