Mathematics Matemáticas By: Katie Miller Por : Katie Miller.
RC Review - University of...
Transcript of RC Review - University of...
Editor’s Note
WelcometotheRCReview…wherewefightthewarofnerveswithwords,paintbrushes,cameraflashes,andtheoccasionalsword.
Pleasedotrytorelax.Theremayonlybeaslightshocktoyournervoussystem.Butknowthatthestudentwriting,poetry,andartyouholdinyourhandsmeansnoharm.Thosejoltsandzapsyou’refeelingrightnow?Theyarejustthenaturalsideeffectsthatcomewhenyoustarttoseetheworldinawholenewway.
Maybeyoushouldbreakoutthosex-rayglassesofyourstoeasetheexcitement.(Didn’tyougetthememoforBYOX-RayGlasses?)
Mostofall,we’dliketothankyouagainforallyoursupport.Enjoyyourterrificadventurethroughourmagazine.Wehadablastmakingit!
-CammieFinch Editor-in-Chief
P.S.Lovewhatyousee?Wantafewmorethrills?Accessevenmorematerialinourdigitalcopyon: http://sites.lsa.umich.edu/rcwriters/rc-review/
Texts
Fondlythestars 3 KeighanGlynnDifferentialDiagnosis 4 StinaPerkinsSurvivor’sGuilt 6 PetrinaTalbotTheTipsoftheTrees 7 PaulMayerRoundandRound 9 HannahFrenchorion 16 FreidaBlosteinMornings 19 AdieDolanCityStars 20 ChloeHerlDakota 22 A.E.McCloskeyLimerence 24 CammieFinchTheFallofSeraphs 30 LangDeLanceyIdon’twantittosoundsilly 31 ClaireDensonAnxietytheOwl 31 AnneMarieTorresenTouchofGrace 32 AshleyBishelorchid 37 EshaBiswasAutophobia 38 MirandaHencyForthewaningtree 40 ZiyangHuangARecollection 41 AlexanderMillerFriend-Zoned 48 EshaBiswasApril16 50 AnneMarieTorresen“NoThanks” 51 MirandaSchafferHowZeusDiedDriving 56 TracyScherdtaLightningBoltNeurosis 58 MirandaHencyWhere? 59 AugustSivecAntiseptic 60 CammieFinchTheStarsDoNotSpeak 62 JuliaByersTheHunt 67 ClareHiggins
Table of ContentsGrandma’sSelfishMoveto 68 KateCammelltheNursingHome GhostsintheNight 71 ShashankRaoGhosts 76 StinaPerkinsSweetNothings 79 KateCammellDiaryofBeautifulHubris 80 AlexKimePressAforDialogue 81 KaitlinBonfiglioACupofJoe,See? 82 AugustSivecApril 84 ClareHigginsWhyStreetCorners 86 LangDeLanceyAreDangerousSixWordStories 87 KathrynOrwigLettertotheEditor 88 MikeFlynnonanxiety 93 A.E.McCloskeyABlackbird’sLunchbreak 94 MariaRobins-Somervilleastranger 98 KaraMullisonshapesIfoundintheclouds 100 EshaBiswasDimensions 101 LaurenStachewPlanetoNewhome 102 PaulMayerVacant 105 CammieFinchBlossomandBe(e) 106 AugustSivecTheCabin 107 KatieIraniBeautifulObjects 108 LaurenStachewMindfulness 114 CammieFinchwhenIwasconsecrated 117 AlexKimeHydrophobia 118 KeighanGlynnCuttingYourselfUnlimitedSlack 119 MollyReitmanmeditationsontheselfasvessel 120 AlexKimeIDoNotWantYouByMy 121 KatieIraniSideAnymoreElliotRoger’sRetribution 122 KaitlinBonfiglio
Images
Untitled 2 MaevePascoeUntitled 8 TracyScherdtFruit 15 AnneMarieTorresenSilkandLace 18 DanielWuInthePink 21 CammieFinchWhale 50 AnneMarieTorresenPatienceofaSaint 55 KaraMullisonUntitled 70 MeganMcKenzieUntitled 78 MaevePascoeIntheBath 83 KaraMullisonEntrancetotheSky 86 DanielWuThePeanutVendor 93 EshaBiswasdancesatnight 104 DanielWuwithflashlightsbreak[through] 117 CammieFinchUntitled 127 MaevePascoeQuotedfromthe 128 KaraMullisonHaight-AshburyDiggers,1969Rose 140 AnneMarieTorresen
Undone 123 ClareHiggins14Truths,11Lies 124 MollyReitmanspaceiscoloristime 126 FreidaBlosteinYellowLightFighter 129 KaitlinBonfiglioDerangedRadicalFeminist 130 SkylerTarnasBrutallyAttacksWell-WisherEveryHour,OntheHour 136 TracyScherdtJune2015 138 MirandaHencyWhenIHeartheTrainIThinkofYou 141 KatieIraniWhatWeReturnToInMemoriam 143 TracyScherdt
Maeve Pascoe
Fondly the stars
Keighan Glynn
Swallowmystarsandtwistthemintoconstellations.Breatheinthegalaxiesofmybreathandtastethehydrogenonmytongue.
Skimyourfingersontheaurorathatclingstomyskinandholdtightlytothezodiacthathugsthecurveofmyeclipse.
Burnyourwaythroughmynightskywithmeteorsinyourteethandfallnowintothisnovaoffleshandstardust.
“Ihavelovedthestarstoofondlytobefearfulofthenight.”–SarahWilliams
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Stina Perkins
Differential Diagnosis
Inmyhumandiseaseclasstheotherweekwelearnedaboutischemia–afatalimbalanceofbloodandoxygenthatleadsto“myocardialinfarction”
It’samessofclinicalterms,sterileintheirmeaninglessnesslatinrootsthatclotthemouthlikepebbles betweenteethandpliersaroundtongue
(Ithinkmedicineisischemic–separatingtheorgansfromthemindthatcontrolsthemwithtextbooksanddiagramsandpebble-mouthedlatinandthehandsofthemorticianwhoneverseesthefaceofthepatient,whoneverhearsthestoryofthepatient,whoonlyreadsthediagnosiswrittenbeneathlifelesstissue)
Butyouhadaface– itwaslong,stubblelikemosssprungfromamouththatmimickedthemonkeyyouhadtattooedonyourarm
Andyouhadastory– itwasshort,shapedbyyourguitar-callousedhands andtheplaidswimtrunksyou’dwearwhenyou rantotheoceanwithoutwarning (Iwonderifyouworethem)
Youdiedfromischemia,afatalimbalance.
Theworldwasn’tbigenoughforyoursoulandyoualwayshadtobendyourheadasyouenteredourkitchenforsecondhelpingsofdinner
Theworldwasn’tbigenoughforyourheartandallyourphilosophicalponderings yourimprompturoughhousing yourfreefrisbeespiritweren’tmuchforpayingbillsand
You’dbealoneattheendoftheday.
Youlikedbeingalone,butnotbeinglonely.
Theworld’sinadequacyseepedintoyourveinsandnodoctorcouldfindtheinfectionandnolovercouldextractthepoisonsoyoudecidedtodoityourself
takingyourlifechoosingbloodoveroxygentorestoresomebalancethatescapesdiagnosis
(Iwonderiftheylookedatyourface)
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Petrina Talbot
Survivor’s Guilt
7billionpeopleonateeny-tiny-nothingplanetwithtowersoutofearshotwrappedinoceansthatstretchsaltyarmsaroundcardboardpaperdolls
7billionpeopleandstillweargueovertheexistenceofonewhetherhisbonesgatherdustinasandsweptcaveorifonhisheadliesacrownofjewelsunseen
7billionpeoplemakesmeponderhowmanyghostsglidearoundus,throughusaswetieourchildren’sshoespickupextrawholewheatbreadsingsongsinunisontopassthetimeonalongjourneyhomeinsomeoneelse’svan
Paul Mayer
The Tips of the Trees
thetipsofthetreesareredaretheysunburned?
thetipsofthetreesareredaretheyginger?aretheybleeding?
thetipsofthetreesareredhavetheyrusted?willtheyeverbegreen?aretheyblushing?
thetipsofthetreesarered
IworrythatImightnotloveyou
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Tracy Scherdt
Hannah French
Round and Round
Alfredfeltitcomingasecondbeforeitcame.He’dlethisexcitementtakeover,letelectricity—thegoodkind—spillaroundhisbody.Andthen,ironicallyofcourse,ashislifewaswonttobe,theseizurescame.Hisarmtwitched,ahalfpaceupasiftowavegoodbyeforthecashier.Actingfast,Alfredwhippedthesmallbottleofpillsatthemanacrossthecounterinaheavyoverhand.Withoutepilepsy,Alfredhadoftenreflected,hewould’vemadeagreatbaseballplayer.Theman,startled,caughtthepillsandstareddumbfoundedasAlfred’svisionfuzzedoverwithstaticfear.
Fearwasacloyingemotion;itblottedoutallelse.Itwastheonlysharpthinginhisworldoncetheseizurescame.Noteventhepinsthatrainedontohisbodycouldcompare,tinklinglikesilverastheylaysiegetohisflesh.No,nothingbutthefear.Alfredcouldfeelhimselfshudderingviolently,hislimbsthrashing.Ifhe’dbeenabletopayattention,hemight’veheardthecashiershouting,might’veseenhiscellphoneslipfromfumblingfingersandshatteronthefloor.
Andthenatouch,whichhefeltthroughthethrashinglimbsandshudderingandtheneedlesandthefear.Ahandgrippedhis,helditstillasitbuckedunderneath.SomehowAlfredwasawareofit,andheknewsomehowthatwhenitsqueezed,itwassayingitwasallright.Helpwasontheway.Itwasalmostover.
Leahwaskneelingbyhissidewhenhecameto.Hereyeswidenedastheyalwaysdid,chronicallysurprisedbyhisrecovery.Sheheldhishand,rubbingherthumbincirclesintimetohispulse.You’resafenow,it’sover,you’resafenow.
“Hey,”shemurmured.“Hey.Yourname’sAlfie.YouliveatCornerstone.You’re18.You’reatthedrugstore.Youjustgotthepills.It’sover.”
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Alfredfrowned,releasingaflockofstaticsparrowsintohisbrainandhisvision.Whenitcleared,heblinkedathissisterandrolledover,tryingtositup.Withagasp,hefellashismusclesgaveout.HefeltLeahslideherhandsunderhisbackandhead.Sheproppedhimupagainstherashelookedaround,beginningtoassemblethepiecestopuzzlebackhisreality.Itwasadrugstore,small,withacleanyellowcounterandbrightshelves.Stacksonstacksofthepillslinedtheshelves,curespartitionedbytheirdisease.Thecounterwasunmanned;Alfredlookedaroundforthecashier—thecashier—herememberednow.He’dgiventhecashierhispills.
Wesley,Alfred’scaretaker,waspacingbackandforthoutsidethedrugstore,onhisphonewithsomeone.ProbablyAlfred’sdad.HewasfrowningwhenheturnedandsawAlfred,butreliefwhite-washedhisfeaturesintosomethingslightlymorepleasant.Withanindignantclang,thedoorburstopen,itsbellssmashingagainsttheinnerwall,andAlfredheardthesharptapsofWes’sfootstepsagainsttheplasticfloorboards.WescrouchedinfrontofAlfredandgavehimasmallsmile.
“So.Youjusthadtogetinonelastshow,eh?”hesaid,brusquely.Alfredcrackedaweakgrin.
“Icouldn’thavestoodtogodowninlimelight,”hesaid.“Thenagain,Istillcan’tstand.Speakingof…”
“Yourwheelchair’soverinthatcorner,”Wessaid.“And,”hedrewoutthesmallbottleofredpillsfromhisjacketpocket,“Isnaggedyourholygrail,too.”
Alfredsnatchedthebottleandrolleditgentlyacrossthepalmofhishand.Itweighednomorethanfiveounces,hewouldguess,butitcouldbethecurehesodesperatelyneeded.
“Anyway,thecashier’souttalkingwiththepolice.Justroutinecheck-up,nobigdeal.Italkedtothemtoo,andyou’reclear.Don’tevenneedtogotothehospital.Assoonasyoufeelready,Icantakeyoutwohome.”
AlfredleanedfurtherintoLeahandrolledhisheadsothathecouldseeher.“Hebringyou?”Heaskedher.Leahnodded.Alfredexhaledheavily,causinghishearttojumpandamomentarysurgeofpanictoovertakehim.“I’msorry,Lee,”hetoldher.Shekissedthetopofhishead.
“Whatarebigsistersfor?”
Buthenoticedtheslouchofhershoulders,andthebagsunderneathhereyes.Itwasnotherjobtotakecareofhim,butshedid,anyway.SheandWeswerehisbestfriends—hisonlyfriends.Hecouldn’tstandtolosehertothediseaselikehewaslosinghimself.
Thedrivehomewasmostlysilent,whichwasarelieftoAlfred,whowasabsorbedbythoughtsoftheredpills.Iftheyonlycounteractedtheeffectsofhisepisodes,hewouldbegrateful.Hecouldliveafreelife.LeahandWescouldhavelives.
Atastopsign,Leahbrokethesilencebysaying,“Alfie,doyouwanttowaituntilMomandDadgethometotryit?Sotheycansee?”
Heshrugged.“Nothingtosee,”hesaid.“That’sthepoint.Nothing.Ifallgoeswell,we’llallhaveaveryboringnight.”Hegrinnedattheprospect,andglancedaroundattheothertwo,hisbestfriends.Leahlookedenrapturedatthepossibility,asiftheentireburdenoftheworldhadbeenliftedfromher.Wes’sgazedriftedoffintothehorizon,nodoubtrunningvariousscenariosandpossibilitiesinhishead.Heliftedhisfootfromthepedalandtheybegantodriftforward.
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“Wes,lookout!”Leahyelled.Withaflurryofflailinglimbs—ratherlikeaseizure,Alfredthought,inararemomentofstillclarity—andprofanity,Wesslammedonthebrakes.Thebumperofthecarclippedthereartireofthebikerwhowascrossingthestreet.Hetippedsidewaysonhisbike,pumpinghislegsevenfasterasiftheextraforwardmotionwouldcorrecthisimbalance.Then,miraculously,hedidrighthimself,andshotoff,hiswheelsgoingroundandround.Alfredwatchedhimgo,silently.
“Pedestrians,”Wesgrowled.
“He’sjustpassingthrough,”Alfredsaidquietly.
Athome,WesandLeahliftedfirstthewheelchairtotheground,thenAlfredintothewheelchair.Alfredrubbedtherimofhiswheelsabsentmindedly.Inhishead,hewasshootingfar,faraway,wheelscyclingfasterandfasterforward,hislifefinallyupright.AndthenWestookhishandlesandpushedhimupthedrivewaytowardthehouse.Theyskirtedthestone-ringedflowerbedthatAlfredhadplanted,onagoodday,buthisroseshadn’tbloomedyet.Theydidnotstop.
WesandLeahwereallbusinessastheyoutlinedalargespaceinthemiddleofthelivingroomfloorwithpillows.Theybegantofillit,stackingthesoftestpillowsinthecenterandthelarger,rougherpillowsattheedges.ThiswastobeAlfred’sstage.Hepaidnoattention.Hehadmovedstraighttothefilingcabinet,pullingouthismedicalhistory.Heslippedthislatestprescriptioncardcarefullyintothesidepouch,behindalltheothers.Hefrownedatthem,thumbedtheedgesofthatfirstmiracledrug,Eprepheril,whichhadgivenhimtwoyearsofnormalcy,ofwalkingdownschoolhallwaysandoffetchingmail,ofswingingandkickingdoorsshut.Beforeitfailed.Theyallfailed,intheend.
Onawhim,AlfredcalledouttoWesandLeah.
“Guys…Iwanttodosomething,”hesaid.“Somethingspecial.Foraspecialday.”
Hegotasmall,glazedbowlfromthecupboardandputahandfuloflintinit.Thenhelititwithamatch.Hethoughthesawhisownfacerippleacrosstherisingflamesforasecond,butperhapsitwasjustakindredspirit.
“Whatareyoudoing,Alfie,”Wesdemanded,butLeahlaidahandonhisarm.
“He’smovingon,”shesaid,hervoicefullofpainfulyearning.
Togethertheyburnedtheprescriptioncards,onebyone.Eprepheril,Sudanoved,Polynixen,Retovitsel,Mucitral.Whenallofhisbridgeswereburned,Alfredpulledouttheverylastprescriptioncard,thedoctors’lasthope.Enervefrin.
Slowly,hewheeledintothelivingroom.HewavedoffWeswhenheofferedhisarm.Hedidn’twanthelpwiththis.“Won’tbeneedingthatarmmuchlonger,”hetoldWes,andflattenedhislipstogetherinasmilethatwouldn’treachhiseyes,andashiseyeslockedwithLeah’s,heknewtheywerebothhopinglikehellandlyingjustashard.Heloweredhimselfwithhisarmsontothefootofhischair,hismuscleswhiningwiththeeffort.Crawlingoverthepillowbedhisfriendshadmadeforhim,hevowedthiswouldbethelasttimetheysawhimhelpless.
LeahandWessatdownontheedgesofthepillows,andAlfiesettledintoacross-leggedposition.LeahandWesworeidenticalgrinsasheshookasingle,tinypillfromthebottle,cappedit,and
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solemnlyhandedthebottlebacktoWes.Hedrewadeepbreathin,buttherewasnojumpinhisheartthistime,nosurgeofpanic.Withoutmuchfanfareorceremony,butwiththephantomfeelingofexpectationsendingsluggishnesscrawlingfromhisbones,Alfieswallowedthepill.
Nothinghappened.HelookedatLeah,seeinghisowndespairmirroredinhereyes.Thenwithafloodofclarity,theenergycame,chasingeveryinchofdiseasefromhisbody,cleansinghismindandheartuntilhefeltasifhecouldrunathousandmileswithoutsweat.Hecouldstand,walk,dance.Hecouldfeelaslack-jawedgrinonhisface,andhelaughed,thesoundlightandcarefree.LeahandWesjumpedup,shouting,andhuggedeachother.Alfredjumpedtoo—jumped—andjumpedagaintomakesurehestillcould.Nolongerboundtoachairoutoffear,afraidtofeeltoomuch,afraidofthefear…
Alfredfeltitcomingasecondbeforeitcame.He’dlethisexcitement,thepill’sexcitement,takeover,letelectricity—thegoodkind—spillaroundhisbody.Andthen,forthesecondtimethatday,theseizurescame.Hisarmtwitched,ahalfpaceupasiftowavegoodbye…HewatchedinslowmotionasLeahandWes’sfacesdroppedintofamiliarhorror,asLeahlungedforhim,ashefell,asfearblockedoutthepillfromhissystem,asthepilllentitselftotheneedles,athousandtimessharperthannormal,ashescreamed,ashisbodyhitthepillows,convulsing…andashishappyworldshotawaylikeadream.
