I was presented your burden though I am still a tourist with a cupboard at home filled with more than rice and beans. I've got your burden on my Golgotha bed stand: a wooden icon that slivers my dreams, nocturnal beatings that say. though I am leaving you. you are ajealous El. and will keep me... Show moreI was presented your burden though I am still a tourist with a cupboard at home filled with more than rice and beans. I've got your burden on my Golgotha bed stand: a wooden icon that slivers my dreams, nocturnal beatings that say. though I am leaving you. you are ajealous El. and will keep me somehow. Ted Fabel Show less
Wrapped Trash ’Ihere are two ways for a glass to break Sudden and explosive, slow and sensual You never notice until it’s already too far gone to save Or you watch the curves shatter into lines with time to spare 'Ihere's shards on the tile now, spreading like seven years bad luck Staring down,... Show moreWrapped Trash ’Ihere are two ways for a glass to break Sudden and explosive, slow and sensual You never notice until it’s already too far gone to save Or you watch the curves shatter into lines with time to spare 'Ihere's shards on the tile now, spreading like seven years bad luck Staring down, and the mirror is so much more accurate Than I can handle, thanI can admit Take a deep breath, (don’t cry, little broken one) Sweep the slivers of truth into a paper bag, wrap them tight (No one need hurt themselves on my trash) and stand at the ‘real' mirror No broken lines, no rough, un-filed edges Clean, controlled, smooth skin, hair ordered Who is this person Kaitlin Nichols l7 Show less
I am tbs im’t, the nothing of it all 7}): Jound qftbe tree in tbtforert When no one it there and it doesn’tfizll ~John Mitchell (sent in an email to Nancy Riestenberg, March, ’04) This year’s edition of Murpby Sguarz is dedicated to the memory and example of John Mitchell, Augsburg’s own Beat... Show moreI am tbs im’t, the nothing of it all 7}): Jound qftbe tree in tbtforert When no one it there and it doesn’tfizll ~John Mitchell (sent in an email to Nancy Riestenberg, March, ’04) This year’s edition of Murpby Sguarz is dedicated to the memory and example of John Mitchell, Augsburg’s own Beat professor, the rowdiest and most refreshing poet-in-residence any college could hope to claim, who dispensed his poems when and to whom he saw fit. He might send you a haiku over email that took your breath away, or tack a napkin scrawled with an imagist William Carlos Williams pastiche to your office door, or hand-deliver a comic paean while you were working in the box office of the Oak Street Cinema before a Truffaut film. He knew his poetic gifts had something to do with magic and luck. When you got one of his poems you felt lucky, found yourself smiling, reconnected to why you were doing what you were doing in the first place. I have seen John Mitchell's poems taped on dorm room walls, pinned to my wife's office cubicle, beamed across colleagues’ computer screens, pasted on a movie poster of Anita Ekberg and Marcello Mastroianni - talismans of ironic grace, warding off the demons of the everyday. Since his death last August, former students, friends, poets, teachers, and artists have told me of a specific Mitchell poem that spoke immediately and relevantly, and seemed urgently theirs. If you were acquainted only with the looping, ensnaring expansiveness of his talk — rhapsodic and rhythmic and Faulknerian - you might think his poems were bound to be discursive and ambling, loose in form, and, of course, funny and surprising. Show less
A Blues Walk Facing a descent One step, two step, three step. blue step Feet hit the cobblestones Muted shades of grey meets blue, meets me Uneven, they rise and stagger like piano keys Up and down, feet making their own music in the night still Companioned by a shadow The gait stretches,... Show moreA Blues Walk Facing a descent One step, two step, three step. blue step Feet hit the cobblestones Muted shades of grey meets blue, meets me Uneven, they rise and stagger like piano keys Up and down, feet making their own music in the night still Companioned by a shadow The gait stretches, retracts Amusing: scuffing, shuffling, dragging, hopping; jazz The blowing of the leaves, The brushing of the wind, Completing the melody And bringing me to Your blue door Katie LaGrave Show less
26 WAR I Surprise would b: netting "Irv-hing if only we bad tint/Br it. -Wislawa Szymborska White sky clamped down over the city. Sunday morning twang from the radio. What do we have time for. we eaters, our gobble mouths open always for more? There is a part of my face I can no longer feel. It... Show more26 WAR I Surprise would b: netting "Irv-hing if only we bad tint/Br it. -Wislawa Szymborska White sky clamped down over the city. Sunday morning twang from the radio. What do we have time for. we eaters, our gobble mouths open always for more? There is a part of my face I can no longer feel. It is numb, a thumbprint of skin where the cancer was, where the nerves have died and gone to heaven. I am going down the cat's tail the way a single long hair will separate from a head, drift down to nest fodder or gunshot. From the dark eyes of the house across the street a father yells at his children - Get in here. Right now! Then white skin in a black window. legs, back, pearls of shoulder. Cars come and go speaking of oil and war. Nothing surprising here. Only the attention of dirty snow and the new grass exposing herself, a rebellious adolescent. Cary Waterman Show less
