CANVAS Volume 6 Issue 2 by Canvas Creative Arts Magazine

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Vagadelic by Sean Redenbaugh

Canvas A Creative Arts Magazine Title

Author

Song of a Cajun Spice I Am Good Intentions

Rachel Plotnick Doris Tapp Sarah Olmsted

2 3 3

Master of the Universe

Erik Hallgren

Don't Look Back 6/3 Oh-yeah

Matthew Oyer Andre Deloney

5 5

"discovering a crumpled reminder"Christina Abbott

You Got Away

Jeni Schaibley

Untitled shakespeare said... Superhero Sidekick

Jaclyn Zawacki Erik Gibson Carla James

8 9 10

My Pillow Signs Last Call Body Poem III So Far Apart

Pearl Chan Megan Hutchison Pearl Chan Mathew Zaradich Sean Redenbaugh

11 11 12 13 13

perspective

Erik Gibson

Chubby

Sara Olmsted

Shadows

Kitty Rogers

Title

Author

"Blind Adoration" Addict Forsaken The Touch Fractal with Curvy Lines

Sarah Jacobi Andre Deloney Sean Redenbaugh Jeni Schaibley Sean Redenbaugh

25 25 26 27 27

Prose Letter

Christopher Harris Bloomfield

The Light Sean Redenbaugh "Painting a Clock on the Wall" Brian Nierman Stolen Breath Rachel Plotnick Self Portrait Tiffany Farber

29 29 30 31

Subversively Yours Her Funeral

31 32

Carla James Sara Olmsted

Ivory Sounds Erik Hallgren Sequence of John Bolinger Thade Correa The Passive March of Egalitarianism Thom Kudla Autumn Sean Redenbaugh Poetic Minutes Rebacca Block

32 33 34 34 34

Three Packs of Sugar, One Cream "selfish thoughts"

Matthew Oyer Christina Abbott

35 37

Shawna Ayoub

The Heart's Immortal Toy Sean Redenbaugh Untitled Ashley Mills

14 15

Untitled

Thought Progression, Lost LoveChristopher Harris Bloomfield

Trail of Hot Sauce

Erik Hallgren

"Introducing the Iliad" Untitled

Brian Nierman Kathryn Camisa

17 17

BELLEROPHON COMET Paper By Your Side Stated Simply

Ayodele Jegede Ayodele Jegede Sean Redenbaugh Shawna Ayoub

40 40 41 41

"War Torn"

Rebecca Bloch

Untitled SATIN CIRCUMSTANCE

Kathryn Camisa Kitty Rogers Kitty Rogers

43 43 44

Memoirs of a Bathing Beauty Tiffany Farber Blue Megan Hutchison

18 20

Queen Ms. Raggedy Anne Andre Deloney

David Pruett

To Venus

Shawna Ayoub

"Last Night"

Sarah Jacobi 24 Mirror Kitty Rogers Only Time Delivers Sean Redenbaugh: Inside Back Cover

Mariner

Front Cover: Earth in Water by Sean Redenbaugh

Inside Cover: Vagadelic by Sean Redenbaugh

Director: Jessica Williams-Gibson Assistant Director: Sarah Koch Advisor: Pamela Baldger

Staff: Michelle St. Angelo Joelle Petrus Carmela Senior Canvas is a biannual publication featuring poetry, prose, and visual arts created by students of Indiana University Bloomington created by the Fine Arts Committee. Work may be submitted during submission callout periods. Specific dates may vary. For questions concerning the magazine, it's committee or the Indiana Memorial Union Board, call 855-IMUB, e-mail arts@indiana.edu, or visit the Union Board Office in IMU Room 270. Special thanks to the Fine Arts committee and the Indiana University Union Board 2002. I'd also like to thank my advisor, Pam, for all her hard work in helping me and the committee for completing this magazine. Last I'd like to thank Indiana University Printing Services, Pam Garrett-Fawcett, for their work with the printing. -Jessica

Song of a Cajun Spice by Rachel Plotnick Daisy's greasy hips sway to the music,

her body gliding like a limp dishrag as she sachets across the floor.

Summer is more melodic than fall, but she keeps dancing anyway. Brown rice sizzles wafting the scent of tangy red pepper, devilishly

boiling out of the kitchen and into the living room. Vegetables always taste better

after they've danced with Daisy's hands. She loves to cook because the music makes her feel young. In comes Grandpa who just arrived

from Chile, his smell reeking the way grilled onions taste just after they've been cooked. Pots and pans bicker over gazpacho soup as if one

knew how to cook better than the other. Mea culpa, Grandpa says, as he dips a bony finger into the syrupy pot and receives an evil glance from Daisy. Everything Grandpa says nowadays

is jabberwocky. He has always hated to dance, bald since he was thirty-six. Outside,

leaves thunder to the ground and signal the beginning of fall. The ludicrous laughter of spices and pleasure parades in circles around Grandpa and Daisy,

painting the town red: giddy from the heat. Water drip-drips heavily into the sink and shatters, tiny shards gleaming against the dishes.

Daisy floats in mid-air and thinks to herself that fall has always seemed a better time to dance. Her hips dig deeper into the rhythm, vibrating

like earth's floor after a storm.

I Am by Doris Tapp

I am forerunner of all my siblings: the example. I am my grandparent's

first love, the one whispered

about, "Everyone watch

what you say, that baby can and will talk." I am paints, oils, and watercolors; the communicators of my thoughts. I am the diligent listener of the Lone Ranger; AM on the dial, a viewer of the black and white static box and a victim of party lines. I am Monopoly, although it bores me. "Can't we play word games instead?" I am nature's leaves, butterflies, trees, birds, pebbles in the creek, and its rippling waters upon my feet. I am Smokey Robinson, American Bandstand, LPs, 45s, Chubby Checker and the Twist. I am a witness to the atrocities of hatred and racism in America; the land of

the free and home of the brave. I am the Civil Rights Movement. Oh yes, my beautiful sepia toned skin has offended some, but never God. He makes no mistakes. I am the undeclared Viet Nam War, "What's Going On" sings Marvin Gaye. I am a better half, bearer of four and witnessed their children's births. I am a homemade Pumpkin Bread, delicious Pear Pie, Chocolate Chunk Cookies, mouthwatering stews and soups. I am Emeril Live. I am a descendent of those once denied educations, the scorned and oppressed. I am their victory. I am Indiana University. I am Jesus Christ and the nail prints in each of His hands; the Crucified One. I am the ones thought to have no souls, how absurd. I am delivered Good Intentions

by Sarah Olmsted

Smoke rises from your lips,

twirling and dancing through the still air, then into disappearance. Your eyes fall to mine, searching and seeing something intriguing, something deeper than those lips could ever explain. You slowly lift your fingertip to my cheek and trace beneath my eyes, then let it wander over all the curves of my face,

spellbound, spellbinding. You are inspecting what you are about to set on

fire.

