Sign She motions to her mother with petite black fingers. Simultaneously, ike the quick refreshment from a concentrated breath, a lack of sound :weeps over the street. The grey sidewalk muffles every sound around us— .ny footsteps soften and voices vanish, as if a breeze carries their echoes... Show moreSign She motions to her mother with petite black fingers. Simultaneously, ike the quick refreshment from a concentrated breath, a lack of sound :weeps over the street. The grey sidewalk muffles every sound around us— .ny footsteps soften and voices vanish, as if a breeze carries their echoes another direction. I’m catching up with the pair, since they move at a six-year-old’s pace. . slide to the mother’s left to pass and notice that no one is in front of them. {Slank sidewalk until the next street down, scattered with bits of litter and "emnants of puddles. The mother signs in return and the girl's pigtails shake as she raises her mile to the grey English sky. No huge busses barrel past, no black cabs .putter at the curb, no mobiles alert their owners. I cross in front of them and glance back as the girl lowers her shining 'ace and lets out an unbridled shout—unapologetic—pure joy in a sound ' he doesn’t know she is making. Her pigtails bounce while her eyes squint mcontrollably. Two more steps and I am in front of them. The sound of my boots etums, a dull click on the cement. An American voice shouts to his friend m a window. A pub door swings open and voices roll out with clouds of moke and laughter. [breathe again and continue on. Jeff Moores 45 Show less
Burning Papers in the Park l've cleaned out my files I‘m moving on shedding skins and papers and check registers my tax returns for the 905 directions for the electric waffle maker receipts for drugs I needed auto insurance stubs my assets my debits In the park the gnats are out and they are biting... Show moreBurning Papers in the Park l've cleaned out my files I‘m moving on shedding skins and papers and check registers my tax returns for the 905 directions for the electric waffle maker receipts for drugs I needed auto insurance stubs my assets my debits In the park the gnats are out and they are biting. The sky‘s a dreamy blue. Trees twirl in their fall dresses. And old Blue Heron flies over from lake to river. She doesn’t own much. Only her long legs stretched out like pencils writing the weather. the coming cold. Cary Waterman 16 Show less
he usually pushed his plate away afier a few bites. silently drinking his wine while she hurriedly finished. She remembered their first summer together afler the wedding, living in the tiny one-bedroom apartment. There was barely room for two chairs on their balcony; they would sit out there for... Show morehe usually pushed his plate away afier a few bites. silently drinking his wine while she hurriedly finished. She remembered their first summer together afler the wedding, living in the tiny one-bedroom apartment. There was barely room for two chairs on their balcony; they would sit out there for hours each evening. talking until they were sleepy. or the bugs found them and forced them inside. Then they would go to bed, sleeping huddled close. If he fell asleep first, she would listen to him breathe. letting the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest draw her into sleep. Now his trips had become longer and longer. They stretched from two days to three and then four. He didn‘t call her every night anymore, and she didn‘t ask why. When he was home, they played their scenes like professionals. She made their meals, they talked and had sex. She was lonely, but she didn‘t know how to get to him. She didn‘t have that key anymore. It pained her to try; the locks had been changed. but both of them pretended she still lived there. It was easy and safe. And now afler five years, it all came down to a plastic strip full of urine sitting on the bathroom counter. She left the room, paced the hall. looked at the phone. She would have to call him if he didn‘t call her. In the bathroom she picked up the strip. Pink stripes on the little window meant you were pregnant, and she was. She stared at the strip for a long time, as if waiting for it to speak. She threw it in the trash and went to the phone. She heard the fumace kick on as she dialed her mother, who answered on the second ring. “Hello?” “Hey Mom." “Hi honey. How are you?“ Her mother had that great way of making you feel interesting and invaluable and light as cotton candy. “l...l'm pregnant.” Outside, leaves were falling in a random haze of yellow and crimson. They blurred through her tears. “You‘re pregnant! That’s wonderful! Isn‘t that wonderful?“ “I guess so." Cathryn‘s body longed to lie down and give in. “What does George think, honey?“ “He doesn‘t know. He’s in Houston." She wiped her eyes with a Kleenex and sniffled. “Mom, could I. . .would you and Dad ever let me live with you for a while?" 10 Show less