FruitAnneMarie Torresen14
thebeltoforionwasthefirstconstellationIlearnedtopickoutofthenightskylikeapplesonabelow40kindofOctoberday.
youdon’tunderstand,thebeltoforionisperfectlymirroredonmyownskininthreedarkirregularmoles,burstingwithpromiseofcancerbuttheythestarmaptotheskies,andsolookingatorionalwaysfeltlikelookinghome
youdon’tunderstand,myfathertaughtmemymultiplicationtablesbeforefirstgrade,hewouldtakemeoutsideatnight,whensleepshouldbeinmyeyesandhefilledthemwithorioninsteadhetriedtoteachmeeveryconstellationbutorionstuck.orioncalledmeback,orionpickedupthespacephone,andeverycosmicinchofmybodyechoedresponse
astrologersorastronomersmightknow
Freida Blostein
orion
orionisinsomespecialplaceinMichiganwinter,adifferenthouse,ortheearthhasturnedherbackagaininpirouetteorsomethingbutthesunsetsearlierorionshinesbrighter,lower,maybejustclosertomyhouseinparticularormaybeI’vejustbeenfooledagain
Ilookeditup.fromNovembertoFebruaryOrionisclearlyvisible,heiscomposedlightofyoungbluegiants,fromDecembertoFebruary,theearthturnsintothespiralarmofthegalaxytowardthesuburbsofthegalaxy,awayfromitswattagecenter,sonowonderonJanuaryeveningswhenmybreathiscoldagainstmyowncheek,Icanraisemyspeckledarminsaluteandtracethelinesonmyskin1,359lightyearsaway
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Silk and LaceDaniel Wu
Ineversaidtheend,Isaidgoodmorningandgoodbye.Whileyouweretryingtosleep,Icrawledbackthroughtherain.Isaidanditwasfine,butIhadworkfordinner.Weagreedtherewasacharge.Thisdayislikewidewater.
Ineversaidtheend,Isaidgoddammit,we’retryingtodealwithit.Ihadtogotalktoastrangerjusttobeheardinthehead.Ididsayittakestimetoknowifsomething’sgoodorbad,becauseitdoestakequiteawhilesometimestoknowifsomething’sgoodorbad.
Ineversaidtheend,butIusuallynoticewhenthelightcomesintomeetmeeveryfallmorningandafternoonandhowallthefrogshopupfromtheditchintothestreetandhowit’sallIcandonottocrywhenI’mrunningovertheminmycar.Everyyeartheydoit,everyyeartheyneverlearn.EveryyearIhavetoleavethemthere,deadinthestreet.
Ineversayit,butIthinkmymottoisaslongasyouhavegoodhair,peoplewon’tnoticeallthezitsonyourfacethatyoupoppedthismorning.We’realltryingtodealwiththem,allofourfrogsandzits.
Ineversaidtheend,IsaidsomethingelsebutIcrosseditofftowardsthebeginning.
Adie Dolan
Mornings
1918
Ilookupattheskyandseesyntheticdarkness,Themoonisthelonesentinelofspace,glowingpaleinthevastness.ElectriclightsilluminatethethickblueblanketingourEarth,Airplanes,cushionedwithinourstratosphere,blinkgentlyacrossthesky.SweatrollsslowlydownmyneckasIwalkthroughtheswelteringcitystreet.Lampsspreadsafebeamsoflightacrossthesidewalk;lighthousesinthenight.AbreezerustlesupthecrowdedconcreteroadandIrevelinthecoolaironmyskin.Closingmyeyeswithpleasure,thecitylightsdisappearandIrememberthenorthernwoods.Thesky,freefromtheglaringyellowlights,isdazzling.Themooniswarmanddancinginthecombinedlightofabillionstarsthatflickerandshinelikediamondsonavelvetbluebackdrop.IremembertheMilkyWay,apurpleswathacrossthesky,crowningtheEarthwithitsstardustjewels.Thenorthernlightswaveabovethetreetops,outliningthehorizoningreensandpinksandorange.Theconstellationstellthestoriesofthestarsinpictographs,epicsagasonauniversalstage.Jostledbythecrowd,myeyesopenandIamblindedbytheyellowcitylights.Theheavensarehiddenagain,themoononcemoreguardingthebeautybehindtheblanket.Iblink,willingthestarstoappearbuttheartificiallightshineson;ashieldagainstthenightterrors.IthinkthenthatIwouldgladlyfighttheterrorstolookatthestarsagain.Iwonderifitisworthit,thisfacsimileofsafetyinexchangeforthegalaxies.
Chloe Herl
City Stars
In the PinkCammie Finch
Iamalittlegirleatingraspberriesoffmyfingersonebyone,tipsstainedred.Ithinktheymakemelooklikeawitch.Youlaughatme.Weareatthelunchtableandyouaresittingacrossfromme.Ilikeanddon’tlikethis.Ononehand,Iliketoseeyourfacedirectly.Ontheother,Iwantyounexttome.Isaynothingthough.Ismilebackatyou. WeareinMs.Johnson’sfirstgradeclasstogether.ThewholefirstgradetakeslunchtogetherbutyouandI,wearepair.Ourteacherjokesthatwearetwins,wewishweweresometimes. Thebellringsandit’stimeforrecess.Whataperfectwaytoexpendthisnewfoundenergyfromnourishment.Weraceeachothertothedoor,Iwin.You’reslow,usually,andIfeellikeIshouldhaveletyouwinbutyoudon’tseemtomind. Icallyoumyhusbandaswekicksandbackandforthateachotherinthepits.Don’ttreatyourwifelikethat!Iholler.Ms.JohnsonandMs.Maclyntellustomindourvoices.Insidevoicestheytellus.Butweareoutside. Afterrecess,wealltrotbacktotheclassroom.Welearnbasicarithmetic,vocabulary,andgeography.Ilikegeographybecausewegettocolormapsoften.Imakesurethatnocountriesthattoucharethesamecolor.Ms.JohnsoncallsmePicassoandIwonderwhothatis. YouandI,Iandyou.Wescamperhometogether.Youaremyneighbor.Ilovethis.Mostevenings,weplaytogetheruntilsupper.Thenit’sbedtime. Todaywhenwecomehome,yourmomisoutside.Shelookssad.Shetellsyoutocomeinside,honey.IstandonyourlawnwonderingifIamtocometoobutnoonelooksbackatme.Iwait.Youdon’tcomeoutforawhile.Mymotherpeeksherheadoutthedoorandsaysoh,thereyouare.Comein.Itellherwhereyouareandherfacetightens.Shesuggestsweplayagametogether.Shegetsoutmyfavoritetoys.
Dakota
A. E. McCloskey Iplayidly,thinkingofyou.Thesungoesdownandnowit’sbedtime. Inthemorning,youarenotinclass.Iamantsyallday,Ms.Johnsonisespeciallynicetome. Iwalkhomefromthebusstopandstandonyourlawn.Iseeyourfaceinthewindow,youreachout.Yourfaceissolemn. Yourmothercomesout,greetsme,thengoesintomyhouseandfetchesmymother.Theyconferforamoment.IamfarenoughawaythatIcannothearthem.Ilookatyou,youlookdown. Thenmymotherstepsforward.Yourfatherhasdied,shetellsme,andyourmotherandyouandmovingtoyourgrandmother’s.Shelivestwohoursaway.Youwillnotbeinmyclassanymore,youwillnotbemyneighbor.Yourhousewillbesold,shetellsme.I’llhaveanewneighboroneday.Thesewordsbouncearoundinmyears,havingnoeffect. Idon’tfullyunderstanduntildayslater,truckscometotakeyourthings.Youhaven’tbeeninclass.I’vesataloneatlunch.Idonothavesomeonetosharecoloredpencilswithanymore. Thenewfamilymovesin.Theyarenice,mymotherbringsthemflowersandacasserole.Thereisanewboytoplaywith- But- Whereareyou?
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Cammie Finch
Limerence
WELCOMETOTHESHADOWEMPORIUM…
Thewordsstillhauntyouafteralltheseyears.Theybuzzandbiteandnipatyourears.Theyswarmlikefleas,likehundredsofthem,impossibletobataway.
YoucametotheShadowEmporiumasayoungchild,beggingforabitoffoodandaflintofcompassion.Youhadnofamily.Youhadnocoat.Youwereeightyearsoldanditcouldhavebeenanyordinarydoor.
Nowyouareanapprentice,workingasaRavagerintheDarkRoomonweekdaysandaGreatHallcuratorontheweekends.
Nowyouareinlove.
That’syourwordforit,butit’sunlikeanyloveyou’vefeltbefore.It’spainful.Itsqueezestheinstepofyourfeetwhenyouwalk.Yourheartisaballoftwine,soknottedthatyou’rereadytocutthestringwiththesharpestscissorsyoucanfind.She’simprintedonyou,ormaybeyou’veimprintedonher.It’shardesttotellwhenyourestyourbackagainstthecanvas,her2Dfigurematchingperfectlytoyourcurves.Youcolorherwithinthelines.Youcanholdcrayonswhileshecannot.
Itwasn’tmeanttohappen.ThisLove.Limerence.Totalenamoredcaptivity.
Shehadcometoyou,totheEmporium,asallshadowscame.First,capturedonfilm.Thebrightflashdazingherlikeadrug.YougrabbedherflatankleswhileLichenheldherthinwristsbetween
hisindexfingerandthumb.Weplungedherintothewashbasin.Leftherinconfinementforthreedarkdays.Stretchedherontothexylemcanvas,elongatingherlimbswithoutthegiftofsunset.Shewaselegant,lean,perfect.YouchoseFrame#3onthelefthandside,andstayedherankles,knees,andwristswithpushpins.Athrillrattledyourhandsasyoutouchedherthighs,herslimarms,herneck,herpointednose.Withinseconds,youknewthisshadowofabody.Youpromisedyouwouldcareforitasifitwereyourown.
Youthoughthardthatnightoftheworldshehadleft,ofthelifeshemighthadledbeforethissavageact.BeforeyourRavageduty.Beforeyoustoleherawayfromlove,withloveasyourwitness.Youhadrippedherdoubledformfromtheground,likeyoudidtheband-aidonyourthumb.Hadyouleftamark?Youwonderedwhostillutteredhernameintheirsleep,whosebreathgraspedforanswersamongthemurmurofcrickets.
TheMasterhadwarnedyounottonamethem,theshadows.Namesareattachment.Namesshowconnection,afamiliarityintolerablewithintheEmporium.YourealizethatyourfellowRavagersthemselveslackthataccesstoyourintimateidentity.Namesaresacred.Andyet,youknewthisshadowfromthestart.Youknewherinnermostself.Youtookhernameandrolleditaroundyourtongue,curatingit.Protectingit.Nowyouutteritinyoursleepandkeepitunderyourpillowbyday.Youpromisedyouwouldcareforitasifitwereyourown.
Theshadowgetsasunspot.Yousurrender.ItwasyouwhoforgottodrawthecurtainsasyoucloseddowntheEmporiumlastnight.Youwhohavedamagedher.Youravager,youdemon.Youtellyourselfitwasanaccident.Amistakethatanydecentcuratorcouldn’thavemade.Sheisfoundthismorning,withatorsodrainedofcolor.Youfeelthepanginsideyou.Youfeelyourownbellyleachitsacidontoyourskin,burningacylinderthroughyourmiddle.Yourheart’sfisttightens.You’resorry.No,morethanthat.You’ddoanythingtocureher.
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Theytakeherdownthisafternoon,whileyouareatlunch.Youneverevengottosaygoodbye.
Andso,youdecidetostealthekeytothebackroom.Easy.Therehasbeenalargerainfallandthesouthernatrium’sroofisdribblingontothefloor.Youoffertocleanitup,despiteyourco-workers’scoffs.Youhaveareputationofdismissingdirtywork,butthenagain,youaren’tentirelyyourselfanymore.Youarebeingcompelledbyanexternalforceturnedinternal.Somethingthatisturningyouinside-out.Atwistedtie-dyedragindesperateneedofsun.You’vebecomeravagedyourself.
Blochgivesyouhiskeys,butyou’reinterestedinonlyoneofthem.TheGM.Thekeytoyourshadow.YoustarttowardtheUtilityClosettofetchthebucketthatwillcollectthesky’stears,abucketthatnolongerholdscoinsandbreadandsadness.Youstarttowardtheclosetdoor,thenjackknifetotheleft.YouslinktotheTrashStudio.
Thisistheplacewhereyouknowsheis.Thisistheplacewherebrokenshadowscometodie.
Sheisthere,proppedupagainstthewall.Nexttoher,ashadowofamanishunchedoverinanupsidedownU.Heiswearingadroopynightcapandyoufeelnothingforhim.Allthatisthereforyouisher.Sheisdusty,thesunspotspreading.SheistheshadowofaHollywoodactress,soshelookstoyou.AnIngridBergman,chindemurelyrestingonhershoulder.Youlookintotheplacewhereyouknowthoseeyeswouldhavebeen,andyouseeavictim.Awoundedanimal.Shedoesn’tlookback.Shecan’t.Itcripplesyoutothinkthatsheissufferingalone.Sheneverwasgiventhechoicetobecomeashadow.Oneflash-andshefadedtodarkness.Ifsheonlyknewwhatyouwoulddoforhertochangeeverything.
Youwonderifshethinksofyoulikeyouthinkofher.
She’sashadow.Reciprocationstopsattheactivatedshutterlens.
Inadesperateact,youfindacanofblackpaint.Youwillsingle-handedlyhelpherrecover.Yourbodymoveswithoutconsultingyourmind.Youhateyourselfasyoudoit.Youcouldgetfiredforthis.Butyoucan’tstop.Dyingoccursinstillness.
Youdon’thaveapaintbrush,soyouhavetouseyourhands.First,thelefthand.Dippingbeneaththesurfaceofthethickblacksyrup,disturbingthemorbidpeace.Youinhaledeeplythetoxicityoftheliquidlicoriceandletitblackenyourlungs.Then,therighthandcoolsintothepaintcan,opening,thenclosing.Grabbingontoasmuchpaintasyoucan.Youpresshandfulsofglopontoyourshadow’sstomach.Again,again,untilthefingersmixwithheelsandthelittlelinesoffortuneteller’stradebecomeinvisible.
There.You’vefixedher.
Beyondthedoors,youhearthegrindingofawoodchipper.AcanvashasbeenremovedfromtheEmporium.ThereisonelessshadowonourEarth.
Yourheartswells,consideringwhatyouareabouttodo.Butyoumustdoit.Yourheartthinksfirst.Yourheadcanonlynodinagreement.
Withhandsdippedinpaintedleathergloves,youkneelinprayeratherfeet.
Youwanttotellherofthefreedomyoucangiveher,butyoudon’twanttoruinthissilence.Thislove,thisache,thatfeelslikeforever.Youcanonlyholdontothisforsolong.Youfalter.Then-plink-onepushpinisoutofherleg.Aminusculeholeremains.
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Youshouldhaveneverknockedonthisdoor,yourealize,allthoseyearsago.Youhavebeenconsumed.Youhavebeenchanged.Whohaveyoubecome?Whatareyounow?You’renotsureifthisallfeelshumananymore.
Footsteps?Youmovequickly.Plink-theotherside.Yourisetoherupperbody.Thetwoofyoureallydolookalike.Thisjustmightwork.
Twomoreplinks,andsheslitherstotheground.Disintegratesintoearth.Thecanvasisallthatremainsofherpast.Likeasheddedsnakeskin.Likelovers’crumpledclothesonthefloor.
Curatingnow,yourmindpreservesalifeonceravaged.Sheisfree,youhope.Shehasreturnedtoherbodyandhasappearedsuddenly,backonherbike,youhope.Shebuysanapplefromthemarket,getsherhaircroppedtochin-cradlinglength,youthink.Shewalksunderthesunandcan’tfindhershadow,youknow.Shehasn’tstoppedtothinkaboutyouonce.No,notyou.
Youweepatthesightoftheemptycanvas.It’sstillsobeautiful.Yourmemory,thatmonster,fillsinthegapsofherabsence.Whileyourheartbeatson.Whilethefootstepscomecloser.Theirechoespushagainstyourchest.
Thecameraisinyourhands.Youextendyourarmandturnitawayfromyou,sotheviewfinderfacestheoppositewallandthefish-eyelensconvexesintoyoursoul.Backpressesontocanvas.Itfeelsdifferently,nowthatshe’snotthere.Rougherlikeburlap.There’snothingleft.
Yourshoulderperksupandyourchininstinctivelydrawstoit.You,her,andIngridBergman,layeredinthissilhouette.Yourfingershakesandpressesdownontheshutter.Releasetogray.
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seventeenpissdrunkangelsfallintothearmoredbarsofahotdogstandat4:15inthemorningprotestingthequestionsandimplicationsofthecondiments,defendingtheirinnocenceandholinesstoajuryofrawonionsandthejudgmentofastatelybratwurstandhisbun-breadgavel
sixteenpissdrunkangelsescapefromtheball-parkclutchesofahotdogstandat4:17inthemorningdeclaredpious.buttheculinaryjusticemandatecondemnedthelasttoalifeoftendingtherelishesandswimminginthewarmdogwaterforalleternity oruntiltheychangethedogwater whichevercomesfirst
sixteenpissdrunkangelsgetlostinasupermarketat4:18inthemorningwandering,pledgingloveandchildhoodtotheasparagusandlockedincombatwiththefrozenwafflesofthesecondaisle
fourpissdrunkangelsescapefromthepurgatorysupermarketat4:21AMtherestaretrappedhavingbeenmistakenlyshovedintoaneggcarton
fourpissdrunkangelsbuyhotdogsatthestandoutsidethesupermarketat4:42inthemorning
Lang DeLancey
The Fall of Seraphs
Imean,itissilly.Everything’ssilly.Shehither.Shesleptwithhim.Allthis,youknow,stuff,goingon,theseconflict-inducinginteractionspeoplehavewithoneanother,andthroughitall,therewasn’toneofuswhowasn’tsufferingterriblyfromagrippingloneliness.
Claire Denson
I don’t want it to sound silly.
AnneMarie Torresen
Anxiety the Owl
Thespacebeneathmychin,Abovemyshoulders—Delicateandslendertrunk—Ishosttoanowlparasite.HeburrowsinaholethereComesoutatnightandaftermeals.Hiscoosreplacehunger,Hisclawstearatsleep.WhenfacedwithfearherisesAndpecksatmeBehindmyeyes.
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So,IusedtobabysitfortheDominguezfamily--theylivedlike,threestreetsthatway.Icouldwalkoverthererightnowin....twominutes?TheirdaughterisnamedGraceandshe’sasweetheart.She’ssevenoreightnow,Iguess.Iwonderifsheremembersme.Istartedworkingforthemwhenshewasthree,andIkindofrememberstuffwhenIwasthree?Nottoomuch,though. Shewasacreepykid.No,no,notlike,inabadway,likethatlittlekidfromtheSixthSenseorwhatever.Shecouldn’thelpit,Imean,shewasthree.Butlike...ohno,no,I’mfine,it’sjustcoldouthere.Ishouldhavebroughtmyjacket.Youdon’thavealight,doyou?Oh,that’sokay.Ishouldn’tsmoke. ...no,Imean,itwasn’thorrormoviestuff.It’sjustkindoflikewhen...doyouhaveacat?Oradog?Well,Ihaveacat,she’slikefivehundredyearsoldandwe’vehadherforever.HernameisLucy,she’ssuperfat.Anyway,sometimesshekindofjust–stopsandlike,staresintospace?Andit’sprobablyaspiderorwhatever,butyoukindofhavetowonderifit’ssomethingelse?Gracewaslikethat.Imean,she’dbetotallycuteandallthatonesecondandthenshe’dblinkacoupletimesandherfacewouldgetallserious.Itwasjust-creepy. Also,shecouldn’tquitetalkyet.Imean,shecould,Iguess,butshedidn’treallyliketo.Somethreeyearoldswon’tshutupbutshewasjustreallyquiet,sowhenevershesaidanythingitjustfeltkindaimportant.And...ohGod,okay.I’mdrunkenoughforthis.Yousaidyou’renotfromhere,right?Soyouhaven’theardthisyet.Everyoneelseherehas,andIdon’tevertalkaboutitanymore.ButI’lltellyouifyoupromisenottolistentothewholethingbeforeyoujudgeme.Okay?Youpromise?Okay.Ithinkshecouldseethefuture.
