50 Geisha, Grace A switl of Silk and grace. An ivory hand A delicate dip of The shoulder Ocean eyes, Dark and endless: Blink Open and Close Like the lapping of waves on the shore A blink Of my own and: She is Gone Katie LaGrave
38 Relative Strangers When you kiss my cheek your silver curls tickle my nose. I love those curls. They remind me of someone. ..But no one in the family has curly hair except Grandma. and she only has those because she puts curlers in her hair every night. I wonder if I'll be a pink and white... Show more38 Relative Strangers When you kiss my cheek your silver curls tickle my nose. I love those curls. They remind me of someone. ..But no one in the family has curly hair except Grandma. and she only has those because she puts curlers in her hair every night. I wonder if I'll be a pink and white grandma like her when I get old? When you hold my hands in yours they feel rough and scratchy. They make me feel safe. They remind me of someone...Grandpa is a carpenter. His hands are HUGE and rough and have lines all over them. just like the back of his neck. My whole hand isn't even as big as the palm of his hand. but they'll be bigger when I grow up. When you look at me your eyes tell me that you care about me. They are brown and soft and they remind me of someone...We all have blue eyes. each and every one of us. The only one in the family with brown eyes is Tippy. She had puppies once in the barn. but we didn't get to keep them. I bet they had brown eyes too. When I smell pipe smoke I'm reminded of someone. Now who would that be? Grandpa S smokes a cigar after every meal. His birthday is close to mine so we always share a party but never a cake. I get twice as many presents as him, but he's ninety hundred years old and has everything already so he doesn't care. When you talk to me your voice rumbles deep in your chest. It reminds me of something...Daddy's music is deep and rumbly. He plays a giant violin and a big silver tuba really loud. He also plays the accordion. which isn't as loud until he plugs it into the black box, then the windows sometimes rattle. I want to play the piano. It's only rumbly when you play certain keys. Show less
16 Storytelling On life experience McCarthy tells you that you have been nowhere. Seriously man, you have been nowhere. Tells you about the time he lived In a shed behind his friend's house Lived with no heat and how now It is just his storage area. You want to know sadness and honesty? he asks... Show more16 Storytelling On life experience McCarthy tells you that you have been nowhere. Seriously man, you have been nowhere. Tells you about the time he lived In a shed behind his friend's house Lived with no heat and how now It is just his storage area. You want to know sadness and honesty? he asks Listen to that folk alt country, now there is heartache. On gestures You remember how he picks Discarded cigarettes up from ashtrays Rolls them between his thumb and pointer Finger to release the unused tobacco You remember how months earlier He was gone, locked up For property theft, and he recounts This bike theft in every conversation On appearance He says that everyone is obsessed With creating an image Everyone is tackling a beast that could never Please us — that no matter how we try We will never become content. He wears a black pullover sweatshirt atop Betty Page tee shirts black tapered jeans And a black backpack that he totes magazines Compact discs and the rest of his possessions. He likes black. Emily Hanson Show less
(Acknowledgements: ‘We would like to extend a special thank you to ‘Flaire ‘Print Communications, ‘Boyd ‘Koehler, john Mitchell, and all of the artists and writers who submitted work to this j ournal. ‘Without these people, this journal would not have been possible. 69
58 I’M A WHITE GUY Two years into our relationship and a year and a half of livin' together Carla buys this book called About Us. It was full of probing. feely questions. Two weeks ago Carla's reading it and I'm trying to sleep. She asked me about love. and religion and something about the light... Show more58 I’M A WHITE GUY Two years into our relationship and a year and a half of livin' together Carla buys this book called About Us. It was full of probing. feely questions. Two weeks ago Carla's reading it and I'm trying to sleep. She asked me about love. and religion and something about the light of Christ. I know women. I say: "Baby. your pussy is full of sunshine, we can let the light out." "You ass," she screamed and kicked me off the bed. Then she walked into the bathroom like I was a giant turd. I've been paranoid since. I'm afraid when we go to sleep at night. Afraid she's gonna' tap me on the arm and ask me how I feel about the church and whether Christ died for my sins. | start to think of hiding the book to avoid this crap altogether. She doesn't bring it up again. Saturday we rented a movie — Hope Floats. Sunday night she wanted me bad. We ate dinner —- chicken breasts and corn and beets. I made the chicken; she microwaved the veggies — a few glasses