Making Statements Marilyn Tavares My life makes statements that say I am black I am woman tall slender proud feminine This is my innertude my outertude my total attitude My life makes statements that say hold me don ’t hurt me try me test me prove me This is my innertude My outertude My total... Show moreMaking Statements Marilyn Tavares My life makes statements that say I am black I am woman tall slender proud feminine This is my innertude my outertude my total attitude My life makes statements that say hold me don ’t hurt me try me test me prove me This is my innertude My outertude My total attitude My life makes statements that say I am strong persistant consistant resistant Able to weather T0 stand This is my innertude my outertude my total attitude This is who [am 27 Show less
and the snoring began, feeling at home and cozy, I dozed off, too. I awoke to the smell of tobacco and bacon. Every morning my aunt would pray to the four directions as well as to the creatures above and below. She would then start the coffee and bacon and wait for the egg-man to show up. "Win-ne... Show moreand the snoring began, feeling at home and cozy, I dozed off, too. I awoke to the smell of tobacco and bacon. Every morning my aunt would pray to the four directions as well as to the creatures above and below. She would then start the coffee and bacon and wait for the egg-man to show up. "Win-ne-gech-ge” he would say trying to sell his eggs. "Chicken eggs?” my aunt would tease. "Why not turtle or ostrich eggs?” We would all laugh and somehow together we’d finish with "aeeee!" After breakfast the stories and gossip began. While kneeding the frybread dough my aunt spoke. “There once was this man who lived far from his mother. One day a black bird came to him and said, ’go see your mother, she has sent me to come get ou.’ y This man started to worry because he knew his mother was old and had been very sick He packed his things and left to see her. When he arrived, he found the black bird at the door and said, ’where’s my mother?’ The black bird replied, 'she’s inside very sick, you have to take care of her.’ The man asked, ’what should I do?’ ’Put the water on to boil and then add sage for broth,’ replied the bird. So the man did as the bird said and fed the medicine to his mother. Soon his mother was well and he told her about the bird. She told him, “fetch my warm red shawl and give it to the black bird for thanks. Then all will know the black bird has helped "T 0 this day,” my aunt finished, “you can see the shawl on the red—wing black bir ." "How about a round of cribbage?” I asked my aunt after a momemt of reflection. My aunt never said no to cribbage. I loved to use her scoring board that was shaped like the number 29. “Red to win!” she would boast. I always got stuck with the blue pegs and, of course, she always won. I never minded because, even though she won fair and square, she’d always make up a reason for my loss. "I’m sure you were distracted by the noise,” she would offer. She always knew the right things to say, just like a mother would, that’s how she got her name— Angel-Mom. By the time we finished our 2 out of 3 game, the frybread dough was fully raised and ready to cook "You get to turn the bread,” Angel—Mom said to me. As I turned the bread in the oil my aunt shared, "W hen I was your age, my mom used to make me make the frybread all by myself. Today Ican make it in my sleep and I don’t even burn myself.” I longed to be just like her. The last time I visited my aunt was in May 1986. We were helping her celebrate her sixty-fifth birthday. We made a big feast and celebrated like true Winnebagos. Everyone who knew her was there to wish her a happy birthday. It was the first time in my life that Isaw my aunt speechless. I sat by her through the whole ceremony in the teepee. I was getting a little tired. Angel—Mom leaned over and whispered. "If you get tired, hang on to one of the tee-pee poles and you will feel our relatives lift you up.” So I did and I felt instantly taller, even though I was sitting down. It was my brother’s turn to sing and as the drum and staff came around he picked his drummer. I knew instantly he was singing the Winnebago birthday song and I joined in with everybody else. My aunt cried as we sang, with nine words of English added to the song: 39 Show less
the dentist. She had let Christopher out of the pack and watched him pick up stones and throw them at the garage. She tried to make sense of the last three years, espeically the last three months, but only felt fear and pain. And for the first time in months, Adrien considered trying to escape... Show morethe dentist. She had let Christopher out of the pack and watched him pick up stones and throw them at the garage. She tried to make sense of the last three years, espeically the last three months, but only felt fear and pain. And for the first time in months, Adrien considered trying to escape Merle. The thought made her head buzz, afraid that he could read her mind, like the time when she’d tried to escape in Germany. They had been living near the Checkoslovakian border with a woman who was a bom-again