WE’VE LEFT THIS SPACE FOR YOU!! NOW YOU TOO CAN BE IN THE MURPHY SQUARE. WRITE YOUR PIECE IN HERE — SHOW YOUR FAMILY, SHOW YOUR FRIENDS! THEY’LL BE SO PROUD.
Trundle,Trundle Graceful, gangly trees joints budding full of fungus orange, white-bellied discs, exploding from their bough-wrapped nests. And twigs fishing air with leaves on worn red threads darting, quick, this way to that pitter pat Soil heaves up rocks ‘neath roots bows them up, cracks their... Show moreTrundle,Trundle Graceful, gangly trees joints budding full of fungus orange, white-bellied discs, exploding from their bough-wrapped nests. And twigs fishing air with leaves on worn red threads darting, quick, this way to that pitter pat Soil heaves up rocks ‘neath roots bows them up, cracks their skin allows a dreamer to begin to see the symmetry of every tree. Sweating arms and bicept creases lay down speckled slabs in slated paths soil heaves up rocks ‘neath boots and cracks the concrete like pie crust, under black—souled boots. Flowered dresses skip along white. white shoes bounce light, light moves dances off of teeth and lips and burgeoning tits. Sweating hands massage and knead out nipples knuckles spotted red with pimples and coarse with white hairs Show less
4 1 g l l y Daddy’s Little Girl She had felt this way all her life. She would never be good enough. Never be smart enough. Never make him proud. Her life would always be one great mistake that she could never set right. Thirteen years had passed, but his words continue to long haunt her memory.... Show more4 1 g l l y Daddy’s Little Girl She had felt this way all her life. She would never be good enough. Never be smart enough. Never make him proud. Her life would always be one great mistake that she could never set right. Thirteen years had passed, but his words continue to long haunt her memory. At night, his voice overpowers sleep and she awakes without a sound. Her screams remain unheard and her cheeks are stained with tears. She sat huddled at the top of the staircase. Her dog, Chancellor, sat valiantly beside her and allowed the child to hug him. He was her protector, her noble guardian. The child buried her head in the dog's soft fur hoping to drown out the voices from below. She clung tighter and tighter t0 the dog, but the man's voice rang through the house and echoed in her ears. The child did not dare make a sound. She buried her face further into the dog's soft body and tried to hide from the sharpness of his words. A tear escaped its prison and she quickly wiped it away. She would not cry. The child could barely hear her mother pleading with the man. Her mother had a soft voice — a silent voice. She wished her mother would be louder. Maybe if her mother was louder it would make the man go away. Go far away. Not just for a few days like he did sometimes, but for good. Forever. Then she wouldn't Show less
You Didn’t Really Believe You didn’t really believe I’d return for my belongings, did you? Entering, once again I see the grayness in your walls, Staring at me with those melancholy eyes. Perhaps the truth has just come to you like a twenty—four—hour seven—day—a—week sunburn with its rash... Show moreYou Didn’t Really Believe You didn’t really believe I’d return for my belongings, did you? Entering, once again I see the grayness in your walls, Staring at me with those melancholy eyes. Perhaps the truth has just come to you like a twenty—four—hour seven—day—a—week sunburn with its rash swelling at your neck. It must itch like the chicken pox you gave me when I was twenty—two. I know you’re here in these walls, cause I can feel the scratching, or is that your dog at the back steps? And what I want to know is, where's my innocence? You don’t think you can hide it from me, do you? It’s mine and I'm taking it with me. What else do you think I came here for? You think I only get one shot at innocence? Now where did you leave those broken promises? Your stairs are creaking and moaning 0‘ Show less
\Vhile it appears at least to this alien that the new wave of armchair surfing is a meditative experience for some. including my husband. when left out of my control. I find it incites me to emotions most mediators try to avoid. The din of flashing lights and flipping images at midnight drives me to... Show more\Vhile it appears at least to this alien that the new wave of armchair surfing is a meditative experience for some. including my husband. when left out of my control. I find it incites me to emotions most mediators try to avoid. The din of flashing lights and flipping images at midnight drives me to a hellacious interlude \n'th my cherished spouse of at least 22 years. On the rare occa— sion when I do allow myself to become captivated by a scene the abrupt intrusion of the Minnesota Gophers leaves me. like an unexpected dousing of ice water, lin'd. I‘d prefer to do my meditating to the hum of a sening machine. Gretchen “'aldeland Show less
Augsburg College Lindell Library Minneapolis, MN 55454 Special Thanks: Flaire Print Communications, Inc., Norman Holen, Kristin Anderson, and the rest of the Art Department, John Mitchell and the rest of the English Department, Boyd Koehler, and anyone else who listened to us complain about this... Show moreAugsburg College Lindell Library Minneapolis, MN 55454 Special Thanks: Flaire Print Communications, Inc., Norman Holen, Kristin Anderson, and the rest of the Art Department, John Mitchell and the rest of the English Department, Boyd Koehler, and anyone else who listened to us complain about this book. Show less