Sign She motions to her mother with petite black fingers. Simultaneously, like the quick refreshment from a concentrated breath, a lack of sound sweeps over the street. The grey sidewalk muffles every sound around us— my footsteps sofien and voices vanish, as if a breeze carries their echoes another... Show moreSign She motions to her mother with petite black fingers. Simultaneously, like the quick refreshment from a concentrated breath, a lack of sound sweeps over the street. The grey sidewalk muffles every sound around us— my footsteps sofien and voices vanish, as if a breeze carries their echoes another direction. I’m catching up with the pair, since they move at a six-year-old‘s pace, I slide to the mother’s lefi to pass and notice that no one is in front of them. Blank sidewalk until the next street down, scattered with bits of litter and remnants of puddles. The mother signs in return and the girl‘s pigtails shake as she raises her smile to the grey English sky. No huge busses barrel past, no black cabs sputter at the curb, no mobiles alert their owners. I cross in front of them and glance back as the girl lowers her shining face and lets out an unbridled shout—unapologetic—pure joy in a sound she doesn’t know she is making. Her pigtails bounce while her eyes squint uncontrollably. Two more steps and I am in front of them. The sound of my boots returns, a dull click on the cement. An American voice shouts to his friend out a window. A pub door swings open and voices roll out with clouds of smoke and laughter. I breathe again and continue on. Jeff Moores 45 Show less
Cucumber Magic Peace-filled daydreams dramatized by humans discover That things are not the way they seem is to be a liar Tripping down to the floor I adore the footsteps from a beloved‘s breath Her breasts that give life by thoughts of delight lncriminated innuendoes my heartbeat crescendos to... Show moreCucumber Magic Peace-filled daydreams dramatized by humans discover That things are not the way they seem is to be a liar Tripping down to the floor I adore the footsteps from a beloved‘s breath Her breasts that give life by thoughts of delight lncriminated innuendoes my heartbeat crescendos to your room And thoughts of your womb became the crutch l thought I knew love Trembling back and forth in my mind I rub my stone Your box of kindness holds it in place Back inside I hide my face You want a love bolder than me but I need you to set me free Your womb became my cmtch Because on you I hold a Crush my heart in the palm of my hand I am glad it‘s made ofstone The right lobe is bigger than the left Peace-filled daydreams turn to nightmares do I think too far A headliner knows when to stop a show but that is why I never take the Stage I rage inside and hug outside and die a little from cucumber magic Why eat a vegetable ovum? lfonly I could eat a human'sjuices Lapping up I would sup on the nectar that you provide Until the clear graceful tide subsides I then would glide my oral oyster up and out past your navel and into your Mouth Making stops at your two erect spots Trembling florescence of empty bridges bite the brightness ofyour Headlights Vaginal disruptions my mind an eruption of corruption Disfigured dandelion wine And dine you till you have forgotten your thoughts of me as a nonsexual 26 Show less
God’s Eyes I knew a girl with a smile that could save the world, A small, upturned nose. perpetually red at the tip, And eyes sadder than God‘s staring at His creation. She deserted her family, Abandoned her best friend, Casting them off like yesterday‘s garbage. She clung to him, While he was... Show moreGod’s Eyes I knew a girl with a smile that could save the world, A small, upturned nose. perpetually red at the tip, And eyes sadder than God‘s staring at His creation. She deserted her family, Abandoned her best friend, Casting them off like yesterday‘s garbage. She clung to him, While he was there. A seventeen—year-old carbon copy, Ofthe father that left her, too. Her stomach swelled. She traded college applications, And family Christmases, For warm bottles. Welfare checks, Lipstick-stained collars. And when he left, The way her father had. She had the same things her mother was left with. Babies to raise, A family she turned her back on, And the ashes of a long dead friendship. I know a woman whose smiles are small, Hoarded like diamonds and harder than concrete. Her eyes are disillusioned, And cruel. Her nose, small, upturned, and perpetually red, Is the only sign ofthe girl she once was. 6 Show less
It’s from the other side of the room, though, that I see an eye like a hovering candle. And for a moment the glow seems to dispel the oppression of the indigo, But I shake myself free of the trance and wrap myself in the protection of the blanket. l squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to think... Show moreIt’s from the other side of the room, though, that I see an eye like a hovering candle. And for a moment the glow seems to dispel the oppression of the indigo, But I shake myself free of the trance and wrap myself in the protection of the blanket. l squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to think only about my blanket But nothing can stop the nightmare now that it’s free The eye moves closer through the murky indigo I tell myself I'm sleeping even though I’m poised to throw another pillow Then all at once I reach out—on impulse—for my candle It’s gone. And I instantly know who took it: the dragon. Under the dragon’s approach I in my blanket, Longing for my candle to set me free, Put my pillow between myselfand the suffocating indigo. Laura Eliason 71 Show less
First Time Slightly anxious, she waits. He enters, closes the door, turns of? the lights. He glides to where she waits. He sofily asks questions; she gives one-word answers. He moves closer; she breathes in his afiershave. Then he moves away, goes to the door, turns on the light, smiles. “20/20.... Show moreFirst Time Slightly anxious, she waits. He enters, closes the door, turns of? the lights. He glides to where she waits. He sofily asks questions; she gives one-word answers. He moves closer; she breathes in his afiershave. Then he moves away, goes to the door, turns on the light, smiles. “20/20. Come back in one year.” Amy Bethke 41 Show less
