threateningly in his ears. “Jed, would you please calm down?" That only made Jed twist harder against the chair as she moved slowly, calmly closer to him. “Jed, you want to get better, don‘t you?" He hated her for getting close, but he couldn't get away. Her evil eyes and teeth bared down on him.... Show morethreateningly in his ears. “Jed, would you please calm down?" That only made Jed twist harder against the chair as she moved slowly, calmly closer to him. “Jed, you want to get better, don‘t you?" He hated her for getting close, but he couldn't get away. Her evil eyes and teeth bared down on him. He wanted to go back to his home and his yard. He wanted to go back to his Pop and Ma and Sis. He always remembered Sis as such a pretty girl. She watched him cut wood sometimes, from the house. He wanted to see Pop again. Pop told him he was the best wood chopper in the whole county and one day when he was a bit older he would have ajob chopping wood all day down at the lumber yard where folks always walked around on sawdust and it smelled like the wood and the outdoors. Jed could see Ma bringing the cloths in offthe line while he chopped the wood. Pop would be watching him too, real careful like, studying his technique or something; Jed wasn‘t sure. He could swing that axe, and crack, the wood split down the middle clean as a newborn pig. Sometimes when he would swing the axe for a long time, the axe two would whisper in his ear, tell him he could swing harder and faster, tell him he wasn't good enough at swinging the axe. Jed hated the axe sometimes. That‘s why Pop would watch him sometimes and sometimes made him stop. Jed's eyes started tears flowing down his face when he thought of it all, and how he longed to go back there. “I just want to go home to my family!" He screamed suddenly at Dr. Z as she hung over him. She breathed hard too, they both breathed heavily like lovers, but there was no love. She was his oppressor, and he could only feel the hate as it dripped like blood off of her lips and onto the floor. “Jed, your family is dead!" She screamed back at him. She was wrong; Jed knew she hated him and would tell him anything just to hurt him. He squirmed and struggled to get away. He felt his right arm crack as he fought the leather har- ness around his wrist; there was a sound but no pain. The wood panels and Dr. Z had him pinned down into just a few square feet of the room. Jed could feel her closer than ever as she continued screaming at him. “Whose faces are those in your dreams, Jed?" He didn't know, he didn't know, he just knew he was falling and falling towards them, the bloody faces, amis and legs here and there. He began screaming as Sis had when she burned herself on the stove, or the time she had gotten too close to the chopping block. Tears con- tinued running down his face and onto his lap, but they weren't tears; they were blood. The blood pooled and spilled onto the ugly square carpeting. The blood filled the floor and rolled up the walls, sucking the diplomas in and turning the black room completely red. The carpet was red, the ceiling was red and even the two floor lamps shining through were red like her eyes. The whole room slipped into the red and Jed felt as if he was drowning in it; he could feel it in his ears and eyes, in his lungs and down the back ofhis throat. Dr. Z was still yelling some— where, lost in all the blood. Her sounds were muffled by it and Jed had escaped the painful whispers and the heathen woman whojust didn't seem to like him one bit. I 26 Show less
Alissa Nallan is an English major with an emphasis in Creative Writing, with minors in German and Religion. She is a senior this year, graduating in December 2009. Ana Olson is ajunior, history major with English creative writing and sociology minors. Ana plans to spend fall semester abroad in... Show moreAlissa Nallan is an English major with an emphasis in Creative Writing, with minors in German and Religion. She is a senior this year, graduating in December 2009. Ana Olson is ajunior, history major with English creative writing and sociology minors. Ana plans to spend fall semester abroad in Kingston, England. Rebecca Reilly is a poet, photographer and painter trying to be ajournalist. She is a perpetual student at Augsburg College, the University of St. Thomas, the Loft, and