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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 64
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: alone. I thought then that you didn’t want me] realized later that you wanted me badly enough to drive an hour away from home and stay with me when you didn't have to work. You wanted me badly enough to pay for my drinks and listen to my lies. You wanted me badly enough to walk away from my...
Show morealone. I thought then that you didn’t want me] realized later that you wanted me badly enough to drive an hour away from home and stay with me when you didn't have to work. You wanted me badly enough to pay for my drinks and listen to my lies. You wanted me badly enough to walk away from my advances and get me a glass of water or two or three so I wouldn't feel awful in the morning. “Here you go, drink up.” "No problem,"I said and drank the whole glass before turning around and walk- ing into my bedroom. You took my glass before I dropped it onto the ﬂoor and climbed into bed in my bra and underwear. I was almost asleep when you crawled in next to me. You kissed my shoulder and whispered something that I didn't hear. You kissed me again and again until I couldn’t think and could barely talk. “Please don’t stop."I felt like I was underwater, weightless and bogged down by pressure of the moving sea.The once-and-awhile men I was used to didn’t take their time, not like you. Running my hands over your chest was everything I could do to stay in that room, in that bed. I kissed you until my lips were numb, until I couldn’t think of anything but sleeping with you. As I kissed my way down your doughy belly, I ran my ﬁngers and then my lips over your mole. From that moment on, I knew you were mine. Craving your goose bumps against my cheek. I blew on that brown bump and felt your ﬁngers tighten around my hand that you held as your hostage. I pulled off your plaid boxers that were damp from the rain and you whispered somethingI can’t remember now. I miss you because this year on Christmas Eve my family told the story about the time, some ﬁve years ago, we passed out on the couch after too many egg nogs and glasses of wine. My ﬁance squeezed my thigh under the table as if to say, I didn't know yau brought lJim [Jere and I am so embarrarred for 117: both of you. I wanted to tell him that you didn't care about how drunk we got because my family thought you were the best thing that had happened since the wine opener was invented. You did the dishes, read the Christmas story to my eight year old cousins and then, in the morning, dressed up as Santa Claus because you thought it was fun. I wanted to tell him that sometimes, whenI came into this house, I wished to be a ﬂy on the wall that night. When, only after the kids 62
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 17
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: City/ Sea Samantha Guck Now, stay with me on this one: on a shell, an anemone the city is like a sea on the birds at least in the morning who cut the sky cold 8Lquiet like the only true ﬁsh still and on us crustaceans like a soft picture—ocean skittering here and we deep, deep below in the salt...
Show moreCity/ Sea Samantha Guck Now, stay with me on this one: on a shell, an anemone the city is like a sea on the birds at least in the morning who cut the sky cold 8Lquiet like the only true ﬁsh still and on us crustaceans like a soft picture—ocean skittering here and we deep, deep below in the salt bottoms. the sky acting as water in this simile and the clouds...boats maybe? High high above where we cannot understand the shapes of their purpose the branches of trees bramble up like ﬂora aquatica an elm makes ﬁne coral with its tangle-twisted limbs others - birch and pine — seaweed, stiff. And what hits the eyes most during these early morning walks to lecture halls are buldings as the sun glints hazy in the blue-light fog of new days blazing copper and iridescent on an apartment on the horizon 15
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 58
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Eager Ends fen Sr/Jutt People never die on time. They‘re always too young or too old. Grandma died late. She had to put up with us for fifteen years after Grandpa died. She talked about killing herself for years-- never bothered with it. She claimed she wrote us all hate letters but I never got...