Ashley Bishel
Excerpt from: Touch of Grace Idon’treallyknowwhenIstartednoticingit,Iguess?Likeittookacouplemonthsforsure,itwasmostlyreallydumbstuff,reallylittlestuff.Letmethink...okay,solikeIwouldtakeherouttotheparkandshe’dsay“ladybug”and,like,OkayGrace,ladybugs,cool.Butthenitwouldrain,andI’dgetbackandrealizeherraincoathadladybugsonit. IguessIreallystartedthinkingaboutitafterthisthinghappenedwithmyboyfriend.Sameassholewhogotmeaddictedtothiscrap.I’mgoingtobesopissedifIgetlungcancerbecauseofhim.TheonlyreasonIkeptdatinghimforsolongwasbecausehewasaseniorwhenIwasafreshmanandIwasflatteredhewasintome.Dumb,right?Butwhatfreshmanwonderswhatkindoflosertriestodatesomeonealmostfouryearsyoungerthanhim?Notfuckingme,that’swho. Anyway,IwasstilldatinghimandIwasplayingwithGraceonenightwhenshecrawlsuptomeandfrownsandlike...patsmycheek,kindof?Likethat,see?Reallygently.Andshelookslikeshe’sabouttocryandsoI’mlikeGrace,what’swrong?orwhateverandshethinksaboutitforacouplesecondsandthensays“ouch”reallyseriously.Whichis...kindofweirdbehavior,right?SoIwasthinkingaboutthatforacoupledays. Anyway,sometimelaterthatweekmyexhitme.Idon’treallyrememberwhyhedidit,itwasdefinitelysomethingsmallandstupid.Inretrospect,Ishould’vebrokenupwithhimonthespot,butIwasjust...inshock,Iguess.Anyway,itfuckinghurtsoIputapackofpeasonitwhenIgothome,andIrememberlookinginthemirrorandIsawthatitwasrightwhereGracetouchedme. Imean,Ijustthoughtitwasareallyfreakycoincidence,not“Holyshit,thisthreeyearoldcanseethefuture”.ButIstartedpayingmoreattention,andInoticedstuffliketheladybugwhenitrained,andwheneverherparentsweregonnagethomelate,she’dbringmethebigbookoffairytalestoreadherinbedandwe’dhavetimetoreadthewholething,andtherewasawholeweekwhereshekepttalkingabout“thepurple”andrightafterthatshegotsick.Guesswhatcolorthecoughsyrupwas.Yeah.
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IkepttellingmyselfIdidn’treallybelieveit,maybeshewasjustlike...reallyintuitiveorwhatever.Itwaslikethatforayearorso.Ididn’tsayanythingbecause,again,Ididn’twanttosoundfuckingcrazy.Andshewasareallycutekid,andIlikedbabysittingherandIguessIdidn’twant,like,anX-Mensituation.Ididn’twantabunchofdoctorsrunningtestsonherorsomething.Idon’tknow.Iwasfifteen,okay? I’mprettysureherparentsknew.Howcouldtheynot?IrememberDr.Dominguezwasgettingreadytoleaveonenight,andshepickedupGracetotellhergoodbye.Gracetouchedherheadandsaid“wet”andgiggled.Shedidn’tsayanythingthen,butIsawhergrabanumbrellabeforesheleft.Andthenitrainedthatnight!Ithadbeendrythewholeweekandthen–boom.Downpour.Iremembertherewereevenfloodwarnings. ButtheonlytimeItriedtosaysomethingaboutit–itwasreallyvague,somethingabouthowshewassuperintuitive?Herdadgavemethisweirdlook,andsaid,“Ihavenoideawhatyou’reimplying”inareallycoldvoiceandIchickenedout.Imean,theyhadtoknow.Buttheywouldn’tadmitit,soIdidn’tsayshit.Youdon’twantadultstodisapproveofyou,especiallywhenthey’repayingyoumoney.SoIshutupuntiltheaccident. Ididn’tknowtherewasgonnabeanaccident,butGracedefinitelydid.Shewasfreakingoutthatday,cryingandscreaming,andsheneverdidstufflikethat.Butthisoneday–Ithinkitwasayearlater?Iwasstilldatingtheasshole,butIcouldalreadydrive,soImust’vebeenaboutsixteen.Anyway,Ihadtobringherintohermom’sclinictogetaflushot.Itwasn’tlike,goingtogeticecreamorsomething,Icouldn’texactlytellDr.DominguezImissedherappointmentbecauseGracethrewatantrum. Ididn’tknowwhattodo.Sheneveractedlikethatwithmebefore.Shewasscreamingandcryingand...God,itwasn’tlikeheratall.Shewasn’treallysayinganythingthatmadesense,shewasjustrefusingtogetinthecar,andlike,sobbing.Itriedliterallyeverything,IbroughthalfhertoysintothecarforherandIpromisedhercandyandeverythingandfinallyIjusthadtopickher
upandputherinmyself. Thatwasprobablythefreakiestpart,causeshegotquietrightaway.Itwaslikeshehadanoffswitch.Itwassofuckingbizarre,andIwaslike...superon-edgetheentiretimeIwasdriving.Ishouldhavelistenedtoher.IknowIshouldhave.Deepdown,IknewIknewsomethingreallybadwasgonnahappen.But...youhavetounderstandthatatthispointIwastryingtotalkmyselfoutofthewholeideashewasapsychic.Herparentsclearlydidn’tapproveofit,oratleasttalkingaboutit,soIwasintheprocessofconvincingmyselfIhadanoveractiveimagination.Ithoughtthey’dknowbest.It’sreallyamazinghowimpressionableIusedtobe.IknowIfuckedup,but...yougetit,right?IjustwantedtodowhatIwassupposedto.IthoughtIwasdoingtherightthing. Well,whathappenedwasatruckblewaredlightwhenIwasinmiddleoftheintersection.Ithitthepassengersideofthecar,andGracewasonmyside,thankGod,soitwasn’tasbadasitcould’vebeen.Butitwasprettyfuckingbad.Thetruckwasgoingfast,likeagoodfifteengoddamnmilesoverthespeedlimit.Andtheykeptgoing,thoseassholes.Weflippedover,andtheydidn’tevenstop. Idon’trememberanyofthat,though.Irememberthishuge,like,jolt,andbeingscaredoutofmymindthatIwasgonnadieandthenwakingupintheER.Ihadaprettybadconcussion,andbadcutsfromalltheglass.Ineededstichesinlike,fiveplaces.I’vestillgotthisscar,see?Gracewasalittlebruisedupbutshewasmostlyokay.ThankGod.Imean...Idon’tknowwhatIwould’vedoneifshewasn’t,Ifeltguiltyenough.Butshewastraumatized,shewouldn’tgetnearacarforweeks.Ididn’thearthatfromherparents,though.Mymomtalkedtosomeonefromtheirchurch,Ithink.Iwasafraidtotalktothemmyself,Ifeltsoguilty.IfeltlikeitwasmyfaulteventhoughIknewitwastheassholedrivingthemysterytruck’sfault,butnoonecouldfindthem–thatwasawholeotherbigthingtoo,thattheycouldn’tfindit.Thistownisn’tthatbigatall,likeIsaid,soiftheylivedherewewould’vefoundthem.Itwasonthenewsinthewholecounty
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andeverything.Butnoonegotagoodlookatthelicenseplatebecausetheywerealltryingtohelpusorcall911sotheyfuckinggotawaywithit.Wecouldhavedied. Iknowit’ssuperclichétosaythis,butsomethingaboutaneardeathexperiencechangesyou.Ibrokeupwithmyboyfriend,foronething.Itriedtotellhimwhathappened,andhelaughed.IwenthomethatnightandtriedtothinkonegoodreasonIhadn’talreadybrokenupwithhimandtheonlythingIcouldcomeupwithwasthatIwasscaredto.Well,gettinghitbyafreakingtruckwasahellofalotscarierthansomeloserwhocouldn’tfindanyonehisownagetodatehim.Sothatwasonegoodthingthatcameoutofit.Probablytheonlygoodthing.I’vebeenthinkingabouttryingtoseeGracewhileI’mback.I’mnotsureifthey’dletme,orifIevenwantto.IjustwannatellherI’msorryIdidn’tlistenthatday.Andthatsheshouldbecareful,causepeoplecanbecruelwhentheydon’tunderstandwhatyourdealis.ButI–Idon’twanttobringupanybadmemoriesforher.MaybeI’vealreadydoneenough,youknow?AndIthink--Ifeellikeshe’sprobablygoingtobeokay.Imean,shecanseethefuture.Iknowthat,evenifnoonebelievesme.Andthegiftofforesightorwhatever–that’sonehellofalegup,right?Soshe’sgottabedoingokay.She’sgottabe.
orchid
Esha Biswas
magentaveinsspreadacrosstranslucentsnowskinlike
cracksinwearydroughtearthgapeforrainlike
riversrushacrossgentleland-slope-scapelike
nakedbranchesstretchforceruleanskylike
bloodvesselscarrylifethroughfleshlike
freshlypavedhighwaysnakeslike
greenxyleminsisterleaflike
spindlyarachnidlimbslike
oakrootsburiedinsoillike
violetstretchmarkslike
sidewalkcreviceslike
split endslike
lightninglike
dendriteslike
thoughtslikeyouandlikeme
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Miranda Hency
Autophobia
*Iwishthatthetasteoforangeswasstillonmytonguelikeapressingofbudsthatrubbedmymindsenseless*IwouldshareanythingwithyouifitmeantthatIcouldlieinyourbedsome other timeandmaybeIcouldtakemytightsoffwithoutbleedingontothefittedsheet*TellmewhyamIsoafraidthatyou’lldisappearifyoudidsomanynicethingslikemyfavoritetimeofdayblackteaapoemwrittenonyourwall
*I’mthinkingaboutthebooksyoureadasiftheyareawaytogetinsideofyourheadsoIcanstampthemtomyhandalongwitheverythingelsetheysayI’mnotsupposedtodo*Iftimeisn’tlinearIthinkIcangetawaywithyouIcangetawaywithanything
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Areyoudancing,tree?Dancingwiththepiecesofmyheart,ShatteredspectacularlyacrossyourbranchesYoumakeitseem–AsthoughthemelancholyWasmeanttobeApartofme
Ziyang Huang
For the waning tree
Beforesheleft,Mmabrandedme. ‘You’llalwaysbemine,Arnold,alwaysbemine.’WhenIcried,sheslappedme. Mmaflewawaythenextday,farawayfromus.Shedidn’ttellasoul.Iwatchedhersoarpastthegardenfences,pastthealuminumroofsandthemurmuringcows.Hershadowdanced,alone.Iwonderedwhatcolorshe’dmakewhenshelanded.Blue,Ihoped. Iwouldneverknow. ‘Prayshenevercomesback,’Rrawhispered,standingbehindme.‘Mosi-oa-Tunyacaneatherrightup’ Sometimes,whenlittleNnakeisasleep,whentheairiscalm,myarmwillcryforher.
Earlymorningsun.Orange. Igathermythings.Rraisgone.Nnakeisslowtowake.ShemustcookbeforeRracomesback.SheaskswhyshemuststayandImustgo.Sheasksifshecangowithme. No.Thesunisbeautifulbecauseitisdistant,RratellsherwhenI’mgone. School.Purple.Ourclassishalfabandoned.Boyanitellsmethatsomehaveflowntothecityinsearchofpula,therestinsearchoflostmothersandfathers.‘Butwestay,’hewhispers,‘becausewehaveyettogrowwings.’ MissteachesusEnglishphrases.Missoftenteachesusmath,butnottoday.Theydon’tspeakinwhispersinthecity,shewhispers,onlyinEnglish.IlearnhowtosaythethingsIamgoodat,likedancinganddrawing.IlearnhowtosayIaminsearchforemployment.IlearnhowtosaymynameisArnold.Idonotlikethewords.TheEnglishsoundstastecold.Theyarenotblue. ‘Youneednotwhisperanymore’,Misstells,‘nomore’.How
Alexander Miller
A Recollection
4140
amItospeaktoRraifIcannotwhisper,Iask,howamItospeaktoNnake?Misswhispersthatovertimethewordswillgrowpalatable.Itisalie.
Laterwhentheskyfalls,Misswilldream.Adreamofafalselife. Shewillsoar.Pastthesmokethatthunders,pasttheoceans,toaplacewhereallfalsedreamsend;alandfaraway.Shewillburyherwhisperingtongueinsideher,buryitdeep,behindtheheart.Soonshewillseeit,beyond,belowandahead.Shewillgreettheminwordswellintentionedandunderstood.ThemenfromthelandawaywillwelcometheMisswhosoars,whoflewonherownwings.Theywillacceptme,Missbelieves,theywillacceptmebecauseIcanbe.Shewilllandandshewillbeblue. Itisbutadream. Misswillwakebeforethesky.Misswillwakeblackandbranded,liketherestofus. Wewhisperatdinner,afterNnakepreparespap.SheisabettercookthanMma.PerhapsitisbecauseNnakecaresforus.Sheistooyoungtobetemptedbytheairandthemeninrichclothes.Itisafinemeal. Rracomeslate.Heworksasaguardtoaforeignman.Itisaverypreciousjob,Rrawhispers,tosafeguardthelifeofaforeigner.Rraoftenspeaksofhisadventures,hisbattlesintheair,effortstoprotecttheforeigner.Onestoryishisfavorite,hisduelwithamanafterRra’semployer,amanfromthehousesofstone,thehomeofMosi-oa-Tunya.Rraspeaksofhowtheyfoughtfordays,thestarstheirspectators,thecloudstheirshadows.Whenthefightisover,asthemanofstoneliesdefeated,Rraisrewardedagiftbyhisemployer.Acardwithhislikeness.Heshowsittoallandus.Soeveryonewillknow,Rrawhispers. Inhispicture,hedoesnotsmile. IdreamedofRraandhowhesleepsinhisboothoutsidetheaccentedman’shouse.Idreamedofhowheisseenandforgotten.Idreamedhowhelookstowardtheskyandtrembles,
rememberingsecretsweareallwordlesslytold.Heisnoslayerofstonemen.ButRraismore.Hestayedwhenhisbrandcalledforhimtofly.Forthat,Iabidehistales. Whenwearedonewiththepap,Rratellsushewilldietomorrow.
Iamawake.Themoonkeepswatchblindlyasthecowsmurmurinsilentconversation.Purple.Imustflytothecity.Thoughmywingshaveyettogrow,Imusttry.Ourfigureheadisgoneandweseekrenewal.Allthetaleshavebeentold.Theirwisdomneedstoformactions.Actionsneedtoformcolor.Thecolorneedstobeblue. Tomorrow,theburningbrand,thedulledaciouscruciform,willdevourRra.Itwillbepatient,nurturing,afireburningtheremainsofthetrampledleaf.Therewillbenothingtocleanbutthestone.Nnakewillbegrateful.Sheistooyoungtowipeawaythedead. Tonight,RratellsmeImustgotothecity,toGaborone.‘TakeNnakeaway’,hewhispers,‘away’.Hisvoicegainsweight,hebreatheshimselfout.Onlyafewhoursuntilhedissolvesentirely,intoair.Iwonderifthewindwillcarryhim.Perhapsthewater,thetlou,thechildwillfeelRra’sflavor. Rrarestshishandonmysinkingface.‘You,myson,youareinmyblood.Believeit,foritistheonlylastingcomfort.’Hisbreathslows.Rraisalmostgone. Hisgriptightens.‘Youaremorethanbranded.’Rralooksatme,thelasttime.‘Whoareyou,Arnold?’hewhispers,‘whoareyou?’ Thesunisbeautifulbecauseitisdistant,IwhispertoNnakewhenRraisgone.
Itisbrightwhenwearrive.Green.Brightenoughformetosee. Thecityisn’tthereflectionthathadechoedinmymindthejourneyhere.Idreamedofspiraltowers,ofnoise,ofmovement,a
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restrainedbuturgentmovementthatwouldfuelthecity.Yetitisnoneofthosethings.Itismuchsofter,darker,liketheblackenedlemon.Fromourdistance,thecitylooksnodifferentfromourhomeweabandoned,thehomeRrafoundandbuilt,livedanddied,existedandvanished.Fromtheoutskirts,wehearthemelodyofitsmanycreatures.Didtheyknowtheircolor?Myjourneytowardsthem?Theirjourneytowardsme? Nnakewhispers,Howcanthisbethecity?Itisalreadydying. Butitisnotdying,Nnake.Ihaveseendeath,therapidconsumptivebeing.Thiscitybeforeme,however,issoaringthroughtime,movingagainstourtides.Itsdeathisitsbirth,itsendastrongskybluethatpropelsitback.Andasthecityflies,itregainsthelifeithadneverlostandneveroncehad.Itwillgrowuntilitissofullofjoyandanger,ofblueandred,ofvengeanceandretrievalthatitwillreachthestars.Theywillflocktowardsit,ontheirwings,fromnearlandsasthemelodyrises,tojointhesong.Otherswillflocktowardsit,ontheirfeet,fromfarlands,withconcern,withenvy,withpremonitionandwillseehowitgrowsandwhenitwillfall.Andastimemovesagainstitself,asthecityfillsandagestoitstrueyoungself,asthemelodyisshapeddeepblueanddeepred,asitrisestothestars,asthosestarsdancearoundthehighesttowers,therewillbeafracture.Asofttearfromitsside.Timewillstop.Themelodywillstop.Thecitywillbegone.Thesunwillriseupontheemptylandandstaybutamoment,beforeseekinganewfriendtoaccompanyherasshehadinthepastalwaysandasshehadinthefuturealways.Thisisthecity,theblackenedlemon. ‘Anoldtale’,Nnakewhispers. Becausemywingswerenotready,wetraveledtothecitybywater.Wewerenottheonlyonesunabletofly,whohaddecidedthatthevoyagetothecitybetakenontopofChobe.Almostallofthemwerebranded,themarkgentlyrestingbelowtheirhand.Sometriedtocoverthemarkswithfabricsandclothesbutthenitsimplyglowed,alongingred.Sometriedtotearitout,toripthe
brandfromtheirbodyandtheythoughtthemselvesridofitwhentheheavyrockfellfromtheirarms.Butastheystoodrelieved,aswemarveledatthem(Iknewwhatwastocome),astherivercalmedbelowthewood,theirvacantbloodiedforearmgaverebirthtoit.Growinglarger,brighterthanbefore,therewasnopain.Withtheirreplenishedmark,brandedasbeforeandanew,theysatbackdownbeforecoveringitupinsilence. Weareeagertofindshelterandquicklyfindit,thisabandonedshackofwoodandfoil.Orange.Wearefortunatetohavepickedonesoclosetothecity.‘Andonesoclean’,whispersNnake.ItiscleanandevensomeitemsRratoldmetofindarealreadysprinkledacrossthisnewhome. ‘Perhapstheylefttoanothercity’,Nnakewhispers.Shedriftsacrosssandandsmileswhensheretracesthelinesofsmalldrawings,hiddeninadarkcorner.‘Perhapsthefamilywastoobig’,Nnakewhispers,‘childrenneedearthandskytogrow’. ‘Yes’,Iwhisperback,‘yes’.Assheconstructsheryouthfultale,myfeetbrushagainsttenderheatedstones,denselystackedbeneaththesand.DullasRra’shadbeen. Thereareglistensinourstream,flurriesofquickandgentlemotions,wordsonhowthecruciformcanbecured,uprooted.Iheardtheothers,onthatoceanicbillow,speakofmysticsandcharms,soldtothemeninhightowers.Sincereornot,Imustpursuethecurrent.WhetherIeludemygrowthoritdevoursme,IcannotallowNnaketosuccumb.Ifitrequirespula,Iwillhaveit,Iwillseekwork.IfIseekwork,Imustheadtothemines.Nnake,lostinherflavor,divinesthelivesoftheseformerkeepersasIbrushthesandovertheirlost,kindledremains.
