Angel May Earth India Nicole “Damn!” I woke up late. I hate rushing in the morning; I feel so unbalanced the rest of the day. I scrambled around to gather my things for school and ran to catch the bus. I wish I had paid attention to the weather. It was a little too brisk for the jacket I chose,... Show moreAngel May Earth India Nicole “Damn!” I woke up late. I hate rushing in the morning; I feel so unbalanced the rest of the day. I scrambled around to gather my things for school and ran to catch the bus. I wish I had paid attention to the weather. It was a little too brisk for the jacket I chose, but I figured it would warm up. By noon it had. When I walked out of class, I was instantly warmed. The warmth made my heart feel glad and then I remembered. . . The Ho-Chun—Ga-La people, the Winnebagos, say the weather of the day one is put into the ground is a sign of what their life was like. The day we buried my Aunt was a warm January day, just like today. The morning was crisp and cold, but as the day progressed the sun beat down and melted all of the snow—it even smelled like spring. It stayed warm all day and the birds sang like I’ve never heard them sing before. It has been four years since my aunt died of cancer. Four years is the official mourning period. Now it is time to share our happy memories. From where we lived it took five hours to get to her house. I would be so excited that the five hours seemed to take five days. I’d fall asleep for half an hour only to wake up and ask, “Are we there yet?” When we’d finally get to her two bedroom trailor, no matter what time, she’d drop everything and run out to meet us. "Y ou’re the onm my little bird said would be here!” she would say as we herded into the house. We never could figure out how she knew we’d be there. My mom never told anyone we were leaving, especially my aunt. She just knew. Cowboy coffee was served and the first words heard were, "Did you hear about Rueban Snake?” Jokingly my mother replied, “He’s ninning for tribal chairman.” "No-Kna! How did you know?” My aunt, Angel-Mom, was surprised at my mom’s guess. Angel-mom warned, "When a member of a lower clan holds such an important position bad things will come.” My sister interupted, "Hey, there’s Mattew Cleveland!” "Good, he’s supposed to get me the grievance papers for the lease money I haven’t received yet,” Angel—mom said as she dashed out the door to meet him. My aunt always had people dropping in. After Matthew, two more people came over. We had arrived really late and I started dozing at the table. "I won’t need to turn up the heat tonight, with all the extra “bod’s” we’ll be plenty warm,” Angel-mom teased. My mom and I were assigned to my cousin’s bed, my sister on the floor and my brothers got stuck in "the boy’s room.” The boys giggled more than the women did and I heard threats from my aunt that only made them giggle softer. As the giggling stopped 38 Show less
Playing Cards at the Shelter Sherri Larson At the church side entrance, the men smoke hunched and dancing in the cold. The women stand to the side, protecting their bodies from lonely eyes. And I watch them as I come to save them. The guy with the cards comes hey get in line and the women move... Show morePlaying Cards at the Shelter Sherri Larson At the church side entrance, the men smoke hunched and dancing in the cold. The women stand to the side, protecting their bodies from lonely eyes. And I watch them as I come to save them. The guy with the cards comes hey get in line and the women move boldly now. Cigarettes stamped out, alcohol breath held. Pick a card any card. Not any card. Pick a face card or there’s not room at this inn. The six swears at the laughing king. Maybe tomorrow a king. I come now. I don’t pick a card because I ’ve seen them all before. I am your savior volunteer, returning to duty. I know you. I listen to your stories. I heard about your wife in Vietnam who doesn’t want to leave her new husband to come here and you want to kill her. Iknow that. You want to kill her with the Bible in your pocket. Rip her flesh from her bones. Shoot her until she’s exploded bloody nothing and then spit on her. And you—I heard about your eight languages and your degree. I 'm not sure I believe you but we talked about Emily Dickinson once. And we talked about Walt Whitman too, Captain our Captain and I celebrate myself. Who do you celebrate? Do you celebrate yourself as you come faithfully to this church or another every night? As 7 o’clock pushes you into cold mornings? You have nothing to celebrate except this church and what it gives you. 48 Show less