Christian, who believed her mission in life was to give refuge and aid to Jews who sought their homeland. Merle had started getting meaner. Adrien didn’t know why. Maybe it was because the woman spoke so little English that Merle figured she wouldn’t know what he was talking about. Maybe it was because they had run out of money, and his paintings were not selling well. He didn’t have money for cigarettes and the lady who owned the house would only buy him tobacco, forcing Adrien to roll his smokes. Or maybe it was because valium and codeine were harder to get in Germany than they were in Spain, where you could simply go to a drug store and ask for them. But most likely, Adrien thought, it was her own fault for having such a rotten attitude ever since Christmas, when Merle hadn’t bought her anything. He’d begun to criticize her constantly and deliberately. "W hat are you doing, Shithead?” he might say. "Nothing." “Nothing. Just like you—nothing for nothing. You’re the most moronic person I’ve ever met. You have no brain. I’m amazed they let you pass high school.” "What do you want me to say?” Adrien would feel hurt. "You don’t know how to do anything right, do you?” Adrien was silent. "You’ll never amount to anything, Adrien.” Adrien would drop her head in shame, let her long blond tangles cover her face. "You’re the ugliest piece of trash I’ve ever had to pity.” He would continue on and on. One day Adrien couldn’t take it anymore. She decided that he hated her and would be better off without her. She decided that Christopher preferred Merle because he was always quiet around him and fussy around her. She wanted to die. 50 she put on her coat and walked out the door. She had been very calm, not like a detailed escape attempt. It was just a decision she made, no tears, no emotion. She was simply going to walk away. Adrien had walked about 50 yards down the road when she heard the door slam and heard his voice calling her name. It was snowing. The road to the house was white. There were many neighbors nearby, but no one was out in the snow and the cold, although there were some faced in the windows. Adrien turned and watched Merle move toward her purposefully. In the day— light, his face was dark against the bright whiteness all around them, his expression of hatred and disgust clear as he approached. Her stomach wrenched, but she couldn’t move. She could feel her pulse beating against the scarf around her neck, but still, she stood and waited. 17 Show less
Instead of in front The horse foundered behind, For spite, they thought, to frustrate them as they tried to soak out the infection. To her the horse struggled to survive. To him it was pure complaint— Hatred for nineteen years of work, An invitation to simply give up, to die, To say, "No more.”... Show moreInstead of in front The horse foundered behind, For spite, they thought, to frustrate them as they tried to soak out the infection. To her the horse struggled to survive. To him it was pure complaint— Hatred for nineteen years of work, An invitation to simply give up, to die, To say, "No more.” But no matter. They would fight, she to save her horse, He to save himself from her. Constantly tired, they continued. They pushed and swatted him, they cursed, They punched his quarters to move him over. They nursed him, soaked and bandaged him, Then disposed of the soiled dressings. But they remembered by the smell, The hideous stench of infection. They carried it in their clothes And in their hair and their nostrils, In their skin despite the perfume of soaps. And as they looked to the future They could only see and accept the worst, And smell the lingering smell. They carried it to bed, no longer speaking To each other because of anger, Because of hatred for the whole ordeal, She, his accuser, he, now cold, 83 Show less
Founder John Schmit It started on a Wednesday afternoon. A tough old horse began too easily to die A hard unprivate death. The truck unloaded, back from the feedstore, He complained that she had sent him too soon. The feed bin wouldn’t hold all the sacks, And he never put the last one away. By... Show moreFounder John Schmit It started on a Wednesday afternoon. A tough old horse began too easily to die A hard unprivate death. The truck unloaded, back from the feedstore, He complained that she had sent him too soon. The feed bin wouldn’t hold all the sacks, And he never put the last one away. By dark that sack was in a stall. The vet did what he could, And they thought it might just pass, But Thursday told another story. The picture was unmixed pain: A rested horse bathed in sweat, Shivering on a cool March evening. They lied to themselves again. Imagine that your shoes are too small And your feet start to swell, But the shoes don’t come off. A horse’s hoof is such a shoe When miles of tedious vessels, Forests of capillaries distend, then burst And pour forth the medium of absess As hoof wall separates from lamina And lamina from bone. Founder. 82 Show less