Themines.Red.Nosoulthatcansustainitselfundertheirgleam,sofardown.Ihavebeenheretoolong.Thecyclesofmoonandsunpassoverme,calling,butIcanoffernoresponse.IhopeNnakeiswell. IthasbeentwomonthssinceIwoke,bythewaningstars,byherside.TwomonthssinceIfollowedthemenofthetownship,
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thatsoftdarkmelody,tothesemines.Nnakewasslowtowake.ShemusttendthehomewhileIamgone.SheaskedwhyshemuststayandImustgo.Sheaskedifshecangowithme. No.Thereisnosuntobefoundinthisdistance,Iwhispered. Anelderlymanshoutsbehindme.Hehasfoundone,theglisteninggrain.HishandsareasredasmyRed,hisbrandasredasmine.Atallermansqueezesthroughourlegion.Wemustpushourfacesagainstthesharprocktolethimpass,mycheekprotectingmynakedneck.Thetallermanreachestheelderandgatherstheglimmer.Heputsitawayandhandstheagingbrotherofminethepulahesodesired.Thetallermanascends,hispocketsashimmeringcove. Despitehisage,thesenescentmanmustbeunaware.Onceyoufindthem,youhidethem.Onceyouhidethem,youwait,waituntilyouarealonewiththetallerman,receiveyourpula,thenrejointhelegion.Wemakenosoundaswekeepawayfromhim,waiting.Theelderlymanbarelyholdshisworthbeforeahushed,heavyhandliftshisfacetothesharpedsidesofourenclosure.Wemakenosounds.Theheavyhandliftshisfaceagain.Wemakenosounds.Thehushedhandliftshisfaceagain.Thereisonefinalsound.
ThatpainedNkgonneofminedropsthepula,raiseshishandstowipehisredtearsaway,beforereachingtothebackofhishead,hopingtostopthemeltingflow.Hecannot.Wemakenosoundsasthathushed,heavyhandpushesthroughandgraspsthepula,allthatremains.Wecontinueourwork,wipingoursoiledfeetonthatempty,witheredframe. Nnake,Idecayintoil.Iwillnotbeabletowithstandit.
Outside,abovethemines,beyondmyself,belowandaheadoftime,thecyclesofthemoonandsunentertainthestarswhileyousing,singofrevival,singforblue.
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Esha Biswas
Friend-Zoned
welcometothefriend-zone!atrulymagicalrealmwhereloneliness is butadistanttroublehereyou’llalwayshaveashouldertoleanontocryon(andyoubestbepreparedthatthey’llcryonyourstoo)thisisajudgement-freezone!youcanfinallyrelaxthattensejawofyoursletwordsflowfreelylikedreamsI’veheardthathere,youmayevenbe understoodforthefirsttimeinyourlife—welcometothefriend-zone!you’vefinallymadeit!trustgrowsontreeshere(pleasedon’tchopthemdown)andtheriversarefilledwithempathythisiswherebestfriendsdwell
thisisaworldwhereyou’llbedrunkonthewineofsweetmemoriesandmeaningfulconversationwherelaughteristhesoundtrackwherewarmembracesliearoundeverycorneraplacewhereyou’llneverbealonewhereyou’llalwaysfeelathome,youknowsomepeoplenevermakeitherethey’ddoanythingtomoveinbuttheirapplicationsneverquitegetthroughsocongratulations!welcometothefriend-zone!
nowwhythehell areyoucomplaining?
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Awhalehassomuchspacetoswim.Whatdoeshethink,Glidingintelligentlythroughallthatspace?DoeshewritepoemsforApril?
AnneMarie Torresen
April 15
Miranda Schaffer
“No Thanks”
Idonotliketoholdbabies.
Beingpartofasocietythatviewswomenasonestonurtureandcarefortheyoung,Iknowthatthisisatypical.Ican’ttellyouhowmanytimessomeonehasofferedtheirbabyouttomeasarathersupremeactoftrustandkindness,aliteralpieceofthemselvesthattheyarewillingtoshare,forhoweverbriefamoment,with me.
AndItakethatgrandactofhumanityandIsay,“nothanks”becausewithtakingthatlittlehumanintomyarmsmyheartstartstobeatalittlefasterandmyfeetstarttoshiftalittlemoreandmyheadstartstospinalittlemoreviolently.Andit’snotbecauseI’msomesickowhohatesbabies,
Ijustdon’tlikethestringsattached.AndIdon’tjustmeantheonesthatcomesewnonwhenthey’reborn,thatoneisofalesspermanentnaturethantheother.
Thelongeststringbabiesseemtoharborishelplessness.I’veneverbeenafanofthat.Surelyweallfeelhelplessattimes.
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Sometimeswhentheskyfallsithappenstoshatterintoamillionshinyshardsofsilvershapeshiftingreflectorsthatrequireustotakeinahardhonestreflectionofourselvesbeforewecaneverfindthetenacitytoputbacktogethertheworld’smostdifficultjigsawpuzzle.
Butthat’snotthekindofhelplessnessI’mtalkingabout.I’mreferringtotruehelplessnesslikethelookinsomeone’seyewhentheyknowthatthisisthelastbreaththeywillevertakeonthisearthandtheyfinallyrealizethatwhateverhappensafteryoudie,itdoesn’tmatter.
Becausethepeopleyoulovethemostwon’tbetherelaughingwithyoucryingwithyouorholdingyourhandAfter.This.Breath.Sureit’stheoppositeendofthespectrumbutbabieshavethatlooktoo,
Onlyworse.Becausethebabydoesn’tseeitcoming.WitheverytrulyinnocentcooIamremindedthatanythingandeverythingthatIdoimpactsthismicropersonuntiltheytootaketheirlastbreath,andthatisalotofresponsibilityforasensitiveseventeen-year-oldgirlwhoseestheworldasonebigpicture.
Becarefulwhatyousay,aroundthebaby.Becarefulwhatyoudo,aroundthebaby.Becarefulofwhatyouthink,aroundthebaby.
Becauseanyoneofthose,solooringrandcombinationscouldhavealastingeffect.Iwillnotbeheldresponsibleforscrewingupamemberofthenextgeneration.
Butyouseethatbiggerissuehereisthatholdingababyremindsyouthateverythingyousayanddo,doesmatter.Andsurethatsoundsexcellentintheory,tomatter,butinpracticeitisscaryashell.
Iambynomeansproudofeverycombinationofseeminglybenignpoly-syllabicformationthatwieldsfrommytongue.Theysometimespickupsharpedgeswhilegrazingmyteethonthewayout.Theysometimesmaycutapersondownlikeanaxe.EveryactionandreactionIhavecanshatteragrainofsomeone’sconfidence.
ButmostcommonlyIendupcontortingmyselfintosuchapositionthatbothfeetendupinmymouth.Andletmetellyou,thatdoesnottastegood,anditstinksalittletoo.
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AndonceIpurgethisstrangementalimageofahumanpretzelfrommymindandfinallylookthelittledarlinginitsunproportionallysized,butsweet,tendereyes,Imyself,feelalittlebithelpless.
AndIwonder,asmanyoftendo,thatifwhenIwasanewborndumpling,someone once held me,thatfeltalittlebithelplesstoo.
AndIliketoimaginethatpersonwouldsay,“Nothanks.”
Becausetheydidnot“liketoholdbabies.”
Patience of a SaintKara Mullison54
How Zeus Died Driving a Lightning Bolt
Tracy Scherdt
IwokeupalonethatdayTotheringingofyourPanickedheart,Coldandstoned,“Ithinkhe’sdeadMybestfrienddiedlastnight”
HewasdrivingtoofastTowardDecemberOnaboltoflightningNonetheless
WillingtheleavestofallInflakesandpatternsNotabovebutacrossWindswept
ButhislanewasnarrowAsitwaswhenwemetAnditwasn’thisfaultOryours
Iwantedtocalltoday
AskyouiftherewasstillLooserubbleinyourchest
ButIcouldn’t
ThecrackingandfaultingOfyou,laterusChangedmeandstilldoesWhenIgivethesoundRoomtoroam
Ican’terasethecrashsiteIndaylight,blackAndstillglowingMetalbentandtornAlmostsculptedAlmostGod
SomesaidtheworldWouldendinfireOrboltsoflight,butIneverexpectedittoEndinlife
ForGarthRayCougillFeb.18,1996-Nov.12,2014
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Neurosis
Miranda Hency
It’sasquigglymessoflinesIfeelinmychest,strokingthesidesofthatsnakingtube,cluttering,fluttering,stickingmetoonespot,butterfliesdon’tflyinside,Icryinside:getmeout,getmeout,thevoicewantstobeheard,it’snotmychoicethatitcan’tbeheard.
Cradlemeplease,IcanbeprettyifItry,givemethatanimalsmile,I’llwonderwhenwegleam,whatdoesitmean?whatdoesitmean?
Panicisscratching,scourging,itcutsbutluckilyit’sfreefrombleeding,justindents,intenseuncertaintyanddefense.
Augu
st Siv
ec
W
here
?
“WishingIcoulddistancemyselffromthisexistence;
Whereheartscanbebroken,yetbeatsbestillpersistent,
Whereeachandeverycapriciousmom
entconsistsmerelyofinsistence,
Wherepleasureresidessole(less)lyinthelastnightsbingefrominhibition,
Wherelistlessbecom
esvicious,andignorancetwisted,
Whereeachandallarewanderingstars,desperatelypersistentinourlonelyam
bitions.”
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Welayeredourhandprintsonthewall,dipped them in whiteantisepticpainttopurifythegerms.
Wecrushedvitaminsunderourfeet,pouredthesweetambrosiaofIVdripandwaitedforthesoiltodetoxifytheairwebreathe.
Cammie Finch
Antiseptic
Wehosedourselvesdownwithcleargelsanitizeruntilweblurredlikerainstorms,ourfumigatedeyesdroopingwithdisinfectantsideeffects.
Welaidingownsonstarkpowderedbeds,feelingoursyn-co-patedpulsesinchesfromourownbecauseweweretooafraidtotouchandtransmit.
Wearabesquedtoantiseptic,andstill,thetingeofpainleftitsstainonus:astalemoldypinkthatneverseemstocomeout.
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Julia Byers
The Stars Do Not Speak
Thetrainwhistleissolouditvibratesthehardmetalmeshbeneaththesolesofmytennisshoes,andtheentirefireescapeswayslikeit’sdancing. Ileanagainstthewallandclosemyeyes,roughredbrickstucktothebackofmyt-shirtasthetrain’sheatbreathesacrossmycheeks,andthenit’sgoneandthenightisstillagain. Iopenmyeyes.Theairisjustcoldenoughthatmybreathreflectsthelightoftheapartmentbuildinglikeathousandshiningcrystals,orahundredhazypuffsofsmoke,beforeitdispersesintothenight. Ilookaway,overatthetraintracksthendownatthestreet,andtrynottothink.Everythingismuffled,unabletocompetewiththehighwailofthetrainwhistleandthescreamsofthetracks.Iwantmymindtobemuffledtoo—soinsulatedanddetachedthatIcannothearasinglethoughtrunningthroughit.Butitissohardwhenthethoughtsarelouderthanthebloodthatpoundsinmyears. Itrytofocusonthequiet.Onthenumbness. Itrytofocusonthestillnessandthecalm. Iimaginestealingthenothingnessawayfromthestreetandsoakingitintomybones;holdingitinsidemeforeverandlettingeverythingelsego. Iwanttoshutoutmythoughtsandcloseawindowontheacheandflyawayonthetraintracks,thewaymybreathfliesonthewind.ButIcan’t. Ican’t. Thebrickspresshardagainstmyspine.Myhairhangsonmyshoulders,wetandcoldandknottedintostrings.Myentirebodyfeelslikeitweighsahundredthousandpounds—soheavythefireescapecouldbreakbeneathmeatanymomentandsendme
tumblingtothestreetbelow. Isuckinabreath,holditforasecond,thenletitbackout.Anothercloudofcrystalsthatdanceinthelight.Ishiverandtuckmyhairbehindmyears.Islidedownthewallandcurlmyarmsaroundmylegs.Irestmyforeheadagainstmyknees. Myeyesburn,hotlikethetrainandwetlikemyt-shirt,myhair.Ican’ttellifmycheeksarecold,ormyjeans,orboth. Hecouldn’thavewaiteduntilafterIhaddriedmyhairanddonemyhomework,couldhe?Hecouldn’thavewaiteduntilafterdinner,whenImighthavebeenmoreprepared? Hecouldn’thavewaitedtotellmethathe’sdying? Dying.Itsoundssodramatic,sounusual—likeit’sadiseaseinandofitself.Likethatoneword,spokenaloudinthedoorwaytothekitchenasIwrungmyhairwithatowelandstaredathimwithmyheartbeatingtoofast,toohardinmychest,couldbewhat’skillinghim.Thatoneword.Likeit’snotthecanceratall,butthefactthathe’sfinallyhadthegutstoacknowledgethefinalityoftheword terminal. Dying. Mydadisdying. IknowIshouldn’tfeelthewayIdo,likeheisatfaulthereandIamthevictim.Butthatisthefeelingclawingitswayupmythroatandmakingthemoisturespringtomyeyes.Itseparatesmefromtheworldbehindalayeroftears. Thatisthefeelingthatcutsinsidemethesharpestandpresentsitselftheclearestinmymind,sothatmystomachchurnsandmyfingersgripmycalvessohardmyknucklestingle. Dadisdying,andmymotherlefttoomanyyearsagotobothercounting,andIdon’tknowwherethatleavesme.Wheredoesthatleaveme? Iwanttobenumb. Ileanmyheadbackagainstthebricks,roughagainstmyscalp,andblinkawaythetearsjustenoughtobeabletomakeoutthestars.Theyaresohazyanddistantwithallthelightsofthecityshiningupatthem,abarrier,barelyfrecklesinthedeep,bruised
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purpleofthesky.Thecityissomuchbrighterandharsherthanthestars.Itissocolditstranglesthesobthatcatchesinmythroat. Thefactisthatweallstartoutbelievinginlife.Wishingonstars.Butlifebreaksusslowly—onedream,onehope,onewishatatime—untileventuallywealllookupattheskyandrealizethestarscan’thelpusanymorethanwecankeepthemfromburningout. Weareallcandles,tryingsohardtoshineasbrightandaslongasthestars,butweareweakandsmallandsoeasilysnuffed,andallittakesisasinglebreathtodestroyus.Asinglebreath. Cancer. “Ellie?”Dad’svoiceishesitant,ontheothersideofthewindowjusttomyright.MyjawclenchesandIclosemyeyestight.MynoseburnslikeIhavebeenunderwatertoolong.Icannotbreathe.It’slikeheisaghostalready. “Ellie?”hesaysagain. Thefireescapeswaysasheinchesopenthewindowthenstepsontoithimself,delicatewithhisfootinglikehetooisafraiditmightbreak.Ittakeseverythinginsidemenottocrumpleuplikeapieceofpaper.Toshuthimoutcompletely.Myentirefaceisonfireandmyfingersarenumbagainstmylegs.Theskybecomesaswirlingblur. “Ellie.”Hedoesn’ttouchmeatfirst,justsitsbesidemewithhisbackagainstthewallandhisfaceangledupwards,tryingtoseewhatIamlookingatupthereintheskybeyondtheclouds.Iclampmylipsshutandheshiftscloser.Hewrapshisarmsaroundme,sostrongitisimpossiblehewilleverdie,letalonediesosoon.Itisimpossiblethatheisdyingalready. Dying,dying,dying—thewordisamantra,alifestyle,apromise. Heisdying. Weallare,really.Butheisdyingmorethantherestofus.Oratleastmoreknowingly.
“Ellie,”hesaysasIburymyfaceagainsthisshoulder.Ibitetheinsideofmycheektokeepbackthesobs.“I’msorry.I’msosorry,honey.Ishouldn’thavetoldyoulikethat.Ijustdidn’tknowhowtosayit.” “You’releavingme.You’releavingmelikeshedid.” Myvoiceissostifledagainstthestarchedcottonofhisbutton-downshirt,Idon’tthinkhewillunderstandme.Buthewhispersintomyhair,“No,ofcoursenot.I’mnotleavingyou.I’mnevergoingtoleaveyou.” “Butyou’redying.”Ipracticallyspitit. Hegripsmetighterandhisbreathticklesagainstthetopofmyhead.Hesays,“There’sadifferencethere,Ellie.There’sadifferencebetweendyingandleaving.Leavingisachoice.”Heholdsontomesotightlyit’slikehe’safraidthatifhedoesn’tworkatithardenough,Iwillfloatawayonthewind—likeheisasafraidoflosingmeasIamoflosinghim.“There’sadifference,can’tyousee?ThedifferenceisthatIloveyou,Iloveyousomuch,andIamgoingtodoeverythinginmypowertostaywithyouforaslongasIpossiblycan.AndthenIamgoingtogiveyouasmuchasIcanforyourfuture,too.ForwhenI’mgone.” Hisvoicecracks.“Yourmommadeherdecisiontoleave,andI’msosorrythathappened,butI’mstaying.Doyouhearme?I’mnotgoinganywhere.I’mnotgoingtomakethesamemistakeshedid.I’mgoingtostaywithyouuntiltheend.” Hisvoiceissoftandfloating,barelyawhisperashetellsme,“Iloveyou,Ellie.”Thewordstangleinmycold,knottedhair.Theyfloattotheskyonabreathmadeofcrystals. Mylipsbrushagainstthestifffabricofhisshirt.“Iloveyoutoo,Dad.” TherestoftheworldissilentandfarawaywhileIamsafeinhisarms.AtfirstIampeaceful,butthenangerscissorsthroughme—bitternessandtheburning,piercingneedtoscream.ThenIcandonothingbutsob.Itisemptyandall-encompassing,likeittearsmybodyapartmusclebymuscle,fiberbyfiber.