of Bellboy, then straight to the sack. The next morning she was up before me. I stayed in bed listening to the morning show. They were talking religion. I took my shower and was drying off when Carla stands in the doowvay look- ing at me funny. I'm gonna make a go at it, win a point or two. I say, “Vatican City is going to be a four star hotel for pedophiles." She asked what I mean by that, so I tell her. "The ecclesiastical court is going to try priests who abuse chil- dren in secret, away from public scrutiny," I said. I hung the towel up and stood over the toilet. After I finished peeing I picked up my toothbrush. "Aren‘t you going to wash your hands?" Carla asked. “No.” "Why not?" "I just took a shower. My dick is clean, see.” I twist and stretch it for her to look at but her face is all scrunched up like she just tasted Show less
EXISTENCE She stood looking out the window at the dreary white landscape, her eyes scanning something low to the ground. He watched her while straightening his tie and then put on a black, three-buttoned suit coat. "Shall we go?" He asked, joining her at the window. He could see now that she had... Show moreEXISTENCE She stood looking out the window at the dreary white landscape, her eyes scanning something low to the ground. He watched her while straightening his tie and then put on a black, three-buttoned suit coat. "Shall we go?" He asked, joining her at the window. He could see now that she had been staring at the mailman's footprints in the snow, which were being slowly swallowed by snowflakes falling like dandelion seeds in the wind. Soon there would be no evidence that the civil servant had passed by their house at all. She looked over at him, then reached out to straighten his already perfect tie. "I suppose we need to." "I‘ve warmed up the car for you." He took a full-length coat from the closet and wrapped it closely around her shoulders. She put her hands into its pockets and produced a pair of gloves and a folded paper with an angel on the cover. She dropped the paper onto the arm of the couch without looking at it. "I'll get my scarf." As she left the room he took the paper from the couch and put it in his pocket. When she returned she had a scarf tied around her neck and he noticed that her eyes were wet. "I don't want to go." He sat down on the arm of the couch and watched her. "I just," she put a hand on each shoulder in a self-embrace. "I just real- ly don't want to go." He remained silent. Snow plinked against the windowsill like the tick- ing of a clock. "ReallyYou go, and tell everyone that l was too ill to make it." A gloved hand tell to her stomach. "I really don‘t feel well, so it wouldn‘t be a lie." "I can't leave you here alone." She sat down on the ottoman. Her frame appeared hollow and she looked as if she might collapse inward onto herself. “I already am alone." He tasted her words. They were not bitter but wounded him just the same. She looked down past her spindly legs at a spot of melted snow and asphalt sand that was dripping off of her boots onto the carpet. "How will anyone know that I was ever here?" He asked her what she meant. 29 Show less
22 VAINGLORY I awoke at 3 AM, having just created a magnificent poem, One that was succinct, careful — exactly right! Each word. so intelligent. Each phrase, 50. . ."poetic." I knew you could do it!" I praised myself; "You are Billy Collins and Emily Dickinson." "Surely, you won't forget this," I... Show more22 VAINGLORY I awoke at 3 AM, having just created a magnificent poem, One that was succinct, careful — exactly right! Each word. so intelligent. Each phrase, 50. . ."poetic." I knew you could do it!" I praised myself; "You are Billy Collins and Emily Dickinson." "Surely, you won't forget this," I reassured myself, Slipping back to sleep. "Write it down in the morning." Of course, you know the rest. Only bland, stupid, embarrassed words remained at 9 AM. Relapsed to common, I mourn my short-lived genius. KATHRYN SWANSON Show less
note to my roommate, | taped it to her computer monitor and headed out the door. Passing by my desk, l saw the Bible Luke had given me for Christmas a few years back, still unopened and gathering dust. Thinking he would want to hear it read, even while unconscious, I reached back and grabbed it,... Show morenote to my roommate, | taped it to her computer monitor and headed out the door. Passing by my desk, l saw the Bible Luke had given me for Christmas a few years back, still unopened and gathering dust. Thinking he would want to hear it read, even while unconscious, I reached back and grabbed it, putting it into my bag while hurrying to the bus stop. It was a fortunately quick ride to the airport, and there I paid the last-minute fare on a flight leaving in an hour. The trip was uneventful, but filled full of memories, with the good times of our lives. The first day I'd met Luke, he and Alasdair had made fast friends the first day of first grade, and he was invited over. The scrawny little dark-haired boy had teased me until my beloved older brother had