Master of the Universe

by Erik Hallgren

As I laid in bed, the sound of emptiness, Filled my room. I was trying to poke my big toe out of the Tiny little hole that I had created At the end of my red white and blue suit. The white plastic irritated my toe Cheating brief pain but,

I had to break though the Superman pajamas. Finally, my toe snuck though, I squirmed Until I was looking at the big toe, All Alone.

On the brick style linoleum floor of the kitchen, Throughout my body like electricity. Knowing for sure,

That me parents had heard the noise This time.

Hiding next to the sky blue couch, The one covered in plastic that we couldn't sit on

The pajamas like criminals,

I waited, plotting my next move, like a warrior Deep into Castle Grayskull. I knew that in a moment I would hear My mother or father come down the stairs,

Waiting to escape. After two hours of this tricky pursuit, I

To bed.

The other toes confined in

finally Prevailed. I decided to treat myself to He-

Man For my struggle. It was now four in the morning.

I rolled out of bed, onto the brown shag carpet, A few V shaped pieces Broke loose of the carpet clinging To my Pajamas like burrs. I stood up and crept towards The stairs, hoping no one Would take notice of my heavy feet banging

On the floor like a kid with pots and pans. From the bathroom, I could hear the leaky faucet, each paranoid drop

Holding on to the edge of the faucet, Until it fell reluctantly into the basin. I made it to the stairs and tried to be Extra quiet. On each step my foot sunk into the wood,

Like quicksand. Trapping my foot. When I wriggled out I

Created a squeak that echoed through the Empty halls. 4

I could feel each carefully placed step

Snatching me up and bringing me back, After what seemed like hours, I crawled out of my corner and Sat in front of the television.

I pulled the knob, The sound from the television knocking me Down. I killed the sound, gradually Reviving it until I would hear. I saw Skeletor on the screen and I was content,

For a minute.

Then another hole exposed itself. The hole's invitation was too much. My toe started towards it,

And was soon working my flesh through.

Don't Look Back 6/3

by Matthew Oyer perhaps i should be thinking this but am not.it isn't often that the sun frames the trees against a lavender sky and you can feel the moisture weighing down the cool air. but there are those times. yes, there are. and because it is gone, doesn't mean that you should just let it go. grateful, at least, that it was once there. and just because he sounded

tired doesn't mean that he is dead too. we all get tired sometimes. sometimes. and yesterday was so beautiful, waiting for tomorrow's look back at today. will it all be beautiful? not even while it is happening, but even just in retrospect. that will be enough for me, i think. it is all feeling so stable. too many calms between the gales. i will create discomfort for lack of it. i don't know how else to look for that lavender sky with her treetops and telephone poles. i gave up on the without too long ago. and now all prayers go within. without-within. computer buzzlonely electronic wind. i think beauty lies in not letting go. it is a great big hello, and a great big fuck you, and that first i love you, and that first goodbye, breath of hair, full moon, punch of keys, note from

billy, kiss, fuck, fast drive. the first grab for a lavender sky of your own.

Oh-yeach by Andre Deloney I was born a ghetto. This was my ambiance, the streets were paved with broken glass this is my renaissance.

Winters there were awfully cold, I shivered through the night. I grew up in this five block town when life was good at best. You could keep your house doors open then, lock the screen door, get some rest. One sad day the evil came, with it drugs and death. At night you'd hear the sirens screams, and gun shots (what a mess) School was taught as a one way out, but by now I loved the streets.It's not a story of romance the problem is defeat. Low and behold as I grow up, that struggle goes away, I have four lovely daughters that pray to God each day. I've finally shook away some pain beyond the looking glass, that prison still remains for me if I forget the past.

"discovering a crumpled reminder"

by Christina Abbott

the nerve of you, to leave your Marley tie-dye crumpled,

mocking me, behind my dresser where you flung it last fall, arced past The Starry Night snagging on the corner&

falling like ash Sherlock Holmes investigated, puffed his pipe and proclaimed Marley to be MIA. We laughed about it later when I sent you home, your borrowed cotton back withering into the abyss

of the parking lot, bright flecks of fractured emerald grass glimmering

starts reflected onto dank cement until any sense of up & down, heaven & concrete gone

back to the vibrations you gave me that day briefly after stripping,

running back to bed, indulging again- pulsing and half madabandoning me afterward with nothing left to experience, our honey-mouthed fling crumpled behind the dresser, an outline of the past,

where you flung your t-shirt last fall.

You Got Away

by Jeni Schaibley

I know that won't or never will. But you're not fooled.

You got away from me.

I'm glad for you. You know I know you wanted to

This silly girl who likes to think she's lonely,

or needed to. You don't need me and I don't need your charity.

who needs to be insane, who thrives inside her worries and her wanting

So now you're free from everything that's wrong with me. From all of my insanity. Lucky you,

and her pain. Crazy girl, Crazy for you. I'm not as crazy as I say, but enough to just pretend.

Lucky me. Run away from my obsession, crazy girl with her confession of undying love and passion in a fashion that came on too strong

and scared you off.

You caught the shots I send and you tell me you're my friend, but then you only let it show when we're alone, just so

that nobody will ever have to know of your capacity to care.

Your tender, soft affections, much too gentle for this Masochist

You hurt my heart, but from the start you hurt my head.

who had to turn the lovely into fright. I chose this lost direction

I'd hit the wallwhenI

at the start. You'd catch my fists when I would swing with them in the air at you at night

would run to you. I saw you hiding, saw right through

and held me close and whispered softly it would always be alright, but after long, it was all wrong.

a window. There, but no one knew or ever tried to break on through.

And though I figured I was strong enough to keep in all my burning and my yearning, your discerning of my codes was always right.

the wall. So clear, just like

And like a fly, I'd try again, until it broke my body and the hopes I held within. I'll never be the same. I'll always limp from all the pain.