the Experimental College of the Twin Cities. Andrea Sanow will graduate from Augsburg College in 2010 with a degree in English & Creative Writing. She has committed her life to irony and cream soda, respectively. David Siegfried, in his second Murphy Square after winning an Engman Prize for his fiction this spring, is a graduating senior this year from Chaska, Minnesota. Kayla Skarbakka graduates this year with an English major, emphasizing in both literature/language/theory and creative writing. God help her. Eric Tankel is 23 years old and a senior at Augsburg. He grew up in the suburbs west of Philadelphia. He enjoys writing, creating art, and going on adventures. Malena Thoson is currently studying abroad in Central America. When she returns, she will write more poems, drink chai tea, and watch “The X-Files." She will also graduate from Augsburg in 2010 with majors in English and Spanish. Cary Waterman’s last book of poems, When I Looked Back You Were Gone (Holy Cow! Press), was nominated for a Minnesota Book Award. Her poems are included in the anthologies To Sing Along the Way: Minnesota Women Poets from Pre-territorial Days to the Present and Where One Song Ends, Another Be— gins: 150 Years of Minnesota Poetry. She teaches at Augsburg College. Elizabeth Windsperger stops at Vietnamese restaurants whenever she gets the chance to eat pho and drink bubble tea. She also links taking walks by the river. Hannah Cushing, Joel Enright, Emily Paschke, andJesse Seward were unavail- able for comment. 62 Show less
myself in the soil and found nothing. My sweat was dried. The wind wasn't reach- ing me; it was blowing the tassels above my head. I should have known to follow the wind. It was blowing the clouds east, toward the house. I walked a few steps. “Have I been here before?" I said. “Hmm, have I?" My... Show moremyself in the soil and found nothing. My sweat was dried. The wind wasn't reach- ing me; it was blowing the tassels above my head. I should have known to follow the wind. It was blowing the clouds east, toward the house. I walked a few steps. “Have I been here before?" I said. “Hmm, have I?" My voice sounded quieter than it had ever been. It started to sprinkle, maybe even rain. The canopy above me was shutting everything out. I tried to yell but couldn’t hear myself above the roar of drops and wind and moving plants. I sat down to distance myself from the rain. I leaned on a stalk of corn, under a groping leaf. I began to cry. "Mary!" I heard Aggie‘s voice from so far way. "Mary!" she was screaming. I was drenched and desperate. IfI stay here, they could find me, I thought. I'll stay here. It was raining and the leaves were bending under the weight of water. I couldn't see through my tears, or maybe it was the rain. The drops stung. They were cold. The corn stalks were bending and swaying. I could feel rhythm, feel thunder. I stood up, I wanted to find a dry place. A leafhit me from behind, forced forward by the wind. “I can feel wind," I said aloud, “I can feel it,” and I thought that I was closer to the edge than I had been before. I ran ten feet forward. Why weren‘t there any animals? Where were the bugs? I was drenched. My white dress was brown, wet, hanging on me like it would on a clothesline. I imagined a rustle. I heard it again. The corn leaves were grabbing at my arms. “Hello?” I said as confidently as I could. “Are you there?" Thunder clapped heavily overhead. I took a deep breath and blinked away the rain drops. “Hello!?" I said again. “Can anybody hear me?” I was crying and my tears met with the rain and clung to my dress. “Davidavidavid!” My feet sunk into the moist mud. My white shoes were brown. A leaf hit my arm hard and I spun in a circle. “Help me..." I said and sunk into the ground, my head on the dirt and my back soaked with mud. I closed my eyes and pretended that I was a corn stalk. I would be sucked up in a giant combine. The rain was warm now, like I had been swimming in a pool for long enough. Thunder clapped loudly and something fell on my stomach, hard. I opened my eyes and sat up straight. I thought maybe I had been dreaming, that I had been saved, or harvested. I stood up and looked around. “Hello?” I thought I was dead. “David? Aggie? Mom? Hello!?" My throat was scratched and aching. I walked forward no more than five feet. I had goose bumps, the hair on the back of my neck stood up in the water, my knees were weak, my hands were shaking. I looked up to see if someone was watching me. I turned around and there was no one behind me. “Heh, hello?" I said, unsure that I wanted an answer. Thunder hit again and I lost my breath and shut my eyes. I fell over as if pushed down by the wind. I took a deep breath. Something was on me, its feet on my stomach. I clenched my jaw. I couldn’t scream or move. I couldn't think. I took shallow breaths in through my nose. There were paws on either side of my face. 6 Show less
