by Tamara Al-Qaisi-Coleman ||
I arrived an hour early to what would be my final launch party with Glass Mountain. The chairs were being set up and as I thumbed through the pages of the novel I was reading, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss. This launch party signified the end of an era. An end to my time in an organization that has shaped my college experience. As people flooded into the Honors College Commons, mingling and collecting their copies of the magazine, I felt myself fall into nostalgia. Working with these humans, I realized that it was in this space, with this group, that I had carved out a life.
My good friends Sohair Elmowafy and Christopher Flakus were two of the three featured readers that night. Jackson Neal was the third and in all of my time here, I wonder how our paths hadn’t crossed until then. I was one of the five graduating seniors who were also reading that evening, and I cannot express my gratitude for such an opportunity. After an introduction by our Editor, Kathy Hill, it was time to start the night.
What can I say about Jackson Neal that hasn’t already been said a thousand times? I find there are a few people you meet in life who just glow, both inside and out. A person who is so unapologetically themselves at such a young age. Armed with his metallic blue lipstick, sparkling heeled boots, a leather choker, and words that cut glass, Jackson awed the room with his performance. He won Glass Mountain’s Poetry and Prose Competition with a poem entitled “Death Drop from Grace,” and when he stepped to the mic, it was as if we were seeing the true Jax. There is no doubt that the stage is where he truly belongs with his words and voice of gold. What’s in a name? What does it mean? What makes Houston Houston? What does it mean to fall from grace? All questions Jax answers with revolutionary “pick your journey” style poetry and an attitude you can’t help but love. We will miss him as he embarks on an amazing opportunity at a university outside Clutch City. Houston loves you, Jax.
In my beginning years as a fledgling writer at the University of Houston, I was unsure of myself and my craft. As I walked into my Beginning Creative Writing and Poetry class, who do I meet but one of the most incredible poets and people to ever enter my life? Sohair Elmowafy, a fellow Arab who breaks the tradition, who dares to wish for a life made of words, a fellow polyglot who has an appetite for languages that rivals mine. I knew from the moment I read her poem “American Dream” in that class that she was destined for poetic greatness. And I wasn’t wrong: She was the runner up to our Poetry and Prose Competition, and the words she spoke on that podium moved the room almost to tears. Her poetry commands attention, engaging you in a narrative, a space that you crave to live in. Poems of war, love, and fasting set against the soft cadence of her voice, you can feel the room melt with the intensity of the emotion. I know we haven’t seen the last of Sohair and her powerful words and as much as she doesn’t believe me, she is already one of the greats. To the only Sohair Elmowafy, shookran lak 3laa ruhik (thank you for your spirit).
Christopher Miguel Flakus, our last featured reader of the night, is a graduate of the University of Houston-Downtown, an incoming MFA candidate of the UH Creative Writing Program, and a close friend. The first time I met Chris was at the Boldface Conference in May of 2017. I was working at the lunch line when I overheard a fight he was having in Spanish on the phone. I expressed my concern to him in his native tongue and with his look of embarrassment, a friendship began. Chris is one of those writers who excels in every medium he attempts. Primarily, he writes fiction, but his nonfiction, essays, and poetry are awe-inspiring. His review of The Spirit of Science Fiction by Roberto Bolaño is in Volume 22. That night, he read a section of his piece following two boys in Mexico, the scene a moment when these boys are caught smoking marijuana. I have never been so engaged in a prose reading, but I expected nothing less from Chris. He is and will continue to change the world with his words, his tattoos, and punk rock. Saludos amigo, y gracias por ser tú, no importa lo que el Mundo te arroje (cheers, my friend, and thank you for being you no matter what the world throws at you).
The night finished with readings from myself and four other graduating seniors. A fitting end to my time with the magazine. To see my people, my friends who have become family, supporting me as I stuttered my way through angry biracial poetry never fails to make me smile. Thank you, Glass Mountain, and to the other readers up there with me: Alex Colter, an associate editor for poetry; Lex Mercedes, our Poetry Editor; Hyacinthe Viceisza, an associate poetry editor; and Chris Baker, an associate editor for reviews and interviews. You are all talented writers whom I feel honored to have shared the stage with.
As much as I hate goodbyes, I will always be grateful for the home Glass Mountain gave me. The space to have my own online magazine where the words of the marginalized live on. I hope that the future of this magazine continues to grow and pioneer a path of greatness. To be the light in a world that seems to be falling apart every day. To be the magazine I always knew it was. And to this family, by all means: keep writing.