And you could tell. you knew me well,

far, far too well. You can smell my fear

and all my happiness and fright. You see my contradictions and what I say that might or maybe may, I know that won't or never will. But you're not fooled.

I doomed us, and you doomed me.

The silly Masochist's last laugh. I didn't want to ruin this

I needed to. My brain tricked me. The Masochist that ruined this is laughing in supremacy. Again, she's had her way with me. What's pain to me, to her is glee. It's all she ever wants to see. Be glad you got away from me. 7

Untitled by Jaclyn Zawacki What can be better than this... Heaven can't possibly with art and music that moves our souls paintings that transform our visions and instruments that scream our emotions.. .put to lyrics that speak our

deepest thoughts. A moment I wish I could freeze in time

And put in a crystal ball (like a snow globe) So I could shake it And look at it And it would forever remain constant and preserved, But I wouldn't be able to live through itIt would only be a memory with me to the end. Don't forget

to be beautiful, Don't forget to be skinny, Don't forget

to be happy, Don't forget to be intelligent, Don't forget to be perfect.

Why can't we all be like Santa Claus? merry and fat

with rosy cheeks and an ever-expanding belly. Constant expectations Make me feel inert Like a statue Being carved

by people who want me to be something I'm not.

shakespeare said... by Erik Gibson arosebyanyothernamewouldsmellassweet,

but would not be a rose and would fuck up all the poetry. my name has always been a little useless to me, like serial numbers here is your cell, here is your life, clearly

labeled like a jar in a cabinet to differentiate the sour from the sweet.

Erik: always tripped off my tongue

stumbled like a four-letter word in a foreign language. so strange, but i respond to it not unlike a dog, seeking affection, seeking a new toy to sink my teeth into, seeking someone to protect, slobber with kisses, lie next to on cold nights.

Gibson: reminds me of an old guitar,

broken down and half strung which my older brother will play for the rest of his short

what's in a name?shakespeare asked. how often have i really used my own, aside from

half-strung life; more reminiscence of appliances, stained and only used at maximum capacity, in my parents house, their lives at maximum capacity, stretching the syl-

introducing myself to strangers? but i know it sounds better off some tongues than others. i know it is more me in a cry of a particular other's passion, her anger, tears dripping over an honest smile than in a simple straight from the tag, "Hello, my name is..." the cold DMV emotion responding promptly to a nurses, "Next." i know there must be something in a name: i keep compulsively scribbling it

lables of their lower-middle class name to stay afloat, despite the excess baggage and weight over maximum capacity. my younger brother will not waste his life there, i have promised myself.

directly underneath the title of all of my poems.

W: not a whole name, an initialthe origin of something,

boiled down to almost nothing. it does not represent me, but rather,

equally jagged as the letter, the scar above my lip, the hard work of putting myself through college, putting mind over body, putting skin, muscles, eyes, lungs, all on the

assembly line to get back to the place where i callmyself

home.

Superhero Sidekick by Carla James Hello! My name is Tonto. I'm interviewing for the

position of sidekick. My qualifications are vast. My desire? My desire, you ask? Well, let me just explain. Tonto is my name! I wanna be your sidekick, so I can save you all And when the villain reigns, I will take the fall I wanna be your sidekick, righting all the wrongs And you can be the hero; I'll just ride along I wanna be your sidekick, to purge the earth of crime We'll put criminals behind bars so they can serve their time Can I be your sidekick? I'll keep the nest at home And you can be my Batman= no savior should go alone!

And when the evil vile and cruel descend upon the earth so lewd, Too Many for the caped crusader, trapped in a falling elevator, and the Kryptonite has weakened you, and your turning a hue of blue, and

Spiderwoman has caught her prey, dastardly doings of the day, are too much for one superhero, and your feeling less than zero, Murphy's law won't go astray, and the fight's not going your way I will burst upon the scene, turned a shade of hideous green But I will not rescue you, superhero, superdude And when you're downed, and thusly bleed I, Robin, shall take the lead

Fighting off the pimps and tricks No longer, I, the hapless sidekick... (Gasp!) Oh so sorry, I do digress, into thoughts That should be left, unsaid, unheard by hero ears I'm begging, wanting, near to tears Can I be your sidekick, so I can save you all? Can I be your sidekick, so I can watch you fall?

My Pillow by Pearl Chan I wonder whose head lies there now,

swish of hair forming a question mark on the case, thoughts leaving a soft impression when she rises in the morning to put on coffee. When you are away she must hug it close as I once did, holding your place until you return. I want my pillow back. Perhaps I could steal into your room

when you are full of sleep and each other's arms and slide it out

from under her careless head. Slipping away to my own bare room, prize clutched in thin cold fingers, I imagine that it holds a faint trace of your warm soap scent.

Signs by Megan Hutchison

Last Call by Pearl Chan

Janie from Scarsdale hopes to make up with

Wouldn't you know it? Stuck in traffic at midnight on the last night before the end of the world.

her high school honey;

Neither here nor there,

in the Old Country; Colleen the travel agent is

making merry or taking parting shots;

just stuck bumper to bumper

in the westbound lane of the Long Island Expressway.

Where is everybody going anyway? It figures: Not satisfied where we are, we all need to get someplace else. But now we're all going nowhere fast. The radio announcer with the pumpkin-pie voice is taking calls. The question tonight, of course, is:

What do you plan to do with the time we have left?it being the last night before the end of the world and all. It's a big decision, she says, last chance to do

the Electric Slide,

finish War and Peace,

young Anthony in Bay Ridge wants to ask his dad

what things were like

thrilled to be finally learning to drive stick! DeeDee the radio lady wishes them luck, wishes us all luck, and signs off, saying, Live it up! Try not to sweat it: if you're lonely

buy that pretty girl a drink, and if you're loved bake cookies for the latchkey kids next door. Changing the station as i near Utopia Parkway, I realize that I can't escape the last few nagging worries about wrong turns

and bad decisions: my last cup of coffee, for example. I should have had decaf.