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Itisimpossibletobenumb.Idon’tknowifIwouldwanttobe. Dadrocksmeonthefireescapethewayherockedmeonthekitchenfloorthemorningaftermymotherleftwithoutagoodbye.HerocksmelikeIamfiveyearsold,andtheclockstillhassomuchtimeonit,you’dnevereventhinktothinkthatitiscountingdowntotheend.HerocksmelikeheknowswhatIamthinkingandwhatIamfeeling,eventhoughallIcandoiscry. Herocksmelikehemeansitaboutnotleaving. He’snotleavingme. Notyet. ForamomentIfeelasifitisnotthefireescapethatdancesbeneathme,butspace,withplanetsandmoonsandentiregalaxiesstretchingoutbeneathmyfeet.Everything,righttherewithinreach. Myfatherisnotacandle,butasupernova,spreadinghiswarmthandlighttomebeforeheburnstonothing,todust.Sowarmhisarmsnearlysearagainstmyskinasheholdsmetohischestandkeepsthechillaway.
Clare Higgins
The Hunt
Iputyouinacorner.Youspewed,allfirecrackerandhotsand,Iheldupmyforearmstoshieldtheblow.Wickedtearsstungcheekbone.Theirriversinbetweenyourlaughingteeth.
Nowoursilencesareemptysnowflakes,foggingupthewindows.Peoplesayit’shardertobreathe.Nicegirlsturnedtoash,cherrylipsmadeofmonster-hide.
I’mfullof“Ifyouwould”slikeputdownyourdaggersingapologiesandkissgoodnight,insteadofclenchingteethasyoutiptoeovermismatchedspoons.
Eachtimewecaretolook,theother’seyesgleamwithsurpriseandguilt—wehavecaughtoneanother,bloodyhareinmouth,slinkingthroughthewoods.
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Kate Cammell
Grandma’s Selfish Move to the Nursing Home
NomoreSinatrateeteringfromthespeakerorthrift-saleartonentrywaywalls,acondopaintedthesametanhueasbronxconcreteinsummertime,withdormantrooms,idleandemptyexceptforthemisplacednumbersofyesterday’sSudoku.
Stacksofbookslierestlessingaschamberboxes,dustsuffocatesallsunlightsneakingthroughthecardboardedges;cardboardlikebarbed-wire.
WhatareFridaynightssupposedtobenow,withoutsleepoversandcheaplomien?
TheHelloDollydvdiswedgedbetweenblownglassvasesandprinterpaper,thedvdnestledinbubblewrapmadeofourdeliriousnightsspentgigglingatthemoonandout-jivingBarbaraStreisand.
TheChristmasdecorationssitpatientlyintubs,iciclefeetshattertofractalsandtheflanneltreeskirthangsontotheirpieces,oldChristmascardsstrewn:HappyHolidays.
Whattodonowwithanopposingschedulealreadyfullwithbingo,opera,andlukewarmtapioca?
Saltinesstaybehindtoguardthestaleairofthepantrycoffinwhereallfreshfoodgoestodie,expiredfoodastaple,crumbsleftlikeMidwesternacorns,toomanytosweepuptoomanytocare.
Thecanenolongerafirmtree,venerable,annoyedwithwobblytiles,leaningagainstthefrontdoor,nomorepost-sleepovercontinentalbreakfastssandpapertoastblackenedandneverswallowed.
You’reselfishtoleavemeheretoo.
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Megan McKenzie
Shashank Rao
Excerpt from: “Ghosts in the Night”
OnthetrainfromKonjeetoBangaloreIdreamtofagoddessandahag.Afamiliardream,theonlydreamI’dhadformanyyears.ThereunderthevinesofabanyantreeIwouldbeonmyknees,searchingforanthillsuntilIfoundmyselfatthefeetofParvathi,bathedinthescentofnectar,surroundedbybutterflies.ButwhenIlookeduptocatchaglimpseofherface,allwouldturntostoneandwherethegoddessoncestood,awitchwithskinthecomplexionofvomitcackledawayintheboomingdarknessuntilIawoke,foreheaddankwithsweat,beamsofsunlightblindingmeuponarousal.Iwastwentyyearsoldin1927,workingformyfatherwhenIshouldhavebeenatuniversity.Thatday,Iwasreturningfromaparticularlylongbusinesstrip.IhadbeenworkingasaguideandtranslatorforourforeignbeneficiariesontheirvisittoinspectthesilkplantationwemanagedfortheminAssam.ButitwasmyrendezvouswithmyloverinCalcuttathatwasofthegreatestimportancetome.
InCalcutta,shehadlovedme.InCalcutta,shemusedonthenightwespententwinedinaricepaddy.InCalcutta,shewaitedandwaitedandwaited.
ButtoBangaloreIwentlikeacoinspiralingintoadrain.
AnditwasonthistrainthatImetMissWeston,asprightlyyoungBritishwomanofnomorethannineteenyearsofagedressedentirelyinwhitewhoenteredandexitedmylifelikeajasminebloomtornfromitstree,passingbyonaseawind.
* “NevertrustanEnglishman,”mygrandmotherwouldsingasshereadthenewspaper,“theirskinismilkywhiteandtheymovelikeghostsinthenight.”Myfatherwouldalwayschastise
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mygrandmotherwhenshebegantheditty,remindingherthatthelifehehadbuiltwasdueinlargeparttothoseuntrustworthyEnglishmen. “Mother-in-law,pleasedon’tbesoirrational.” Myfather,C.LRagavendhraMurthyhadbeenraisedinaBritishhouseholdunderthecareofMs.ElizabethReaugh.Iknewverylittleoftheirpersonalrelationship,onlythatMs.Reaughpaidforhisuniversityeducationandhelpedstartuphisbusiness.Forthat,hewasforeverinherdebt.However,IcannotsayIsharedthesamerosypictureofMs.Reaugh.Towardsme,shewasuncommonlyvicious.Shewouldcomplainaboutmetomyfather,sometimesforstealingherfavoritewatch,sometimesforruiningherfavoritepairofshoes,andIwouldinvariablybebeatenblackandblue.However,IamquitecertainIneveractedinanysuchmanner.FromtheminuteIwasborn,Ms.Reaughhadcastherevileyeonme.Ifeltit.Iresentedit.Ifearedit. ShediednotlongafterIturnedfifteen,butherpresencelingeredoninmyfather.Hisoncejocularpersonaeroded,replacedbyanunflappablesteeliness.Herwrathhadpossessedhim.WhenIwasnotuptopar,whenthewrongwordsslippedoutataninopportunetime,hewouldhurlthesameinsults,lobthesameabusestillIheardhervoicerisingabovethemayhem.YetneverhadIoncebrokenmystoicismwhenconfrontedbyhim.Whenthestormcloudspassedandmyfatherretiredtohisstudytoporeoverhislogbooks,mygrandmotherwouldcomeovertowhereIrootedmyselflookmesorrowfullyintheeyeandmurmur“likemother,likeson.”EventhenIwouldholdmypeacewhiletyphoonsandtidalwavesbatteredtheshoresofmythroat,theghostsofdrownedthoughtsrisingupfromtheirbleachedcorpses,moaningforairandjustice,butIwouldsimplystandmygroundwhilealltheforceoftheIndianOceanroaredinmyskull. “Whatcanyoudo?” Mymother,myamma,wastheonlyreliablesourceofgenerosityandwarmthduringthedarkdaysofmychildhood.Iwouldruntoher,weeping,screaminginpainaftermyfatherorMs.
Reaughhadfinishedpunishingme,shewouldbethere,attimessewingapatchinherpetticoat,attimesmakingchapathis,open-armedandsmiling,andIwouldbehealedbyherembrace.ButtalkofherisforbiddeninthehouseholdeversincesheabscondedwithaMuslimmanwhenIwasthirteen.Mygrandmothercriedforfivedaysonend,myfathernotadrop. “Ialwaysknewshewasatart,”saidMs.Reaughtomyfatherwhensheheardwhathadhappened.“Iwarnedyounottomarryher,butyoudidn’tlisten.Nomatter.Thishouseholdisbetteroffwithouther.” Whenshesawmelaterthatday,shedughernailsintomyarm.“Amotherwhodidn’tevencareenoughforherchild.Poorthing,youare.”Thenailspiercedsodeeptheydrewblood.Myfather,committinghislastactofkindness,tookmeasidebeforeIwenttobedandbandagedtheincisions.Fivelittlescarsnowremain,runningdownmyarmliketears.
*** MissWestonandImetregularlyafterweranintoeachotherinthebazaarshoppingformangoes,designatingtheCenturyClubasourmeetingspot,whereweregaledeachotherwithstories;IwithstoriesofthetrialsofpreparingforChandramukhi’sfast-approachingwedding,MissWestonwithtalesofthemistressandthelover.Talesofuncommonsadnessthatbeliedhercheerycountenance. “Theyarenotbadpeople,no.Onthecontrary,Ifindthemquitelovely.” “Youknowthem?”Iasked,unabletocomprehendthenotion. “Quitewell,really.Themistressismyayah.She’sbeenwithussincethetimeIwastwo,youknow.Mostgirlsnolongercarefortheirayahbythetimethey’remyage.MyparentswantedtosendherawayandcallinaproperEnglishhandmaidwhenIturnedsixteen,butIcouldn’tbeartoseeherleave.ShehadtravelledallthewayfromBombayjusttobewithme.Oratleastthat’showI
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sawit.Itseemedwhollyunfairthatshebesentawaysoarbitrarily.Ibeggedmyparentstoletherstay;needlesstosay,myfatherofferedhisemphaticsupport.Ayahisnotabadwoman,Hari,I’mtellingyou!Shedidn’tseducehimoranything! “Andmymother’sclandestinelover,he’sourlaundryman.I’veknownhimsincebirthandI’mveryfondofhimtoo.Healwaysmakesmehandcraftedwoodenbirds.Ihaveashelffullofthemathome.Motherevenboughthimsometoolstohelphimalong.Hewasverygrateful.Thewayhisfacelitupwhenhereceivedthetoolset,Iwillneverforget.Ithinkthatwasthefirstdaytheyslepttogether.Isawmymotherscuttlingtowardshisshedlatethatnight.Theyhaveasecretlittlebusinessnow.Hemakesthewoodenbirds,mymothersellsthemtoherfriends,andtheysplittheprofit.Nooneissupposedtoknowaboutthis,butIoverheardthemoncewhenIwasreadinginthegreenhouse. “ButwhatIhateaboutthiswholegameofaffairsisthatIcan’ttellifmyparentsareinlovewiththeirlovers.Idon’tknowwhohadtheiraffairfirst.ForallIknow,theycouldbothbedoingitoutofspite,justworkingoffsuspicions.Ayahandthelaundryman,they’rejustcaughtinthemiddle.Theythinkthey’reinlovewithmyparents.It’sabloodymess.Everyoneisrunningaroundblind.Likemolesathighnoon.” “Thesunislovingustoomuch,”ajjiwouldsayofsuchcuriouslyhotdays.Perhapsitwasso.Thesun’spassionguardeditsembraceofthecitysojealouslythemonsoonsdarednotcomeanywherenearBangalore.Notasingledropofrainhadfalleninthepastweek.Thedirtroadsaroundmyhousehadbeguntodryandcrack,lookingmoreandmorelikedesertterrainandtheafternoonsbegantocatchfireasthered-orangeflowersofthegulmohartreesbegantobloom. Awaiter,dressedinasuffocatingsilkwhitekurthaandturbanbroughtusourtea. “Sotellme,”shesaidblowingthesteamrisingupfromthecup,“what’syourtaleofwoeasidefromthemanytribulationspreparingforanIndianwedding?I’dshuddertothinkthatmy
miseryistotal.” “Thereisn’tmuchtomeMissWeston.AsI’vetoldyou,mydomesticlifeisjustthat:domestic.” “Ohboo!I’veexposedmyfamily’sdarkestsecrettoyou!IthinkIamnotoutoflinewhenIsayweshareacertainclosenessnow,andyetIhaven’tsomuchastohaveheardasinglementionofyourancestry.Icannotbetheonlyonesoterriblylost!” Therewasaglintinhereye,amadness.Darknesstrembledjustbeneath.Isensedit. “Verywell.MymotherranawaywithaMuslimman.Myfatherhaslostfaithingoodness.AndIfeelasifIamtrappedwithinthiscityforever.” Withnowarning,Ilostcontrolofmyownbeingandthestoryofmymother’sabscondingandfather’sfuryspunoutlikeamaelstrom,thesunkencorpsesofthingsleftunsaid,ofthoughtsforgotten,oftearsquiveringunused,alldammedinbymyownrestraintflowedoutwithgraceandforceinjoyousabandon,allouttobare,allouttoreceiveproperburialunderthekindnessofthesun,allawaitingthepromiseofreleasefromthestagnant,toxicbackwatersofmymind,allout,allout,alloutformetoseeasIneverhadseenthembeforeandhowuglytheyhadturned,twisted,translucent,burninginthedaylight.
Thefloodhadyettocease.MystomachbegantolurchandtumbleandlikethemythicalamritoffereduptothegodsafterthegreatChurningoftheOcean,ancientwondersbegantosurface.
Mymother’swarmgaze.Myfather’sheartylaugh.AnoldmemoryofthethreeofusracingdowntherockgneissthatroselikeawaveatthecenteroftheLalBaghGardens.Myamritcameupalittleorb,agoldenbubbleascendingtheduskandwonderofmytumultuousocean.Amongstthewavesandtidesitburstandwithinme,anewsunyawnedonthehorizon.GoddessParvathi’selusivefaceflashedforbutaninstant.Thehagmoanedandmelted.
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“Ohmygoodness,you’recrying!I’msoterriblysorry!Ishouldn’thaveforcedyoutodredgeupsuchthings.I’maselfishfool!Pleasefinditinyourhearttoforgiveme!”MissWestonreachedoverthetableanddabbedatmytear-linedfacewithherhandkerchief.Imusthavesportedagreatlybemusedexpression.IhadonlyjustbeenreturnedauthorityofmySelf.Severalotherguestsseemedtohaveturnedourwaytooglethestrangeeventstranspiringatourtable.Theirfacesblurredandforthefirsttime,Icouldseehowmygrandmotherthoughtthemghosts.
Stina Perkins
Ghosts
Igotothecemeterytothink,toburythemeaninglessnessinmylife—physicsexamsandfightswithMomandthesmellofrubberyhotdogsthatdripsfrommyhighschool’sceilingtiles.AndinsteadIuntanglemysoul. Butmyghostscan’treallycompetehere;they’reoutnumberedandnaive.(IimaginethemfloatingaroundandplayinggamesofJeopardywithgravestones,buttheydon’tknowtrivianearlyaswellasMr.GeneGoodshaw,whopassedin1841.Inmyhead,GeneislikeAlexTrebek—pasthisprimeandvaguelysexist).Myghostsareyoung—myfearoffailure,forgottenlettersfrommygrandma,thewordsmyex-boyfriendcalledme—soit’saprettyfutileeffort. YetIfigure,ifmyghostscan’thauntacemetery,thentheycan’thauntme. Thisgivesmeperspective.
It’ssurprisinglypeacefulhere.There’saperpetualdusk,shallowandkind,thathugstheplace—it’snottheplacethatneedshugs,it’sthepeople,butduskdoesn’tknowthis.Thegravestonesthemselvesareendearingintheirsimplicity.Theythinkafewwordscancapturethedimensionsofpersonhood.It’sgoodformetotacklethisdisregardtocomplexity. Itendtoovercomplicate. TherearetearsonthegroundbutIneverfeelsad;maybeit’stheperspective,maybeit’sdusk’shug,maybeit’sthepinchofthewindthatdriesmyeyes. I’mleftwithcontemplation. AndsoItellstoriesinmyhead.IcreateascenewithPeterLindsey(1986)andSamanthaDunn(2001),whofallinloveatasmellyarcadewheretheyplayairhockeyandtradepaperticketsforthingstheydon’twantbutfeeltheyneed:amonkeystuffedanimal,astalejawbreaker.They’rebothintheirthirties,butlovemakesthemchildlike.Really,PeterwasshotatagetwentyandSamanthacommittedsuicideatfourteen.Theyneverwould’vemet. Butthestoriesaremorefun;Iliketoinvertemotion,toplaywithcontext.
Cemeteriesaredeeplyuncomfortable,butI’vebeencomfortablemywholelife.
7776
Maeve Pascoe
Sweet Nothings
Kate Cammell
Theshatteringofsentimentalglassware;
wearemosaicheldtogether
bycoywordsandconcrete.
Yourlipscaressmywiltingroses
andreplacethemwithtomorrowsbible,
skinthattasteshalf-baked
tenderascratersofthemoon,
musclestensionthenrelax,
youmoanandtheroomisstill,
nowindcouldblowusaway;
sweetnothingisastupidname,
myemptyeverythings.
7978
forthisdaydreamanotherplaceholdertooktheroleoflovingm
eandthatw
ashowwesavedthew
orld.theghostsofoldarmsfellaw
ayandIvisitedtheheadstonesbeforehisfacelessenvelopingofsturdy,m
elookinguptoabrightbluesky.w
estoodthere,ontheedgeofamountain
andaftereverything,millenniaofpain,finallyitcouldend.
itwasabsolutelythateasy.w
eborewitnesstothew
orldwe’vealw
ayskeptcloseinourheads,thejustonew
efightforandcryforanddiefor.thepoem
scouldactuallybeaboutthetrees,andthecravingtofeelunderstooddidn’tfeelcliché,anentireplanetaw
ayfromcolderlogic.
theneedtobetouchedwasurgent.Iam
certaintherewereflow
ersinthisworldenshrined,agoldenhorizonofbrushstrokesandbirdsam
ongtheclouds.inthislonely,letm
ehavemydelusion.allow
metoconflatetw
ofar-flungideals.
Alex Kime
D
iary of Beautiful Hubris
Everythingfeelsimpossiblebeforeit’sdone.W
henyouleadfrompragm
atism,notim
agination,youshortchangeyourvisionforjustice.-EveEw
ing
Kaitlin Bonfiglio
Press A for Dialogue
“Technologyisamazing”saysthedudefromPalletTown
“Yes,”Isay“withthispush-upbramytitsaremorespectacularthanever
theestrogendoesn’thurteither”
“Technologyisamazing”saysthedudefromPalletTown
hecan’tsayanythingelsehe’sannpc
8180
August Sivec
A Cup of Joe, See?
I’vebeencrushin’onyourkindness,WhileI’vebeenblindedbymyshyness.
I’vehadactionsimaginedfromanunmannedbastionofabstraction.
Belittlingandbeguilingmybittersenseofself.Cripplingandcompilingmytimidtenseofthought.
Witheachhatefuldirectedinflection,deliveredinaformallyinformedimpassionedfashion,
yourgorgeousearsgorgedthemselves:exposedtoimposedsuggestionsofperfection.
Thesurenessofyourexistenceisallowedforbytheuncertaintyofour
– perception –coupledwithanunrelentingpersistence
fromamisattributedaffliction.
In the BathKara Mullison82
Clare Higgins
April
Dawn:Whenthativoryambersuntiptoedoverthehousewelaughedslow&softbitintoorangesaskmeifIremember.
Wewerestrongbackthenrobotsbackstothewindcleanandhealthy,pinklikeanewcarengine,rosebudsoryoursister’stoothpaste,
deep.Likeaponderousfish.