Show moreEager Ends fen Sr/Jutt People never die on time. They‘re always too young or too old. Grandma died late. She had to put up with us for fifteen years after Grandpa died. She talked about killing herself for years-- never bothered with it. She claimed she wrote us all hate letters but I never got one. She didn‘t send them. Hell. I don‘t think she even started them. My brother tried it. It was the night before Thanksgiving. He downed a bottle of pills. His best friend had to call the ambulance. My mother didn't even believe he'd done it until they got to the hospital. They kept him in lock down for three days. made him use crayons and hand over his shoe laces and watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I thought he deserved that much. Grandma decided to mention killing herself again after his episode. She sat there at the head of the table. smoking her cigarette 56
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 65
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: were asleep, we broke into the left over Egg Nog and Red wine. As you read me “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” with different voices for each character, my relatives slowly gathered around and listened and laughed along. My mom and dad were crying they were laughing so hard and my aunts and...
Show morewere asleep, we broke into the left over Egg Nog and Red wine. As you read me “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” with different voices for each character, my relatives slowly gathered around and listened and laughed along. My mom and dad were crying they were laughing so hard and my aunts and uncles had never be— fore gotten so drunk on Christmas. We stayed up until three in the morning and put the presents from Santa under the tree with the “adults,” and as everyone was getting ready for bed, we fell asleep slumped down and holding hands on the living room couch. I miss you because you broke up with me in person, face-to-face and cried when you did it. I knew it was going to happen when you started going out with your fellow teachers more and I started going back into the city to get drunk and spend the night at my friend's apartments like I did when I was in college. And, I also knew that we both knew that I would never be the one to leave you. I never got to thank you for always tak- ing things so slow, for letting me talk, for letting me let you go in my own time. “We need to talk," you said. Silence. “You know that; I know that you know that.” “I know." “Ok then, let's talk about this," you said and sat down next to me on the bed in our bedroom of the tiny house outside the suburbs that we both loved so much and had lived in for two years. Driving up to it,I can remember the bumps in the muddy drive way and the way it was hidden behind maple trees that splattered our cars with sap that was impossible to remove. Yellow paint was always ﬂaking and chipping from the boards around the windows, but from far away it was silent and safe; home. “Let’s talk about this,"I echoed as I put my hands on your thigh and stared at the ﬂoor. You didn’t move away from me. You didn't ﬂinch. “This is over," you said. “Because we are in a rut and have been in rut and we aren't in love anymore,”I said as I started crying. You took my hand off of your thigh and held it. “I love you," you said. I told you that I knew that you loved me in the same breath that I said that I 63
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 08
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: bane of the mistress Sana Malié bittergourd secrets sublime clandestine scullions scrubbing at vile grafﬁti on the heart awhile sublime clandestine betel-nut kisses graﬁiti vile on the heart saccharine and tart betel—nut kisses as the cloying aftertaste saccharine and tart ofa Canderel-ed pie...
Show morebane of the mistress Sana Malié bittergourd secrets sublime clandestine scullions scrubbing at vile grafﬁti on the heart awhile sublime clandestine betel-nut kisses graﬁiti vile on the heart saccharine and tart betel—nut kisses as the cloying aftertaste saccharine and tart ofa Canderel-ed pie cloying aftertaste of mulberry sighs, like a Canderel-ed pie purple-stained goodbye mulberry sighs clouding reﬂected gazes purple-stained goodbye in moonstruck eyes clouded reﬂected gazes cacao memories in moonstruck eyes coffeed and toffeed cacao memories wrapped in scuttling satin coffeed and toffeed wriggling out of grasp wrapped in scuttling satin gooseberry dreams wriggling out of grasp fudge-confectioned gooseberry dreams poetic concoctions ﬁad e—confectioned g laced with liquorice dreams of a goose
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 09
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Dead Flowers Em Kline Dawn was sitting on the blue and green plaid couch when it happenedThe olive green curtains along the wall in front of her began to move despite the closed windows. At ﬁrst it was as though an August breeze was signifying the turn oflate afternoon into evening. The ceiling...