either of you." Her mother was terribly wrong. She did under— stand. The man didn’t love her. She had known it a long time ago, but somehow hearing it had shattered something in the little girl. His words had pierced her soul and stolen her innocence. The man had nothing more to say. There was... Show moreeither of you." Her mother was terribly wrong. She did under— stand. The man didn’t love her. She had known it a long time ago, but somehow hearing it had shattered something in the little girl. His words had pierced her soul and stolen her innocence. The man had nothing more to say. There was nothing left to steal. He left that night. For good. The next morning the girl awoke and helped her mother scrub the man from their lives. When they had finished, the girl had called for her dog. Chancellor never came. The girl searched for him for weeks, but she never found him. She later learned that the man had returned late in the night to gather his belongings. Chancellor had been the price that she had paid for silence. She and her mother never spoke of that night, but it remained locked away in the child’s memory. Sometimes at night, her mother would curl up with her and softly sing the child to sleep. The girl would cry for her lost protector and the daddy she had longed to have. Her mother would wipe her tears and would promise that everything would work out. She told the girl that her daddy was just sick and was trying hard to be a good daddy. On these nights, the girl believed her mother. She prayed her daddy would get better and love her again. The girl never quit listening for the man’s footsteps in the driveway, and her treasures remained hidden. They stood in the doorway waiting for their cue. Show less
Portrait of 21 Homeless Man Creative Non—Fiction He looked old for 35, wearing a well—worn black bandanna to hold his hairline. The stubble on his face partially hid the cuts and gashes that ran from above his right eye to the point of his rounded chin. “All my front teeth are fake." he boasted... Show morePortrait of 21 Homeless Man Creative Non—Fiction He looked old for 35, wearing a well—worn black bandanna to hold his hairline. The stubble on his face partially hid the cuts and gashes that ran from above his right eye to the point of his rounded chin. “All my front teeth are fake." he boasted as he told me a story of the knife fight he got into on his let birthday. He offered his wrists to show several thick cuts running horizontally down to his fingers. “I was legally dead for five minutes." he said. He wore a black three—button polo style shirt covered by a royal blue Adidas jacket. His Target brand sweatpants were a dirty black, which frayed as they met his well—worn working boots. Two cross tattoos were cut into both of his arms. One was on his right shoulder and the other was on his left fore- arm. Billy's father died 15 years ago, when he was 19. His mom lived in Devils Lake. North Dakota, at the time. “\Vhen I was a little boy. she was an alcoholic. My step Dad was very abusive... \Vhen I was seven. I ran away to my real Dad's house.” After that. Billy lived in seven dilferent juvenile centers before he turned 18. Billy sleeps on the floor at the Catholic Charities Show less
Sonnet # 4 I alone know why the midnight’s beauty Lays itself before the glory of dawn. In turn, the brilliant sun should wait as long For dusk to fulfill its own heart's duty. Shadows are cast by the sun, and truly Sustain the sun until dusk — to belong \Yith the night, where the stars burn with... Show moreSonnet # 4 I alone know why the midnight’s beauty Lays itself before the glory of dawn. In turn, the brilliant sun should wait as long For dusk to fulfill its own heart's duty. Shadows are cast by the sun, and truly Sustain the sun until dusk — to belong \Yith the night, where the stars burn with love strong. Stars are the thoughts by night of love duly. This beauty of midnight’s complexion Seems distanced by the brilliance of the sun. Forever destined by separation, Both still revolve for brief moments as one. I as well know painful segregation And still I wait in vain for you to come. Dan Madsen 26 Show less
have to sit waiting to hear his footsteps in the driveway. The sound of glass breaking caused her tojump and Chancellor moved closer to the girl. She wondered what treasures would survive his wrath this time. More crashing noises. The girl stroked the dog's head. Probablyjust the window. In the... Show morehave to sit waiting to hear his footsteps in the driveway. The sound of glass breaking caused her tojump and Chancellor moved closer to the girl. She wondered what treasures would survive his wrath this time. More crashing noises. The girl stroked the dog's head. Probablyjust the window. In the morning she would awake and silently help her mother clean up the wreck— age of their house. She had begun hiding things that her grandma had given her, and this thought comforted the girl. These were her treasures, not his. Her mother had laughed and told the child that it was her first hope chest. The girl laughed too because her mother had called it hope. Hope had flown away long ago. Deep down the child secretly yearned that he would learn to love her, but she was tired of being frightened and now she prayed for silence. The noises stopped and the girl crept halfway down the stairs. Chancellor moved beside her. She heard her mother crying, begging the man to quiet down. She said he would wake the child. “Goddamn it, Peggy, that’s all you ever think about! I work to support this family and you spend every penny I make. What the hell do you do around this house? Nothing — that’s what. My dinner’s burnt, the house is a mess, and you just whine about the fuck— ing kid.” “Dave, please..." “Please what? Tell me. Tell me, Peggy, what do you ever do that’s right?" “I'll try harder," her mother sobbed. “I'll quit Show less