That’swhatmadeusslick,thetestingandtappingnewflavorsofgumandshavenlegsshiningstrawberrylearninghowtotouchandbetouchedundertheKansassun.
Now,lookatyourdaughter’swrists.Doyoureyesmatchhers?Whatareyoutoday,angryattheskyorpleasedwiththegoldenleaves?
TodayIamlickingastampgummyandrankhopingwordsfloatbacktoyoucursingourancestorsandyourspitefultongue,whyareyoualwaysrighthowareyouwrongeachtimeyouareright.
IamtakingonedaytotellyouIpitytheleaves,thatIwaverwordlesslyoverourchangingphrasesthatmirrorandechoandceasetogrow,ItellyouIamworried.
Ilookback,grinwhenIthink:yourbackbonebadmouthandthreedollarswithsixtytwocentstobackitup,youwereonceunafraidtosaywhereyoucamefrom.
Itisbecauseofourmouthsandtongueandteeth,itisbecauseofskinandmakinglovethatwearewhowehavebecome,thistimeIprayyoulisten.
ThistimeIprayyoucrackopentheskyandhearsunrisevoices,findyourwayback.
8584
Lang DeLancey
Why Street Corners Are Dangerous
aghostaskedmetolighthiscigarette.ididn’tbecauseididn’tknowifghostsareflammable
Entrance to the Sky Daniel Wu
Hopeisbothgood,andevil.Ilied.Truth.Damn,liedagain.Paintapicture,closeyoureyes.Dawn,Day,Dusk,amoment,gone.Fivewordstoriesareharder.
Kathryn Orwig
Six Word Stories
86
Mike Flynn
Excerpt from: LETTER TO THE EDITOR
Towhomitmayconcern:
I’montoyou,Dr.God,Esquire.Iknowyouexist. HowdoIknowthis?Becauseafriendofyoursrecentlypaidavisittoafriendofmine. IamspeakingofcourseofDeath.
No,it’snotametaphor.DeathliterallywalkedintomyfriendJosh’shouseandpaidhimavisit.HetoldmethiswhilewewereplayingCallofDutyinhisparents’house.Iwasonbreakfromcollegeandhewasstilllivingathome. “Heyman,”hesaidwhilesneakingupbehindmycharacterandstabbinghimintheback.“Deathcametomyhouselastnight.” Iglancedoverathim.Hehadalwayslikedtosayweirdshittome,tryingtofreakmeout.ButusuallyIcouldtellthathewasjoking–hewouldsoundsmarmyandself-aware,likeanewsanchor.ButwhenhespokeaboutDeath,hetalkedinhisnatural,slow,Midwesternbrogue,andhiseyeswouldglazeover.That’swhenIknewhewasserious–whenhesoundedlikehimself. “Nokidding!Like,DeathDeath?Whatdidhedo?” “Hejustkindaknockedonthedoor,said‘Hi,I’mDeath,’andwalkedintomyhouse.Grabbedsomechipsfromthepantryandsatdownonthecouch.Gotcrumbseverywhere.” Iglanceddownatthecouchweweresittingon.TherewerestillsplotchesofDoritosresidueonseveralofthecushions.IlookedbackupatJosh,andhewasstaringatachairontheothersideoftheroom.Heturnedtomeandpointedatthechair.“Thereheis.He’ssittingrightthere.” Ilookedatthechair.Thechairwasempty.IlookedbackatJosh.Hewasstillstaring,shakingslightly.
“Josh,”Isaidhaltingly.“Whatareyouonrightnow?”“What?”hesaidnervously.Heinstinctivelytuggedonhissleeve,asiftoconcealsomethingonhisarm.Helookedatme.Ilookedathim.Wesaidnothingforafewminutes.
Thephrase“heterosexuallifepartner”isthrownaroundveryinfrequentlythesedays,becauseitencompassesanincrediblyspecifickindofbond.Onewhereyouandanotherhumanofyoursamegenderconnectonsuchadeep,personallevelthat,attimes,itseemslikeakindoflove.It’sraretogettwoboysfeelingthiswayaboutoneanother–muchmorecommoningirls,itseems–but“heterosexuallifepartner”isdefinitelyaphrasethatcouldbeusedtodescribetheroleJoshplayedinmyearlylife. Wemetinmiddleschool.Iwaspainfullyshyandhadn’tyetgrownintomydashingman-body(infact,Istillhaven’t,butI’lljustleavethatinGod’shands.Ha!)Joshwasprettysmallatthetime,butlookedmatureforhisage.Hisfacewassettoapermanentscowl,whichmadehimlookmean. Thefirsttimehespoketome,wewerepairedtogetherforagroupprojectinmathclass.Heinvitedmetocometohishouseafterschooltoworkontheproject,towhichIagreed.Weworkedsilentlyforaboutanhour,andoncewefinishedtheproject,Joshbrokethesilencewithajoke: “Haveyoueverhadareallybadday,wherenothingwasgoingrightforyou,whereeverythingjustkindofsucked.Andthenyoutakeamomentandthinktoyourself:‘Hey,atleastit’snotraining!’Andthenrightafteryouhavethatthought…yougethitbyabus?” Ithoughtaboutitforasecond,andthenburstintoafitofraucouslaughtersointensethatIalmostasphyxiated.“Jesus,man,”hesaidwithconcern.“It’snotthatfunny.”
ThemaindifferencebetweenthetwoofuswasthatJoshmoresociallycompetent,byaprettyhugemargin.HewouldactuallygetinvitedtothepartiesIonlyheardaboutthefollowing
8988
Monday.Unlesshewastakingagirl,healwaysinvitedmetocomealong.Ialwaysturneddowntheoffer,notbecauseIdidn’twanttogo,butbecauseIwaspathologicallyafraidofgettingintroublewithmyparentsfordrinking.IwasalsoafraidthatI’dendupbeingthatoneguywhooverestimatedhislimits,drankwaytoomuchataparty,anddied. Ineverknewexactlywhatwentonatthoseparties,butIknowthatJoshbegantousedrugsshortlyafterhestartedgoing.Itescalatedfromthere.Hisgradesslipped.Heshoweduptoclassinfrequently,andwhenhedid,hewasoftenasleep.Arumorwentaroundthathedranksomuchatonepartythathewouldhavediedifnotfortheinsaneamountofcocaineinhissystem.WhenIaskedhimaboutit,hejustsaid,“Naw,man,that’sdefinitelyexaggerated.”Hechuckledaftersayingthat,whichmademedoubthim.Inevertrustedhim100%afterthat. Wewentourseparatewaysaftergraduatingfromhighschool.IwenttoMichigan,andhegotajobatKroger.Wekeptintouch,butdidn’tseeeachotheruntilfallbreak.That’swhenhetoldmeaboutDeath. That’swhenIsawthathehadsomethingtohide.
WhenIreturnedtoMichiganfromfallbreak,Ibegantonoticethatpeoplestarteddying.Peoplemyage.Everycoupleofweeks,Iwouldhearaboutayoungkidfrommyhometowndying.Somedrownings.Onesuicide.Mostlydrugoverdoses. ItwasneveranyoneIknew. ButIthoughtofwhatJoshhadsaidabouthowhehadseenDeath.Ithoughtofhisdruguse.Ithoughtofhowhehadpulledonhissleeve,outofinstinct.OutoffearthatIwouldsee…something.… Holyshit. Joshwasright.Deathwasthere.Forhim.Joshhadgottenonsomerealbadshit,andDeathwaswaitingforhimtoOD.Perhapsevengoadinghim. Ican’tevenbemadathim.Imean,hewasunderorders,right?Right?!
Whenwinterbreakfinallyarrived,thefirstthingIdidwasstormovertoJosh’shouseandbangonthedoor.Iconfrontedhimabouttheheroin.Hedeniedit.Igotangry.HegotangrythatIwasgettinginhisbusiness.Iyelledathim.Itoldhimhewasthrowinghislifeaway.Icalledhimapatheticjunkiepieceofshit.Hekickedmeoutofhishouse. Ishouldn’thavecalledhimapatheticjunkiefuckuppieceofshit. Idon’tthinkcollegestudentsareadequatelypreparedtodealwiththingslikethat. That’sathingyougetgoodatwhenyouhavealotoffriendswhodie.
Wedidn’ttalkforallofwintersemester.Whensummercamearound,IcalledJoshtoseeifhewantedtohangout.Noanswer.Itriedhishousephone. “Hello?”afemalevoiceanswered.ItwasJosh’smom. IaskedifJoshwasthere.“No,he’snot,”shesaid.Myheartskippedabeat.It’shappened.Itookadeepbreathandasked:“Whereishe?” “He’sinrehab.” Icouldn’thelpbutlaughoutloud.“Great!”Isaid.“Iwasworriedhedied!”
Ididn’tseehimuntilthefollowingwinterwhenIwentonatriptoKroger.Hewasstillworkingthere.Welookedateachotherforaboutaminute. “Hey,”Isaid. “Hey,”hesaid. Therewasanawkwardpause.Iwasabouttoturnaroundandsaygoodbyewhenhespoke.“Hey,um,soI’llseeyoulater?” “Sure,”Isaid.Itwasn’tthehappiestreunion.Itwasawkwardbetweenus.Butwe’dhavetimetoregainourconnection.We’dhavetime.
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Thenextday,IwokeuptothenewsthatJoshhaddied.Ithoughtitwasanoverdose,butheactuallygothitbyabus.Isn’tthatrich.IthinkIactuallylaughedoutloudwhenIheardit.Theironywasjusttooperfect.Atage11,whenhetoldthatdumbjokeaboutthebaddayandtherainingandthebus,hehadinadvertentlyPREDICTEDHISOWNDEATH. Iwishhehadoverdosed.Ireallydo.That’saterriblethought,Iknow.ButatleastthatwouldhavemadeSENSE.Kidstartsdoingdrugs,getsclean,startsusingagain,overestimateshistolerance,dies.Theclassicoverdosestory.They’dusehimasaposterboyforsomeanti-drugcampaign.They’dsetupalittleshrineinhishonorattheschool,whichtheschoolboardwouldthenvotetoremovebecausetheywouldclaimitglorifieddruguse.Iwouldgiveanangryspeechathisfuneral.GODDAMMIT,JOSH!WHYDIDYOUHAVETOBESUCHADUMBASS?!?!?!WHY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Butno.Abus. Afuckingbus.
Dr.God,Esquire,IamthisclosetoacceptingSatanasmylordandsavior.Ifyouwanttoloseavaluablecustomer,Isuggestyoufollowmyinstructionsexactly. Ihaveonlyonedemand.Itissimple,butIimagineitwillbruiseyouregoseverely.I’mfinewiththat. Myonedemandisthis: Yougivememyfriendback.
Love,ifyoufulfillmydemand, Cordially,ifnot, Drake
The Peanut VendorEsha Biswas
A. E. McCloskey
on anxiety
bearwithmeasilearntonavigatelovewithmyhandstiedbehindmyback.
92
Maria Robins-Somerville
A Blackbird’s Lunchbreak
(after Wallace Stevens’ “13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”)
I.Ifyourbedwasmadeofpizzawouldyousleeponthecheesesideorthecrustside?
WhenIwassmallI’dimaginemybedaboatsometimesIstillimagineit. IISplintertaughtthemtobeninjateens(He’saradicalrat!)Leonardoleads,Donatellodoesmachines(That’safact,Jack!)Raphaeliscoolbutcrude(Gimmeabreak!)Michaelangeloisapartydude(Party!)(Ifyougetthis,A+)
Theirweirdgreenmusclesalwaysscaredmeandstillkindofdo.
IIIPizzawasonedollarandsogoodthose2brothersonSt.Marksalwayscutmeahotslice.
Iconsideraskingthem,“Whatisthefirstplaceyouknewtocomealiveatnight?”
IVMeandyouareone.Meandyouandapizzaareone.
Youandmearejusttwo,there’snothingelse.Sometimesyouandmearehungryandwedon’tknowitorthere’sjustnothingwecando.
VSometimesIjustwanttobethetablethatholdspizzaforpeopletoeat.Isthattoomuchtoask?
IpromiseIhaveneverusedacoasterandIamfinewiththat
VIAmanonthestreetholdsuphisfingerstoformatriangle(hethinkshe’sbeingvulgar).Iseepizza
IknewIhadbecomeawomanwhenatruckdrivercatcalledmymotherandmeinthesamebreath.
VIIIfyousaythatmysisterandIarecutfromthesameclothIwillcutyoufromyourcloth-yskin.
9594
ButifyousaywearecutfromthesamepizzaImightletyoubuymeasliceandthensome.
I’mnotthisviciousnorthateasy.
VIIINothingbuttheboysintheirwhitet-shirtsspreadingsaucewiththeirworkboyhandsandhumming.
It’slikethisonemomentwhereDiCaprioisRomeo.Hescreams,“IDEFYYOUSTARS”andhisHawaiianshirtfallsopenlikemagic
IXAmidsttheswirlingairontopofhotcoffeeandthefrothyangel-headsofbeerpizzagrease,Ichooseyou
Weclimbedupturnedlifeguardchairs,bunkbeds&trees,roderollercoasters,rosecrestsofwaves,gotgoodgrades,mydad’sshoulders&stepstoolsdidn’tgethightilmuchlater
XCallitsacrilege,butIplanonforgettingChristmasthisyearstringuplightsbycheesestrandsaroundthatholytriangleOnFridayIhadacheeseburgerandtwopiecesofpepperonipizzashabbatshalom&baruchhashem
WhentheirteenagedaughterleftlightsupallyeartheyhopedshewaswaitingtoletGodin.
XIWhenthemoonhitstheskyproposewithanopenpizzaboxNoringpleasethatstupidplastictableisenough
orjusttellhimIwouldratherhaveacoolgeodetouseasapaperweightallpurpleandcrystallinedrippinginoreganooil
XIIGoodthingroulettewheelsarenotpizzasorelseIwouldhaveagamblingproblem’
Oh,butwhatI’dgivetobestickywithsaltbarefootinanarcadepullingticketsfromthemouthofsomeskeeballmachine
XIIIEverywhereIlookIseesignsFREEPIZZA
Isay,“unchainmenow”
9796
a stranger
Kara Mullison
astrangerissmokingacigarette,leaningoutthewindowofthehouseinwhichmygrandparentsraisedmyfatherfiftyyearsago.thestranger’selbowssweatagainstthechippedpaintofthesill.thestranger’slungsbreathesmokeintothewarmthofthenight,wheremyfatherglimpsedtheworldinhisformativeyears.theyellowslatsofthesidingcrumbleinto2015,andtheghostsofmygrandparents–
butmygrandparentsarealiveandwelltwohoursnorthofhere,andmyfatherissafefortyfiveminuteseast,andhereIamkickingatgreenpiecesofwinebottlesglowinglikecatseyeunderthesodiumlight.Iamwalkinghome,caughtinacontemplationofthespaceIamoccupying,andwhetherIcouldsayitisthesamespaceinwhichmygrandparentsundertooktheirmovements,somanydecadesbefore.Iampassingthrough,thinkingaboutwhatitmeansforthesoilitself,thatmygrandparentsoncetreaditwiththeiryoungfeet.Iamwatchingsmokeslitherupintothedarkness,wonderingwhethertheearthbelowwasmadevaluablethroughthosefleetingmomentsofcontact,andwhetherithappenedthenorithappensnow-andmaybeeverythingisanartifactandsoeverythingissimplythis,
thenegativespaceofasurfacewhereanarrayofghostlybodiesagreedtomarkaboundary.
thevaluecomesintheaccumulationofpinpricks,carelessencountersrenderedpricelessbythesubsequentabsenceofthattouch.
soIamwonderingwhatitmeansthatIambothpersonandbody,spiritandartifact,takingupsomuchspaceoutsideofmyselfandstillcarryingtheimpressionsofotherslikehistoricallandmarksonskin.IamlearninghowlittleIhaveincommonwithallpastversionsofmyself,letalonethisperceivedimageofancestors,yetIplaguemyselfwithapparitionsofsomanyimaginedpasts.amasturbatoryinstinct.dotheparticularfingerprintsmatter?notwoarethesame,butyoucannottellwiththenakedeye.
9998
Esha Biswas
shapes I found in the clouds
1.thetwangofanewbanjobeingmoldedintotune. (we’vebeenwaiting) (sharpflats,flatsharps)1. thestrengthofamillionsuns. (temporarywhitestatic) (hotblindness)1. thestingfromanunexpectedpapercut. (zingggg) (babyhumansscreamloudest)1. thetastesofchocolate,cilantro,andlicorice. (separate) (yettogether)1. thespeedoflove. (infinitelightyearspermillisecond) (wethoughtlightwasfast)1. thetouchofbluedamselflyonbareankle. (nerveswhisper) (tingle)1. thepossibilitythatdemonsexist. (oneburstoutofmybackindecember) (leftascar)1. thethoughtthatangelsexistaswell. (ithinkonekissedmeinmysleep) (leftascar)1. theflavorofuncertainty. (ararebrandofsweet) (aftertastelikehoneywine)1. thereminderthattimeexistedbeforeitwasinvented (blowingwithbreezes) (fadingintoblue)
Lauren Stachew
Dimensions
Welayunderfreshly-rainedsky,Limbssplayedoverthedampearth.YouaretellingmethatourplanetsorbitaroundoursunBecausetheyobeythebendinspaceItsheavyfirecreates.
Imagineme–atinyworm,Inchingacrosspaper–myflatworld.ObliviousthatflatcouldreallymeanIgnorant.Youcouldreachdownandpeelmefromthesurface–Yourfingerslikepalecirclestome–AndtwirlmethroughadimensionIcannotperceive.
“That’swhatit’slike,”yousay,Forusinthethirdtoimagethefourth.Wheretheircubes,unfolded,flattened,Stillswallowsidesinsidesides.Wheretheirfacescanlookatourfacesandseeallanglesatonce–Amessofnostrilsandlipsandearlobes.
Ilookattheskyandstareattheblankness–Lingeringdropsofgreytrailingeastward–ButIknowthatblankspaceislikespinningnoiseonpaper,creased,BendingandunbendingtothepulsesofarealmbeyondoneMyownlimbscanunderstand.