Parting Glances (after Bill Sherwood) Douglas Green So late to the airport When I pass a mirror I look there's no time for crying. to see myself I watch her cross the tar-mac as she does turn to wave once halfway to the aircraft framed by the terminal window once, at the top of the stairs, just... Show moreParting Glances (after Bill Sherwood) Douglas Green So late to the airport When I pass a mirror I look there's no time for crying. to see myself I watch her cross the tar-mac as she does turn to wave once halfway to the aircraft framed by the terminal window once, at the top of the stairs, just before entering— and deserving love. a graceful jackie Kennedy turn— then red hair framed by the exit window over the wing. Props start and stop stop and start: she taxis away. Two weeks later I’m so lonely my other half rises. 50 of course I go to a film instead. In downtown Dayton, at the art house, two men on screen are kissing: that means more than sex. Later the KKK (incognito) and the bikers gape at the audience departing men kissing men on the street women arm in arm. Love’s so tempting I run off green and glowing through Ohio thunder and lightning and air thick with the last rain expecting the next— off to the mall where boys heckle me for shouldering a bag no one would notice back East. Show less
Possum John Schmit He remember from childhood the legend of the possum. It wasn't a legend, really. It came from professional wrestling, perfomed by men on Saturday nights. The legend went like this: When facing danger the possum lies still on the ground and feigns demise. It is a lie. The possum... Show morePossum John Schmit He remember from childhood the legend of the possum. It wasn't a legend, really. It came from professional wrestling, perfomed by men on Saturday nights. The legend went like this: When facing danger the possum lies still on the ground and feigns demise. It is a lie. The possum never knew this legend. One cold October night he stared into the glass of a window that reflected back, behind a rising steam, above waves of vapor, himself, standing over the evening dishes. The back door swung open and clapped against the wall, a wooden vibrating bell. Didn’t you hear me? Hysterical, her voice rang against the echo of the door. A possum cornered in the kennel. The dog. Rabies. Do something! But the dishes, he thought, then trudged coatless into the night, fearless of the chance of pain, filled with the thickness that douses fear, clueless but confident, knowing that old urge. In the dark he could hear the dog, clueless, too, in the misty night, yipping, whining, coiled and intent. In the light of the flood he searched, knowing how the eyes of a man will fall in seconds anywhere on something that in the hands ofa man becomes a means for destruction. Shall we play croquet? He tested the mallet and moved toward the wicket. Armed like Frost's old stone savage he strode into the kennel. The first soft blow moved the dog aside. 28 Show less
A Black Musical Case John Mitchell Ideas have a way of having their revenge. What surprises us Is their wings and their weight. Stepping out of an automobile A person with long hair and a gray cap Is wearing a short blue coat. In a black musical case She is carrying the idea of a harp. But it is... Show moreA Black Musical Case John Mitchell Ideas have a way of having their revenge. What surprises us Is their wings and their weight. Stepping out of an automobile A person with long hair and a gray cap Is wearing a short blue coat. In a black musical case She is carrying the idea of a harp. But it is a horn With its finger points, Its darkening emptiness whirling Into the gleaming fixtures Of metallurgy. Mathematics Always intrude upon the heart, Give as numbers when all we wanted Was a sound from the interminable spheres. S4 Show less
Walking out to the front steps, the certainty dwindled. The end of the block was the end of the world. The tree at the end of the yard beaconed to me. I sat under nature's roof, the damp grass - my bed . Then the dusk. . . Then the chill. . ., and diminishing stubbornness. A figure stood in the... Show moreWalking out to the front steps, the certainty dwindled. The end of the block was the end of the world. The tree at the end of the yard beaconed to me. I sat under nature's roof, the damp grass - my bed . Then the dusk. . . Then the chill. . ., and diminishing stubbornness. A figure stood in the distance. Mother stretched out an arm with an apple. Stubbornness melted, and Lucy was forgotten. [was young then, when the Heart is open. 35 Show less
