< Back Sludge House J. Artemis Mackay this place looks like shit you know it’s going to be great every timber & rigging buzz & clatter amplifier worship carbon copied upon my heart I will lose three of my favorite S-tier teeth by encore until then pay the ferryman $12 at the door, exact change preferred. Author Bio Artemis Mackay (they/them) is a queer, trans writer living near a bridge in Portland. They hold a Master’s Degree in Comparative Social Change from University College Dublin and several DSM-V diagnoses.

HISTORY OF THE BELLWETHER REVIEW The Bellwether Review got its start in 1996. Originally dubbed The Rock Creek Review , the journal used to be staffed by Rock Creek faculty members. The Rock Creek Review was renamed The Bellwether Review in 2011 with the inception of the Advanced Creative Writing, Editing, and Publishing course. Former editors chose the name The Bellwether Review to symbolize the artistic drive of writers and artists. A “bellwether” is the leader of a flock of sheep—a sheep who wears a bell to signal the best direction for the entire herd. Today, the term more commonly refers to any person who takes initiative and sets trends. We believe those whose work is published in The Bellwether Review are leading the way for artistic expression.

< Back Twelve Bridges Terra Patrie One is for not looking down because you’re petrified you’re going to fall through to the river below. Two is for crossing back over and peeking out the window because you just can’t help but wonder at how far up you are. Three is for kicking the back of the passenger seat as if that’ll make the car go faster because it’s not moving and OMSI is waiting. Four is for smacking your brother on the head with a plastic dinosaur fossil and trying to throw him out the window so he can swim with the mosasaurs. Five is for groaning about the family vacation you’re being forced to go on and your brother has already started asking, “Are we there yet?” No, shut up! Six is for waking up just as the bright city lights and neon signs start to break through the fog. Seven is for going to championships with your team and the bus is crazy. Eight is for adrenaline crashes and knowing that even though the season is over they’ll always be like family. Nine is for your first time driving in downtown traffic. Ten is for having your dad drive back because you swear you’re never doing that again. Eleven is for catching an early flight because a summer away from here is all you’ve ever dreamed of. Twelve is for offering to take the wheel because the time change still has you wide awake at 1 a.m. and so does the exhilaration that there’s nothing between you and home. Author Bio Terra Patrie tried to write a bio but kept getting distracted writing poems.

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. 2025 LETTER FROM THE EDITORS Dear Reader, Welcome to the 2025 edition of The Bellwether Review. Thank you for taking the time of day (or night) to come with us on this jour- ney. From the 140 submissions we received, the editors selected 59 works by 28 individuals to feature in this year’s publication. We are proud to present some of the best of what the PCC Rock Creek community has to offer. While we wish that all submitted work could have a chance to be seen in print, only so many can be accepted. Thank you to all who submitted—without you we would not be here. In this political climate, many organizations dedicated to the arts are losing their federal funding. The fact that this journal exists right now is a privilege. Enjoy the arts, for they are the words and images of the many. And with that, let the journey begin. —2025 Editorial Team Copyright © 2025 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.

< Back Amir Nisha Shamik Banerjee Congested footpaths slowed us down that day. The sun, imperious, laughed during noon And mocked our plodding as we made our way To your most-stopped-by marketplace that June. Our bottles had run out of fluid, and though Your lips became deserts, you acted nice To prove “no thirst” (and thought I wouldn’t know). But then, a glass of cane juice helped your lips Like rainfall helps a dry farm, and your eyes Said, “You’ve relieved me” as you took those sips. We reached there. Oh, the bee-like crowd! Its buzz! We muscled through it, feeling every shove. Your right hand was latched to my left. It was Just like a journey through some shrubby grove. Alluring marts and outlets cast their shine Upon your heart whose throbs of boundless glee United with the joyfulness of mine. Taking me to some common trinket store, You browsed through every earring, while in me, The bliss of buying some for you grew more. Located nearby was a small boutique With fair abayas, but your modesty Held your desires. I used that old technique Of drawing your stiff body tenderly Towards the shop (your white cheeks made their change into light claret red). Your action of Examining a cloth, its colours’ range, The fabric’s quality, designs, and prints Appeared as if some craftswoman of love Was painting me with golden-yellow tints. At five, precisely, being too fatigued, We found a seat within the public square. Iced cane juice (once again!); we were relieved! The sky’s expanding ochre touched your hair. Thievishly, as I tried to hold your hand, You hawed and said, “What would the public think?” A pause, and then I said, “I understand.” Your manners! Oh, so Indian and plain That all I did was watch your eyes unblink- ingly, then turn aside and watch again. Sundown. It was your maghrib time. We found A mosque. I stayed outside—my faith did not Permit me in. You entered, sat upon the ground, Postured yourself, and gently checked the knot Of your hijab. Outside the gate, I prayed Too (to your God, but with a different name), “O’ Lord, will You not grace our souls and aid Our clashing fates? Remove religion’s pall?” Then you arrived. “Did she, too, pray the same?” I wondered, but your long hug answered all. Word Meanings Amir Nisha: A marketplace in the region of Aligarh (a place in North India). Maghrib: The sunset Islamic prayer. Abaya: A loose-fitting full-length robe worn by some Muslim women. Hijab: A traditional headscarf covering the hair and neck worn by Muslim women. Author Bio Shamik Banerjee is a poet from Assam, India. Some of his recent publications include Spelt , Ink Sweat and Tears , St. Austin Review , Modern Reformation , San Antonio Review , The Society of Classical Poets , Third Wednesday , and Amethyst Review , among others. He secured second position in the Southern Shakespeare Company Sonnet Contest, 2024.

