max bjornson

Your collar bone defined, neck long, graceful. I want to apologize as I cram greasy fries into my mouth, ketchup dribbling on rhe tabletop.

You look past me, never at me, while I count the freckles on your nose I imagine your feet tapping, under the table, agitated, just like mine.

With relief so great it mirrors pleasure, I watch as a bead of sweat catches on your upper lip, and you lick the treasy residue left on your index finger.

NEEDSIRIMMING

pen & ink (max bjornson

he was drunk and delicious smoky and sweating under the early spring heat resting our weary souls on cool cement

his cigarette clung to his two fingers and every now and then the wind would blow wisps of sweet tobacco my way we had watched the day follow us down the street and we were finally content to watch twilight pass us by

he said nothing but finished off his cigarette and stubbed it into innocent cement, allowing the smoldering stub to topple over and roll down the imaginary steps we sat on i looked at him and whispered,"if this was a real house, i would go inside." he placed his hand over mine and said softly,"me too."

5 HOURS IS ENOUGH PRACTICEJROTHER <nadia ranney

Master the mechanics, and march on metrically. Tap the whites of hope and the blacks of desire. Do not skip a beat of your lullaby to the heavens.

The moonlight sonata that will keep my dreams content forces you to trill obediently in the darkness. Flutter across your stage after I flip the switch goodnight.

Play until the moon is sedated by the star of the morning.

For the first time I Swallow mics as quickly as an infant Guzzling pixie sticks Spitting sugary dust through speakers It flies Landing on fresh ears Forms poetry I stand On a brightly lit stage The microphone in front of me ls like a keyhole that opens my soul I mumble words not loud enough to hear Strong enough to feel ! feel Like gasoline inside an engine, My audience sparks plugs that ignite me Makes my throar spew fumes that fly Through smoke filled rooms lnto mind's note pad Scribbling out my signature I spit bullet syllables faster than Diablo guns My clip empties The piece over Applause pierces my ear like rumbling thunder I bow my head When I look up !'m standing on a dimly lit porch Afraid to open the door I turn around Look for the slightesr trace of a mic So once again my heart's door can be open I only see the trail of car exhaust I stand there alone Praying for the applause to reach me

ROOFTOPS photoCroph

]EI FALLASLEEPIONIGHT

lf I fall asleep tonight It's not'cause I don't love you

emily gilman

(david fingerman

I TJSTJAI IY FR.ASF MY BAD MEMORIFS -{sierra kidd I usually erase my bad memories but... I thought my Mommy wasnt ever going to come back She left me

Alone With two younger sisters. A baby a 2-year-old I was too young to know about anything, only been potty trained for two years. I could already sweep the floor and change poopy diapers All I had was Common sense She left me alone, cold from broken windows, large pupils from the dark

Torn clothing

Dirty feet

Dry old oatmeal Loneliness, hopelessness and wishing sheU return to me I can picture her face,lips, eyes but where is her heartl

WITNFSSING Tr)R POR

kate gavrie!

her body is like a syringe. she wears disillusionment like some winter coat. from behind black eyeliner she tells me she has given up cigarettes. her yellow fingers hug a shot of wheat grass like some sweer salvation. compounding amounts of empty glasses sit on the bar. i sigh;we will never find our spring in such a concrete city.

photogroph

IWANTTc) CAPSITE

I want to capsize under the steel snow and stench of responsibility, pasted to the greased railing where my feet slumber and wits pale.

Caught between worlds aching for proper posture, clasping ticket with hands chapped from sweat, I struggle to disconnect from the clamoring seas, sagging faces (professional) yellow under the platform's humming lanterns.

They attempt to return

ily hanna

{katherine parker

to home, bread, warmth while ltravel to retrieve scraps of sanctuary wedged between gothic-shaped square pegs of U of C and crumbling Hyde Park round holes, foreign and filling.

Awkward revival in a cafeteria where a rusty piano and rustier player clang out a melody while we in time crudely shift soles I am among 60-year-old Englishmen and a man who rides his bicycle in the snow This is my salvation. A crayoned image of my vying Past for a future with focus. Dim, but legible

Headlights glow. I am in the safety of the family minivan much to my dismay. The plastic heat suffocates roaring in the walls of a barred exit.

I contort once again in hopes of overlooking my own steel stocks My head rests on the cool of the glass window. We mount the Eisenhower. The el runs polar, (in time) with our gallop. The trains brush shoulders both running, both coursed.

She told him with a motion that he had never seen her use before.lt was a subtle shift in her eyes and the way she bit her lower lip just so. He knew something was up, but with Susan one could never know. Paul opened his mouth to say something, but the moment had past. She was back to tugging on her earlobe and staring off in the distance as she usually did when there was nothing to be said. He was about to let it go and return to eating his sandwich when she did it again. "What was that?" "What was what?"

Susan popped her lips quietly, getting irritated. Lately with Paul something always had to be wrong.This time something was wrong, it was the dependent kind of wrong.The type she hated.lt had always caused her problems. "lt's hormones, isnt it?" he uttered between bites.

Resting both of her palms flat on the table she exhaled slowly,letting out a throaty sigh.This motion he'd seen before and didn't like what would follow. He scooted back instinctively and squinted, hoping it would somehow soften the blow. He opened an eye slowly; she was still sitting there, though not quite the ravenous banshee she normally became after one of his "inane" comments.Yet she still posed a possible threat. Paul bit his lip."Sorry...?"