To Love Lucy Linda Peterson Isat on the stiffgrey couch waiting for "I Love Lucy.” I was 4 then, when an orange school bus means Hope. I gazed out the picture window, down the enormous block. Confined within the limits of this block was my freedom. All the children in the world lived on this... Show moreTo Love Lucy Linda Peterson Isat on the stiffgrey couch waiting for "I Love Lucy.” I was 4 then, when an orange school bus means Hope. I gazed out the picture window, down the enormous block. Confined within the limits of this block was my freedom. All the children in the world lived on this block. Mother was talking on the telephone, I was trying with impatienCe to Love Lucy. Mother had no time for Lucy's Love, and she turned the T.V. down. Stubbornness won, and Lucy’s voice was raised. Frowning, mother turned it down — again. Decisions are reckless at an early age; dashing to the bedroom I shared with a sister or two, I groped for undershirts in "everybody’s" middle drawer. I ’d need a scapular - a safety device from the "Devil’s Delight”. Suitcase packed, I ’d show her, and Lucy too! I walked with certainty and a clear choice. 34 Show less
(under the grace of the moon) Cami Harris There is no rest for the wary In our vigil we draw under the grace of the moon Obscurities come to life and dance before us enticing us entwining life and mist So few are greeted like this I try to close my arms around the divine to hold it feel it to be... Show more(under the grace of the moon) Cami Harris There is no rest for the wary In our vigil we draw under the grace of the moon Obscurities come to life and dance before us enticing us entwining life and mist So few are greeted like this I try to close my arms around the divine to hold it feel it to be it But with each breath that grows in me gives me life [must know that it already embraces me So in my wakefulness lies my folly my trust misgiving now subsiding I turn under the grace of the moon inside out 81 Show less
”I will not,” I yelled. "Nor will I give this man anything.” I looked at all of them incredulously. The cabby smiled and leaned back in the doorway. The officers were tense. The woman’s eyes were pleading. "Look at my face,” I pointed to the wound. "He did this,” I pointed to the culprit. "Si .”... Show more”I will not,” I yelled. "Nor will I give this man anything.” I looked at all of them incredulously. The cabby smiled and leaned back in the doorway. The officers were tense. The woman’s eyes were pleading. "Look at my face,” I pointed to the wound. "He did this,” I pointed to the culprit. "Si .” Mygflst went down on the desk and the officer grabbed both of my wrists and forced me into a chair. "I want to call the American Embassy,” I demanded, regaining some control. They handed me a phone and I waited while she dialed the number. "Hello, is this the American Embassy?” "It is.” His tone was pleasant and his accent was American. I almost cried in relief. ’You won’t believe what’s happened to me.” I related the whole story. When I finished, he instructed me to give the phone to the woman. She spoke to him in Hebrew for a few minutes. When she returned the receiver, he said, “You must do as they say. Give the cab driver the money and sign the paper.” “What?” I shouted. "You’re not in America. Laws are different here. If you don’t do it, they can detain you in prison.” "How can that be? I was just beat up!” “It’s your word against his and he’s a citizen.” "I don’t believe it.” "You must believe it and do what they tell you. There is very little we can do.” Disheartened and disillusioned, I hung up the phone, obeyed their commands and returned to my hotel. The next day I met with an Embassy official, repeating my story with outrage and indignation. But I was only placated by their apparent helplessness to grant me justice. They encouraged me to chalk it up to experience and stop bothering them. Normally, I would have protested, but somehow I felt I had nothing left to fight with. Show less
Expatriot Lisa Dietz I was in a hurry that day as I charged out of the hotel room we had been renting for three months on the coast in Tel-Aviv. My father was sending me to a store some ten miles outside of town. Calling them ahead of time they told me they were closing, but said they would wait... Show moreExpatriot Lisa Dietz I was in a hurry that day as I charged out of the hotel room we had been renting for three months on the coast in Tel-Aviv. My father was sending me to a store some ten miles outside of town. Calling them ahead of time they told me they were closing, but said they would wait a half hour for me to arrive. It was the only antique store that carried the special Japanese Samari blade that would enhance my father’ s extensive collection. He told me he would never be able to find another like the one they had described on the phone. His excitement had made him impatient and so I hurried to my task. As usual, the streets were bustling with activity. Traffic jams and belching horns were the norm in this city of narrow roadways. Bus drivers called out profanity at cab drivers who in turn cursed the public transportation system of Israel. Buses were too slow and very undependable. The minivans were convenient for short rides, but today these would not do. I hailed a taxi. But experience had taught me never to get into a taxi in this country and let them run the meter. They would charge ten times the fair avail— able to natives. I prepared for negotiations. "Where you going?” called the driver. I told him and waited. IfI got in right away, he would know I was a regular tourist and make ready for the ripoff. "How much?” I asked. "5,000 Shekels.” “2,000,” I said. He eyed me suspiciously. "4,000. Just for you.” "Sorry," Isaid. “3,000 is the most I’ll go.” "Okay, okay, but my kids will starve today.” I got in. I know I could have done better because he gave in too fast. But I was in a h . 