AN OTHER GIFT OF THE NORTHERN ABOLITIONISTS I was a child with a gift for words. my heart longed for books, more books- notebooks and pens. My sister was the artist in the family, allowed to draw on Papa’s library walls - he had dreams of changing the world. I also longed for justice. I wanted to... Show moreAN OTHER GIFT OF THE NORTHERN ABOLITIONISTS I was a child with a gift for words. my heart longed for books, more books- notebooks and pens. My sister was the artist in the family, allowed to draw on Papa’s library walls - he had dreams of changing the world. I also longed for justice. I wanted to be a soldier for the North. They made me be a nurse because I was a girl. I didn’t have many adventures after the war, for I never recovered from the mercury that slipped like a silver snake through my body, killing off the typhoid fever - and god knows what else. I don’t know why I never married. Henry at supper was company enough, I suppose. I am not Jo, the ebullient woman I created, manager of that rambunctious and hilarious family life, and writer, besides. I am small, retiring woman in a plaid dress. My first novel was never published- they said it was too racy for a lady to have written. Too racy! Too unlady like! I have little to show for my efforts. And I’m still here, in the house in the orchard. In my room, I have two writing tables, something precious in a time when many cannotread. 60 MURPHY SQUARE Show less
For two decades now, I have been left with a weakened constitution, with my courageous mother who has been angry every day of her life. I keep writing any way. At least the mercury did not take my hair. ROSEANN LLOYD MURPHY SQUARE 61
Statue Room Chiseled black statues of women balancing baskets on their heads, marble couples embraced in a kiss, pottery friends, hand—in—hand in a circle of unity. The inner soul of Africa sold to tourists for $14.99. “I a mrather cultured,” she sneered as she eased back into her plush black... Show moreStatue Room Chiseled black statues of women balancing baskets on their heads, marble couples embraced in a kiss, pottery friends, hand—in—hand in a circle of unity. The inner soul of Africa sold to tourists for $14.99. “I a mrather cultured,” she sneered as she eased back into her plush black chair, poised in her room of African art. She sat back, giving pause, waiting for her company to admire her sitting room, to slide their fingers across the hand-crafted surfaces then recoil, afraid that their touch had smudged the finish. Her eyes quietly surveying the room glanced quickly down to the African rug when they asked, So when were youin Africa? LAURA WALDON 34 MURPHY SQUARE Show less
Daddy, I Love You She sat coiled in a corner, Her luminous skin flawless in the fluorescent shadow, Her breasts still perked and round. Her hair clung to her temples, Her clothes lay beside her, Ripped and mangled in a heap. And she watched as he tucked, zipped, and whispered, “If you tell your... Show moreDaddy, I Love You She sat coiled in a corner, Her luminous skin flawless in the fluorescent shadow, Her breasts still perked and round. Her hair clung to her temples, Her clothes lay beside her, Ripped and mangled in a heap. And she watched as he tucked, zipped, and whispered, “If you tell your mother, I’ll kill you.” He left her lying on the concrete floor of a basement, Staring at the clothes beside her. LYDIA NOGGLE MURPHY SQUARE 35 Show less
I pick my way over the bodies of colleagues who won’t answer their e-mail promptly, who refuse to recognize that the end has come and gone and that this is as god—awful good as it gets over now-limp administrators who had quite another plan for my self—improvement, higher productivity, all worked... Show moreI pick my way over the bodies of colleagues who won’t answer their e-mail promptly, who refuse to recognize that the end has come and gone and that this is as god—awful good as it gets over now-limp administrators who had quite another plan for my self—improvement, higher productivity, all worked out over lunch at a retreat in a luxe hotel in DC— if I were in a car I’d back up over them, even the ones I like because I’m tired so tired of students who write about weeding out the dead wood as if post-tenure review were an academic form of forestry or animal husbandry as if they could come late to every class never meet a deadline, expect that I am waiting by the phone at 10 p.m. just to field questions about how important the Milton paper is in their grade as a whole—and I’m thinking the only hole is the 'one I want to blast between their ears but I don’t work at the post office I don’t even belong to the NRA no, I’m just a humble intellectual with too many ironies in the fire. D. E. GREEN 38 MURPHY SQUARE Show less