Show moreDead Flowers Em Kline Dawn was sitting on the blue and green plaid couch when it happenedThe olive green curtains along the wall in front of her began to move despite the closed windows. At ﬁrst it was as though an August breeze was signifying the turn oflate afternoon into evening. The ceiling fan clunked in circles above her, causing the single, dim light bulb to strobe faintly around her. An all too familiar tune chimed from the grandfather clock in the foyer, fol— lowed by one of those ominous chimes that echoed through an empty, still house. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to control the chimes, hoping they would stop. Inevitably, as it had chimed four times last hour, it chimed a ﬁfth resounding stroke. He would be home soon. She curled her toes around the ﬁbers of the oriental rug beneath her feet and let out a long slow breath that ﬂattened her stomach. The unopened book that rested on her chest fell to the ﬂoor and she stared at it, willing it to slide under the couch and be hidden from her sight. As the curtains blew further from the wall, a laser of light cut through the dreary room and illuminated dust that ﬂoated in the air. The dust moved in one direction. Down. It came to rest on every available surface, creating a visible layer. Had she been able to muster the force to move, she wished to draw the sideways 8 ofinﬂnity on the walls. Instead they were covered with aging wallpaper that peeled from the mopboards, the ceiling, and the corners. Tiny sprigs of baby's breath decorated the paper in the few spots lacking picture frames or furniture. One frame was not in line with the others and she felt an overwhelming need to straighten it. It nagged on her mind, even though she refocused her attention to the book on the ﬂoor. She let her eyes ﬂicker to the crooked frame, hating it with intensity. She wished the glass to break and the disobedient wood to splinter. But it did not, and she would not rise to ﬁx it. It had been only a few days since the episode and Doc prescribed that she indulge in rest and avoid stressﬁrl situations. She couldn't decide which was more stressful to her at this mo— ment, getting up to realign the wooden frame or feeling its crookedness mock her from across the room. For the moment she escaped the spiteful laughter of the picture and became ensnared by the thought of eradicating all other stressful situations. He surely wouldn’t be allowed in the front door, every day bringing his work problems through the front door. Talk of her unemployment and household contributions would be banned. She would sweep, mop, dust, 7
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 14
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: ing like a snake through the top layer ofearth. He had caught up to her, having lost his hat and shed his button-down along the way. “Dawn. don't do this. I can't do this right now." He wiped sweat from his forehead and looked at her under a brow wrinkled from the glare of the sun. “Let’s go home...
Show moreing like a snake through the top layer ofearth. He had caught up to her, having lost his hat and shed his button-down along the way. “Dawn. don't do this. I can't do this right now." He wiped sweat from his forehead and looked at her under a brow wrinkled from the glare of the sun. “Let’s go home, Dawn." She twisth from his grip and stared straight into his eyes, wondering if he could ever really love herjust as she was. All she wanted was a small sign. A look in his eye or a soft much against her bare skin. She didn’t speak. He turned away. raising a trail ofdust behind him as he walked the winding path hack to the house. She took off running down the long rickety wooden pier and dove in head ﬁrst, letting the cool waters welcome her with a lapping tongue. She let herselfsink to the bottom of the pond, expelling all the air out of her lungs in big bubbles. She was in mother nature's womb and she, too, would refuse to emerge alive. 12
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 15
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Motive: A Study in Antelope Samant/Ja Guck Sometimes I have a hard time deciding whether animals are more like humans or machines. example: An antelope is being pursued by a wild dog, his parting snarl and the thunder of padded feet close behind, tools of the take-down of the antelope’s end. As...
Show moreMotive: A Study in Antelope Samant/Ja Guck Sometimes I have a hard time deciding whether animals are more like humans or machines. example: An antelope is being pursued by a wild dog, his parting snarl and the thunder of padded feet close behind, tools of the take-down of the antelope’s end. As death thumps the earth behind her, what motivates the antelope to run? Is it panic, blind and personal? Does the antelope run because she knows she has a life and a life is a thing worth saving? Does she run out ofdesire to see the end of another sun red and ﬂaring over the long grass ofthe Serengeti? To lie in sleep on the fragrant earth,> To taste sweet water once more And rejoice the return of rain? Or does the antelope run simply because the antelope runs: Driven by joints fueled by feed compelled by some unconscious command ofinstinct running with blank eyes, beating time with programmed hooves, thinking no thoughts toward her own red ribs, fearing no fears ofclumsy stumbled bones hoping no escape-hopes of her own? 13
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 63
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: a shower smelling like soap and I could see the mole on your right hip peeking up at me with every step. Now, in my new home, I can’t recreate the way the wood ﬂoor creaked as you proudly strolled through the sun light streaming in through the open windows. I picked up a package of Dial Soap from...
