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The Daily Cardinal Est. 1892
Sunday, May 09, 2021



Reclaiming Labels

This week's Melanin Speaking column piece comes from Noah Laroia-Nguyen, who discusses being mixed in America.  “As a mixed person it is often easy to feel as if you have lost your agency, your choice, and your personhood. The labels and names placed onto you can feel like they are erasing the person underneath. My goal for this work is to reclaim our labels and give us a voice. I hope that these photos let you know that you are not alone and you are not invisible.”

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Almanac Obituary- Savannah McHugh

Savannah McHugh, outgoing Almanac editor, went missing last week after leaving her home for unknown reasons.  Friends and family members came up with many theories as to where Savannah could have gone, but none seemed satisfactory.


I've Cried

I've cried because of hurt Because of happiness Because of understanding and the things from them that mis(s) I have cried because of loss Because of gain Because my mind can never differentiate good and bad The same decipher of glad and mad I've cried because of tears Because of the warmth down one's cheek Like a grandmother's kiss Or a mother’s rubbed knuckle I have cried because I could And with no knowledge of what it means to let go I continue to let tears pour Down my face like water trickling from the shower A wet collar Often stained with black from materials in which makes me look beautiful I have cried And as tears pour down my face I am reminded of my problem That letting go is harder than taking in That even the sturdiest bag does too break That sooner or later, that drenched towel must be wrung dry I have cried And just like being stuck out in the middle of winter for too long I have become numb to the idea of what it means to stop


Local Student Shocked by Lack Of Pothole Presence on Ballot

UW Madison sophomore Fineas Anpherb was reportedly lost for words Election Day evening after discovering that there was in fact no referendum on Wisconsin’s infamously poor road conditions. “Man, I’m super shook right now,” the young political science major said last night, disheveled hair betraying his state of shock.



Swipe Left, Swipe Right Who will I swipe tonight, Am I looking for some fun? Or am I looking for the one? Swipe Left, Swipe Right I got a new match, DM, Alright,  Swipe Left, Swipe Right “I’ve never dated a black  women before...” Unmatched, God, not another one! Swipe Left, Swipe Right How did my friend meet  the one? Did she swipe 24 hours a  day, Was she even having fun? Swipe Left, Swipe Right DM, “Dinner and a movie tonight?” I guess that sounds like fun Swipe Left, Swipe Right One date, two dates,  I think it’s going well Ghosted. Swipe Left, Swipe Right Is this millennial love? Boiled down to a few math    algorithms  And superficial profiles Swipe Left, Swipe Right I could swipe all night Will I ever be happy? Delete. 


