Search The Bellwether Review, 2020-2022

Browse Works Click to enlarge "Next to the Gateway of India" David Hurley Fiction Non Fiction Poetry Scripts Art Experiencing Loss and Injustice Black and Pearly White Taylor Woodworth with art by Morgan Belden Frigid Blades Stephanie Thomson with art by Morgan Belden Random Access Memory Tyler Allen with art by Morgan Belden Spring into Summer Heidi Shepard with art by Issac J. Lutz Hennesy David Hurley with art by David Hurley Sex Work is Work Silver Fox with art by Morgan Belden To Have and to Hold Taylor Woodworth with art by Morgan Belden Feeling Trapped or Imprisoned The Eulogy of a Taxidermied Elk Skull Stephanie Thomsom with art by David Hurley Not the Slightest Inclination Penny Harper with art by Sawyer November Taylor Woodworth with art by Morgan Belden November Sydney Ross with art by Miriam Ridout No Welcome Wagon Luka Russo with art by Morgan Belden The Stone Pig Casey Elder with art by Casey Elder Finding Strength and Survivng 6am Sydney Ross with art by Piper Hutchinson Grief, but make it Sing Luka Russo with art by Angel Lopez Norma Sara Guizzoti with art by Miriam Ridout Ocean Currency Ezra Maloney-Dunn with art by David Hurley Ode to the Mannequin, The True Feminist Luka Russo with art by Morgan Belden Safety Blanket Angel Lopez with art by Morgan Belden What it Takes to Live Ian Rule with art by David Hurley Discovering and Creating Come Away Heidi Sheppard with art by Morgan Belden Experimental Style Beryl Iverson with art by Angel Lopez guess what? Sydney Ross with art by Morgan Belden There is hope, there is help Sydney Ross with art by Miriam Ridout A Lonely Feat Tricia Dahms with art by David Hurley The Girl Who Glowed Morgan Belden with art by Morgan Belden Ode to the Sandwich David Hurley with art by Morgan Belden Soundless Dance Beryl Iverson with art by Miriam Ridout Surrogate Eliza Jones with art by Morgan Belden

About Us Click to enlarge "To the Skies" Morgan Belden Portland Community College of Portland, Oregon hosts over 60,000 students across four campuses and numerous satellite centers. PCC provides a wide array of certificates, degrees, and programs for its diverse population of full-time and part-time students. Our President, Mark Mitsui, values the educational opportunities PCC, and community colleges in general, can provide to individuals, the community, and society as a whole. Each PCC campus has its own unique literary magazine, and Rock Creek proudly produces The Bellwether Review once a year every Spring term. What was previously called the Rock Creek Review was taken up by Rock Creek’s Editing & Publishing class in 2011. At this time, the students adopted the name Bellwether in honor of Rock Creek’s notable sheep population on our campus’s farm. A bellwether is a reference to the bell worn by the alpha sheep of a flock, though by today’s understanding, it refers to one who leads the way. Our editorial team embraces this ideal as we publish The Bellwether Review: we want to initiate artistic expression and foster creativity at our campus and beyond. PCC Rock Creek campus represents just over a quarter of PCC’s student population. Our campus is green, both physically, as it spans across 260 acres, and sustainably, boasting a Tree Campus USA certification since 2016. With a farm, a beautiful interactive learning garden, and serene walking trails on campus, we appreciate the opportune landscape of Northwest Oregon and work to leave as small of a footprint as we can. Our Mission The Bellwether Review is one of Portland Community College’s literary magazines. Our mission is to promote original art and writing through various mediums of expression cultivated by authors and artists attending PCC. We value showcasing work that expresses a wide variety of voices and perspectives - in doing so, we hope to encourage and inspire a passion for meaningful creation. All submissions undergo careful consideration in order to select high quality work for publication. We are thankful for all of the enthusiastic and dedicated students involved in its creation from the writers, artists and editorial team. In this issue, our goal is to provide a platform for students to appreciate art as a tool for individuality, solidarity, accomplishment and community. Land Acknowledgement We would like to acknowledge that the campus that this magazine was written through sits on the traditional village sites of the Multnomah, Kathlamet, Clackamas, bands of the Chinook, Tualatin Kalapuya, Molalla, and many other Tribes who made their homes along the Columbia River. Multnomah is a band of Chinooks that lived in this area. We thank the descendants of these Tribes for being the original stewards and protectors of these lands since time immemorial. We also acknowledge that Portland, OR has the 9th largest Urban Native American population in the U.S. with over 380 federally recognized Tribes represented in the Urban Portland Metropolitan area. We also acknowledge the systemic policies of genocide, relocation, and assimilation that still impact many Indigenous/Native American families today. We are honored by the collective work of many Native Nations, leaders, and families who are demonstrating resilience, resistance, revitalization, healing, and creativity. We are honored to be guests upon these lands. Thank you, and thanks also to our colleagues at the Portland State University Indigenous Nations Studies Program for crafting this acknowledgment. Music Permission Relaxing Chill Music | ARNOR by Alex-Productions | https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCx0_M61F81Nfb-BRXE-SeVA Music promoted by https://www.chosic.com/free-music/all/ Creative Commons CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ Anchor 1

Click to enlarge "With Sprinkles on Top" Morgan Belden Ode to the Sandwich David Hurley Oh sandwich, how lovely you can be. Filled with more layers than an ogre like onion where we find, when we open between your sides, the meat of the situation. Every time, you are filled with an assortment of goodness: maybe some bologna, cheddar cheese, and ketchup to please us. Sure, there are many types but you are truest when you are simplest for you can whip up in a jiffy, maybe with Skippy. After all, your origins are said to come from a man playing poker with only one free hand. That tray of his lunch too difficult it would seem and instead, mashed food together into the genius of your genealogy. expeditious delicious nutritious *munch* I look forward to our next meating. David Hurley (Writer) David is working to write his first novel. It’s been over a year and he has been experimenting with designs, taking classes and making progress with his writing - his goal is to complete this book. He loves to cook, play dice and board RPG on Sundays. Morgan Belden (Artist) I'm currently a Sophomore at Portland Community College completing an associates of arts degree. I am an aspiring writer, a collector, and a lover of art. I am also a cat mom of two lovely mixed Siamese sisters.