Susan sighed and shook her head,leaning back in her seat. She crossed her arms over her chest, a vain attempt to contain herself. "l was thinking of David." "For what?" "lf it's a boy."

There was the motion again.This time he had an inkling of what was wrong, and it scared him. Paul knew he really didn't want to know but he had no choice. "Well?"

He tilted his head, flipping a palm up as he searched for an unspoken answer. lt was probably nothing. Susan was staring at her hands, seeming to be interested in the iridescent speckles on the table. She didn't respond.lt wasnt like the table was new or anything, but she'd rather look at it than face him. She

took a deep breath and looked at him slowly. Paul could see the guilt and apprehension in her eyes.

Susan was relieved when the doorbell rang. She shifted in her chair and glanced in the direction of the door. "l-."The doorbell rang again. "You?" "l-l have to get the door."

With that, she hopped from her seat forging a smile before she walked gingerly to the door. Sighing, he shook his head and went back to eating. He swore her moods shifted like a good song-sometimes up, other times down.

Casually opening the door, she did not expect to be greeted by a huge, pale-yellow box. "Congrats!" a cheerleader-perky voice exclaimed from behind it. Susan scoffed.A blonde head popped from behind the box,with an obnoxious grin to suit the voice.lt was Paul's sister, Kandie, still talking a jumble of sound. Kandie never knew when to shut up. "l was shopping, and I saw this. I know I'm totally early, but it's so cute. I knew you'd love it, so I had to get it. So anyway, have you thought of any names yet? I personally love..."

Susan had completely disassociated herself with her surroundings after closing the door. She plucked the box from Kandie's arms, placed it on the coffee table, and sat down on the couch.The conversation faded in and out around Susan, who added a couple of uh-huh's so as not to seem rude.There was the gesture again, but Kandie was too involved in basking in the sound of her own voice to notice.

Susan rubbed her index finger behind her ear and stared at the box. lt was big-so big that it took up the entire coffee table, and she wondered how the bite-sized Kandie could lift it. She liked the paper-it was cute, maybe a bit quaint. !t had baby ducks in rain gear on it and was wrapped in a big, white satin ribbon.lt was department store perfect.

It was strange how something so cheery and pristine could cause her such distress. She figured that she had brought it upon herself, in a way. She should have just told Paul a week ago when she found out.

Kandie kept talking, and Susan continued to sway in and out of the conversation. Paul was still in the kitchen; she could see

him from down the hall. He had that look he always had when his sister showed up. He couldn't stand Kandie. She figured it was a wonder he survived living in a house with her. She watched him, disinterested in Kandie.

He had finished his sandwich and was watching the kids play across the street. Reaching for a dry towel, he heard the phone ring. He began drying the plate and watched it ring, waiting to see if Susan would pick it up. He hated answering the phone-Susan knew that-but she was far too polite to interrupt Kandie in order to pick it up. Placing the plate down, he toweled off his hands and picked up the phone.lt was Susan's doctor on the other end. She told him that she was sorry

for their loss and that Susan's test results had come in.

The only response Paul could manage was"huh..." before dropping the phone. lt was as if he had forgotten how to function. He leaned against the counter and his knees threatened to buckle. He breathed slowly, until his knees were no longer a threat. Paul eventually managed to stand up. He picked up he phone with an unsteady hand and hung it up.

After drawing the kitchen curtains closed, he turned towards the living room. Susan watched as he walked through the kitchen to the living room. She glanced up at Kandie a couple times to be polite, then shifted her gaze towards the box. He reached the doorway of the living room and leaned against the doorjamb, hands clasped in front of him, not uttering a word. Just steady, slow breaths. Kandie was still talking, deeply involved in the ongoing story she was telling Susan.

Susan moved her focus from the box and through Kandie to him. He told her with a motion that she had never seen him use before.The meaning was as clear as the innocence in the eyes of a newborn. She knew he knew.

PATIENCE nFotosropil

jamie den hartog

emma billings

VIOLIN

photogroph

FLOWER frotograph

(julia meineke

(julia meineke

Where do you want to go? Driving along he turns to me: Where do you wanr to go?Without answer, he accelerates. Music blasting like thunderi we speed down the empty highway. Me, a captive of his insanity. He rolls down the windows, crank up the air, and pumps up the volume. Anxiety soars as we speed,lost in a world of semis and compact cars on the road to nowhere.The land of lost souls drifting aimlessly in a sea of orange-red darkness. I stare into an encompassing blood-red horizon, wishing-praying for an answeG a sign. He slows as I turn my head and ask where do you want to go? He sighs in scarlet silence, but the sky replies,to hell,to hellso we drive on.

IOVFD

t. It's 1988 Lisa doesn't want me He couldnt raise me all alone So I went to my aunt's Then Lisa took me back And learned to love me --{deresa yvette jones

8 years go by She comes into my room saying she's pregnant "By who?" Was my first response "Nevermind," Was hers

"Why," Was my next question.Then... "l thought I was the only one you loved"

She made me happy When she said, "l'll still love you"

7 more years pass Lisa no longer loves me My sister Demerra ls her pride and joy What happened to the love? I guess it walked out with Demerra's father

I ask her Do you love me? She replies, "You were a mistake" I try to cut her

And miss But leave a mark of effort on her face

il. ln the beginning I would run to him For protection My father used To make me happy

He used To come to my rescue He made me happy When he used To be my superman

My father used To make me happy When he defended me in arguments with Lisa My father used To make me happy When he called me "Daddy's little girl"