101100
Paul Mayer
Plane to Newhome
nuggetsoflight.seat4Asnoresgreatmultitudesofair,onice,intheskyaburntradiusofhumaninfluenceskatesbelow
sphereoflovecomesoonerstill‘tilI’vetilledmycornuntilharvest’swon,untilyoutellmebuteversogentlyto
tasteyouinstageslickeverydoomedorificeextractingthebiblicalformbeyonddoorsofexpectationparticipleofreasonexplain,andsimple,whyI’vegottwomoretriesthanallthetiredloveliesrosemarygrandmothers,blacklungsstrungtoofarsplitreasoningofpleatedtwo-toneheartJefferson,thecontinentalbreakfastofmanifestdestinyteststhetea,Bostoncan’twaittorepudiate
hoursspentnotdoingrightbyme,bymyfamily,byanyrationalsoulbutloweringintofamiliarcowers,familial
towertopplingslowlyintoesotericlimbomymothercriesinthecarandhitsthewheelIparalyzeandinternalcatalystsplitswisdomthickhehasaproblemwealldothewewasasee-saw,theproblemtheworldwaswastedonwishesfathomedbleaklybythethree...weandthemoreimportantfouragereallyisapaininmyfineass
masterofarts?finemasteroffarts?minemasterofmarts?shinemasterofstarts?whines
fuckalifecoachmovedaseatbacktoredistributeweight
IwishIcoulddothatinmyheadsometimestakeparcelsmarkedmimicryandmockthemmovetofrontreplacewitholdrecognitionJordanLiuandthe10:5218AtoBTC,hownicetoseeyouegg!entropyliftingshadestoharkthehearing,hubbleheroes
eggentropyeggentropyfinally
apracticumIcangetbehind
103102
dances at night with flashlightsDaniel Wu
Cammie Finch
Vacant
whenthemailmancame,ihidaroundthebathroomdoor,gaugingtheday’scontentontheheftofthebundleshovedthroughtheslot
whenthejehovahscameandstoodsidebysideonmyweddingcakedoorstep,ilingeredupstairs,witnessingtheirsteadfastpresencefromabove
whentheshovelerscameandsmearedtheirfrostbitfavorsamongmydoorbell,Ipressedmyselfflattothebackofthedoorandwaitedforthewindtowhistlethemtowarmth.
thenyoucame,waited,neveraring,neveraknock.thereyouwatchedme,aliveinmyhouse,youwatchedmetakeanignorantbreath.inevereventhoughtto pretend i’dgoneoutfortheday
105
August Sivec
Blossom
and Be(e)
Letyourstalkburn—astheendsofappendagesflutterandshake:youarethebeeandit’sbuzzing.
Incorporealtroughstofeedandcreststoseek,fallenpollenis,too,symbolic,allow
thelastbit(e)sofinform
ationandkinkyprocreationtobetakenfromyourbuddingsurface,asyouslow
lyshrivelandshudderbacktotheearth,havingshared,w
itharaisedvoice,yourverybestguesswithyourow
npersonalvoid,havingpopulatedandseededforallyourflavorandgreyingcolorcouldm
uster;wem
aypass.
Katie Irani
The Cabin
Beingnorthisanuncomfortablereminderofhowmuchwedependontosurvive.Upatthelogcabinthereisn’tanythingtooccupythemind.We’retooover-stimulated.Cabiniscouchtotelevisiontofridgetocoffeemakerbacktocouch.I’msoblankIdon’tevenfeellikereading.MaybeI’llenjoythecabinmorewhenI’molder.Everythingfeelsatstakenow,butjustwait—theytellme—itgetsevenworse.Nowitisnotassimpleasphysicallyremovingyourself.Yourshitcanfollowyouacrosseveryborder,acrosseveryocean.Thecabinusedtobefunbecausewedidn’tknowanybetterandspenttheentiretimedrunkoncheapwhiskyorhighinfrontofthetelevision.IusedtopassthetimealoneupstairstouchingmyselftosleepbutIdon’tfeelanythinganymoreinthestaleroomswithmousepelletsintheliningofmypillow.Nowthatyou’regoneitfeelswrongtogetfuckedalone.EvenduringthattimeIthinkIwasmissingthepointofthelogcabin.Duringthewinterit’sbeautiful;iceonthewaterforahundredfeetoutandmaybeyou’llseeacoyotewalkingacross.IenjoythemorningsbecauseIstaywrappedupinblanketswhilecoffeesteamsmynostrilsandwatchsmall,darkfigureswalkthroughsnowandfrozenleavestogettotheice.IfI’mluckysomeonehasstartedafire.
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Lauren Stachew
Beautiful Objects
Theywerewalkingbackfromchurchwhentheyfirstsawtheangelsonthesideoftheroad–drenchedandmuddiedinthelake–orrather,whatwasleftofthelake.Little,ornatelypaintedfigurines,theirbelliespinklikesalmon,lyinghead-firstinamassgrave.Edithstoodbehindhermother,watchingthepainedfacesofthetownspeopleastheybegantoweep,trudgingthroughthemudtogatherthetreasuresintheirarmsandwipingthefacesoftheangelscleanfromthemudwiththesleevesoftheirtunics.Edithlookedupathermotherandtuggedatherskirt,butshedidn’tbudge.Sheremainedsilent,staringoutintothelakepuddle.ShewasclutchingonehandontotheotherlikeEdithknowsshedoeswhenshe’snervousorscared.Shediditthenighttheywaitedupfortheirbrothertocomehome(andheneverdid,)andthedaytheircowgotrealsickandalmostdied,(butshedidn’t.)Allofthosetimes,hermotherhadherhandsclutchedtogetherjustlikeshedoesnow.Sheheldherhandstightly,andthetipsofherfingersturnedwhite. Edithpeeredcloserateachoftheangelscradledinthedirtiedcloths.Theirfacesweresimple.Twoblackdotsforeyes,apointed,palenose,andasinglestrokeofredforamouth.Theirskirtswereshapedintoripplesbythefourcratersthatwerepressedintotheirsideswithfingerprints,glossedwithbrightorange.Thefingersfoldedtogetherontheirhandswereimpliedwiththin,blacklines,andtheirarmsworerowsofturquoisecurveslikewaves,elbowsflowingintopointed,trianglewingsmarkedwithwhiteshapeslikefishscales,asthoughtheseangelsborefinsinsteadofwings.
Thelakepuddleusedtohaveaname,butEdithneverknewit.Backwhenhermotherandfatherwereasoldasherandhersister,ithadashoreandabeach,anddidn’tlooksoburdensomeonthesideoftheroad.Sheknewitstartedtodryupsomeyearsagobeforeshewasborn,andshesupposedthatithaddecided,aboutthree-quartersofthewaythroughitsdecay,tostop.Eversincethen,itremainedasitwas:soggy,filthy,blisteringsludge. Shewatchedasoneoftheoldfolkshobbledtowardsherandhermotherfromthepuddle–hersnarled,grayhairinknots,anddustyclothesintatters–cradlingoneoftheangelsinherhands.Herleftarmwasexposedfromthetearsinhersleeve,whereherskinwaspiercedwithtinyraisedbumps.“Beestings,”hermotherhadsaidtohertheweekbefore,whiletheywerepreparingsupperinthekitchen.“Everymorningthatwomanwandersoutintothewoodsandshovesherhandelbow-deepintofallenneststogatherhoney.Iknowsomepeoplewhotriedtostopheratfirst,butshekeptongoing–stilldoes.Thosebeestearatherarmlikedogs.Yourfatherwasoutinthewoodsnottoolongagoandsawher,hunchedoverbyatree,fishingouthandfulsofhoneyintoabucket.Saiditwaslikeshedidn’tevennoticethebeeswerethere….Idon’twantyourunningoutinthosewoods,Edith.”Shetoldhershewouldn’t–shedidn’twantanythingtodowiththatwoman. ThebeewomanmumbledsomethingincoherentandstuckherhandsoutinfrontofEdith.Shelookedupathermother,whosmiledwarmlyandsaid,“It’salright.Takeit.”Shereachedoutandpickeduptheangelfromherhands.Itfelthollowandreekedlikethemud.Thebeewoman’sbig,droopymouthfellagapeintoatoothlesssmile.Sheturnedonherheel,stumpingbacktowardsthemud,andthrewherhandsuptothesky,wildeyes,sputteringoutindecipherablesounds.
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Shedidn’tsayanythingtohermother.Shestaredattheangel’sface,twopitchblackdotsstaringbackather.Sheblinkedatit,butitdidn’tblinkback.
Herlittlesisterthrewafitwhentheyreturnedhome.Sheholleredthroughoutthehouseforagoodtwentyminutesabouthowitwasn’tfairthatEdithgotoneoftheprettyangelsandshedidn’t. “Here,youcanhaveit,”shesaid,handingherthefigurine.“Idon’twantit.”Shespitinherfaceandhurleditatherstomach. “No!Idon’twantyours!Iwantmine!”Sheburstintotearsandranoffintotheattic.Herfathercameinsilentlyfromthekitchenandpickeduptheangelfromthefloor.Hegaveitaquizzicallook. “Gotsomefunnyeyes,don’tit?”Shenodded.Hewalkedovertothefireplaceandsettheangelonthemantlenexttohermother’scrochetedcross.
Theangelsinthemudweren’tasstrangeaswhathadhappenedaweeklater.Nightfell,morningrose,andonthatdayeveryoneintownbegantoofferawaytheirbelongingstotheangels,perchedhighuponthemantelsofthefireplaces.Lambstew,paintedwoodbeadnecklaces,silkscarves,andporcelainchinacups.Edithoverheardpeoplebraggingatchurch,namingoffallthebeautifulobjectstheylaidoutontotheirdiningtablesfortheangels.Theireyeswerewidewithpleasure–theexpressionsontheirfacessculptedinapermanent,disturbingawe. Theoddthingisthatthoseobjectsdisappeared.Thefolkswouldmaketheiroffering,andnextmorningitwouldbegone–completelyvanished–theywouldsay.Theseangelswithfinsinsteadofwings,nowworthyofconsuminganother’spossessions,gnawedatthebeadsandthecupsintheirflat,pinkstomachs.Thedelightonthefacesofthosethatshewatchedburiedasickfeelinginsideofher
Hermotherandfatherwereunfortunatelyafflicted,too,bythegift-giving.Edithwokeupeachmorningtoseethemkneelinginfrontofthemantle,alwaysadifferentobjectheldintheirhands.Herconcerndidn’tsettleinuntilthedayshesawhermotherholdinghergrandmother’sivoryjewelryboxwiththepaintedredelephantstotheangel’sdottedeyes.Hergrandfatherhaditspeciallymadeforherasaweddinggift.Sherememberedwhenhergrandmotherdied,hermotherhadswornthatboxwasthelastthingshe’deverridof,evenmorethanthefamilyrosary.Edithsteppedbackbehindthedoorandwatchedthemthroughthegapinbetweenthewall.Theystoodupafterafewminutesandsettheboxonthetable.Shewaitedforthemtoleave,thenapproachedthebox.Shereachedouttolayafingeronthelid,whensheheardhermotherhiss,“Edith!Thatisfortheangel!Don’tyoutouchit!”Sherushedovertoherandswattedhardatherhand.Edithcouldhearhergrowlingirritablyunderherbreath. Asexpected,theboxwasgonewhenshewokethenextmorning.Sheaskedhermotheraboutit,butsherepliedthatshedidn’tknowwhereithaddisappearedto.Herfaceshowednoremorse.Edithshiftedherglacetotheangel,itsprayinghandsfoldedproudlyoveritsstomach,stillflatandpink,butguilty.Itsquietfacelayunchanged,butsheknew.
EdithandhermothersteppedintototaluproaruponlayingfootinthechurchthatfollowingSunday.Amongthecommotionofstressed,chaoticshouting,Edithoverheardawomansaythatayoungcouplelivinginthebungalowsneartheriverhadofferedtheirangeltheirnewbornbabygirl.Thelossofnecklaces,scarves,andtinycupsdidn’tbotheranyone,butthelossofahumanlife,letaloneababy,wasapparentlyenoughtounleashaclarityovereveryonethatwhattheyhadbeendoingwaswrong.Thetownspeoplequieteddownandsettledthematter:everyonewastogohomeatonce,removetheirangelfromtheirmantles,and
111110
returnthemtowheretheywerefound.Edithandhermotherfledhomealongwiththerestofthetown,andwithoutawordtoanyone,hermotherburstintothehouseandsnatchedtheangelfromitsveneratedspotlikeaferalcat.Herlittlesisterjumpedfromthecouchandtrottedafterthem,wailing,“No,Mama!Don’tthrowthatprettyangelaway!” Thetowngatheredaroundthelakepuddlewiththeangelsgrippedintheirhands.Thevoiceofanoldermancalledout,“Now!”andEdithwatchedsilentlyfrombehindhermother’sskirt,holdinghersister’stear-soakedhand,aseveryoneflungtheangelsbackintothemud.Thebeewomanstoodsilentlyamongthecrowd. Withinthreedays,thelakepuddlehadburiedtheangelswithinamassivedomeofdirt.Thelakewasalake,thenapuddle,andnowamound.Noonewasrecklessenoughtodigandseeiftheangelswerestillthere.Themoundconcealedthesightofanythingthatmightbehiddenbeneath,andthatwasenough. Butthemoundwasangry,perhaps,atitsneglectbythetownspeople,foronthethirdSundayfollowingitsarrival,thetownspeoplequietlydisappeared.Themound,previouslypuddle,previouslylake,nowaslightlylargermound,wascertainlyinvolved,Ediththought.Shewasleftbehindintheconsumption,alongwiththebeewoman,whostompedcirclesaroundthemound,punchinghardatitssides. Edithaccompaniedhertothewoodsthenextmorningtohelpinthehoney-gathering.Shesquatted,holdingthebucketbetweenherknees,farenoughawaysothatthebeesdidn’tstingher.Thebeewomanwhittledoutaholebigenoughforherarmwithasharpenedstick,andreachedinside.Edithcouldhearthesoft,lowroarofswarmingasthebeewomanswamherfingersthroughthehive.Onceshegatheredupahandfulinherfist,she
crawledonherkneesovertoEdithandsatherarminthebucket,scrapingoffthehoneywithherotherhand.Sometimesthebeeswouldgetstuckinthehoneyonherarm,theirlastmomentsspentwrigglingdesperatelyinthestickytrap.Shedidn’tpayattentiontothem.Shemerelyscrapedthemoffofherarm,rightintothebucket.Whenthebeewomanwasn’tlooking,Edithtriedtoscoopthemoutwithastick,eventhoughtheywereusuallyalreadydead.Theirbodies,encapsulatedintheglimmering,goldentar,lookedlikeperfectfossils,thecurvatureoftheirwingsremaineduntouchedandimmaculate.Wings,notfins,builtfortheairandnotthesea,shiningintheiryellowysweetness,butuselessintheirtoo-heavyweightandtheirdeath.Toobad,Ediththought.Shelookedupatthebeewoman,whowasstaringbackather,armselbow-deepinthebucket. “Theycan’tflyaway,”Edithsaid,andheldupthedeadcreatureinherpalm.“They’restuckhere.”Thebeewomannoddedherheadand,yes,sheblinked.Edithcouldbesureofthat.
113112
Mindfulness
Cammie Finch
inhale…openyourthighswidelikethepagesofabookyawningtheirlanguageintoyourhead
drinkinthestillnessliftyourspinetallerandprepareforthebackbend(youarestrongerthanyouthinkyouare)
envisionthefullmoonwashingthebackofyourheadwithitssilkenfingers,drippingitsnectardownyourvertebraeuntilyourseatiswarminthought
alignyoursacrumtothisintelligentedgeofbacklitrealism(it’smagical)
breathedeeplyintothebeautyofasymmetryandsavoryourperfectstateofbeingvulnerable(becauseido).
beawareofyourbreath:think—andthenletitpull,likeanunknittedcloud,awaywithyour…exhale.
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break[through]Cammie Finch
Alex Kime
when I was consecrated
insomniawasawantongodknockingandthustheguestofhonorthemomenthewalkedin,handsrunningovereverything.hedeclinedmyoffertohanghisjacketbutacceptedthedrink&theglassitcamewith,andeventhepitchertoo.alreadyhesaidhelovedme,andthusalreadyhedemandedmythroatasanoffering.
Isayalready.Imeanfivelifetimes.Imeanhewasvaporandthuseverywherearoundme,andnowI’msingingcolorsintomyhairatallhoursuntilitisacrown,creationritualbarelysatiatingthedivinehungertodestroy.
117116
Keighan Glynn
Hydrophobia
VenuswasbornfromseafoamsoIavoidthebeachoutofthefearthatshewilldecideshewantsahomecomingandwillseemeandgreetmeinhersea-saltembraceliketheoldfriendsthatwearenotandIwillrememberyouandthemisery &themishaps &themaybesandmayberabiddogsarerighttofearwaterenlightenedbymadnesstheyrealizeit’shermotherandfromitshewillreturnatsunamiinhereyesaquestionfrothingonherlipsaboutacertainappleandthirstydogsofwarrememberTroyalltoowell.
Cutting Yourself Unlimited Slack
Molly Reitman
Soyoufuckedup,litthecolorcopieronfireanddidn’tgetinvitedtotheofficechristmasparty,soyousatdowninapuddleofyourownwarmurineandlettheheavystinkseepupyourjeans,soyoulefthomewithoutyourbandana-sticksuitcase,withoutyour“today’sgonnabeagreatday”face,withouttheringsthatkeepyourpunchpointy,soyouslicedopenyourthumbdicingupdaysonthecalendar,re-calculatingmonthsintoweeksanddaysintopitifulmoments—soyoulettheband-aidonfortoolongandyourfleshcurdledunderneathitintowhitesoggydough,intothreeweekoldchickensittingonthefloorofanunpluggedminifridge,soyoudrankawholeliterofCoke,savoredthestingofeachstickybubble’sattackonyourenamel,letyourlivergetpolishedlikeadirtypenny,soyougotworriedabouthopingandstopped,soyougotworriedaboutstoppingandhoped,soyouflippedallyouroxygenforcarbondioxide,figuredyouwouldn’tneeditlater—soyousat,unmoving,andlettodayentereachoneofyourmoleculesandsititsheavyassoneachoneofyourhardworkingmitochondria,soyoutried,soyoureallytried—whocares?WepickourselvesupandgotoDenny’s.Wemakeitpastthemailbox.Whocares?
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Alex Kime
m
editations on the self as vessel
I’llneverforgetthenightMirandaandIw
entswimminginm
yhead.theskybehindmyeyesw
asnothingbutbrightlightsagainstavelvetdark,andtheseaw
asasvastasitwasbright&
safe.myarm
sout,Ifloatedthere,tellinghereveryw
ordIcouldthinkofbecauseshecouldnotseethelanternshowlikeI
could.inmylifenow,thew
ayIsteppedoutofmybodycontinuestoam
azeme,divingaw
ayfrommy
father’swedding,hissickness,thew
orldIhadfoundmyselfin.readyingm
yselffortheplungeagain,Iwas
thehorizonIwasn’tlookingat,andoncew
ithinmyselfIdidnotpossesadistantshore.w
ewereinher
dormroom
onherwhitepulloutfuton.w
henIaskedherlaterwhatsherem
embereditdidnotseem
asfantastictoher.aone-w
aymirrorofasituation;theothersideoftheglass.
I D
o Not Want You By M
y Side Anym
ore
Katie Irani
It’snotuntilsoupfogrollsdow
nthesideofbuildingsandintodrainsthattim
ebeginstospeedupinside
themovieflickersandyouaregone
forseconds
butit’sbeentenminutesbecauseyoucouldn’tfindthesnackbar
andIwishedthatithadbeenlongerbecausenow
Iwanttobealone
afterthefilm
Iknowthefogm
akesithardertoseetheshadowfiguresinfrontofm
ycaraswedriveaw
ay
butasmylightshitdescendedclouds
Idonotwantyoubym
ysideanymore
andifIknowthisnow
withfogallaroundus
Iknowitw
illbetruewhenthem
oonshinesthrough
121120
Kaitlin Bonfiglio
Elliot Rodger’s Retribution
iswhathenamedit,likeatragicmodernopera.Hesanghispartandenunciatedeverywordlike“slut”and“slaughter”and“slay”andearlier,thatmorning,he’ddonehismakeup.Brushedhishair.Washedhisface.Preparedhimselfforthecamera.Alleyesonthekiller–afterthefilming,heknewwewouldflocktohimlikeneverbefore.Yes,hethought,thentheywillseehowbeautifulIam.(Father,hecried.Father.)Hehandedhergold,andwhensherefused,hecracked,morphed,writhed,likeacrushedinsect.Nofaceismoretwistedthanonetastingblood.Hesawhersplitforeheadbeforehe’devenboughtthegun.Infact,itwasaboutthetimehestartedhavingsuchexhilaratingfantasies–womensalivatingoverhisgenitals–womendead–thatheopeneduphislaptopandsawtherewereotherslikehim.(Father.Daddy.Comeplaywithme!)ElliotRodgerwatchedthemenontelevision,forwhomprettyblondewomenareprize,andprunedhisfeathersinpreparation.NoonetoldhimthatGodisnothuman.Instead,theytoldhim:Youdeserveit.