Goat Eyes

This powerful short story is written by Kellen Sharp and is inspired by the tales of indigenous creation and exploration. There once was a village girl, they called her Goat Eyes  She grew up in a home two parts mosquitos, one part malaria. Food was scarce, winter was coming but winter was never as cold As the people’s shoulders turned when she begged them for food, her family was starving.  Her mother told her that her father was lost at sea, but she knew he lost himself in alcohol. Goat Eyes yearned for bottles of fresh water, and the handsome farmer boy Would always save her some before watering the plants  But something about the air was different, a storm was coming.  He wasn’t at his usual post selling tomatoes, she couldn’t go back empty handed Her sisters could only suck so much life out of their mother’s chest before she was lost to the journey. She had to find something, suddenly her ears bucked, she heard her name called. An elder stood before her, Goat Eyes bowed to her as the elephants bowed to water holes. Just as thirsty Goat Girl said, “My oh my, Elder what do I need do you have water to spare to me?” The elder said, “Let me think oh let me think, do I have something to drink.” “Yes I do, but you won’t like what I will ask in return of you.” Goat Eyes thought of her family. She was uneasy but she had always been taught to listen to her elders so she conceded. “My family is hungry, whatever you can give me is better than nothing.” The elder smirked and said, “I only ask one thing, they call me the centipede, I crawl into  Your head and peer in your dreams, I know what you think of that handsome younger farmer boy, you want to do the unholy, if you sacrifice your lust I’ll give all the water that you can drink Your family will never have to worry about you if you never thirst again.” Goat Eyes thought, she had grown to love farmer boy for his generosity. He was so giving in her time of need, but she admitted lately she’d had feelings of thirst water couldn’t quench, only him. But her family meant much more, she agreed. Startled by a drum of thunder she turned and dove for the ground, when she got back the elder had vanished. Suddenly droplets of water started on her face, and then on her garb, then pretty soon the whole village was drenched in fresh water. It rained all winter, then spring, then summer, then autumn, then winter again for three years. The third year the farmer boy had returned, exchanging his garden tools for a ship’s sail. He arrived, muscular and seasoned by the sea, instantly he recognized her and she him. Forgetting her promise, she lay with him in his home the fourth year of rain In the morning Goat Eyes got out of bed and listened, no rain. She turned toward the farmer boy, horrified at what she witnessed. Centipedes scuttled in and out of his ears and in and out of his nose, his eyes were scooped out  And blood soaked into the dirt. She ran out of her home only to her mother’s home only to see she and her children, but they had Met the same fate, the sun was intensely hot. Goat Eyes buckled to her knees and yelled to the top of her lungs Her screams started to change from shrill to booming, heavy, her hands and legs grew heavier still. She got on all fours and bucked, hooves sprouted from her hands and  She watched the elder walk towards her. “You went back on your promise the water must go, since you are so lustful, you must Spend the rest of your life as a Goat.” Goat Eyes trotted to the evaporating watering hole and kneeled down to look at her reflection. Gigantic goat horns had sprouted from her head, she cried for months at the watering hole, Praying for the water to return; the gods must’ve heard her because one day it did, But with it came elephants, and in her sleep, as the elephant bowed before the watering hole, She was crushed, they say it rained for years after her death, and still even to this day,  Goats are sacrificed for the rain.

Daily Cardinal

Let’s Make a Painting

This week’s “Small Talk” is another beautiful poem from Melanin Speaking writer Jessica Sullivan, showing the importance of creativity and ingenuity. let’s make a painting. we’ll need all the colors for this one, burgundy, sapphire, teal, gold, brown. pick up your brush don’t you see this space is waiting for us? we’ll unleash a wheelhouse watch our colors collide what we’ll create will be breathtaking.

Featured this week is a compelling and heartbreaking poem by Jessica Sullivan.

The Perks of Being a Mermaid

I’ve always wanted to be a mermaid.  Not for the sexy, mystical persona,  The slim figure sunbathing on a rock, nah,  I want to be a mermaid for the tail.  I want to swim into the waters that swallowed  My ancestors, feel my beautiful glistening tail Power through the waves, go back  Through time, meet all of those who left too soon.  I imagine when we die the earth enveloped us back  In its arms it made us mermaids,  Ethereal and magical.  I want to delve deep into the waters That we call home,  Swim up to Emmett Till as he was Before the lynching, a gorgeous black Boy with a tail that matched the color  Of the autumn leaves.  He’d welcome me home with the sun in his smile,  Ask if the world is better now.  How do I tell a boy who died in 1955  The trees still seep our blood,  That we’re in a losing race with bullets?  We’d swim together, water particles  Brushing our skin like we’re kindred spirits,  He’d show me the family I’ve never known. I’d play messenger for the unarmed black boys  Who want to tell their families they’re okay,  Now, there’s no to worry for our safety because  Who would shoot a mermaid? I can’t look at the water  Without seeing the ships, they’re calling me home, waiting to welcome me with open arms.  What can I say, I’ve always wanted to be a mermaid.

New bros embrace as a shocked onlooker realizes the country’s impending doom.

Trump befriends 'Beautiful Ted' Cruz, bromance to ensure total governmental control

As Election Day approaches, President Donald Trump has been seen on the campaign trail, endorsing various like-minded right-wing candidates across the country. His goal? To give more time to candidates than former President Barack Obama did in 2010. After all, his painstakingly competitive nature remains necessary in order to maintain a total disregard for any bipartisan roles he might be expected to fulfill as the representative of an entire country. It may be that the common conspiracy is true: The first of Trump’s “ten commandments” as president is to solidify a republican majority, or, in his own terms, to push out the “angry, ruthless, unhinged mob” that is the democratic party.


The Enabler

This free-form piece is the debut poetic work of writer and editor Sam Jones. Sam is a sophomore in the Journalism School studying reporting and strategic communication.

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