1lrryWithin 15 minutes we were out of town and on the windy back roads that marked the desert countryside. "What’s the address?” the driver asked as we approached the smaller town. I told him and he frowned. "I haven’t heard of that before. Where are you going?" My answer didn’t help him, but he assured me that this was a small town, so he shouldn’t have any problems. We wandered through the main streets twice. I looked at my watch impatiently but he seemed unmoved by my restlessness. "Why don’t you ask someone?" I suggested as we pulled to a crowded intersec- tion. "You ask,” he replied. Irritated, I told him, “I don’t speak Hebrew!” He looked back at me, an expression of annoyance flashing across his face. 50 Show less
Arguments Happen in Dr.Leslie Green’s Study (or The Arena) Douglas Haney 1. He loves e le with not getfieautiful faces because (ifonly) he knows he can make them that way. 2. The electric li ht shinin over is broad shoul er and onto his broad back shows him page twenty- two in the anatomy book,... Show moreArguments Happen in Dr.Leslie Green’s Study (or The Arena) Douglas Haney 1. He loves e le with not getfieautiful faces because (ifonly) he knows he can make them that way. 2. The electric li ht shinin over is broad shoul er and onto his broad back shows him page twenty- two in the anatomy book, diagram number 6-A. He knows there is nothing attractive in empty tracts of skin—save a mole or a imple (looked at t rough a. a magnifying glass b. ). "But there is surgery,” he says. "There is costume Leslie Brown, and the art of cosmetic make-up application. ” His feet are on the ground. 30 3. There is a big, bright eye in my eye, a dainty ear," he said to her whispering once upon a time. 4. “And” he boomed recently to those outside his lair, "and I’ve seen a leg or two wit an appealing lack of hair.” 5. Leslie Green’s (she never took his name) victory allows him page twenty- three 6-B, on the life span of modern man. She returns from exercise she says "Froggie where are you” he hears "but he's reading" she thinks. Show less
him. [dumped out the coffee and went to sleep. The next day I decided to finish Louise. I looked at her picture for a while. I only had the eye left to paint and she would be whole. I was just planning the night before to sit and wait for Fredrik. Sleeping changed my mind. I put on coffee for... Show morehim. [dumped out the coffee and went to sleep. The next day I decided to finish Louise. I looked at her picture for a while. I only had the eye left to paint and she would be whole. I was just planning the night before to sit and wait for Fredrik. Sleeping changed my mind. I put on coffee for Fredrik, he would be the first person to see Louise finished. I was being very careful with this part of Louise, because it was important. Putting on the paint in between the percolator noises, so they couldn’t scare me and make me twitch. I was thinking at first of the things I could say to Fredrik and about a price for the mermaid. I would tell him twenty—five dollars. I would also tell him that pale red candles would look good in his place. The coffee smelled good, I hadn’t had that smell in my room for a long time. As I painted I started to feel more confident that Louise’s eye would be good. I was thinking that with both the church and the bar buying candles I could do pretty well. As I painted I was feeling better all the time. I finished Louise. I had known what she’d look like for a long time, but it was better than I’d thought. She is winking. She winks at whoever looks at her. It turned out so good, when she winks at me I sometimes even see her pushing her left shoulder forward. Like she’s pretending to be coy, to hide behind her shoulder, the way sensual women do. I had stopped thinking about the bar owner and was looking at Louise from a chair in front of her. I was sitting and looking at Louise and lost track of time. I was closing my eyw and imagining her hiding in an alley. That’s when he showed up. I heard a car and looked out the window. He had drove up with some man in his black car. The other man stayed in the car. I let him in. Offered him coffee again. He didn’t want any. He sat down in the chair by the table. "I can pay you a buck fifty per candle, for twenty candles a month,” he said. "Can you deal with that?” His staring was already upsetting me, making me nervous. "Yeah," Isaid. I had a cup of coffee and spilled some. My hand was shaking. I set the coffee down and tried to get between him and Louise. "Great!" he said, just