stuck up for me and included me in their games. Luke and Alasdair, teaching me to play baseball when l was six. Their patience as I slowly learned to follow the path of the ball and connect the bat. Alasdair having to move ever backward as my hits flew farther and farther. Luke progressing from a gentle underhanded lob to full out pitches. The comfort he gave me when Daddy died, hit by a drunk driver that sent Alasdair into ICU for more than a week. His muscled arms holding me tight as l sobbed on his shoulder. Holding my hand in the hospital room, at Daddy's funeral. Luke in a tux, taking me to prom, a double date with Alasdair and his girlfriend, Dallas. Him telling me I looked beautiful, the first time I'd heard those words spoken by someone not related to me. Threatening to spill his pop down the skirt of my shimmering blue dress. The slow dances, Luke crooning melodramatically with the tune, not caring if he had the words right or if anyone heard. The gentle kiss he gave me goodnight that was never spoken of again but not for- gotten. Seeing Luke lying helpless in that hospital bed formed a lump in my throat. His dark brown hair lay dirty against the stark white pillow, deep blue eyes hidden by eyelids as frighteningly pale as the rest of his face. At 6'3", a mere three inches taller than me, he looked like a sar- dine in a tin can, legs curled to fit in the sheets. What would I do if he slipped away? How would I survive if the Three Musketeers, as Daddy had liked to call us, was reduced to two? No one but Alasdair had ever understood me quite so well as Luke. Just the thought of losing him sent tears streaming down my face, and I hardly noticed when the doctor entered. He coughed politely to gain my attention. "Dr. Schmidt?" | asked, drying my face as i turned to face ‘15 Show less
SLUMBER You awaken from slumber, mind clear and abandoned raise thick lids, dreams caught like dust on the arched tips of guileless lashes. My hands reach out, force the dust of your dreams to fan out in front of our eyes. We watch as my fingertips portray gusts of wind against creamy silver sand... Show moreSLUMBER You awaken from slumber, mind clear and abandoned raise thick lids, dreams caught like dust on the arched tips of guileless lashes. My hands reach out, force the dust of your dreams to fan out in front of our eyes. We watch as my fingertips portray gusts of wind against creamy silver sand, blowing the leftover grains out to the enraged white capped waves, watching as they gradually descend to the empty blue floor. I often fear entanglement with emotions but time passed in your presence feels as if my senses have been encircled by a web of delicate distortion and I fear not of what lays beyond the surface of my reality. I gaze beyond ripe olive eyes and strive to imagine the labyrinth unraveling in your head, wishing to lose my mind in yours, fall into you like summer fading unto autumn, to strip myself of my knowledge and comprehend all that you speak of. Your reflection is visible inside of my iris; unfold me, and you will see that we are all echoes of one another. EMILY BURCK Show less
She was a fading silhouette against the clouds and snow. "No, I know it doesn‘t. But once you're gone, who else will?" He put his hand in a pocket and fingered the piece of paper. "Have you ever walked through a cemetery and looked at all the unkempt graves? Dead flowers, headstones overgrown with... Show moreShe was a fading silhouette against the clouds and snow. "No, I know it doesn‘t. But once you're gone, who else will?" He put his hand in a pocket and fingered the piece of paper. "Have you ever walked through a cemetery and looked at all the unkempt graves? Dead flowers, headstones overgrown with grass, whole generations lying together unnoticed as if they had never been here to begin with?" The silence her question had caused was broken only when his cell phone rang. He answered it and had a conversation using syllables that were hushed and brief. "That was June. She said everyone is worried and asking where we are." He checked the time. "It's starting in 15 minutes." "We're all one generation away from being forgotten." "Don't say that." "Why not?" She looked amused. "lt‘s depressing." "The truth often is." The man sighed. "We don‘t need to be thinking about things like this today. "And when a baby dies with no siblings, there's no one to remember her but her parents.When they go, who will remember that child?" "Shelly—" "No one." She stood and adjusted her panty hose. "Just like in 100 years no one will remember who we were or how we lived. Not even our relatives. We'll all be totally forgotten." "Someone will remember." She walked over to the door and put her boots and coat back on. "No they won‘t. But that makes it easier." She opened the door. He heard the car idling and the rumble of a bass-voiced pundit on the radio. "There's still a bottle in the fridge." She walked out to the car and got in. He went into the kitchen and took a pink Playtex bottle from the refrig- erator. He stared at its worn nipple and cap as he poured its contents down the sink. Muffling a sob, he set the bottle gently in the trash. He put on his overcoat and went outside. As he walked to the car he noticed his wife's footprints were already disappearing under the snow. KEITH DOTEN 3‘1 Show less