< Back Used Book Review Dean Wilson This book of poetry is not new the pages are flagged and yellowed two colors of pens and a pencil point out what is important. This nameplate is not mine. Who were you, Allison Farver? This book was given to you “With love—Christmas ’47.” Thirty-nine years ago. Allison Farver, the mystery of you is more enticing than this book of yours. I wonder, in thirty-nine years will someone read this book with a new bookplate and wonder, I wonder… Author Bio Dean Wilson is a multidisciplinary artist based in Canby, Oregon, whose creative work spans both photography and the written word. His photograph "Quiet Time" was featured in Fifty Years, Fifty Artists: A Celebration of the West , and his work has been exhibited at Northview Gallery and Blue Sky: Oregon Center for the Photographic Arts. His images have also appeared in Uncommon , a publication by the Portland Photographers Forum, as well as The Bellwether Review . Dean’s poetry and prose have been published in the Lewis and Clark Review , Alchemy Magazine , and The Bellwether Review . Driven by a lifelong need to create, he approaches his art with a spirit of exploration—often blending visual storytelling with reflective narrative. Refusing to be confined by style or subject, Dean embraces both photography and writing as open-ended conversations with the world around him.

< Back Home Economics Shane Allison I’d like to think that Mrs. President, My ninth-grade home Economics teacher, Is in heaven showing teenage angels how to make spaghetti and bake a chocolate cake. I imagine her selling blow pops out of a pencil box that lies hidden in one of her desk drawers. I think of her scolding some kid With his jeans hanging past his butt And saying, “Boy, pull up yo’ britches.” Author Bio 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 many 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 Books), Slut Machine (Rebel Satori Press), Sweet Sweat (Hysterical Books), and, most recently, I Want to Eat Chinese Food Off Your Ass (Dumpster Fire Press). He has edited twenty-five anthologies of gay erotica and has written two novels, You’re the One I Want and Harm Done (Simon and Schuster Publishing). Allison’s collage work has graced the pages of Shampoo , Unlikely Stories , Pnpplzine.com, Palavar Arts Magazine , The Southeast Review , South Broadway Review , Postscript Magazine , and a plethora of others. Allison is at work on a new novel and is always at work making a collage here and there.

< Back Far Away in a Place Nearby Sarah Myton Where the owl hoots in the morning And the birds sing at night. Fire ravages through cities Leaving them clean and bright. Water is like crystals Falling from the sky, You’ll never feel lost or lonely, But you won’t really know why. The harder you try The more you’ll find, “Lost” is not a state of being, It is a state of mind. How frustrating it was Being happy all the time. It was as if there were a hill You were never allowed to climb. The wind never had A path straight to your heart, Until you dug a hole there, Your sullen piece of art. “If only I could make it To the other side of the world” “There things would be different Nothing would get old” The pain of a small cut, While making lemonade Would not exist there, You would never be afraid. Vanilla would taste Exactly how it smells, And markers would never dry, Never hearing the sound of knells. The ice that forms there Is not so bad, At least it could numb All the pain you’ve had. Author Bio Sarah Myton : I am a first-year student at PCC, working on discovering the career path that I want to pursue. This is my first time being published in a journal, but I have really enjoyed writing for a couple of years now. The poems written by me were created during the WR 242 poetry class taught by Dr. Embry. I hope to continue being creative in my future career and to be a light in the world.