RC Review2015-2016

Collages by RCR staff

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

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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.

7574

“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.

9190

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.

107106

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.

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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?

119118

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

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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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