V. “Name‘s Hank," said the pasty American. turning around in the front seat. “This here is Marian." Hank pointed to the other man driving the SUV. He was massive, at least the size of three men, and his shirt was soaked with what Teresa considered sweat until she saw it dripping from his hair.... Show moreV. “Name‘s Hank," said the pasty American. turning around in the front seat. “This here is Marian." Hank pointed to the other man driving the SUV. He was massive, at least the size of three men, and his shirt was soaked with what Teresa considered sweat until she saw it dripping from his hair. Greasy black curls fell to his shoulders and she could almost taste the pomade dripping from the curls. “You two are pretty lucky we found ya," he said. “INS usually patrols this area intensely, but they don't know what the fuck is what sometimes." Hank laughed with a wide smile. “We arejust thankful to find a safer way across," Javier said. “We‘ll get you across. I have no doubts." Hank’s eyes drifted toward Teresa. “It‘ll be fine.” Javier reached for Teresa’s hand and pulled her to his side. Hank‘s gaze refo— cused back on Javier before he spoke again. “Yup. Pretty lucky indeed. See, me and Marian were down here doing a job," Hank explained. “Officially we are in the extermination business, taking life away from those creatures not worthy of it, when I spotted something mon’ng in the sand. So I say to Marian, let's check it out, you know, make a little extra money while helping those in need. We are real charitable. Marian and me." Javier‘s and Teresa‘s eyes met after Hank spoke. She felt a single uncontrolled tear run down her cheek. She wiped it away before the two in front could see. but she felt Javier's hand squeezing back; she knew she‘d be fine. VI. Silence filled the cabin of the SUV. N0 small talk, no chit chat; they just wanted to leave these men behind. Teresa looked up and focused her gaze on the orange hue that had grown tenfold from the tiny blip on the horizon. Road signs began to fly past. USA 4 MILES US/MEXICO BORDER 3 1/2 MILES Something something IS ILLEGAL HAVE PASSPORT(S) READY Each sign cut a little deeper. They had finally made it. She thought it would be impossible; Teresa Martinez could never be an American, but she was wrong. They would start a new life in America. A sudden turn off the road shook Teresa away from her thoughts. “Why did we turn off the road?" Javier asked. “Can‘t go straight through, especially with a couple of wetbacks in the trunk. We have our own way." Hank explained without turning around. He only pointed out the window toward the darkness. Marian must have done this before because his headlights were turned off as he sped through the sand. He drove frantically along for a few minutes before 55 Show less
SAND AND CASTLE Sammie Guck A lesson in life's unfairness came today at the beach for my small son at high tide. One moment before, he had been a wholly happy animal sticky with sand dancing, primitive and tribal around the rude mound of sand and shells and sticks That he called his castle.... Show moreSAND AND CASTLE Sammie Guck A lesson in life's unfairness came today at the beach for my small son at high tide. One moment before, he had been a wholly happy animal sticky with sand dancing, primitive and tribal around the rude mound of sand and shells and sticks That he called his castle. Praising whatever pagan beach—gods may be, a perfect pink believer that Mother Earth, like all mothers, was an entity which existed solely to please her children. All changed when without any warning decipherable by a young child a living sheet of water slammed into the sand grabbing! and ripping! and pulling! the precious castle into the sea. From the safety of my adulthood I watched this scene, the most tragic piece of my small boy’s small life. His voice a wailing minor chord as he ran at the water, his tiny cry put up in defense against this terrible monster its big hands and big voice too rough and unyielding to hear him. 22 Show less