Now I'll be wired all night

prank call your boss. As I crawl along

and in the morning, when it's time to meet my Maker -

behind a faded green Buick, I can't help thinking that maybe

dammit, I'll still be hopped up on caffeine.

it might not matter

in the end; whatever it is

that we do or don't do, it will all turn out the same after all. 12

Body Poem III

perspective

by Matthew Zaradich

by Erik Gibson

I envision you

art changes right when you expect it, and often so with the stuff i keep around. you see it when you want to, i (re)read into everything. i have to admit to having judged you like you were nothing but a piece

a ball of respect rolling in this night, the night of nights. Last nightlast vision of you-

of art. the trick to the Dali

I wished to end all with kiss.

is not the giant love-red rose, with sexual overtones. it is the two sticks in the dirt. lovers, i supposed before; i've just noticed the distance standing between them. you were so quiet, waiting, but

Foresight gave me

audio/video, hallucinatory, of you in the actmy heart stopped; a moment. You have stopped me

you said, "nothing, i'm fine." i read it, not straight,

and ravished me and shaped me from dirt and chopped me down to create a new slough of clay creaturesmy heart burns with glaze and in the bisque I am melting in your arms.

but like a poem,

overtones and lies. i heard, "give me space." at least our relationship was giving. Estes, i've always liked, perfect reproduction, your favorite NY streets where you plan to visit daily, so you say, "i want to live in SoHo"-talking not to me, but potential roommates. you don't see me in your future, (you never see anyone in an Estes). i used to find it charming, never noticed

miles and miles of alone.

So Far Apart

by Sean Redenbaugh When we are so far apart Can sorrow touch you tender heart? I Love you girl, I really do Sleep is sweet with dreams of you

All of you is like a rose Night has come, so I must close

With this I leave one thought in mind You must read the first word of each line

Chubby by Sara Olmsted Beautiful, thick bellies Thick, beautiful bellies Modern oxymoron.

Shadows by Kitty Rogers

The Heart's Immortal Toy

By Sean Redenbaugh Dreaming is the heart's immortal toy

And in these dreams are wishes that we hold But sad will be the man who as a boy Dreamed the things he dreams when he is old For those that linger on a lifetime through

Carry with them all that's left unseen Representing wishes out of view And tokens of time wasted in between

Untitled by Ashley Mills I watch the glass tube in amazement of the

figure

that looks back at me. His hair in dreads and ECKO is scripted across his chest. An angry mob of blacks' crowd around him, to hear what a fellow friend has to say. His name, Desmond Hall, could be read at the bottom of the screen next to ABC News. A reporter's voice speaks "Would you go to war to defend our country against Afghanistan?" A round nerf microphone is shoved in his face awaiting his reply. He grabs it from the reporter on his

left side and an air of power blows through him. He grips the mic tight like a snakes wrap on a rabbit. He looks down and up again and begins to speak the words that will be quoted in the Indianapolis Star. Thick round lips begin to open as the voice began to say: Beautiful we are

Red, white and blue But the colors do not quite mix. Rippling cotton cloth flutters in

the wind Restraining light browns, dark browns and olives

Originally created by white stripes who seized the land of the painted brown. There are so many sensational

colors disregarded Never having the chance of waving in the wind. So the answer to your question, Is no. I will not fight for a land that has not sewn my color in the flag too.

Dazed, I saw my reflection on the screen and shook my head at the young man's truth. His seconds of fame will be remembered in newspapers throughout the state. But, far more important to me, they have reached out and

grabbed my troubled thoughts and embraced them as his own.

Trail of Hot Sauce

by Erik Hallgren The rain dropped like piss From a boy that had peed against a wall. We ran across the water, farting, Coughing, and sneezing without spontaneously combusting.

The music blared, each word dripped From the speakers until the car was flooded With music. Matt drained the car when we pulled up to El Famous Burrito. The police were sitting behind Randy's Market waiting, For Car 14 to show up with coffee.

The taco crawled through my throat like a snail, Leaving a trail of hot sauce. We walked out of the restaurant because

The Pangean Plates had-shifted again. The car sat there talking to the other cars, Discussing Leaves of Grass with the Mercedes next to it. We turned onto the road, Looking at the girls next to us,

Honked, their Cavalier flirting with our Wrangler, directed Us to follow them. We were dying like newborn child. we weren't really dying but if felt like we were, Being the only ones at the party Who were wearing clothes.

The taco kicked at my stomach, So I ran to the bathroom. The clingy clothes Of childhood fell to the ground, and I walked back out. Intrigue filled my mouth as her hand hot like flames Touched my hair and down around my ears. I drifted forward amongst tall glasses of moist flesh Leading me towards the couch,

She was far ahead, nowhere that I could see her, She vanished that I almost stopped thinking about Her when I saw her again. Her hair scraped against

My hand. Cold lips burnt my tongue Leaving a taste of embering incense

That filled the room with "Sex on the Beach" Tickling my nose.

.I heard the knock on the door and Saw red and blue lights reflect off of the rain into the room. Isat still, her body still Melting into mine, like the candle on the table Next to us, Unmindful that the flame was about to Be blown out. 16

"Introducing theIliad" by Brian Nierman I was asleep when I first realized I lived afraid

And introducing the Iliad would not be easy. The hero bounces on a scattered wave Drunken from the sun.

His hole ship choked with tattered ropes and specked chains. Engulfed steadily by the sideway storm. The leaves off my ledge softly change. And images of you balanced on a teetering windowsill While my westward voyage strangles

The splintering helm. Porous vessel like a cement tomb. It dips within each crag under a cool, immaculate moon.

Bounded and blinded like eyes within a charcoal cloud. I lurk in the blur and bathe within each break of the tempest shield. The bough is bent and weathered yet I must Not yield from the depths of my own existence

Untitled

To the diamond spackled sea.

by Kathryn Camisa

Footsteps tread no more dirt in his garden now

Incredible surprise Awaiting your arrival Undetectable to you Startling in its course

And his ship remains steered alone like me

You never expect to feel

The way that you do That's part of the surprise Life is awaiting you But the problem is Life isn't waiting for you to realize That it is there It goes on without you Until you know

Until you have felt Done something incredible You never realize that you have already lost

And when you do The sadness and the pain Follow you until you can feel that way again Unfortunately, you can't always recreate what

You once had

Memoirs of a Bathing Beauty

by Tiffany Farber No one was sure of the exact time she slipped her delicate foot into the scalding hot bathtub, or how long it took to fill it with a sweet lather called "Twilight." What they did

know was that by the time they found the candle, with a label that boasted a 24-hour burning time, it was nothing but a wick.