"I’m in a hurry,” I explained. Casually, he parked the cab, got out and sauntered to the nearest bystander to receive directions. I was looking at my watch every few seconds now and tapping the seat nervously. At last, he re-entered the cab and pulled away silently. It was another five minutes... Show more"I’m in a hurry,” I explained. Casually, he parked the cab, got out and sauntered to the nearest bystander to receive directions. I was looking at my watch every few seconds now and tapping the seat nervously. At last, he re-entered the cab and pulled away silently. It was another five minutes before he found the side road I was looking for. "It’s up there somewhere,” he motioned as he parked the car. out. "This will only take a minute. Wait here,” I said and ran down the street. I was too late. The doors were barred and the sign read “closed” in English, Hebrew and Arabic. Steaming with anger and frustration, I cursed the incompetant cab driver who had caused me to make a worthless trip and spend all that money to get here just because he couldn’t get it together fast enough. "It’s closed,” I blurted at him when I returned to the car. He didn’t care. He looked up casually. "I won’t take you back,” he said flatly, “and I want my money now.” “What!” I said. "I won’t take you back. I want my money now—3,000 Shekels.” "Are you crazy?” I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t take me back, but to demand the whole price was preposterous. "That price was for round trip." "Too bad. I want it all. Now.” He got out of the car. There was a small store on the comer where he had parked. I went inside and got change. He followed me. "Here." I turned and held out the 1,500 Shekels begrudgingly. "No," he pushed my hand back, standing in the doorway. "3,000." Enraged, I stuffed the 1,500 into his outstretched hand and pushed by him. I was not prepared for the blow that came crushing down on my skull. As I crumpled to the ground under the force, a boot caught my left eye and came back sav- agely to connect with my kidneys. I tried to raise my arms in defense while he pulled me up by my hair. Then his fist prepared for another blow, but before he could strike, I screamed. For a moment his grip loosened and I ran across the street and pushed my way through a small crowd of onlookers and into another store. I kept running through the back door and into the supply room and I didn’t stop until I hit the wall. Frightened and dazed, I stood there, staring at the wall, trembling. My hand went to my eye. There was moisture running down my face. I looked at my hand in disbelief. It was shaking uncontrollany beneath the awful red blood. Caught between rage and fear and incredible indignation, I turned and addressed the woman who was staring at me from the back door entrance. "Call the police,” I said. She nodded and left. Unable to control my emotions a moment longer, I wept, shook, and convulsed with fits of nausea. I was still undergoing the shock when the police arrived. A young man in uniform brown found me leaning weakly against the wall. He held out his hand and I started to tell him what had happened between the sobs. But the blank look on his face told me he couldn’t understand a word. He led me outside to the police jeep where curious spectators crowded around, staring. To my amazement, the cab driver had not 51 Show less
About the Contributors Kimberly Thompson Benike: "As a weekend college student, full time worker, mother and wife, I sometimes feel like my windmill picture looks: spinning in the wind." Cathy Dalglish: Cathy Dalglish teaches creative writing and journalism, writes poetry and fiction, and is... Show moreAbout the Contributors Kimberly Thompson Benike: "As a weekend college student, full time worker, mother and wife, I sometimes feel like my windmill picture looks: spinning in the wind." Cathy Dalglish: Cathy Dalglish teaches creative writing and journalism, writes poetry and fiction, and is trying to find the mother of all goddesses. Renee DeLong: "I believe. . . now what do I believe?” Lisa Dietz: After graduation, Lisa aspires to become very proficient in the game of marbles Douglas Green teaches English, procrastinates, and has been influential in the delivery of certain term papers and babies. Douglas Haney: A velocity curve derived from neutral hydrogen spectra of M81, a type a Sb spiral galaxy in Ursa Major. Red shows recession. Galaxies rotate in the sense that the arms trail. Cami Harris: "My honesty gets me in trouble a lot, so I usually don’t say much (unless the time is ripe).” J. Anthony (1" ony) Huth: "’I'he eerie interplay between accident and plan is curious to him, too.”’ Jeaneen Kolles: "I am very excited to have something published!” Sherri Larson: "Poetry can be such a self-centered activity. I both love and hate that my own self—centeredness adds to my interest in poetry. I worry that my writing turns into a vehicle for me to reveal myself to others. I’d much rather reveal people to themselves. I guess I’d just like to be modest, but that’s probably egotistical of me. . David IeVasseur is an English major and Junior at Augsburg College. He is a happy man because his submission was chosen for “Murphy Square," and because "Rocky and Bullwinkle is now available on video cassette. 86 Show less