FOREWORD job/1 A I fir/11W As a title, iMm‘plIy Square came into being in the spring of 1975; I was on leave for two years in San Francisco and know the change occurred while I was away. At first I thought the name odd, and still have no idea who thought ofit or how it actually came about. I do... Show moreFOREWORD job/1 A I fir/11W As a title, iMm‘plIy Square came into being in the spring of 1975; I was on leave for two years in San Francisco and know the change occurred while I was away. At first I thought the name odd, and still have no idea who thought ofit or how it actually came about. I do know that faithful and meticulous Lorraine Livingston was the faculty adviser. In the immediately preceding years, the literary magazine had been called Jrltul, Grgflin. Loose Change, and Burnt Sugar, stilted, jazzy, and enigmatic names that changed almost yearly. In previous decades, coldly allusive literary names like The Din/(Margaret Fuller's famous transcendentalist magazine in the 184-05) had beggared identity and status. The more I thought about it, the better I liked the new name. I marveled that no one had thought of it previ- ously, this coming down and back to our very place on earth. It was our own, not a classical or alien allusion. Murphy Square is the oldest park in Minneapolis, the oldest free and public space in the city. The title. I reck— oned, signified the playful license poets and creative people need to feel and speak truthfully and amusingly—a freely creative zone now identified with the magazine itself. Although the square is enclosed by Augsburg College and the freeway, it is not owned nor regulated by the college. Although writers and artists are associated with the college, they are not controlled by it. Like the circle, the square may also be seen as a symbol of perfection or, short of that lofty aspiration, a symbol of wholeness and centered or squared—away integrity. Because of this line of reasoning, I am grateful for the con- tinuity of the name for the past 30 years, as opposed to a string ofidiosyncratic appellations not many alumni would likely remember and be able to refer to. More personally, I get more pleasure from being published in .Murp/zy Square than from a nationally distribut— ed magazine. Why? Well, more people are likely to read my work, people I know and care about, and readers who will be more able to construe it in terms of my known local identity. To put it in literary jargon, I have the chance to be a public poet rather than merely a private one. IVIurpIIy Square gives me a sense of a reading public, a community to write to and for and about, the dream of most artists, including minor ones. Show less
Albert’s Reign Albert couldn't be late that day. The young woman he'd trained in. who‘d graduated from the same college as Albert but long after his football reign, had become his boss now. and she was in the habit of calling early morning meetings and telling the others who sat behind the... Show moreAlbert’s Reign Albert couldn't be late that day. The young woman he'd trained in. who‘d graduated from the same college as Albert but long after his football reign, had become his boss now. and she was in the habit of calling early morning meetings and telling the others who sat behind the dividers all around Albert’s cubicle that the team-building session would start at 8 am. - even if Albert's bus was late — as it often was. She had announced there would be another meeting that morning. and Albert was determined to be on time. He jumped out of bed when the alarm rang. showered, shaved‘ washed his hair and combed it neatly into place over the spot above the lefi temple where he imagined it might be thinning. He Iefi his apartment ten minutes early, slogged through three feet of snow that had fallen ovemight. and despite his football knee that had started to ache again the day after his fonieth birthday. he was there at the bus stop with two minutes to spare. But Albert hadn‘t counted on the snowplows. One. two. three of them. snorting and scraping from the center of the avenue to the edge. They reminded Albert of an old movie scene, was it Dr. Zhivago? A locomotive pumping toward him ~ no. three locomotives — the first pushing the deep snow into a fun-ow. the second building it. the third lifiing the giant wedge onto its wide blade and forcing a heavy pyramid of crusted ice and snow onto the curb at Alben’s feet. It was as though the earth around the bus stop had suddenly become misshapen. a mountain had been piled up between him and his chance to be a team player at the morning meeting. and he was going to have to scale this heap and climb to the top of the mound of snow that had been banked between him and the bus that was fuming toward him behind a screen of frozen air. Albeit wedged the right toe of his all-weather boot into the icy cliff. then — teetering as he held his briefcase in one hand and his grocery bag of lunch products in the other — he ascended further up the mound. Wobbling in defense of his sore right knee at first, then slipping ever so slightly to the lefi. he regained his equilibrium and moved further up the crag. He held both arms out like a man balancing on a tight wire, and took step after step. Gingerly, carefully, steadily he climbed. And finally, he was there. at the top. He had conquered the mountain. He was king ofthe hill. He stood at the crest and surveyed his world from the crown of snow and ice lefi by the plows. Albert could see clearly from this height. The 22 Show less
