42 Lisa Diet: WOMAN. DO YOU KNOW? Woman Do you know your name? The one you had Before the scars Thick make-up covering Sun-glassed face Over red. blue, oily stains Cropped hair in a fit of passion Unpaid hospital bills The broken nose, bruised ribs Finger. elbow. knee. vagina Nothing left... Show more42 Lisa Diet: WOMAN. DO YOU KNOW? Woman Do you know your name? The one you had Before the scars Thick make-up covering Sun-glassed face Over red. blue, oily stains Cropped hair in a fit of passion Unpaid hospital bills The broken nose, bruised ribs Finger. elbow. knee. vagina Nothing left untouched. Woman Do you know where you live? In a suburban house Redwood fence Haunting memory-dream reality Locking doors, banging walls Wipe away the blood Scramble for the phone The line is dead As the door breaks down. Show less
Carpe Diem My dog and my mother are old. Each is not herself. The part of them that Laughed. and ran. and leased. and chewed Is gone. What remains is empty and blind And busy holding on. "You'll know when it's time." the vet says. I wonder.
MURPHY SQUARE 1990 Unbound This collection is dedicated to those who have the courage to tell their deepest secrets to themselves. Volume XV 1990 Augsburg College Minneapolis, MN
CONTENTS Lisa M. Campton "The Great White Heron: Observed" Steve Frcdlund "Apples" Timothy Sudeith "Help" Douglas E. Green "Family Album: Deborah" "First Love" Alayne Thorcson "I See You Falling" Karen Neitge "lmpasto" Jocllyn M. Gum "Morning" Sherri Larson "Golden Sacrament" Douglas Haney "moon"... Show moreCONTENTS Lisa M. Campton "The Great White Heron: Observed" Steve Frcdlund "Apples" Timothy Sudeith "Help" Douglas E. Green "Family Album: Deborah" "First Love" Alayne Thorcson "I See You Falling" Karen Neitge "lmpasto" Jocllyn M. Gum "Morning" Sherri Larson "Golden Sacrament" Douglas Haney "moon" "Transportation" Karen Neitge "Sunday Morning“ Bronwcn Stine "The Progress of Milk" "Washing" Edward M. Sabclla "time out" John Mitchell "Mother-Tongue" "54 in Butiaba" Pat Noren "Gramma W." "The Artist" 10 ll 12 13 20 31 32 33 34 Show less
OVERDCSE Fading space. people Inoving. [00 How. womm can% keep balance. canW keep going. throat in stoniach. stoniachinthroaL keel oven niuscles r f spinning spinning. Legs gone down! 40 Lisa Diet:
Douglas E. Green First Love One night I caught you in each other's arms like young lovers necking on the couch awkward embrace of parents. Now i do not want what you have had and have--cannot want it in a world that does not rest at home with the kids upstairs. But that night I came down... Show moreDouglas E. Green First Love One night I caught you in each other's arms like young lovers necking on the couch awkward embrace of parents. Now i do not want what you have had and have--cannot want it in a world that does not rest at home with the kids upstairs. But that night I came down unexpected after bed-time (too old to really have one) my surprise surpassed even yours and just once. for once in the hush-hush matters, 1 did not feel shame-- i exulted in your love. Show less
53 He's in love with you. you know. And you with him. I know. I'm an angel. I can tell. A third-wheel. broken-hearted. lonely old angel. Without any cool-looking wings even.
33 John Mitchell 54 1N BUTIABA At 54. in Butiaba. Hemingway finds himself In a cockpit, trapped in the pigments Of nightmare. his wife and guide Frantically outside. the smoke Like an African grassfire. fierce, sour, The door jammed against his will. He enrages himself and butts the door open. Head... Show more33 John Mitchell 54 1N BUTIABA At 54. in Butiaba. Hemingway finds himself In a cockpit, trapped in the pigments Of nightmare. his wife and guide Frantically outside. the smoke Like an African grassfire. fierce, sour, The door jammed against his will. He enrages himself and butts the door open. Head bleeding, his arms burned. Hemingway is dead. For weeks he smells his own whiskers. Reads stupendous obituaries And drinks whiskey. gin, delirious With secrets and surprise. He is alive. and older. always older. The belt around his trousers loosens. The slippers fall off his feet. Standing tall for the reporters--taller, He disembarks for Venice. singed. cockeyed. Going. going. from the countryside Scarred with carbon and new grass. Show less
Mark R. Olson Lisa Dietz Kathryn Swanson Pat Linder Ortmayer "I'm thrilled to bc a part of this publication. Someday, when I grow up. I want to be a writer--a poet. At this point. I try to write poetry. but that doesn‘t make me a poet. And yet. having my work accepted by M Sum make me feel like l... Show moreMark R. Olson Lisa Dietz Kathryn Swanson Pat Linder Ortmayer "I'm thrilled to bc a part of this publication. Someday, when I grow up. I want to be a writer--a poet. At this point. I try to write poetry. but that doesn‘t make me a poet. And yet. having my work accepted by M Sum make me feel like l‘ve stumbled a little closer to the goal." Lisa Dietz. former English major, has spent so many late hours writing poetry and reading Shakespeare that her new ambition is to be committed to the "Brain Dead Poets’ Society." Kathryn Swanson teaches English at Augsburg. She claims to have been driven to poetry by her dissertation. Pat Lindcr Ortmayer‘s family and friends have decided that she has spent entirely too much time with Artislophancs over the last six months to be considered a functional member of society and have discussed Show less