She had called Trent Barrington on Saturday, October

at around 5pm to inform him that they would have to postpone their date for the evening. She was feeling a bit peaked. She forgot to mention the reason she was feeling peaked. Generally one tends to feel a bit peculiar after swallowing three fourths of a bottle of the finest Champaign 2 9 th

which she had just done. She assumed that Trent was out for his daily run with Trotter, his Chocolate Lab, when he didn't pickup the phone. She left a message. Thinking of Trotter made her hungry for the box of Godiva truffles in her freezer. She fetched them and made her way to the tiny bathroom of her studio apartment. A frothy bubble bath sounded just heavenly, so she bent over her tub and turned the tarnished knobs. Steaming water rushed into the basin. She reached for a bottle of bubble bath called "Twilight" and gingerly poured it into the water. She dipped her slender wrist into the tub and stirred the fragrant water as if it were a magic potion. As the tub filled, she found two small candles and one large one and lit their wicks. Before she stepped into the tub she slipped out of her black dress, tied up her hair, turned up the stereo and swallowed four Valium pills without water.

As she lay in the tub the only thought that bloated through her head was Trent. How she loved him. She shivered with excitement at the thought of his muscular arms and tiny pot belly. She looked down at her naked body, it was the color of ivory. It nauseated her, so she covered it with Twilight bubbles. She blinked and the world disappeared. She was beginning to feel a vacuum rushing through her head because of the Valium she forgot she had taken. In the background her stereo played Pink Floyd. She covered herself with a blanket of bubbles, first her stomach, then her large breasts, then her neck. She could taste the droplets of sweat as they made their way down her red face. Her head fell forward, but she quickly lifted it, as if awakening from a jarring nightmare. In fact, she had been plagued by jarring nightmares for exactly four months. Each night was the same, each dream with the same subject, Trent. One night she would be

holding him in her arms and stroking his head, the next night she would be making love to him, the next night she would be staring into his emerald eyes. But the dreams only began

with these passionate interludes, while each dream ended the same way. He would always leave, without an explanation. She would chase him in the end but it was never to any

avail. Her dreams wee so powerful that she vaguely recalled her waking life. The bathroom mirror was hidden behind a wall of fog. Her head grew heavy, heavier and still heavier yet. Salty sweat burned her crystal blue eyes causing the bottle of Green Tea shampoo above her head to fade in and out of existence. She looked up at the ceiling. A tiny spider was spinning a web. She tried to lift her hand up to touch it, but it was much too far away. Besides, her arms would not budge from their place beneath the now lukewarm water. How long had she been in there? She wondered. Time had no bear-

ing in a world on Champaign and Valium. Her eyelids became lead weights and she let them drop.

Even through the four Valium she dreamt. She dreamt she was in a golden whirlpool tub. Mirrors surrounded the tub on all sides. She looked at her reflection in the mirror

above her feet. Her skin was flawless porcelain. Her body shimmered from the candlelight that surrounded her on all sides. She heard the bathroom door creak open and slowly turned her auburn tresses toward the sound. In walked Trent. His bare body was finely chiseled, his muscular arms bronzed. He leaned over her and lightly kissed her full red lips. She closed her eyes and he moved his lips to her ear. "I can't stay," he said "You know I can't stay." "Why?" She questioned. "Don't you love me as I love you? Won't you come in with me1 the water is wonderful." "You know I can't beautiful, I have to go." Then he stood up, blew her a kiss and walked out of the bathroom. She was frantic. She tried to stand, to leap from the tub, but her legs were stuck to the bottom. "Wait Trent. Wait! Don't leave me, don't!" It was at this moment that her body began to slip. First her backside began to slide towards the drain. Then her arms began sagging in the chilly water. Soon her neck was

submerged. Finally, her head dipped beneath the soapsuds. From the stereo "Wish you were here" danced into the bathroom. It was muffled beneath the water, but soon it disappeared completely. By the time her neighbors found her she was floating, bloated, in the ice-cold water. Any empty bottle of Champaign was tipped on its side next to the tub. The candles had burned down to their wicks. Apparently the blaring music had begun to annoy the couple in the apartment next door. The song "Wish you were here" played on repeat hour after

hour and they became concerned. After they repeatedly knocked at her door they became worried. For months she had been a veritable zombie. Only emerging to retrieve mail and her shipment of pills that was delivered once a week. Her hair had grown long and unmanageable, her skin saggy. When the neighbors tried to invite her for dinner she would only smile and say she had a date with Trent that night and would love to come another time. The neighbors would smile politely and shake their heads privately. "Poor girl," they would say.

When the police finally arrived she had been dead for several hours. A tall officer picked up her half empty bottle of Valium, which sat beside her full bottle of Prozac. He removed the cordless phone from the sink basin into which it had fallen. He pressed the redial button. "Hello." "Hello, this is officer Stipe. I was wondering if you or anyone you know has any relation to a Miss Charity Withermore." "Withermore is that her name? I'll tell you officer it's a good thing you called. I've been meaning to do something about this. You know, I went out and bought a caller ID because of that damn girl but it always comes up unavailable." "Sir can you please explain to me what this is all about?" "Yes, of course. This damn girl has been calling my apartment for four months asking for some guy named Trent. The first few times I told her that she had the wrong number. It's like she forgot or something. After a while I just stopped picking up and she would leave messages for him. Every damn message was always the same. 'Hi Trent, it's Charity. We're going to have to reschedule dinner with your sister tonight. I'm feeling a bit peaked, it must have been the Salmon we ate last night. Anyway, I love you baby, call me 19

when you get back from your run.' It's creepy, it really is. Have no idea who this Trent guy is.

"Well, sir I may be calling you for further questioning. We have found Miss Withermore dead in her apartment and we are trying to get our hands on any information that we can. Imay be in touch. Good evening." Officer Stipe hung up the phone and turned to the neighbors. The woman was cry-

ing. "Who is Trent?" Asked officer Stipe. The woman began to wail. "oh geeze.........he's her fiance,I mean, he was her fiance. He died about five months ago in a car wreck. Charity was in the car, they released her from the hospital with minor injuries. Honestly, we really didn't know her well at all. We tried to be nice to her,

but she was always peculiar. We just assumed she was having trouble with his death. We had no idea it was this bad. Oh geeze...1 feel so responsible. If only I had know...." She began to wail again.

"Look folks, why don't you go on home. We'll handle it from here. Go have yourselves a rest." He was speaking directly to the man, the stable of the two.