PN 6110 .C7 M8 1991 G_e°"9e SverdrUp ._. V nneapofls, MN 55454! Murphy Square Murphy Square staff Lisa Dietz, Editor Douglas Haney, Assistant Editor Christine Coury, Managing Art Editor Timothy Sudeith, Art and Design Editor Tasha Topka, Art and Design Editor Literary Board: Art Board: Lisa Dietz... Show morePN 6110 .C7 M8 1991 G_e°"9e SverdrUp ._. V nneapofls, MN 55454! Murphy Square Murphy Square staff Lisa Dietz, Editor Douglas Haney, Assistant Editor Christine Coury, Managing Art Editor Timothy Sudeith, Art and Design Editor Tasha Topka, Art and Design Editor Literary Board: Art Board: Lisa Dietz Lisa Campton Renee DeLong Christine Coury Cressa Graham Cassandra Moering Douglas Haney Lyn Osgood Patricia Noren Adam Pieri-Johnson Chad Pierro Timothy Sudeith Tommi Riva-Numbala Tasha Topka John Schmit Luna Veng Sharon Smith Marilyn Vick Cami Harris, Assistant to the Literary Board Kelly Donahue, Layout and Design Consultant Douglas Green, Faculty Advisor Joan Griffin, Murphy guare Advisor 88 Show less
It gives you me. But don’t celebrate me. Don’t thank me for the macaroni church donation I will put onto paper plates and give to you complete with warm milk. Don’t ask me humbly for blankets and sheets and towels. Ask me rudely please. Call me bitch because I am. Be repulsed by me and my middle... Show moreIt gives you me. But don’t celebrate me. Don’t thank me for the macaroni church donation I will put onto paper plates and give to you complete with warm milk. Don’t ask me humbly for blankets and sheets and towels. Ask me rudely please. Call me bitch because I am. Be repulsed by me and my middle class stories. Make me feel scared and alone. Hate me. Please. When you hate me I will probably disappear for you forever, but I’d like that, ifyou will. 49 Show less
left, but was standing there, talking to another officer. I was herded into the vehicle and the cab driver followed to the police station. Inside, I was placed on a chair next to two handcuffed juveniles while the police argued in heated debate with my assailant. I tried to recompose myself.... Show moreleft, but was standing there, talking to another officer. I was herded into the vehicle and the cab driver followed to the police station. Inside, I was placed on a chair next to two handcuffed juveniles while the police argued in heated debate with my assailant. I tried to recompose myself. Deciding, at last, that I must be strong, I walked to the desk past the men arguing in Hebrew and demanded to speak to someone. The clerk raised her hand to me and called through a door behind her. A tall man in civilian clothing stepped through. "I speak English,” he said. "Good," I sighed. "Can I tell you what happened now?” "Y es, come with me.” He led me to a small room behind the front desk, gave me a handkerchief for the blood on my face, and told me to sit. His face was gentle and he seemed compassionate as I told him what had happened. When I was finished, he ordered me to wait while he went back to the waiting room. Looking through the doorway, I noticed that the cab driver was speaking more calmly now and the officers were nodding as they listened. My interpreter interrupted them and they fell back into arguing. When he returned to me, his face was full of worry and he looked suspicious. "He says you owe him 6,000 shekels,” he said. My mouth dropped. He continued. "His story is very different from yours. He says he speaks no English.” "That’s a lie,” I said. "M'am, I’m afraid I have to go. I will give your statement to the secretary and there will be some paperwork” "Wait!" I pleaded. "You can’t leave me. Who will translate?” "I’m sorry,” he said, "the secretary does speak a little English,” he added and was out the door. The clerk led me back to the chairs in the waiting room. My assailant, the inter— preter and the other officers were in a room off to the right. The door was opened and I heard as they disputed the issue. My interpreter exited first. I rose to meet him but he just moved past me and out the door without a word. Isat back down and focused on wiping the blood from above my left eye and examining the hanky to see if it had clotted yet. "Fuck you.” I looked up, startled. The cabby was standing in front of me, smoking a cigarette and smiling insidiously. I glared back at him, but no words equal to the situation would come to my mouth. "Miss, come.” A uniformed woman called from the room on the right. The cabby smiled, bowed sarcastically and followed as I went to the room. “Miss,” the woman was saying as I entered, "you give man 6,000 Shekels and Si She held out a paper filled with Hebrew writing, indicating the spot for me to sign. 52 Show less