Show morea shower smelling like soap and I could see the mole on your right hip peeking up at me with every step. Now, in my new home, I can’t recreate the way the wood ﬂoor creaked as you proudly strolled through the sun light streaming in through the open windows. I picked up a package of Dial Soap from Target today, it was on sale and it brought me back to that second Saturday in June when I was twenty three. You had come from student teaching in the suburbs to stay with me in my apartment next to an old Laundromat. I hope you remember how we walked down the crowded street next to the University of Minnesota. We slipped into a corner booth at the bar on the corner and I told the lies that I thought I had to tell you to make you love me. “What do you do when I'm not around?” “Work, exercise, read and look forward to the weekend." “You're full of shit.” We talked about the books I was “reading” and I did everything to remember what books I had read in high school so I had something to say during these conversations. Really I was working and drinking with my friends and occasionally sleeping with other men be- cause you weren’t having sex with me and we had “been together” (dating,I guess) for two months and I didn't know how exclusive we were. So, because drinks were two—for—one and I ordered three, but drank six, I got drunk and dizzy and didn‘t care that it was rain— ing the kind of rain that comes down in waves instead of steady drops when we stumbled out into the night. When we got to my street,l stepped in a pothole and you caught me before I fell and that’s when I smelled your shower soap mixed with the scent of rum and whiskey and rain. Kissing you there as I was shivering and sweating from rain and liquor made me want to carve out a space for us in that pothole and stay there forever. When we got into my apartment ourjeans were soaking wet and I stripped in the living room, leaving the twisted denim and white Hanes t-shirt I had taken to wearing when I didn’t have any clean clothes, in a pile. You went to the bathroom and got towels from behind the door and wrapped me with one. I tried to kiss you as you had your arms wrapped around me and my towel, but I was too drunk and too tired to ﬁnd your lips so I put my face in your neck and breathed slowly. Goose bumps rippled through your body and you nuzzled your wet, red hair against mine. “Let’s get you a glass of water," you said and left me standing in my living room 61
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 26
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Herero Woman Digital Print Kate Woo/ever 24

Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 68
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: mggggh _< L222: AA I.

Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 18
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: I have a confession Hanna/.1 Curbing At night I like to walk and look into windows of the houses I pass. Not in perversion. Rather.I ﬁnd it calming to watch the peaceful nighttime routines unfold without any frame of reference for the chaos I know must be more truthful. How predictable the...
Show moreI have a confession Hanna/.1 Curbing At night I like to walk and look into windows of the houses I pass. Not in perversion. Rather.I ﬁnd it calming to watch the peaceful nighttime routines unfold without any frame of reference for the chaos I know must be more truthful. How predictable the rhythms ofour lives, our comings and goings, our ascents and descents. Through the windows I can see it. Television. Teeth brushing. The eventual tiring. 'Ihe surrender to unconsciousness. The wave of the white ﬂag. It is almost hopeful. Unless,l think that tomorrow they must do it all again. 16 And that this peaceful display of light cocooned softly in darkness is but something tangible to house the seething at its core. How predictable the rhythms of our lives, the rises and falls, the labored breaths and tired exhalations, the loves and losses and trite words of comfort, the numbness, the resentments, the hatred. How predictable that we need some things to hold fast to, proof that this rhythm is redeemable for something besides distraction monotony, or boredom. How predictable that I should like to walk, and while I walk look into windows creating for these characters — stories as ﬁctional as their lives.