EARLY MORNING ARRIVAL Ana Olson eerie early—morning winter-white light fills the room drifting through the house I find last summer’s blue kiddie—pool—orange, yellow and pink painted fish faded, chipped and weather-worn In the kitchen, the frost and dirty snow drip onto the slick square stamped... Show moreEARLY MORNING ARRIVAL Ana Olson eerie early—morning winter-white light fills the room drifting through the house I find last summer’s blue kiddie—pool—orange, yellow and pink painted fish faded, chipped and weather-worn In the kitchen, the frost and dirty snow drip onto the slick square stamped linoleum My father squats still in his enormous brown work boots and dirty tan coveralls, and holds my mother‘s cracked white hairdryer in one hand and holds the head of a calf, born slightly too soon in a flurry of snow flakes and lost and forgotten by his briefly—panicked mother Settling in, I pet the tender baby, reassuring his brown doe-eyes he is cold to the touch Even at this age I am aware that it is already too late for him but still get caught up and am pulled into this desperate action 17 Show less
CONTENTS Introduction Theorem, Cary Waterman Fox Trot, Andrea Sanow My Observation, Elizabeth Windsperger Diet, Rebecca Reilly Circa 1990 B.C., Colin Irvine Handmade Book, Erica Paschke The Wedding Picture, Alissa Nollan Transformations, Emily Hanson* Batzer Bay, Ted Conouer Early Morning Arrival... Show moreCONTENTS Introduction Theorem, Cary Waterman Fox Trot, Andrea Sanow My Observation, Elizabeth Windsperger Diet, Rebecca Reilly Circa 1990 B.C., Colin Irvine Handmade Book, Erica Paschke The Wedding Picture, Alissa Nollan Transformations, Emily Hanson* Batzer Bay, Ted Conouer Early Morning Arrival, Ana Olson Surviving the Foul Days of Farm Life, Jennifer Hipple* Saturday Afternoon Stroll, Elizabeth Windsperger Sand and Castle, Sammie Guck Falling, David Siegfried* Winter Carnival, Kayla Skarbakka 30 Below Conscious, Hanna Cashing It Woos, Hanna Cashing Executioner Blues, Joel Enright* I I Should Have Told Him of the Train, Kayla Skarbakkcfi H coo—boo 18 21 22 23 27 28 30 31 34 Show less
“Fear, anxiety, guilt, and the inability to accept? Which do you think, Jed?" She snapped at him. Her voice cracked as she asked. Her tone was much like the jail- ers when they spoke to him through slits in heavy steel doors, sharp and angry. “Is there more to the dream, Jed, or can wejust plan... Show more“Fear, anxiety, guilt, and the inability to accept? Which do you think, Jed?" She snapped at him. Her voice cracked as she asked. Her tone was much like the jail- ers when they spoke to him through slits in heavy steel doors, sharp and angry. “Is there more to the dream, Jed, or can wejust plan to meet again next week?" “No, th—there‘s more.” “Oh, pray tell," she said, almost in a whisper. Had she reallyjust said that? Jed looked at her evil face and then away. Somehow he knew she wasn‘t really evil. Somewhere in his head, where everything was backward he knew she was a nice person. He knew she wasn’t really like this. Dr. Hannah Zietruab was what it said on the diplomas hanging on the wall. They called her Dr. Z in the courtyard or when Jed would see her at lunch. In public he was sure he had seen her eyes smiling; she was nice to everyone. In the din of her office, she was the devil. Jed could feel the straps on his arms holding him in the chair. He felt the need to pull away and to run screaming down the hallway. Someone should know how she was when she was left alone with him. “Jed, are you alright?" Her voice had changed and she was speaking in a pleasant tone again. “Yeah,” he managed to say between ragged breaths. His head was starting to ache as he tried to make sense of her. The best way right now seemed to be if he was to continue with his dream. “Well, I fell, slowly, much more slowly than usual." Jed paused to consider the chaos in his head as she made a note on her pad. “Maybe it wasn’t even falling, maybe I was floating." “Jed, you were falling,” she said oh so plainly. “You do not float in dreams; you are either