DEBRA MARO Laura Jean busy legs bruised not battered happy feet high heels are pretty cookies for breakfast buttery poppy popcorn purple pancakes sneaking into mommy’s bed snuggling with daddy warm swinging higher and higher don’t forget books sissy has fun stuff barbie bitsy baby dancing on... Show moreDEBRA MARO Laura Jean busy legs bruised not battered happy feet high heels are pretty cookies for breakfast buttery poppy popcorn purple pancakes sneaking into mommy’s bed snuggling with daddy warm swinging higher and higher don’t forget books sissy has fun stuff barbie bitsy baby dancing on tabletops blowing kisses MURPHY SQUARE 39 Show less
they did not exist on the page. Nor could I always see them. The harder I looked the more my eye twitched and they scampered away; or, like paying attention to an object held out of focus, they lost their solidity and vanished. They ‘were permanent, even when I did not see them they lurked on the... Show morethey did not exist on the page. Nor could I always see them. The harder I looked the more my eye twitched and they scampered away; or, like paying attention to an object held out of focus, they lost their solidity and vanished. They ‘were permanent, even when I did not see them they lurked on the surface of my eye. I could not see them against the dark. I stared at shadows for hours, knowing they were there, but invisible, and turned to the light to see them dance their way out of my irritated gaze. They were on everything, even if I did not see them; darting across the bathroom floor, sliding through the wrinkles of my neighbors face, amongst the cement blocks, invisible in the darkness of their shadows, and on Oak Hill. They pulsated on every living thing, across the angles of the world of man, across the curves and undulations of nature, across the blue, flat sky. And I could not draw them. SCOTT 'BIBUS 48 MURPHY SQUARE Show less
LIBERTY LOST Liberty for all Mankind Believed Children walked to School Uninhibited Pledge of Allegiance I Encouraged 1 Church and State Separated Daily School Prayer Eliminated Martin Luther King Killed American Flag Defiled Respect for Leaders Lost John F. Kennedy Assassinated E \_ \h. ‘_ E... Show moreLIBERTY LOST Liberty for all Mankind Believed Children walked to School Uninhibited Pledge of Allegiance I Encouraged 1 Church and State Separated Daily School Prayer Eliminated Martin Luther King Killed American Flag Defiled Respect for Leaders Lost John F. Kennedy Assassinated E \_ \h. ‘_ E Multimedia Advanced Working Parents Uninvolved Family Values Eroded Teenagers Existed Corrupted Massacre and Slaughter Commenced Innocent Kids Died Faith and Hope Diminished Nonviolent Movement Gone Contagious Violence Tolerated Human Race Astounded MICHELLE DEAN 50 MURPHY SQUARE Show less
MATILDA - THE BARFLY “There’s an audition I don’t want to miss.” She said, her legs attached to puppet strings, The man beside her laughed. “There’s an audition I don’t want to miss.” She said, fingering a purple iris as cigarette smoke drifted from the bathtub. The dog at her ankle smiled. ... Show moreMATILDA - THE BARFLY “There’s an audition I don’t want to miss.” She said, her legs attached to puppet strings, The man beside her laughed. “There’s an audition I don’t want to miss.” She said, fingering a purple iris as cigarette smoke drifted from the bathtub. The dog at her ankle smiled. “There’s an audition I don’t want to miss.” She said, as dark brunette strands balanced on the sink. The maid let her sleep. “There’s an audition I don’t want to miss.” She said, tracing out her portrait in honey colored sand. “Matilda, my dear.” An old voice called From the python skinned mouth of a fly. “Don’t you know this is only the beginning?” Drowning in jack Daniels and ice cubes She answers with practiced inflection, “The beginning of the end my incestuous friend.” STEPHENIE NOGGLE 52 MURPHY SQUARE Show less
Librarian Mine is a simple life of life’s complexities bound in a few square inches each confined to rows of manageable space where there is silence amidst a million volumes voices where the wars of the ages are reduced to an index file where the bindings of great artist’s and writers of all... Show moreLibrarian Mine is a simple life of life’s complexities bound in a few square inches each confined to rows of manageable space where there is silence amidst a million volumes voices where the wars of the ages are reduced to an index file where the bindings of great artist’s and writers of all walks and ages meet and wisdom failed waits to fail again as truth proven waits to again prove and coiled words wait for opportunity. Steady, categorized, predictable, books in a row the order of my day is order adding knowledge to knowledge, book by book. I’m the gatekeeper of emotions laughter contained tears undropped fears frozen in print my own workday emotions reduced to pleasantries. Irony contained, I sit a woman of temperance amidst temptation alphabetized passions lending lusts 30 MURPHY SQUARE ‘ :\A A -—x Show less
tucking away mysteries to be solved again and again contentto confine to tables of contents fun and games— departmentalize. Cyclical loans returns and only whispers here GRETCHEN WAIDELAND MURPHY SQUARE 31