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 38
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Foreword to A Life Sana Ma/ila And so the third eye indescribable, erudite, true, yawns and shrugs offits burdening lethargy of somesix years, rising in the East midst ravines of blood baths and faded screams, stretching its neck as the words gleam out of my broken pen, eager, headstrong, rushing...
Show moreForeword to A Life Sana Ma/ila And so the third eye indescribable, erudite, true, yawns and shrugs offits burdening lethargy of somesix years, rising in the East midst ravines of blood baths and faded screams, stretching its neck as the words gleam out of my broken pen, eager, headstrong, rushing into the paths of broken posterity. 36
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 06
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Introduction The ﬁrst time someone asked me why I wrote I knew the answer: if I don’t write,I die. It was simple, then, four years ago when I declared “Creative Writing" on a form. I was a writer because it said so on a page, ﬁled away. But, as I grew,I found myself setting my writing aside to...
Show moreIntroduction The ﬁrst time someone asked me why I wrote I knew the answer: if I don’t write,I die. It was simple, then, four years ago when I declared “Creative Writing" on a form. I was a writer because it said so on a page, ﬁled away. But, as I grew,I found myself setting my writing aside to edit, to read, to live and I did not die. 50, when asked again, why writing? I didn't have the answer like I did for so many other theories and problems...no one had taught me why I wrote. Now, after spending a year working on Murphy Square,I can answer that question: writing allows me to step back from my life and recognize which pieces are missing...simply put, it sustains me. 'lhis year, you are holding a journal that is made ofpost-consumer recycled paper because as writing and art have sustained all of us, the artists and students in this journal, we have a responsibility to the earth to create sustainable mediums for our art. Our words and images, the culmination of our creativity, now permanent in your hands, did not take away habitats or destroy lives As artists, we recognize ourselves in a larger community, one that is both historical and metaphorical.We take responsibility for our places in both. And so, for another year, the editors of this journal celebrate the publication ofMur- phy Square and recognize it as the space where authors and visual artists can come together and sustain their community for years to come. Arm/mi Sima'w Editor Welcome to Augsburg College's annual issue of Murphy Square. The writing and art in this issue reﬂect a multitude of voices and visions. Thank you to the editors and staff for their diligent work in selecting and producing the magazine. In the words of poet, David St. John, Let the gates of the garden stand open; let the renaming of the world begin again. Cur‘y Miterman Faculty Advisor
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 35
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Untitled Acrylic Kate Woo/ever 33

Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 13
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: r" end of the bargain, he would marry her. He would marry her if she could provide a family for him to feed. She let her body rest on the couch as her mind ran to the edge of their property, far into the ﬁelds and beyond a row of mature maples. It was never still or ﬁlthy there, like the room in...
Show morer" end of the bargain, he would marry her. He would marry her if she could provide a family for him to feed. She let her body rest on the couch as her mind ran to the edge of their property, far into the ﬁelds and beyond a row of mature maples. It was never still or ﬁlthy there, like the room in which she sat. The water was always sparkling, reﬂecting sun or moon.1hey used to spend days by their lake, a gloriﬁed pond, really, picnicking and making love at dusk. Resting, exhausted, in each other's arms as the frogs hummed them a tune to which the bees harmo— niwedﬂheir bodies would be covered in sweat from their efforts and the heat of the day, but soon the evening cool would chill them and they would clothe themselves and walk as slowly as possible back to their home. It had been fun, at ﬁrst, to try so hard to start a family. Day and night he would sweep her away from whatever it was she was doing and they would let their bodies express their love. Now, only the days circled in red were the days they would meet in a dark room. Their bodies weren’t gentle and soft anymore, but stiff and resentful. A truck spun through the gravel of the long driveway and goose bumps rose on her arms. She stood unsteadin to her feet and shufﬂed toward the window. She tried to part the curtains, though she knew it was him, but they pushed her away. The wall of windows crept forward until it