“You said it might have died anyway." Several bars appeared, one hand like a slow claw, vertical lines cutting the box into pieces, striping the world outside into opaque, clear, opaque, clear, opaque. “It’s dead now," she said, “that was years ago. But I let it live a little while longer. I didn... Show more“You said it might have died anyway." Several bars appeared, one hand like a slow claw, vertical lines cutting the box into pieces, striping the world outside into opaque, clear, opaque, clear, opaque. “It’s dead now," she said, “that was years ago. But I let it live a little while longer. I didn’t want it to die then." “If you could bring it back, would you?" Leaning back, she sighed, again watching the moth fluttering against the window, the soft rhythm of it's body hitting the glass again and again still only barely audible in the silence. “What would I do with it?” she asked. "I couldn't keep it around. It’s winter.” “You could put a few nice plants in a room and let it in there." “I couldn't keep a garden of weeds to feed it, much less nice plants." She stated at the corner of the office, where the books that were never read collected timeless dust. “It'd be better to let it go. Or just not bring it back at all." “What if keeping it wasn't an issue? What if it would just stay with you and alive no matter what?” She looked at the pillow dully for a moment, then to the smears that her fog drawing had left on the window. The moth had drifted down, still desperately flittering against the glass, convinced that the in the light of the outside world, that away from the warmth and comfort of the room, true freedom called. Her eyes followed it as it flew against the vague box she had left. With an almost gentle motion, she cupped her hand over the moth, paused, and then pressed down. She lifted her hand and gazed at it with a detached sort of disgust, asking, “Why would I want to keep some- thing if I couldn't lose it?" Kaitlin Nichols 23 Show less
something awful. She's shaking her head at me. But she looks good in the outfit she's wearing: a plaid skirt with a business coat, red heels. It shows off her hips and ass. "That's disgusting," she says to me. "The pope or my penis," I say. "Both," Carla says. This hurts my feelings a little bit.... Show moresomething awful. She's shaking her head at me. But she looks good in the outfit she's wearing: a plaid skirt with a business coat, red heels. It shows off her hips and ass. "That's disgusting," she says to me. "The pope or my penis," I say. "Both," Carla says. This hurts my feelings a little bit. "Why do you say things like that?" I say to her. "Like what?" "Like you think my penis is disgusting." "I didn't say that." "No, but you implied it." "Whatever." "You liked it last night," I wanted to remind her that it was last night she couldn't get enough of me. "Hurry up Bob, I'm running late," she says. "Tell me you liked it and I'll finish getting ready," I was trying to play with her. "I'm late," Carla said. "Tell me." "Knock it off, get ready or I'm leaving." "Come on, tell me my penis is pretty." Now we're in the bathroom fighting about my penis. I want to be careful here. i don't want to let it get out hand. I don't want her to talk about size, call me a space saver, Jimmy Dean, that sort of thing. We've been doin' it less lately. She says we don't communi- cate. Maybe we don't. I spit my toothpaste into the sink and hit the faucet. I know this going to be a big deal. i can see her eyes boiling like pretty brown poached eggs. "Jesus Christ Bob, I just cleaned the bathroom." "1'" clean it baby, don't worry, see no big deal." | scooped the spittle into my hand. I made a mistake. I grabbed the hand towel. Then she starts. "it's a big deal because I end up cleaning everything. Now I have to wash the towel," "That's what the towel is for, wiping our hands on." 5‘) Show less
UNFULFILLED A poem's line lingers: "Wonder what fulfillment means." Jars me, wondering. KATHRYN SWANSON REALITY Students listen with Polite, surface attention; Scream wild words inside. KATHRYN SWANSON 36
angiv Earth’s Potential Sonnet Hazel, tan, golden hues He takes the season in his hand Twirling, brushing, dragging: every stroke unplanned Autumn's spirit the artist's muse Yellow, greens, orange, and blues She introduces her feet to the land Her sojourn to nature, company well planned And... Show moreangiv Earth’s Potential Sonnet Hazel, tan, golden hues He takes the season in his hand Twirling, brushing, dragging: every stroke unplanned Autumn's spirit the artist's muse Yellow, greens, orange, and blues She introduces her feet to the land Her sojourn to nature, company well planned And through the colors and the hues, spring reveals its early news With Mother's natural grace Colors emerge, shy and then bold Reflecting in your eyes, her scene takes place Now watch as it will unfold You rejoice, content in the pace As life happens, and Earth’s story is told Katie LaGrave 27 Show less
REMEMBERING THE MAINE (IN THE APPROPRIATE SOCIALIST FASHION) We bagged and brought our lack of thought, opened our ears to the flute God's daughter wasted her serenade while talking under rum-stained breath. Us: hungry for jazz, smoked up, boozed and in the band. too cool. The girls want seamless... Show moreREMEMBERING THE MAINE (IN THE APPROPRIATE SOCIALIST FASHION) We bagged and brought our lack of thought, opened our ears to the flute God's daughter wasted her serenade while talking under rum-stained breath. Us: hungry for jazz, smoked up, boozed and in the band. too cool. The girls want seamless Miami nightlife woven into sun on the beach. our dress shoes swab the sidewalk — We are as lime washed as frescoes of Jose Marti on dimly lit Old Havana street corners. The tatty cobblestones rubbed with years of freighted conversation speak of the educated, philanthropic ideologies on billboards and murals. Ancestral anecdotes are scrawl on the wall: 220 Popes on a boat sent sailing for Spain; students dead in a bullet soaked sandwich truck; Servants clean bleeding marble steps before they learn to read — Revolution reads Venceremos. Revels in the dance of hope burning in emaciated chests. The beginning is a drum, the percussion of sticks on the Benbé. The rhythm of Revolution is not in the ownership of skin stretched across wood, but in the beating of fists on the rich man‘s door — Music is Revolution‘s moral twin, an ever-passionate mentor to mindless, overdressed rascals; motivator to factory workers riveting tractors into tanks. Music is the maddening directional signal prodding us nakedly, furiously, forward because Music is about time, Time run out — ORION WISNESS 67 Show less