tools away on the table. I was worried about my statues, him asking questions. I didn’t have places for them all. So I pulled out the box of candles, and the one candle for the bar. I only wanted to talk about candles. I was especially worried about Louise. She wasn’t dry and was shinning funny.... Show moretools away on the table. I was worried about my statues, him asking questions. I didn’t have places for them all. So I pulled out the box of candles, and the one candle for the bar. I only wanted to talk about candles. I was especially worried about Louise. She wasn’t dry and was shinning funny. I put some coffee in the percolator. I think too much, because the smell was too strong. I got out cups. I was looking out the window for Fredrik, and he came up the street. He got out of his black car. I let him in my room and he sat down. "Hello Fredrik, ” I said. “Coffee?” "No thank you.” He stood up again. He walked to the box of candles and said, "are these them?” “Yes.” I sat down where he was before. “How long does it take you to make one of these?” He was doing it already. "I make a lot at once,” I said. He picked one up and looked at it. He even smelled it. He was making me nervous. Then he put it back “How long do they last, burn I mean?” he asked. I showed him the candle I made with the bar’s name on it. "Probably a week If you just light them when the bar is open at night." He took the candle, looked at it and put it in the box with the others. That’ s when he noticed the mermaid on the shelf. Then I was sure he was going to ask the wrong questions. He walked over to it. "Hey," he said, "these are those statues Sinclair said you were talking about.” He pointed at the mermaid, but didn’t look at me. "No one ever buys those,” I said. "Well, Sinclair was right, you’ve got some talent. I’m impressed.” He started staring at me, like in the bar. "T hose would look good up on the bottle rack, with the old bottl$. I’ve decided to get some older looking bottles for behind the bar. Atmosphere, you know.” “Atmosphere,” I said. I got myself coffee and almost spilled it. Then I tried to make a joke. "My room must be full of atmosphere.” "What do these cost?” he asked. I didn’t know what to answer. I had never thought of it. So I told him. “I’ve never thought of it.” I sat back down. That’s when he noticed Louise the first time. He walked over, looked at her and started staring at me again. "Now there’s a big one!” he said. “Guess it’s not done yet.” "No," I said. I was playing with one of the candles from the box, trying not to look at him. I wished it was a knife. His staring made me want him to go. "Well, I think these candles will look good in the old place, if they’re red, with the logo in gold. I guess I’ll be your newest customer. I’ll buy those candles from you. I’ll be working out my budget tomorrow and I’ll tell you what a good price is for me. I’ll stop by tomorrow around noon. You can make about twenty a month, can’t you?” I nodded. "Good, then. I’ll tell you what I’ll pay tomorrow. And why don’t you think of a price for some of these statues? IfI get those bottles, that mermaid will come in handy.” He finally left. I was upset that he wanted to buy my mermaid. I was glad when he left, and that I would be getting more money for candles. But then I didn’t know what to do when he was gone. That made me think the room was lonely and empty without 72 Show less
She said, “The days don’t give what the Nights steal away The Sparrows fly and the Numbers pass where Contracts are Signed and ripped Into unrecognizable Shreds” The wedding Band glimmers and shrivels Like melting Braids of cold ice Intensity flickers in the Canyon ofdivinity The scattering Within... Show moreShe said, “The days don’t give what the Nights steal away The Sparrows fly and the Numbers pass where Contracts are Signed and ripped Into unrecognizable Shreds” The wedding Band glimmers and shrivels Like melting Braids of cold ice Intensity flickers in the Canyon ofdivinity The scattering Within the unity Doors struggle to open when the Lock Is twisted in contorted Comfort Pledging support for probing Trains Crawling over Discarded and corroded tracks 61 Show less
The Goddess Shayna Schaeffer Cat woman howls calling all cats Oh how I study you from afar but you are only feet away rolled in a ball, or sprawled out with those paws your observant jade stares how composed you are sitting there jeweled in robes of black and rugged whites slinky capsule... Show moreThe Goddess Shayna Schaeffer Cat woman howls calling all cats Oh how I study you from afar but you are only feet away rolled in a ball, or sprawled out with those paws your observant jade stares how composed you are sitting there jeweled in robes of black and rugged whites slinky capsule squirming, sliding, dragging the rug reaching for a destination The love kitten once a microscopic organism in between two slabs of human flesh soothing, fluttering motions of sound she knows the passions crawling underneath our costumes forcing her mouth into ours her tongue sanding our defects 56 Cool cat Have you ever seen a cat read, or watch television? resting their delicate head on a circular, elongated bone devouring idealistic illusions on paper or screen -—batting over water glasses quenching that thirst for conformity curiousity strengthens grabbing a ball for sustenance and admiration clenching objects returning them to the gatekeeper Iezebel is her name a woman dressed in red she is mentioned is a sacred book there she lay on her back Oh lady Why so? Show less