Clare Higgins
Undone
Iamcompelledtoreportthepeachyamberofherhipsandtheirswayinthegildedspotlight.Thewayherabdomencurledtomusclethere,thewillowygiveofherarms,thebittertastetoherprose.
Idonotspeakforfallinginlove.
Ispeakforfallingforart’ssake,andtherestoodmuse,onstage,firmandinfirmcursingandkilling—butthelanguishwithinbroughtherclosertoedge.Starsdancedforher,dollscravingherfeministvows,womenwantingtolovewomen,toleaveandbecome,topraytotheAmazons.
Awifeunsureofout-speakingmightleave,makelovetoherhusbandanddreamsheisridingacentaur,manturnedtobeastbeforehereyes,worldcomeallundone.
Ispeakforlove’spracticeofknowingtheunknown,bodyspeakingbeforeconscience,castinglinesintoseabeforewe’velearnedtobait.Forentangledlegsandhandsthatkissthoughnoonehastaughtthem.Somehowwelearnwhatisfearsome.Whatstealsourbreath,whatkeepsuswhole.
Somehowwearedrawn,somehowweunravel.
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Molly Reitman
14 Truths, 11 Lies
IburnmytongueoneverythinghotIcanfind,I’vehadbicepssinceIwasfive,IgotyouremailbutIwon’tletyouknowthatIknowthatyouknowIhaven’treadit,Istayuptil6a.m.everynight,IburndownanArby’sonceamonth,justbecause,Iitchalloverbutespeciallybehindmyknees,Icumloudlylikeanexorcism,Icutupmyshirtsinmychildhoodbedroomandusetheoldclothforsweatbands,IruneighteenmilestoworkeverymorningandatworkIwritedownearthquaketremorsonagraph,IfuckedovermyhighschoolGPAasapersonalattackonMicrosoftExcel,Ilovebleedingbutit’ssohard,IfantasizeaboutlyinginahospitalbedbecauseIneverhave,IfillupmybathtubwithCocaColaonMondaysandPepsiColaonFridaysjusttomakesuremyporesknowthedifference,IateYoutube,
swalloweditallup,IthrewrocksandicechunksatyourwindowinanattempttotellyouIlovedyou,thankgodyouweren’tsleepingtherethatnight,Isetsixteenalarmseverynightandcurseeveryoneofthem,ItryheroininadreamandI’mgreatatit,ItrycunnilingusinadreamandI’mnewatit,ItrystranglingtheroosterbutthelandlordseesmeandgivesmealooksoIputthatonmyto-dolistfortheweekend,ItypeandtypeandtypebutmostlyIjustlookandlookandclickandlook,Icutmyhairtwiceadaybutonlywherenoonecansee,Ibrushmyteethnever,andonceonholidays,Iusemyburnt-uptonguetopulloldfoodfromaholeinthebackofmymouth,Iregurgitateoften,and,joyously.
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Freida Blostein
space is color is time
thefreezerdoor,ajar,inharderlightflawsmyfathersfeaturessofteropener,andfromitinhalesicecreamhemustbehigh,weedblurredupacousticguitar—gratefuldead,lateonaSaturday,easyearsorearlySunday
myfatherlivesontwelvemile.
so
ifwedownastreetnamedwoodward.fewmilesthatstretchfarthermyfather,hisfather,wereweblackand8miled,mildcigarslateonaSaturday,earlySundayfewmiles—manyyearsinprisondifferent,
myfatherliveson12
but,justso,drivethesefewmileswithme,knowIspeed,heavyquickbutneverstopped,knowIspeedhespeed,theyspeed,youngmeninwolvesclothing,orjustblacksheep,orjustblack,soIspeed—theystop,thelightflashing,inharderlightflawseachfeaturesopener,andtheweedtheyhavemeanssomethingdifferent
becausemyfatherlivesontwelvemile,&thephysicsoflawsaysspaceiscoloristimeinprison.
Maeve Pascoe
Quoted from The Haight-Ashbury Diggers, 1969Kara Mullison
Kaitlin Bonfiglio
Yellow Light Fighter
orangepeelchewer,cookiedoughconsumer,nightmareslayer:youwillnotbeambushedbylaughtracklaughter,last-page-readers,fingernailclippers.pushon,YellowLightFighter,onthroughtheintersectionglazedwithgrassandglassshards.youeye-roller,Cokedrinker,multiplelover,radiowarrior,yourbattleagainstthesunlightisrelentless.slownot.brakenot:atnight,thelightsflashgoldfortheirqueen,theweightlifter,knotmaker,pencilcrusher.carryon,YellowLightFighter.theroadwillechoyourlaugh.
128
Skyler Tarnas
Excerpt from: Deranged Radical Feminist Brutally Attacks Well-Wisher
InterrogationRoomOnewassmall,square,andgloomy.Adimlightbulbhungdespondentlyfromtheceilingabovethesolewoodentable,flickeringatrandomintervals.Itwasn’toneoftheofficer’sfavoriterooms,butittendedtobeeffective.Onlyforseriouscases,usually.Andapparentlythiswoman,sittingconfidentlyononesideofthetable,wasaseriouscase. “Stateyourname,please.” “JenniferPage.” “Doyouknowwhyyou’rehere,MissPage?” Jennifer’smouthtwistedunpleasantly.Shewassixfeettallandathletic,herwiryblackhairpulledintoadisconcertinglytightponytail.Herstiff,aggressivefeatures(notunattractivetotheofficer,butcertainlynotattractiveenoughtoswayhissympathies)wereaccentuatedbyherposture;shesatinthehard-backedchairasthoughshewastheonegivingtheinterview.“BecauseIbeatsomebodyup?”sheoffered. “‘Assault’isthepreferredterm,MissPage.” “Allright,then;becauseIassaultedsomebody.Isheokay?” “Doyoucare?” “Sure,”saidJennifer.“I’drathernothavekilledanybody.” “Thisisserious,MissPage.”Theofficerleanedforwardacrossthetable.“I’mnotsureyourealizehowseriousitis.” “Sure.WhatmorecanItellyou?” “Youcanwalkmethroughtheday,MissPage.Explain.I’mheretohelp.”
Winner of the 2016 Roy W. Cowper Fellowship
“Sure.Ilovepeoplewhoareheretohelp.” ~~~~~~~~~ TheofficerwatchedwithcrinklednoseasBradleyValentinescratchedathisbandages.Theroominthehospitalwasbrightwhiteandclinicallyclean,astarkcontrasttothemessofamanlyingunderfreshlychangedsheets.Theofficertooknoteofthebruises,thepurpledface,andthelimbstuggedinseparatedirectionsbyelevatedcasts.Allthisdamagebyonewoman. “DoIreallyhavetoanswerquestionsrightnow?” “It’sjustaformality,Mr.Valentine.”Theofficertookaseatbythebed.“Wewantyoutowalkusthroughtheday,ifyoufeeluptoit.” “Iguess.”BradleyValentinewasblondewithwideblueeyes,whichmadehimlookevenyoungerthanhistwenty-fouryears.Theofficer’ssympathyswelled,muchlikeMr.Valentine’srighteye.“IjustwantitclearthatIdidn’tdoanythingwrong,”Bradleycontinued.“I’maniceguy.Idon’tgetitatall.” “Idon’tdoubtyou.” “Ithinkshemustbecrazy,”hesaid.“That’stheonlyexplanationIcanthinkof.”
~~~~~~~~~ “Name,please?” “Steel.HenrySteel.” “Cooperate,Mr.Steel,andthiswillgoeasily.Wedon’twanttocauseanymoreunduestress.” “It’salittlelateforthat.”HenrySteelwasathickmanwithasheenofsweatoverhisbaldinghead.Hisbushymustachewasungroomedandcontainedmorefoodthancouldusuallybefoundinfacialhair.InInterrogationRoomTwo,onlyslightlybetterlitthanJennifer’s,hewouldhavelookedmoreathomeasasuspectthanawitness. “I’llprobablygetfiredforthis,youknow.Doesn’tlookgoodonme.Asifitwasmyfault.” “Ifyou’reblameless,you’reblameless.Wejustneeda
131130
witness’saccount.” “Whatever.I’maniceguy,Iwannabehelpful.”Steel’shunchedpostureandfoldedarmssaidotherwise.“ButyoushouldbetalkingtothatkidRandall.”
~~~~~~~~~ “Randall.” “Randallwhat?” “RandallTrotsky.” “Age?” “Twenty-one.” “Age?” “Nineteen.” RandallTrotskywasnotprepossessingtotheofficer.Thekidwassquatandslightlygreasy,withbeady,nervouseyesaboveabulbousnoseandagraybeanieoverblack,slickhair.Hisjeansandsweatshirtwerefactory-torn.Oneofthoseyoungpeople,theofficerthoughtuncharitably,whospenttoomuchmoneytryingtolookliketheydidn’thaveany. “Thisisn’taboutthealcoholyouhadwithyou-thoughwewillhavetoconfiscatethat.” “Yeah,yeah,”mutteredRandallTrotsky.HeslidpetulantlydowninthestiffchairofInterrogationRoomThree. “Yousawtheassault.” “Isawtheladygoberserk,yeah.ButIdidn’tdoanything.” “Youdidn’tprovokeher?” “Hey,listen,I’maniceguy.I’lltellyouwhathappened.Shewenttotallyfuckingnuts.I’msurprisedtheTVladydidn’ttellyou.”
~~~~~~~~~ “Bennett.ShirleyBennett.I’meagertohelp,officer.Doubtlessyou’veheardofme?”SheofferedamanicuredhandacrossthedingytableofInterrogationRoomFour. “Can’tsayIhave.” “Youmusthaveseenmybooksinstores!AndI’msureyou’veseenmeontelevision.Youmustculturallyeducateyourself,officer!”
“Ifit’sallthesametoyou,Mrs.Bennett,I’dliketogetyourstatementandmoveon.Wehavealotofwitnessestogothrough.” “Mydearofficer!”ShirleyBennettwasblondeandheavilymadeup-definitelyoutofplaceinthecobwebbyspace.Theofficerguessedshewasagoodtenyearsolderthanshelooked.Heraccentuatedlipshadahabitofpuckeringinoutrage.“Iamapublishedauthor!Andapundit!Myopinionisinvaluable,andIshouldhopeyouwouldknowthat!Iwillsendyouoneofmybooks,youmusthaveatleastseentheadvertisements-‘Feminism?MoreLikeLesbianism,AmIRight,Ladies?’I’maimingforthePulitzer.”
~~~~~~~~~ “Therewasconstructionoutsidemybuilding,”saidJenniferPagetonelessly,twistingonelongstrandofhairaroundherfinger.“That’swhyIwokeupsoearly.They’redoingrenovationsonarestaurant,butforsomegoddamnreasontheyalwaysstartthedrillingat5:30inthemorning.Itriedtocomplain,butthemanagerjustlaughed.Theworkersaretheworst.”
~~~~~~~~~ “Idon’tcontrolwhenwestartthedrilling,”saidHenrySteel.“Ijustfolloworders.Whatisthis,acivilsuit?Ican’thelpitthelittleladygotupsetaboutourschedule.”
~~~~~~~~~ “Youhavetounderstand,it’sbeengoingonforweeks,”saidJennifer.“AndIkeepcalling,andnothing.Evenontheweekends,whenI’msupposedtobesleeping!Imean,itwas5:30;Iwasn’texactlythinkingstraight-Itooktheelevatordownandwentrightuptoguyinchargeandbeggedhimtostop.”
~~~~~~~~~ “Cominguptomeinherpajamas,Iknewshewascrazy,”saidHenrySteel.“Screamingaboutherworkscheduleandhowsheneededtosleepafewmorehours-Whataboutmyworkschedule?Totallyinconsiderate.” “Whatdidyousaytoher?” “Iwaspolitebutfirm.Itoldhershehadtogetoutofour
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way.”~~~~~~~~~
“Hehootedatme,”saidJennifer,aflushcreepingintohercheeks.“Alloftheworkersdid.That’swhenIrealizedIwasstillinmypajamas,andIranbackinside.Imean,theyalwaysyellatmeonmywaytowork,thetypicalstuff,tellingmetosmileandlesspleasantthings.” “What’ssobadaboutaskingyoutosmile?” Jenniferstarebecamesuddenlywithering.Theofficernearlyrecoiled,butcaughthimself. “Ifyoudon’tmind,officer,”Jennifersaidcoldly,“I’mnotgoingtoanswerthatquestion.IwentbackuptomyroomandcoveredmyheadwithapillowforanhourbeforeIhadtogetreadyforwork.” “Andwheredoyouwork?” “MullenAdvertising.It’safewblocksfrommyapartment.I’veworkedmywayupfromasecretarialpositiontoartdirector.” “AndyouliveinthesamebuildingasBradleyValentine,yourco-worker?” “IguessIdo.Did?Whatever.” “Youwereacquaintedwithhim?” “Iguess,”saidJennifer.“He’sanotherartdirector.We,like,wekneweachother.Ididn’tdislikehimoranything.Ithoughthewaskindofdumb,butthat’sall.”
~~~~~~~~~ “Iwokeuptoconstruction,”saidBradleyValentine,hisblueeyeswideningevenfurther.“Terrible.Anditwasthethirdmorninginarow.Imean,I’musuallyanearlyriser,butitwasridiculous.Itooktheelevatordowntotalktotheforeman.” “Andwhatdidhesay?” “Hetoldmeverypolitelythathecouldn’tstopjustbecauseIsaidso.Iwasn’ttoohappyaboutthat,soIwentbackinsideandphonedmydad-he’salawyer-andthenhephonedthem,andpresto,thenoisestopped!”Bradleyseemedlikehewantedtoclapchildishly,butthecastspreventedhim.Heandtheofficerbothgrimaced.
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Every Hour, On the Hour
Tracy Scherdt
AtnightitmeltsthenslidesDownmywallsLeavingatrailofhistoryThatmapsitselfoutlikeANewYorksubwayguideorThescaronmysidefromfallingBackwardintofifthgrade
Fastasleep,itstonguestillclicksEveryhour,onthehourInaprimalsearch
(Asifwehadn’talreadyDesignedspacehelmetsThatkeepEinstein’stheoriesFrommunchingonthebetterbitsOfourminds)
WebothprepareinthenighttimeForthemorningdewtofillupThejugsweleftontheporchSothatwemaydrinktogetherAndtoastourcompanionship
ButonthebacksideofAforethought,neithercanforgetTheknifeinthecupboardWrappedinblackvelvetAndboxedwithalockThatloosensitsgripdaily
WedrinkthemorningdewWarminourceramicmugsKnowinglyrockinginconcertAstimeplotstokillme
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June 2015
Miranda Hency
JuneissittingonthecementintheBigBoyparkinglotlaughingwithfriends,gravelimprintsonlegsJuneisscratchingbruisedmosquitobites,speckledacrossskinJuneisslowlystumblingintodisinterestJuneislickingblackswampraspberryicecreamandenjoyingtimealoneJuneisbeingafraidofthosebigblackbugsofthesamenameandaliensJuneisunhappywithfeeblerelationshipsandbeingunabletospeakupJuneistouchingpimplesongreasyskin,leavingscabsbrownedoverJunesisburningcandlesmadeforthewintertimebecauseithastheeffectofthatcalmJanuarystillness
JuneisnotlisteningtotherightmusicJuneistakinganykindofattentionfromboysandbuildingitintoself-esteemJuneisfeelinguncomfortableandanxiety-riddenandwonderinghowtherapyworksJuneissingingtooloudlyalongwiththeblastingcarCD,leavingthespeakerspulsingtothebasslineofTheFrontBottomsJuneistrippingoversandalsthatdon’tfitJuneisleavingeverybodywondering
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RoseAnneMarie Torresen
Katie Irani
When I Hear the Train I Think of You
AroundthesametimeeachnightIhearthestalebellowoftheAmtrakretracingitsstepsbacktorottingwoodbenchesatthestationeachnightpassingtheoldcabooseintheplaygroundwherewekissedyouheldmyhandasIbalancedonthetracks,mybreathlikemintchocolatechipthatyearwastheIndiansummerandIfeltourwarmthwouldneverend
Afterawhileweknewwhenthesoundwouldcome.AgainandagainI’dhearthatthatawfulsoundisnothingbutanuisancebutwiththatugly,blurrybeltintoduskIknewyou’dpickupthephoneorbeatmydoorstepreadytobeginagain
NowIhearthatsoundandIthinkofyou thedayswhenthatsoundmeantyouwerethinkingofmetooandmychocolatebreathandmysweatyhandsmaybeyoustillthinkofmewiththesoundofthetrain thereiscomfortinthehollowsoundthatremindsmeofthewayyouusedtolookatmewithsofteyesandasoftmouth
Written in the style of “Sometimes the Way It Rains Reminds Me of You” by Colleen McElroy
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Tracy Scherdt
What We Return To In Memoriam
Westandbytheplaceswestoodbefore,Withtheideathatwe’llgrowtoseeTheviewdifferently,ThatourtoeswillbewarmerhereThatwe’llbechangedforhavingleftandcomeback.
“Comebacktothetable,”CrumbsstillsettlingIntotheheartlinesofthewoodgrain,nextTomyfather’shands,wornfromalifeofConstruction,deconstruction,Nervousandtwisting;Mother’sarehiscounterpart—Theydancewithanxiousness,Youtwistwhileshetwirls.Irememberlovelikethat.
Thatadinnerofchickenpotpieandgreenbeans,Aplaceofmemoryandfear,Canbeleftuntouchedbymybrother,whoLaterreveledinthepowerofearthystringybeingsAndofturninghisbacktome:Ourownsilentdance,learned.ThismomentiswhatIhaveoffamily,Beforethesadnessmyfatherpassedaround,Likedinnerrolls,warmandundercooked.
Maybethiswastheworstofit.Ican’trememberthosedaysclearlynow,ButyousmiledandIsharedminewithyou,too.YoufinishthegreenonmyplateAnddescendagain.
Againtotheplaceyoukeepcomingbackto.Yourwholelife,underyourownshadow,Andyouswearyoucan’tleave,Andthathereiswhatyouare:
Sowhatofthere?Oftheplacesyou’vefeltanger,Oftheskyscrapersrisinginmymind,Ofthepeoplewe’veletleaveWhenwe’dratherthey’dstay,ThoughOurlipsneverpartedtoplead.
TheresoundslikeagoodHere,Dad,Ihopeyoucanenjoytheview.
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