16 No one is out. McAir- There is a footbridge that goes over The street is quietly throbbing. McDonalds is Conditioning. making a killing on I drag my fingers along the protective The hot makes the little pads of my fingers bright red. the freeway. chain link. thumpa-thumpa-thumpa. wire Across the... Show more16 No one is out. McAir- There is a footbridge that goes over The street is quietly throbbing. McDonalds is Conditioning. making a killing on I drag my fingers along the protective The hot makes the little pads of my fingers bright red. the freeway. chain link. thumpa-thumpa-thumpa. wire Across the bridge is the glass city. lntemational style. I turn right and walk up Stagland Avenue. Four blocks up is Arthur's Bar. A cluster of young black men loiter in front. They are happy to see me and proud. as if they created my presence out of the They "C'mere wavering distance for their own amusement. call out to me. "Here comes Madonna!" sweetheart," "I really want to make friends with you!" One of them steps out in front of me. He says. "Hey, there. big-titty lady." I stop. That one perfect response. the one that you always think of too late. comes to me instantly. "Out of my way. little-dick man. I say. The crowd in front of Arthur's breathes one gleeful "Whoooeeee!" Little-dick man calls after me. "White bitch!" but I am already yards away. There is a Woolworth's by my bus stop. The air- conditioning as I go in the door pinches my wet skin into goose—pimples. I order a cherry Slushie at the :‘ .... -_:.._-np...s._% Al. Show less
moon when inspiration only comes from rock songs it's possible to watch the moon move across the power lines and to know it is lying on a clear night full and massive brightness says i am here and then moves out of the frame of the window but the brightness lends to even the pretentious they mean... Show moremoon when inspiration only comes from rock songs it's possible to watch the moon move across the power lines and to know it is lying on a clear night full and massive brightness says i am here and then moves out of the frame of the window but the brightness lends to even the pretentious they mean what they say on a clear night and love goes out to any of the ugliest witches 10 Douglas Haney Show less
14 the wind of the fan. which is also dry and hot on my body. The bed and I are joined at the hip and shoulder by a pool of sweat. Precious spit has" dripped out of my mouth onto the pillow sometime during the night. and the wet spot against my check is a nickle of cool. I get up and leave the... Show more14 the wind of the fan. which is also dry and hot on my body. The bed and I are joined at the hip and shoulder by a pool of sweat. Precious spit has" dripped out of my mouth onto the pillow sometime during the night. and the wet spot against my check is a nickle of cool. I get up and leave the top sheet1 flapping. My bed is a house within my house. The heat bouys me up. floats me down the hall into the bathroom. I don't have to pee. I turn on thei shower water cold and step in. The water sheets slide off my skin. down the drain. I have become1 oily in my aging. When I was a child I was fresh milk. Out of the shower I make tentative swipes at myself with a towel. The heat is playing a little philosophers‘ game with me. You can dry. but you can't get dry. In my bedroom I put on a pair of denim cutoffs and a pair of socks to keep the dirt on the floor from sticking to my feet. I pack a cotton dress. nylons. rayon shirt. good shoes in a nylon book bag. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. and I think of my mother walking bare-breasted in the woods on one of our family hiking trips. Sorrel packs. blue jeans. and swinging breasts flashing in the sun. Show less
Anima Projection Somebody I question I wonder I realize Entering I fall down I regress I grow Always present Above me Beyond me Need to find Something So near So distant Right here 56 Chad Picrro Unknowing I ask you I believe Your eyes Recognition I see you I hear you I know Imaginary Obligatory... Show moreAnima Projection Somebody I question I wonder I realize Entering I fall down I regress I grow Always present Above me Beyond me Need to find Something So near So distant Right here 56 Chad Picrro Unknowing I ask you I believe Your eyes Recognition I see you I hear you I know Imaginary Obligatory Contradictory In my mind Addiction Prediction Affliction Now a fear Show less
Mayne Thoreson I SEE YOU FALLING Running, I see you tumbling head over heels through the air. Arms and brittle legs flailing. you land on the sod with a thud. Red mixes with green and dust becomes paste. I lean over your body. but you were gone when I got there.
Douglas Haney Bronwen Stine Edward M. Sabella John Mitchell Pat Noren Angie Wareham Douglas Haney emigrated recently from Albania. where he had spent his childhood laboring in the textile mills. He wears burlap pants and smells horribly like potato pancakes (of which he is very fond). Douglas... Show moreDouglas Haney Bronwen Stine Edward M. Sabella John Mitchell Pat Noren Angie Wareham Douglas Haney emigrated recently from Albania. where he had spent his childhood laboring in the textile mills. He wears burlap pants and smells horribly like potato pancakes (of which he is very fond). Douglas still has no career plans. Bronwen Stine always does what fortune cookies tell her to do. Last week she got one that's been keeping her very busy. I! said. "Do not be bitter. deceptive. or petty." "Somethings are more vivid in black and white." John Mitchell teaches in the English Depanment. His goal—in-life is to crash-land at 54 in Key West and to expire while dipping conch fritters in hot sauce at Sloppy Joe's. "March 21. 1989. Happy Easter. Peace." Show less
38 Mark R. Olson Philippians 2: 5-11 i feel your hand. calloused caress. it traces baptism on my brow. carpenter (crib shaper. pine box maker) —undertaking it all. splintered and weathered. your coarse hands cup cool water, emptying yourself. and i. penitent. pull my cheek from the dust turned... Show more38 Mark R. Olson Philippians 2: 5-11 i feel your hand. calloused caress. it traces baptism on my brow. carpenter (crib shaper. pine box maker) —undertaking it all. splintered and weathered. your coarse hands cup cool water, emptying yourself. and i. penitent. pull my cheek from the dust turned damp. finding my knees. another tongue trembles in quenching confession. Show less