pressed against her toes and forced her to back up. Behind her and to her sides the wallpaper started crying and crawling toward her, she felt a knot of fear rising from her stomach up to her throat. She could not scream, and had she, he would not have heard her over the rumbling of his truck. She inched her way sideways, unable to turn her head to see where she was going, until she felt the cool brass knob of the front door in her hand. He was on the other side, reaching for his keys. She pulled at the door wildly and ﬂew past him, suddenly ﬁlled with the desire to move that she had lacked all day long. She moved with all four limbs touching the ground, us— ing her hands like an animal to balance her unsteady legs. A curious voice called from behind her. “Dawn! What the fuck?" She was knee deep in lively wildﬂowers and tall green grass with her white house— drcss blowing wildly between her legs. “The ﬂowers are dead!” He dug his boot into the dusty ground and swore under his breath. “What ﬂowers, baby? Baby, come back!" He threw his work gloves angrily on the ground, cursing again. Dawn was to the line of trees now, and could see the lake shining in front of her. It glittered invitingly and she tore off her clothes, tiptoeing barefoot around knotted roots wind- 11
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 19
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: All the while knowing, they are lies, all of them. How predictable that I am apathetic. I prefer these sound bite stories over truthfulness. So walking in the darkness, I listen to the dry crunch the fallen leaves beneath my feet that will soon ferment under the heaviness of Minnesota snow. And I...
Show moreAll the while knowing, they are lies, all of them. How predictable that I am apathetic. I prefer these sound bite stories over truthfulness. So walking in the darkness, I listen to the dry crunch the fallen leaves beneath my feet that will soon ferment under the heaviness of Minnesota snow. And I sing. “Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies.” 17
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 31
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: Bodies Ink and Watercolor Molly E/J/ing andAndrea Sanow 29

Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 23
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: rate ways, exploring. It was late fall, and the trees in the cemetery were alive with the ﬁery colors of the Midwest; red, orange, and yellow leaves enveloped us, enhanced by the sun’s rays. The air was crisp and cool, and I hoped the outing would help my brother feel refreshed. We came together...
Show morerate ways, exploring. It was late fall, and the trees in the cemetery were alive with the ﬁery colors of the Midwest; red, orange, and yellow leaves enveloped us, enhanced by the sun’s rays. The air was crisp and cool, and I hoped the outing would help my brother feel refreshed. We came together some time later at our family’s section. My brother, his bare arms ﬂaunting the skinhead tattoos that covered every inch of his body, approached the gravesites. Down on one knee, he began to slowly brush the small twigs, leaves, and grass clippings from the sunken memorial of “James Fisher (1944—1960)," our Great Uncle Jimmy. I stood behind him paralyzed, confused by his obvious attachment to the headstone of a boy who never grew to be a man, a boy neither of us ever knew. My brother, with bloodshot eyes and a smell that confessed his many sins, held back his tears and stared down at the grave. He told me the story of how our uncle died. “The truck came out of nowhere and hit him. Smashed right into him. It wasn't his fault. He didn't even get a chance." an It was my fourteenth birthday when my Dad, brother, and I pulled into the driveway to see my mother standing under the carport behind a curtain of muggy August rain. She was wringing her hands and shuffling around as if she had bugs crawling under her skin. Her dark hair was damp and slickened; her clear green eyes murky and just a touch too bright, evidence that her latest drug of choice was still coursing through her system. The air inside the truck stiffened and chilled as we sat watching her, the cool air con— ditioning stiﬂing and stale. Fresh off her latest binge she had disappeared for about ﬁve weeks this time. Earlier as I had blown out my candles, I had wished she would never come back. I got out of the truck, walked up to her, looked her straight in those vacant eyes and told her to leave. For good. She did. "lhe summer after my high school graduation my brother and I found out that my Dad had been in an accident. We were at home arguing because I wanted to go see my friends and my brother wanted to tag along. My grandparents silenced our bickering with the 21
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Title: Murphy Square 2010, Page 67
Collection: Literary Journals

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