Click to enlarge "Internal Garden" Morgan Belden guess what? Sydney Ross you are a butterfly and I am a caterpillar awaiting my new life in metamorphosis. you are the wind swaying through the trees and I am the leaves dancing on the forest floor. you are the moon pulling the waves to the edge of the sand each night and I am the tide blissfully unaware and following your lead. Sydney Ross (Writer) Sydney is an aspiring writer who enjoys poetry, fiction and short stories. She loves cartoons, horror and getting lost in games of all kinds. Morgan Belden (Artist) I'm currently a Sophomore at Portland Community College completing an associates of arts degree. I am an aspiring writer, a collector, and a lover of art. I am also a cat mom of two lovely mixed Siamese sisters.

POETRY Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history. ~Plato -> Bonneville Dam Ines Rossi Y Costa Across a body of water far wider than the Columbia, your letter spills equations solving for distance. Your words engineer power from Oregon all the way to France. Adam, I will be your bride. Bonneville: a good city. Promises made in good faith. Ahead above groundwater, canals irrigated, we navigate this New Deal downstream. Two powerhouses, we electrify tides. Your reactivity leaves me off-balance, drunken hydraulics wreak havoc on my ecosystem and soon, short circuit my allegiance. You build a lock around me, raise and lower boats, control the waterway, erode my embankment and still, I swim against your current to spawn. Tag me, a mere statistic of depressed populations. Monumental pressure and obstruction turn this reservoir to sewage until The levee breaks and floods our soluble bond. I dredge a riverbed. Watershed. A stray sturgeon, I slip through your fingers, climb the fish ladder upstream. Alone, I now dive into a clear basin, follow the tide to my center, my scales shimmering, again. Virulent Lisa Plummer Y o u smile with teeth that shif t to fangs pressed into a plump pink tongue tip. As venom sits and d r i p s hate fueled fallacies from your mouth. Illicit, implicit, attention seeking missiles of ferocity. Imploding monstrosities lacking in quality. Atrocities escape through lie-lined lips painted red by animosity. Hostile frivolity, vomits verbosity that constantly colors me underwhelmed . Dinner’s Almost Ready Stella Robertson Mom tells me to set the table, and for the hundredth time reminds me that the napkins go on the left. I twist the knob on the wall and the chandelier blazes. By the wood stove, Dad sits in the chair he made himself. The chair is small, and he looks like a child who’s outgrown his old clothes. Not looking away from The New Yorker, he reaches up and dims the light. The candles glow, alone now, in their misshapen homemade pots. I pour in bowtie pasta too fast, and boiling water splashes my fingers. Mom holds a cold sliced cucumber to the burn. When she turns to cut the carrots, I place the slice in my mouth and my favorite album on the record player. Dramatic chords echo through the kitchen as Mom makes pesto pasta with basil from the garden. Angelic indie rock is the soundtrack to fresh leaves, garlic, and pine nuts in the blender, and she mixes anchovies in a metal bowl for caesar salad. The dining room is dark now, but this is how I know it. I stand on the metal grate for as long as I can, burying my toes in the cat’s black fur when it starts to burn. Cat Power sings so loud, I can hear it from the front yard. as I roll the recycling bin over our thin strip of grass and it catches on the stones we lined the sidewalk with two summers ago. The street is unlit, and I listen hard for music coming from other families’ houses. But all I hear is the deep bass that rattles my front door. Serenity at Last Belen Johnson S peckled deep plum and peacock catch my e ye as they mix like marbles with the oaks. I r elax as my nose fills with the scent of damp e arth and musty leaves. The soft crunch of n ew fallen leaves beneath my feet as I make my way to the lake. The water, like t iny crystals in the sunrays. A fish, y ellow as an ear of corn, flies through the a ir. Ripples of corn left behind, where it t ore through the shear glass wall. L ittle meows sound from my right. A kitten, a labaster, paws at a flower. I sit quiet and s till so the kitten won’t run away. A bright t angerine flower, sways from the swats made. A Bad Reason Not To Fear Traffic David Dionne Every tree is a cadaver in green throwing back our funereal headlights as we return from a quantum of suicide resplendent with potatoes and pasta The road swims through the darkness its cassette-ribbon length spooling behind unwinding ahead to play a new song every time we pass over this stretch To either side rise the hills fall the valleys stretch the fields Oregon silent in a graveyard of pines But here in front and there behind is only the road with its balefire tail lights and a motorcycle's cyclopean glow not even a light to shine from above We used to risk ourselves on the road road there and road back the cars still speed in nights too dark but we fear them no more There are smaller things to fear tonight that may lurk on every shelf beneath our daily bread or atop carrots or inside a watermelon among the juice -> Home About Welcome Editors 2021 About The Authors Archive 2020 Art Poetry Fiction Groundswell Archive Best Essay Winner

Click to enlarge "Crash in Colorado" Miriam Ridout November Sydney Ross lonely tuesday mornings come and go like leaves blowing softly in the wind, my hair dancing around my neck like a noose threatening to tighten at any given moment. Sydney Ross (Writer) Sydney is an aspiring writer who enjoys poetry, fiction and short stories. She loves cartoons, horror and getting lost in games of all kinds.