falling or you‘re on the ground.” “Well, falling slowly then... but I had time to look down and see what was below me." “Maybe you have made progress, Jed. What did you see?" She seemed to ap- prove of his progress, and Jed began to think fondly of the sun shining outside on his acres back home. He imagined himself and Pop out to chop up the last week’s store of wood they had brought back for their family. Jed imagined his Pop; he had brawny bulky handsjust like he had. Pop would be standing in the front yard in his jeans and flanneljacket, buttons left undone. Pop was a woodsman; he worked long hours at the lumber mill, and when Jed was good Pop would bring home some odds and ends of uncut wood so Jed could cut it. He would come out and Pop would be standing there in the setting sunlight holding that axe Jed loved to swing and split wood with. Jed loved the sounds of the cold steel axe slip- ping through the hardwood, oaks, maples, elm. Jed imagined himself chopping wood outjust beyond the porch. He could imagine his Ma and Sis getting dinner ready through the open windows and doors that let the summertime breeze in to their wooden cabin Pop had built with his two hands. Jed was sure he had made progress with this dream, but the final moments scared him, and he knew she would know if he left them out. So he pressed on with his explanation, as best he could, convinced this was part of the getting better process. “I uh... I saw my family.” Jed continued almost more like a question than any- thing. If he was careful with his words, she might think he was better. He gripped 24 Show less
THEOREM Cary Waterman Pythagoras forbade his students to speak, not wanting them to utter falsehoods. The only truth was mathematics and so they would converse only and ever in equations and theorems. But what of us who do not know the way? Are we to forever blunder on mistakenly taking a... Show moreTHEOREM Cary Waterman Pythagoras forbade his students to speak, not wanting them to utter falsehoods. The only truth was mathematics and so they would converse only and ever in equations and theorems. But what of us who do not know the way? Are we to forever blunder on mistakenly taking a syllable of meaning like Fool's Gold to the assayer only to be told it’s worthless? And how did Pythagoras admonish his students not to speak? What is the equation for that? Students sit outside in the September sun, boys, girls, long-haired and cropped. They are rabbits just out of the hutch of protection. And I am the Hydra swaying before them, many—headed, smelling of camphor and myrrh. I like all my lips, the sound of lids opening. Words. Words. Let there be words! Show less
BATZER BAY Ted Conover Twenty or so years after my grandparents first wet their fishing lines in the glimmering water of Batzer Bay, my family sat at the kitchen table in my grand- mother Teddie’s house. They had just returned from my grandfather Herald’s funeral and were warming their hands on hot... Show moreBATZER BAY Ted Conover Twenty or so years after my grandparents first wet their fishing lines in the glimmering water of Batzer Bay, my family sat at the kitchen table in my grand- mother Teddie’s house. They had just returned from my grandfather Herald’s funeral and were warming their hands on hot coffee mugs in the kitchen; out- side, the autumn air was biting. Everyone sat at the table sipping coffee while my father and uncles discussed football. Herald‘s funeral had been difficult, and everyone‘s eyes were red from tears. There they sat, bathing in their mourning while mutterings of Randy Moss and Chris Carter floated by their ears, mostly unnoticed. My mother finally spoke after talks of the Minnesota Vikings were exhausted and my father and uncles sat silent. “I think we should take a trip to Batzer Bay this summer, in honor of Dad. He would want us to celebrate his favorite fishing spot and his life." Rocky, winding shoreline jutted high in places, forming steep cliffs that fell into the iron colored water below. Colors on the shore were dark—dark greens from the pines, dark grey from the rocks. The lake with the winding shoreline was connected to another lake, and another. The Man—Chain in Quetico National Park in Canada was made ofa group of three deep, cold lakes. One ofthem, This-Man Lake, had a shore more curvy than the