24 River Road On one side stand large stoic houses with window curtains drawn open. Through the glass I observe sophisticated furniture. elaborate wall-hung decorations, and glimpse how others live. But I do not wish to own a home on River Road. I would have nothing to fill the empty rooms. On the... Show more24 River Road On one side stand large stoic houses with window curtains drawn open. Through the glass I observe sophisticated furniture. elaborate wall-hung decorations, and glimpse how others live. But I do not wish to own a home on River Road. I would have nothing to fill the empty rooms. On the other side the current pushes. A steep drop and nature's maze displace me from the water's banks. Through brush and tree trunks I glimpse beer cans (with labels worn down to the dull aluminum core) littered along the river. But I do not wish to immerse in the water. I lack the muscle to tread against the current. Show less
Naturhistorisches Museum, Vienna, with my father and a hangover Had you seen last night the austere Viennese shake the residual white starch powder from their hair and flood the Danubes of their throats with heurigen mountain wine; had you seen the white cheeks stuffed with blood, the tongues... Show moreNaturhistorisches Museum, Vienna, with my father and a hangover Had you seen last night the austere Viennese shake the residual white starch powder from their hair and flood the Danubes of their throats with heurigen mountain wine; had you seen the white cheeks stuffed with blood, the tongues unpinned from teeth to flap like red flags; and had you howled along, wetly, Ja! Ja! Rock und roll! and nuzzled and pawed and lapped against them— had you, Father, seen those narrow eyes— those eyes behind which Mozart beats time and Klimt waves a paintbrush, those eyes whose corneas are the exalted past— had you seen how those eyes opened to me at last, and how I, for a minute, was Maria Theresia, was Anna Freud, was the Qieen of the Night— you would not point to these preserved carcasses, these fiberglass muscles, wax mouths and eyelids, these pointed dentures behind museum glass, as if I had never seen such fierce death. Kayla Skarbakka l3 Show less
m'l Gull! H mm I'M: A. I natc to «U (or a sun (In. II!" III o'eloa in nu Ming, "In. t'uty-chlla. l - [min on but III. IV lather. 'l'my to" II I n I nu Bounty. l-l :- '1 nth", 1“ I a an! Inc! we thlt mm. It ellllid II On "in about In. lbw! (II canan of Milli. enuanu. lootntu-luonlyluw. l m told... Show morem'l Gull! H mm I'M: A. I natc to «U (or a sun (In. II!" III o'eloa in nu Ming, "In. t'uty-chlla. l - [min on but III. IV lather. 'l'my to" II I n I nu Bounty. l-l :- '1 nth", 1“ I a an! Inc! we thlt mm. It ellllid II On "in about In. lbw! (II canan of Milli. enuanu. lootntu-luonlyluw. l m told can I hav- marl-u ema- Mnhm Mu, nm "-111 Gm“. 1' should have In“. can noon. 1 mt bu rupoulbnuy (a: min". an null mu! Dunn-bu u-utnn of noon-luau! ha" be. “tipped thin to accountability. l .- too «um. Omani": an: n l I an In: “I. I, all" m and lfu'l’ul one an man. I. I1 Ill. ‘1 III. lmI'IMfll-f' It In” "and "m nun or nun would Ill. until-1 un- - um ynhnuy.‘ I I- like .1 mm" in luck] luau“. any on II. In“ 0' an.“ all": and I». «run. but min nu mm a In" [III I“ ll content-me. I (u: "(ulna (or cunning. 3mm. (at uthr. n I III!- Emily Hanson Gracie Show less
34 their extendable leashes have given their owner a nasty rope burn on her bare legs. “Ouch! Ouch, ouch. ouch!” she screams, fighting to hold her dogs back from my disinterested dog. who at this point has decided to leave the forest altogether. “I didn't see you coming at all.‘ she tries to... Show more34 their extendable leashes have given their owner a nasty rope burn on her bare legs. “Ouch! Ouch, ouch. ouch!” she screams, fighting to hold her dogs back from my disinterested dog. who at this point has decided to leave the forest altogether. “I didn't see you coming at all.‘ she tries to explain. and I apologize for the incident. telling her that my dog is really shy and that I hadn't seen her either. Exiting the forest to follow my dog, I hear her repeat herself, "I didn't see you coming at all. . .' Maybe spandex biker shorts and two aggressive dogs attached to two nylon cords isn't the best combination. Deciding that we have had enough of the woods for one day. I walk to the opposite side of the park. towards the vacant playground. Playgrounds today sicken me. A playground is supposed to be made out of wood and metal. There's supposed to be some inherent risk. Now they're plastic and rubber. in every disgusting color you can imagine. Come to think about it, there didn’t used to be much a playground to speak of at all here. The pebble sea that the I-‘isherPrice style playground now inhabits used to be home to slides of all species. As a child, I remember my mom handing my brother and me pieces of cherry licorice as we walked to the park with our dog Jezebel. The twists of licorice reminded me of her red leash. My favorite slide at the park was a tall, spiraling brown one. It couldn't have been