Ethel and George "I love you, I love you, I love you so well — If I had a peanut, I’d give you the shell." Ethel Lundy Webb (Circa 1905) Pillows too soft, comforter heavy against my belly. l slid out from under the covers and reluctantly placed my feet on the floor. The cold linoleum caused my... Show moreEthel and George "I love you, I love you, I love you so well — If I had a peanut, I’d give you the shell." Ethel Lundy Webb (Circa 1905) Pillows too soft, comforter heavy against my belly. l slid out from under the covers and reluctantly placed my feet on the floor. The cold linoleum caused my toes to curl upward and my pulse to quicken. Trying to ignore the cold. I drug my body down the spiral stair case and into the kitchen. “Good morning sleepy head.” It was always sleepy head whether I entered the kitchen rubbing my eyes or if I entered with a smile and a gallop. Always sleepy head. Grandpap would rise from his stoop by the window, the one that led to his bedroom beyond the door, and after breakfast. He'd open the large white pantry doors and continue the ritual. "Want some corn flakes.” I'd shake my head — no way — grown up cereal. “How about some Lucky Charms," he'd say with the same exuberance that he would if he were offering up the pot of gold. Lucky Charms. I knew at Grandpap's farm 1 could pick out the yellow moons. green clovers, and pink stars and suffer no consequence. Upon pulling the box from the pantry. he'd wander back to his stoop, box in hand, and call up towards the bedroom door "Ethel?" He'd smile like a cat at his game knowing full well she would not emerge from the stairs. The bathroom door would pop open and out would come Show less
that I could easily be snatched by such a tentacle from more than two car-lengths away by an animal whose body is as long as my Honda Civic. As the documentary went on, showing an expedition of sci- entists who were trying to see a live Giant Squid in its habitat for the first time. I went over... Show morethat I could easily be snatched by such a tentacle from more than two car-lengths away by an animal whose body is as long as my Honda Civic. As the documentary went on, showing an expedition of sci- entists who were trying to see a live Giant Squid in its habitat for the first time. I went over to the desk, pushed my homework aside, and got onto the Internet so that I could both watch the television and surf to find out more about these squid at the same time. After the documentary finished (they were unsuccessful and hadn't found a squid), l kept reading on the Internet, surprised at how many web- sites devoted to these forty to sixty foot monsters existed. I found a NASA online exhibit which gave a history of a beast that has inspired so many sea monster tales. NASA's exhibit has a piece of a body which is sickly white like a decomposing corpse, and the way that it is lying, deflatedly in the tanks, makes it almost look like a mermaid because its head has a bit of a curve like a woman's hip, and at the end of the body, the skin is folded back appearing almost to be a fish-like tail. Later, I found that l have not been the only person to see a human form in the Giant Squid. Another website listed a history of the squid which began in 1500. In this year, several dead bodies of the Giant Squid washed up on the shore in Norway. After being unable to compare it with anything they knew, the Non/vegians finally decided that the squid were mermen. That night, I went to bed with two giant eyeballs bouncing around in my head. I imagined opening the mini~blinds and finding an eyeball the size of a volleyball staring in at me from the dark- ness. The next day, I stopped at Sportmart on my way to school just to see a volleyball, to hold it in my hand and imagine a pupil the size of a softball swimming around in it. As I held the Wilson volley- ball that l had taken out of its box, I heard my name. A woman asked me how I was. "Fine," I said, "How are you? What are you up to?" I realized that she and I had worked together years before, and exchanged empty bits of conversation with cocked heads and pleas- ant smiles. l've never been adept in social situations, and so with the volleyball in my hand, I asked, "Did you know that Giant Squid have eyes the size of volleyballs?" She seemed impressed, or at least she feigned interest, her own eyeballs expressing vague sur- prise. Then she found a way to excuse herself, claiming suddenly that she was in a hurry. My husband, Luke, is also not interested in hearing more about the Giant Squid. He thinks that I am interested in squid 63 Show less
12 Sonnet I Tribute to Pablo Neruda I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair A kiss, breathe in and steal my soul to your: Pluck its grace with tender touch Like o'er ripe fruit still on the vine I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair Let timbered notes of speaking charm me Gentle words lure... Show more12 Sonnet I Tribute to Pablo Neruda I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair A kiss, breathe in and steal my soul to your: Pluck its grace with tender touch Like o'er ripe fruit still on the vine I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair Let timbered notes of speaking charm me Gentle words lure my heart across the fence Of that which is forbidden - and foolish I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair Breathe out, return to me what I don't want For once the fruit is picked it can do naught but seed I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair I'll thread my fingers through your locks And twist until we tumble into love. Kaitlin Nichols cw 2...].1-IJ Show less