as I cross their backs. They must feel the power in my step. My strength intimidates you, doesn’t it? \Vell. don’t worry, I'm leaving soon, the keys are on the counter. Yes. I'm going. You know I am. I was losing my soul with you. feeling hollowed out like ajaCk-o—lantern, dug into by dirty... Show moreas I cross their backs. They must feel the power in my step. My strength intimidates you, doesn’t it? \Vell. don’t worry, I'm leaving soon, the keys are on the counter. Yes. I'm going. You know I am. I was losing my soul with you. feeling hollowed out like ajaCk-o—lantern, dug into by dirty fingernails. Only my pumpkin guts are still under your nails, aren't they? And you still just don’t get it, do you? Yes, I’m taking my toothbrush. No, you can't have it. Yours will now sit alone in that rusty “mount it yourself" holder, the same way I felt when I was with you. And so here I am, standing before you now, I say, I say I'm here to take back my broken feathers and my waffle iron. Cynthia Truitt Lynch Show less
Courting on the empty river shores at dusk and smothered in fog rusted iron wires whip out of cement blocks like courting serpents and gnash streams of clean air through the mist which darts and closes around half-concealed shapes great rocks that ebb out of the cloudy grey and force it, for a... Show moreCourting on the empty river shores at dusk and smothered in fog rusted iron wires whip out of cement blocks like courting serpents and gnash streams of clean air through the mist which darts and closes around half-concealed shapes great rocks that ebb out of the cloudy grey and force it, for a wink, away as liquid as the still, cool river footfalls clatter through the orange—brown pockmarked walls and shake plaster of? the tips of roots so intrusive to these halls they squirm their way through mouldy dirt and soil as liquid as the still, cool river shadows whisper, trickle out across the floor across the street in the street lamp heat come flutter down, and beat beat beat and tip tip tip and drip drip drip and slither sultry like an inky sheet darkness gathers, licks and slathers shattered clam shells tic and lift above a cloud of murk and mud the river passes over all 34- Show less
Seven Moodiness and melancholy, your fuming fits of despair are second only to the almost delight you take in moments of self—pitying misery Comical in its tragicness, you bear the burdens of the world on such small little shoulders. And I wish I could remember what it feels like to be seven.... Show moreSeven Moodiness and melancholy, your fuming fits of despair are second only to the almost delight you take in moments of self—pitying misery Comical in its tragicness, you bear the burdens of the world on such small little shoulders. And I wish I could remember what it feels like to be seven. Sharon Rolenc 30 Show less
branch 11. or as he calls it, “the tramp camp." He’s been living there for six years. "Basically, my average day I get up at 4- a.m., out of the tramp camp at 4:30. I am always at the unemployment service by 5." Billy cur— rently works at GS Electric's, where he converts small motors found in... Show morebranch 11. or as he calls it, “the tramp camp." He’s been living there for six years. "Basically, my average day I get up at 4- a.m., out of the tramp camp at 4:30. I am always at the unemployment service by 5." Billy cur— rently works at GS Electric's, where he converts small motors found in scrap piles into larger motors for exer- cise equipment. It is free for Billy to stay at the Catholic Charities building, but to sleep in a bed at the Salvation Army, it costs $7 a night, or $35 a week. This is where most of his money goes, when he has some. When Billy was asked if he was worried about getting sick from living in a shelter, he replied, “I’m always sick. My stomach is fucked up. It’s not easy liv- ing with 250 other dudes who don’t shower. You don't know where they’ve been. Sometimes I worry about catching body lice or some shit." He is checked for HIV and other blood born illnesses by giving plasma. This is his other occupation. He goes twice a week, and has for 15 years. He has dime—sized scars that stand thick off both arms from where they take the plasma. For how tough Billy's life seems he keeps himself going by setting strong goals. He would like to have an apartment by next January. Even if he had the money for rent, it would still be nearly impossible to be approved with no solid job, no references, and no cur— rent address. Billy has cleaned himself up from drugs 13 Show less