taller than two stories, but back then, it felt like I was ascending halfway to the moon. On top of it, you could actually shake the entire structure back and forth. This freaked my mom out, and she seldom would climb up there with me. When I fearlessly slid down the slide. headfirst, she would always be waiting. Walking with Morgan back to the truck. I wonder why Pamela Park feels so comfortably familiar. despite the fact that we have both changed. It seems to me that throughout life we inhabit certain areas temporarily, like hermit crabs and their ephemeral shell homes. It hits me how going to a place you haven't been to in a while can be like meeting a good friend you haven't seen for years. Despite the fact that things change. experiences that we share with people and, oddly enough, locations, can Show less
~"‘*.~Kv.~rm Me. I _ wufrru “w- .1-55‘. sans- Sometimes I see you crying. It reminds me of someone. ..Mark cries, but he's a baby. Lisa cries a lot, but she just does it to bug me. Mommy cries sometimes too. I don't mean to make her cry. It makes me want to cry with her. You bring people to see... Show more~"‘*.~Kv.~rm Me. I _ wufrru “w- .1-55‘. sans- Sometimes I see you crying. It reminds me of someone. ..Mark cries, but he's a baby. Lisa cries a lot, but she just does it to bug me. Mommy cries sometimes too. I don't mean to make her cry. It makes me want to cry with her. You bring people to see me, which is nice. But you don’t bring anyone I know. It reminds me of something. .The first day of school. I'm surrounded by people but I don’t know anyone. It’s very lonely and I’m scared to talk to anyone. They keep talking about things I don't know anything about and look disappointed when I don’t answer. I look at your face and you remind me of someone. ..his name is on the tip of my tongue. He loved me and made me feel safe and his memory skates around my brain like a cloud on a windy day. I haven’t forgotten you; I’ve just forgotten how to remember you. Michele Roulet 39 Show less
\ E make things appear as if no time had ever passed at all. As humans, we 5' seem to grow out of our niches and move on to new territory, leaving ‘ vacancies behind for others to discover. And then, sometimes, we return. Benjamin Belknap 35 u,‘
Protectors of the Innocent I. Destiny: Little Angel; sparkling eyes twinkling with forgiveness though life ended painful you lived it like a princess - just as you were. Beautiful child Your presence on this earth. Though only for a short while Was strong and firm. II. Elijah: Little Prince,... Show moreProtectors of the Innocent I. Destiny: Little Angel; sparkling eyes twinkling with forgiveness though life ended painful you lived it like a princess - just as you were. Beautiful child Your presence on this earth. Though only for a short while Was strong and firm. II. Elijah: Little Prince, smiling with dimples and laughter. So badly are you missed, But you live peacefully in this life's after. Beautiful child an adult could never live your pain, though here only for a short while your smiles forever remains. III. Grown Folks: This is in memory of children we were supposed to protect - may their souls rest. but let ours not get a night's sleep until justice is set and it’s something we can earnestly keep. May their surviving parents find peace. Krystal Mattison 36 Show less
‘ fiat. '.4 7‘. Dennis Dennis wondered who could see, who was watching as the last gasps came slowly revealing his pale waterlogged insides to rooms of people he'd never really gotten to know because every time they spoke the water hissed too loud in his excuses for ears— too deafening for him to... Show more‘ fiat. '.4 7‘. Dennis Dennis wondered who could see, who was watching as the last gasps came slowly revealing his pale waterlogged insides to rooms of people he'd never really gotten to know because every time they spoke the water hissed too loud in his excuses for ears— too deafening for him to hear their musings: “such a shame that Dennis had begun to swim sideways.” "My wasn’t it interesting: the last one had lived for eight years? Amazing as she'd been won at a fair with a ping pong ball dropped in a blue glass bowl a simple flick of the wrist really and Dennis would only be living the customary two years my oh my.” He did not know they felt personally responsible. They dubbed him “Poor Dennis" and told each other that watching Dennis die was hard. - To watch his thin, orange fins tip to the poles of his tank without knowing how to help like watching a beloved dog go through his last motions. Worse, like watching a tree they planted die because they forgot to water it like watching their accidental forest fire destroy acres, like watching all the trees burn (with all their untapped cancer cures) because of their cigarette. Helpless. Dennis had stopped eating and they'd noticed this too. He hid in his castle and listened to the damned hissing. They gave up and threatened to change his name to Mary-Kate. Haha. Dennis did not hear this either. He didn't know they'd discussed what to do with him. The lake or under the tree? Dennis surely would've preferred either to the looming American Standard in the master bathroom. Dennis did not hear this as he tipped again and let the murky water come in and out. Sarah Gilbert 37 Show less