like that and staring at me the whole time. “What about the mermaid? How much?” I was wiping coffee off me. I was nervous. I just remembered my idea about twenty-five dollars and asked for that. "Twenty-five bucks? No problem, I love that thing. I know that art’s not cheap.” He got up to see the mermaid closer. He was pressing the palms of his hands together and twisting them. Then he remembered Louise. "Hey, that big one. It’s done, isn’t it? Let me see it.” "No," I said. "What?" he said, even staring at me then. "It’s not dry yet,” I said. "I’m not going to hurt it by looking.” He pushed me out of the way. "It’s not dry yet,” I said. “That is certainly impressive,” he said, stepping forward. "It’s very realistic. You are one hell of an artist there. Now that is atmosphere.” He ran his fingers through his hair. "Forget the mermaid, how much for the dame here?” "But it’s not dry yet.” I talked loud, but he pretended not to hear me. "I really, really like this one. One hundred dollars. I’m sure you could use the 73 Show less
John Mitchell: John Mitchell is thinking about joining the Green Berets and taking potshots at falling stars, to be published by grackles as Berlin Negligee Poems. Jennifer Moore: "1 only use the creative side of my brain.” India Nicole: "Contrary to my hairstyle, my nosering and popular belief,... Show moreJohn Mitchell: John Mitchell is thinking about joining the Green Berets and taking potshots at falling stars, to be published by grackles as Berlin Negligee Poems. Jennifer Moore: "1 only use the creative side of my brain.” India Nicole: "Contrary to my hairstyle, my nosering and popular belief, I am a straight girl living in a commune in South Minneapolis. I usually am the token straight girl, too! Patricia Noren: "Make a hole in your world, you may see something through it.” —Iris Murdoch David 5. Phillips: David is a Junior Computer Science Major from Rochester, Minnesota. Chad Pierro: “Twisted perceptions turn love and ’reality’ into externally subjective, simultaneous things. No matter how many doors and windows you open and lock, someone will find the way inside random tangibles that only you can’t touch. Step outside yourself and turn around—you may just surprise that stranger. Answer your own questions and you’ll become introspectiver confused. If the clouded roads we’re walking down should cross, let’s make the intersection lighted so we can find our way back when we need to. . Suzanne Salhus: Suzanne is a Freshman English and Art major from Robbinsdale, Minnesota. Shayna Schaefer. Sane, but not normal John Schmit: John Schmit teaches English, stares at his editing screen and is no longer allowed to drink coffee. Carla Steen: "As I consider myself neither short nor witty, I am unqualified to write such a statement." Timothy Sudeith: "Birth leming Swimming school Dyslexia School Running Running Summersalts frustration school famly confution family school Books Books word Difence mecanism insight represion skiing friends word friends spirituality insight gift fear understanding strength Arogence Hummilitie Stronger Contentment.” Marilyn Tavares: "It is extremely possible to reach everything and not reach anything because you’ve accomplished nothing, I expect that my name will be somewhere some day only because I expect it to be and dare to make my dream a reality. This is just the beginning. RS. And I’m enjoying it immensely.” Julie Traft: "My cat, who sits on my lap when I write, thanks you for including this poem. It’s his favorite. 87 Show less
Squashed-up-Expanding-Numb Cami Harris stifled emotions stagnant cross—bleary-eyed inanimate seasoned by the clock I seek the hour in which it is right to speak but the motivation is gone thoughts compelled have given way to the steam-roller time which crushes the breathing of my heart into a... Show moreSquashed-up-Expanding-Numb Cami Harris stifled emotions stagnant cross—bleary-eyed inanimate seasoned by the clock I seek the hour in which it is right to speak but the motivation is gone thoughts compelled have given way to the steam-roller time which crushes the breathing of my heart into a nagging black spot on the floor people tread on the floorboards day in day out expectations unfulfilled, griefs internal g0 unrecognized 56— Show less
Thane Of Cawdor Scott Solberg In the halls a darkness brews over a land of forgotten lore where Kings die and Thanes lie wizards laugh and witches cry the story's told by the lies witches weave to fill brave men's minds with doubtful deeds Oh—Scotland how lost you are as ravens fly, children cry,... Show moreThane Of Cawdor Scott Solberg In the halls a darkness brews over a land of forgotten lore where Kings die and Thanes lie wizards laugh and witches cry the story's told by the lies witches weave to fill brave men's minds with doubtful deeds Oh—Scotland how lost you are as ravens fly, children cry, and lightning seen on the night of wicked things Blood stains deeper in the mind then and mortal wound from behind Soon the sane will lose her ways and die within seven days the witches laugh at the games they play as the puppet makes his last mistake 34— Show less