The couple left immediately. The stench of death and failure was overpowering. Officer Blake, Stipe's co-worker, stepped from the bathroom to call an ambulance. She

would need to be removed immediately. "Damn pills," said officer Stipe to the dead woman. "Why did you take so many of

these damn pills?" He said as he shook the Valium bottle up and down. Then he sat on the edge of the tub and removed his wallet. He took out a picture of his wife and a tear slid from his eye.

"It's a damn shame. Love can be a damn shame." Then he kissed his wife and placed her back into his wallet where she would be safe and dry.

Blue by Megan Hutchison

Queen Ms. Raggedy Anne

by Andre Deloney she smiles does he take notice, she cooks the meals that gives him daily bread, she cleans the home and works two jobs then, makes her man believe he's strong!

she gives the kids love and affection, cause each day there's something new. Although her time is never wasted,

his beliefs just make her blue, he never comforts, just forsakes her, when she's the one that keeps the glue, the bond they share is so lop-sided, through the years, she's just love starved. She looks for new directions, but fears she's doing wrong. It's back to this ain't happening, is there another way. she prays from desperation, for God to pave her day. Without it it's impossible, the pain makes life so gray, she shares with other women, to change her point of view Someone says I've been through it all The choice is left to you!!

Colors of a Black Mans Mind

"Mariner" by David Pruitt 22

To Venus

by Shawna Ayoub Oh, Venushow you tease me with gorgeous curves,

and sighs the plump of you is pleasing and easy on the eye. dear Venus, you are lovely

with full and supple thighs Your fertile looks appease me though I know you not as mine. Sweet Venus, do not taunt me with your lurid, tempting sway

Your looks already haunt me in a most peculiar way Your breast are sugared candies, and your hips deserve a taste

but most of all, Dear Venus, I long to touch your face.

"Last Night" by Sarah Jacobi you're here- aren't you? i feel your hand on my thigh sliding to my calf+ .

you whisper my name, i feel it

happened, didn't it? those last days are a blur it really

i can't remember your goodbye what you must have said to console me i found the broken glass though of our favorite picture together i wake every night, indeed if i ever sleep, to your touch- your arms around me when it's over, it's over we can't ever go back my memories are always in black and

whitethey are my vodka bottle.

"Blind Adoration" by Sarah Jacobi look closer- past the skintight Catwoman tshirt, the Guess jeans into her soul see her at 12, clad in a pink tutu and

dreaming of the stage at 14 when she finally hits puberty no more time for dancing, the phone rings too much

boys craved her, her bra always digging into her sensitive

white flesh 16, her "slut" phase, shiny knee high boots those who envied her called her a whore, but she was still a virgin look closer- see that compliments won't

Addict by Andre Deloney

flowers she throws away

My mind was robbed of purpose fear kept me strong. I was placed in a pod of bewilderment

her mind is still full of cotton candy

and all my hope was gone.

dreams-

I was a slave of addiction, it didn't matter which one. I couldn't tell right from wrong, my soul was displaced, and I couldn't see grace. Hell's fury was writing my song!

work, she's heard them all

she needs reality after a century of being worshipped for

TandA she hates being invisible.

Then through a moment of clarity, God shone his great light on me.

My thinking came clear and fought most my fears, and through time, I am able to see. Colors of a Black Man's Mind

Forsaken

by Sean Redenbaugh Close your eyes and let me share with you The hurt and pain your words have put me

through A candle by the door I wanted so much more

But shatter dreams is all that you could do I clung to every baiting lie you told

And spent my heart on fables that you sold A single zealous kiss A momentary bliss A royal flush that weakness made you fold And every day reluctant to awake I lie in bed reliving your mistake A feeling oh so sad A Love we could have had

The memory of a dream you did forsake

The Touch by Jeni Schaibley A touch as such does not mean much. But such

a touch in honest trust with earnest love

Fractal with Curvy Lines

by Sean Redenbaugh

that feelings much be made use of is more than just a grip or shove. As much as such

a touch can mean, in pure and clean devotion, conveying such emotion as I never knew existed. A touch that said, insisted total honesty between a boy, a girl, a simple scene, (not new, I mean, but classic in the way it could, it might be seen!) was no less lovely for its age, its unoriginality. There was no past,

no nothing that had ever come before,

and nothing out the door. All that ever was,

all that had existed was the touch that held, persisted

inside and through and wrapped the two together.

Prose Letter

by Christopher Harris Bloomfield Dearest Julia, Once again you'll never see this, but it allows me to sleep at night when I write to you. I've been reading my journal recently, back to when we were together, through the

breakup and aftermath, the purpose of which being simply to remember you with no cobwebs of time to obstruct my visions.I remember silky delights in the thrust of tongues new habitat, squirming and covered by sheets and the warmth of my breath, our faces flushed with excitement's plateau and steaming the night air that creeps through your

bedroom window with an inhale and out.I remember early Saturday mornings at dawn, lying with you in the center of your huge bed, feeling as if there was nothing that could stop me as long as I had you by my side. God sometimes I felt like such a piece of shit, only to realize that I had you in my corner, and that you'd never let anything bad happen. My thoughts keep coming back to my house with the sweet smell of you in the air, the first time we made love. I could have died in your arms that night, content with the end of a life so short that knew nothing more than everlasting love felt in heartbeats and sweat, bodies alive in the goodness of dawn to see first stems of shadow creep up on my walls. Quenched in our silence the two of us slept without hint of bad dreaming and glowing gently as one. I don't know why I do this to myself, but I guess it has something to do with me wanting so badly to get back to that time where I discovered the possibility of love and its many benefits. I suck,I know, but it's all I can do to tell myself that every once in a velvet

blue shirt with your left arm around my back. Your right hand is on my stomach, clutching my shirt. I don't know why, but I can't take my eyes off this picture. The flash lights up only our faces in the dark room, and you can see people milling around behind us, all oblivious that this moment in time is captured and sealed into my memory. Our smiles are real. Our

embrace is not a prop.I can feel your head on my right shoulder, just below the collarbone into the soft spot where you had fallen asleep so many times before. You're stunning in your blue, in the flash, in my arms. Stunning, and that's how I remember it, and that's why there's really only one picture that I look at. Don't you see that I'm nothing without you? I'm nothing but a mess of tears and stress, nurturing my insanity until the day I am able to tell you how I really feel. I don't even think about what you'll say in response because I don't want to mix hope with the possibility of reality. And I've told you before how you, more than anyone else, surprise me anytime your mind is spoken, and I have no clue where to begin when trying to determine how you would react to me or anything dealing with me. If only you could feel whatI've lost beat inside my restless chest, half of what it used to be, now under delicate duress these past few years. Well, my space has been filled, and still it is no cure for my torture, self-inflicted

maybe, but still unbeatable into the wee hours of the night when sleep is finally allowed to take over my eyes. Goodnight my dear, and know that someone is thinking of you so far away.