others. On a particular shore ofThis-Man, the banks curved inward to form a quiet little bay that was hard to find. “Ah, here we are. I told you I could find it!” My father took a deep breath through his nose to show his satisfaction with his navigating. “Wow, it’sjust as I remember. Just like it was when I was a little girl." My mom scanned the scene before her as she remembered fishing trips gone by. Our canoes floated ten feet away from each other in the shallow water, my dad and I in one canoe and my mom and my two sisters in the other. We had just entered the inlet that was the only entrance to Batzer Bay. The inlet was like a puckered mouth, folding out into the main lake. Once through the mouth to my grandfa- ther’s famed fishing spot in the Quetico wilderness, the banks opened up to form a bay about 200 yards wide. In the shape of a wide oval, Batzer Bay didn't see many people outside of my family, who visited the bay and fished its waters every half decade or so. We paddled out into the middle of the bay to examine the scene around us. The surrounding banks rose out and over the water quickly to form bluffs. It looked as if the pine—covered banks were trying to hide the pearly expanse of wa— ter before us from intruders. There was a cool, dark shadow all along the edge of the bay where the tall banks blocked the smiling summer glow of the sun. As we paddled toward the middle, the sun greeted us by warming our flesh, which was somewhat chilled from being in the shadow of the looming bluffs. The water 14 Show less
orange t-shirt blazed in the green-yellow grass like blood on white fabric. He had been aware of the boy's presence for some time now, accepting begrudgingly his gaze of morbid curiosity which bore into the back of his head as he toiled. On a particularly labor intensive day, he had been tempted... Show moreorange t-shirt blazed in the green-yellow grass like blood on white fabric. He had been aware of the boy's presence for some time now, accepting begrudgingly his gaze of morbid curiosity which bore into the back of his head as he toiled. On a particularly labor intensive day, he had been tempted to go pluck him up from the bus, and set him to work in the garden. Quietly he slipped out the back door, guiding the screen door gently into its latch, and began to creep over to the garden. With arms full of tomatoes and breath heaving with excitement, the boy turned around to see the Executioner standing patiently at the garden’s edge. “I appreciate the help," he said “but those tomatoes shouldn't be picked for another couple of weeks.” David's lips trembled as the Executioner approached, only able to gurgle idi- otic puffs of monosyllabic distress, his instinct of flight overcome by the feeling that his feet had rooted themselves into the soil. “Well, don‘tjust stand there,” the Executioner said when he had Dan'd cast firmly in his shadow “you picked ‘em, you might as well bring 'em into the house." David looked down at the heap of tomatoes piled in his arms, then over at the bus. He stood still. “C‘monl,” said the Executioner, turning back towards the house. I 33 Show less
WALK, DON’T RUN D. E. Green Don‘t run on the pool deck or in the slush-slick winter lobbies of Minneapolis towers. Don't run in the supermarket, where you might smash your eggs— or your neighbor‘s. Walk, don’t run, at the airport where undue speed bespeaks terror. Take your time: Slow down for... Show moreWALK, DON’T RUN D. E. Green Don‘t run on the pool deck or in the slush-slick winter lobbies of Minneapolis towers. Don't run in the supermarket, where you might smash your eggs— or your neighbor‘s. Walk, don’t run, at the airport where undue speed bespeaks terror. Take your time: Slow down for children and old folks, the hearing- impaired and the blind, not to mention the deer and the squirrels, the rabbits, raccoons, and those strange swallow—like birds that swoop unexpectedly out of the fields and across the road right in front of your car. Don‘t run through the Abstract Expressionist galleries at the Walker. Walk— or you might miss a Kline or a Motherwell. Walk, don‘t run to your grandmother’s coffin, to your intended at the end of the aisle, and even into your lover‘s arms. Walk, don‘t run—or someone might get hurt. Walk, don’t run~or you might not remember how you got here. 59 Show less