appear behind his head. I want to warn the boy, but the drugs have made my movements slow, my voice slower. The form of the dragon is clear now standing over the child's tiny frame. The boy turns to meet the dragon's gaze and I watch as he battles the dragon inside the pale yellow paint. A halo... Show moreappear behind his head. I want to warn the boy, but the drugs have made my movements slow, my voice slower. The form of the dragon is clear now standing over the child's tiny frame. The boy turns to meet the dragon's gaze and I watch as he battles the dragon inside the pale yellow paint. A halo interrupts the battle scene. | feel the pressure of a thumb on my eyelid. "I'll have to keep a close watch over her. Come find me if anything happens." lab coat says to mother. The drone of the television stops. A special report interrupts regular programming. "Yitzhak Rabin has been assassinated after speaking in Tel Aviv this evening," says a newscaster in a green sweater. As bullets wiz by on grainy video footage, I hear the sound of water hitting concrete like a water balloon bursting on the sidewalk. My IV is leaking. I watch the thick clear liquid crawl across the tile. Nurses enter in a calm focused wave as alarms signal each shallow breath I take. I look through the bustling throng and return my attention to the boy. He is tiring. His sword has broken off in the dragon's tail, holding it in place. The boy can do no more than to avoid the creature's blows. The fluid from my IV hits the boy's ankle. As he kneels to drink he smiles with acceptance. The grin remains on the child's lips even as the raging dragon above him swallows his body. As the dragon enjoys its triumph, its shadow fills the wall and is sucked into the television screen. A week later I am home. Television has become my window to the outside world, "Yigal Amir has admitted to fatally wounding Rabin last week," a newscaster says. I wonder, did Rabin pray for a savior or willingly enter the dragon's lair? "The nation of Israel mourns the loss of a great leader." the newscaster continues. The hope of a boy sacrificed to satisfy a nation. STEPHANIE NOGGLE Show less
ABOUT THE SOUTH... Tastee Freeze still missing e's. Have yet to try a five-course meal. Barefoot, As always, Behind the wheel. Where are the ladies and the debutantes? Practicing posture at the local diner, Wearing diamonds for tips and nickels. Me? I've left my southern skin behind. I'm nothing... Show moreABOUT THE SOUTH... Tastee Freeze still missing e's. Have yet to try a five-course meal. Barefoot, As always, Behind the wheel. Where are the ladies and the debutantes? Practicing posture at the local diner, Wearing diamonds for tips and nickels. Me? I've left my southern skin behind. I'm nothing more than A Bohemian woman In comfortable jeans, Trapped in a cityscape. STEPHANIE NOGGLE ‘19 Show less
to be forced into anything it may not be ready for. Many more players are simply following the line closest to it not wishing to add to the dissonance. And dissonance still grows though, soon, soon, now. Unison for a time, at least; a measure, a day, a measure of days. But the movement has not... Show moreto be forced into anything it may not be ready for. Many more players are simply following the line closest to it not wishing to add to the dissonance. And dissonance still grows though, soon, soon, now. Unison for a time, at least; a measure, a day, a measure of days. But the movement has not ended, for how can it? It is Destruction, the opus of War. RUTH HOOK 43 Show less
THE HEIGHT OF A HILL The green hills spread around Vibrant, verdant, full of life Cotton clouds floating lazily On the great lake of the sky Everything so crystal clear Without the hazy fog Of everyday life I walk up the hill Take the worn brown path That leads easily to the crest And I sit down... Show moreTHE HEIGHT OF A HILL The green hills spread around Vibrant, verdant, full of life Cotton clouds floating lazily On the great lake of the sky Everything so crystal clear Without the hazy fog Of everyday life I walk up the hill Take the worn brown path That leads easily to the crest And I sit down Lay back on the cushion Of the springy grass And close my eyes and smile Behind me I can hear the Faintest hint of life The gentle sound of breath Soft footfalls climbing Coming closer to my haven He reclines beside me Hands supporting head We remain, a foot apart Almost oblivious to the Presence of the other and Yet somehow we are connected In some supernatural way Both part of the same Phenomenon, the natural paradise Time passes, seconds or minutes Or hours, yet time has no meaning Here everything means noting And nothing is all And as the sun sets he stands and Noticing me, he grinds And as he leaves, he says hello. SABRINA JUREY 55 Show less