All you need is love is all you need

The Light by Sean Redenbaugh The light creeps in the window And the shadows slip away The night has left it's post To make room for the day And now the sounds have come That beg the sun to rise

The trees and birds and sky

"Painting a Clock on the Wall"

Have opened up their eyes

by Brian Nierman

The earth is now alive And as I wake I see

The simple beauty all around That God has given me And right away my mind is free My goals and dreams are clear I'm thankful for the time I have And those that I hold dear

Painting a clock on a wall Can tell the time correctly only twice a day. Every other second it is useless. Sometimes I miss that precise moment when what is Constant parallels what is ever changing. But I know that I can still catch it in Less then twelve hours and

Blend the perfect pillars closer with the Slightest sweep of the metal hand.

And every time I step outside

And soak up all in sight My soul is lifted high above For I have seen the light

The terms of how I shall go about this remainsI do not know. I could guarantee that I will catch this only twice a day Phenomenon by sitting in the room and waiting. Or take my chances and go out and live

Some kind of life in those less then twelve significant hours. But then I run the risk of arriving a second too late And now I am left to wait The longest term between the extremes.

Stolen Breath by Rachel Plotnick Your

figure

slips over

I wonder instead Did you think of me as you

me in bed, cream hands pulling at my quilt, the touch of feathery

fingers.

So much of you is in me; I feel

clutched onto broken air? Did I extinguish with you, mother

you when I breathe like a mint rolling down the back of my throat.

& daughter failing, falling together? Can we breathe still, feel still, in one space?

Mothers and daughters know

I meld into the weight of my bed now & sink deeper to crawl back into your shadow.

how to dip into each other so when you kiss my forehead we orbit space and tumble in and out of secrets with silent understanding.

Sweet dreams,myprin cess Your words knock at me now like a fist pressed into my ribs, now they strike, & then fade, forgetting how to exhale, then boiling over the surface to hammer at my breath all over again.

Who knew a day later the car would collapse two blocks from out house.I don't think about you, flying, wailing into infinity's hands and through the

windshield, or how your fragile frame crumpled in that fatal moment, a torn kite scrambling against gravity's embrace.

Night sweats smell of your perfume.

Self Portrait by Tiffany Farber Two gray, feline eyes survey me

Up through the glass come her long, slender fingers She brushes them through the auburn ringlets that frame my face Two full, crimson lips begin to quiver Saline runs from her calico eyes

And little almond drops come crashing to the sink basin I see her reflection no longer As I retreat to the blackness beneath my own palms To me she is a monster Beneath her seductive grin is a devilish smirk If I follow her curves to the place where facade meets reality.... I will discover the truth

There is throbbing pain There is a gate Only those who claim her past are able to pass through Through the gate lies a magnificent ballroom

Where remembered lovers eternally glide She controls the music She conducts the band I lift my throbbing head from my dripping palms She glares at me through the glass "You will never rid of me," she whispers As she crashed with me to the floor.

Subversively Yours by Carla James Can I lie in the face of the Devil

With my lips as well, my eyes? And live a life of deceptive ease My thoughts submerged, baptized And I may think I know me well In fact a myth I must deny For I live in the real, and fantasies

and lie So peering in the devil's face My thoughts serene, sublime A sense of familiarity A keen and brittle lie.

Her Funeral

by Sara Olmsted When she is lying there with her hands crossed over her belly and flowers right above her knees, will they wonder who she was beneath the mental disorders, beneath the crooked glasses, beneath that strange skin? How did she feel knowing if she didn't swallow those ten pills before her day began, then she would go crazy, people would be hiding in her closets, fires would be spreading throughout her house? Maybe she is now somewhere without hallucinations, fires, robbers, mean people, and pills.

Maybe she is lying down in a field of wildflowers, with nothing but goodness taking over her mind and nothing but pure beauty absorbing into her eyes.

Ivory Sounds by Erik Hallgren The ivory keys push against the chords in the piano

The ghost sound bounces, off each wall of the house Until the sound dies In my room. Mom,Ineedhelp with number.

The dead sounds leave my room, traveling back To the piano.

She leans over my desk, Lemon light illuminates her eyes,

Shallow blue drops of rain hit the window of my room. She returns, to the Living Room

Where she presses the keys, And the sounds are born again, Dying when they reach my room.

Sequence for John Bolinger

by Thade Correa I.

Song

This day is

filled with peace.

A little beyond the sun, there is a place where our tired feet can rest.

Remind me of silent afternoons

when the honey went crack with joy; the trees sand a little. The air was blue.

Today is like that, A moment away from rain, the crepuscular sun

You are there,

(shining) VII. Benediction This dawn is rising. Some day again,

this bed, this scene but different, as time

makes us all Some day we will being again all over the world

shielding the rest

The new of an everlasting Moment comes rushing

from our eyes.

like a small wind

Night has long been gone.

to clear our eyes then faster,

VI. Message

until we become wild with hope.

Last night when I awoke from sleep curled in the arms

of darkness I felt beyond the sky

That's how it always isThe world bringing us pain then awakening us-

some eye watching. I knew the moment-

We're all alive always (this Now has dried my eyes)

(some hand thrust through air, a vision, a silence, peace) I knew you beyond all the quiet springs

When we laughed and drank blue and the water was like glass. I could when I touched the face of morning come closer to the dawn than ever before.

The Passive March of Egalitarianism

by Thom Kudla Though the most vocal are those afflicted with hatred and negativity, Please know that they do not represent the whole. Despite their aversions, I accept youWe are eternally united in humanity. Egocentrism hinders the equality we could all rejoice in. Whitman wrote; Lincoln spoke- and still we are lost as a culture.

Not enough minds changed, disturbed by diversity, scared of differences; Fearful of themselves are the typical "children of God". They read, talk, worship, and live And have yet to experience the beauteous wonders of life. I cannot promise an open-minded, accepting world to you neither can my enlightened brothers and sisters

but we have faith that someone out there involved directly with your challenging lifestyle will offer soulful support. Different and the same We are leaves without grass, trying to unite ourselves and others. Poetic Minutes When they do you wrong, I worry. When I see you smile, I know there is hope. by Rebecca Block Here is all I can provide of value: compassion. I. Your delicious smile wanes

As darkness brings isolated illusion The Light Autumn

To my shattered Stripped Sunset

by Sean Redenbaugh Autumn is the saddest time of year

When color slowly fades from earth and sky

II. October's scarlet desire

The loss of beauty drawing but a tear And leaving only dust to dry the eye

mingles with nature's

golden marigolds. Gloriously she saunters

And for awhile the world falls asleep A slumber only wintertime could bring

blushing with soft silky leaves and tender love.

The rivers cry and willows truly weep Waiting to be born again in spring

III. Wet jeans

and hot legs snap in desire as soft rain laughs in envy.

Three Packs of Sugar, One Cream

by Matthew Oyer I've made a mess of me, he thought, slouching into the booth, his head against the wall. "It doesn't help that you don't have the slightest idea what you want," she said to him. Her lips were icy blue and beautiful. "Who are you?" he asked, looking at her slender neck that made him want to kiss it, avoiding her eyes. Instead she flagged down the waitress. "I'll have coffee and a piece of cheesecake. Just coffee for him." She was central. He, the waitress, the entire world around them, peripheral. "What do you know about me?" he asked her. She lit one of the cigarettes and dragged contemplatively, staring

over his left shoulder at something that wouldn't be there when he turned around to look for himself. Those were the only times he would look into her eyes. She appeared to look at whatever she damn well pleased, but she never looked into his eyes either. "I know that you don't take cream or sugar with your coffee," she said finally. "That hardly qualifies you for the role of analyst," he said. "I know that you have a romantic notion of smoking, and that-is why you won't quit. I know that you are tired of girls, and drugs, and school, and you want to see something that really shocks you. I know that nothing shocks you. Except for maybe me," she smiled and pretended to bat her eyelashes. "I know that you're tired and you don't quite know why. I know why. I know that you

keep one eye searching for home and the other darting around for something else all the time. I know that your surprise is turning into lust right now. And I know why that is too." She blew a stream of smoke past his right shoulder this time and stamped her cigarette into the ashtray without looking. "So, now the big question tough guy, is what do you know about me?" she said, their eyes meeting for the first time. Her gaze leveled in challenge and confrontation. His in wonder, wanting, and defiance. The bond was hard to be broken. Both wanting to break it. Trapped in their own vulnerability. "Nothing, just as I expected," she said, taking another one of his cigarettes. He saw this too. One on top of the other. First signs of weakness. "Come on, use some imagination," she said. Sensing advantage, it was his turn at silence. "Are you figuring out a good story for me?" she asked. He waved over the waitress. "I'll have a piece of cherry pie. Thank you." He looked out the window at the clouds. "I know that you order for people to compensate

for something else," he said. She tipped her head back laughing. Her pink hair, and long neck, and blue lips, set in her light skin creating a starkly beautiful contrast to the blue skies and white clouds framing her against the window. "Tell me, what am I compensating for?" she asked leaning on her elbow, her chin in her two hands, fingers behind her eyes. "That isn't how you played the game," he said. "I can't tell you anything that you don't already know." Neither could turn away now. That would be giving up. "Is that all

then?" she asked, and poured cream and sugar into her coffee. She watched what she was doing now. Three packs of sugar, one cream. I think that's enough, he thought to himself. She sat back and looked out the window. She was a work in contrasts. He could tell that it was from this that she thought her sexiness derived. She was right, of course. He looked at the angles of her face. She watched a mother and her daughter arguing in a van in the parking lot. Had he been looking, he would see the same soul in the two of them. He would have studied the great mountain of time and place between them. She looked away. "I don't believe in mysteries anymore," she said. "Not the way that I used to." She

looked so beautiful and lone. The picture would flash before his eyes every time something took his breath away for the rest of his life. He thought that she knew this. He

thought that he would be on the tip of her tongue every time she ordered someone coffee. Her sadness was brilliant. He thought about the aesthetic of sadness. He thought about the aesthetic of this apparition of a girl before him with - with the swagger, and sadness, and sharp angles, and contrasts. He thought about all of this and could think of nothing to say. They were past the game now. And she turned from the window and looked directly into his eyes. "You don't believe in anything either. You just don't know it yet." She looked out the window again. And he thought that she wanted him to prove her wrong. Thought how badly she must want to be wrong. "Ibelieve in this," he said quietly. She smiled, a jaded, knowing smile. And that was sexy too. "Yes well, what would you call this?" But he had expected that. "A moment," he answered. "Oh...is that all?" she said. He wanted to tell her about Nietzsche, and the juxtaposition, and creative recreation, and the color that the sky gets on certain nights, at certain times because of

lights and air pollution. But what was enough for him didn't seem enough for her anymore. And he felt lonely here with her in this place. And he wanted her more than ever, if only so they could both feel something different for a moment. Sadly, he knew what she thought about moments. He thought about what she would look like naked. He was glad to think about something that took him away from this place. But when she turned from the window, and his eyes moved from her breasts to meet her gaze, she only

smiled at him. Her look was seductive, but her half-smile only seemed to tease him. And he knew that she knew. And that smile seemed to say that she knew that he knew that she knew. And he felt small, the way that he had earlier. "I know something else about you," she said. "Yeah, what's that?" "I know that your biggest fear is triviality," she said. "But you don't see." "I don't see what," he asked. "Well, I guess I'll break the rules on this one. You don't see that drama is trivial. Sex is not trivial. It's biological. It's all that we attach to it that's trivial. And that is what will always get in your way." He drank the rest of his coffee. "If that is what you think, why are you sitting here with me?" he asked and lit a cigarette. She did the same. "Because it amuses me," she said. "And...because you haven't asked." And as she dragged from his cigarette, she was sex. There was nothing

else. No one else. He looked very hard at her. Imagined her naked body over his. Imagined the noise that she would make as he entered her. Thought about her sweating, feeling something, crying, laughing, scratching his chest, whispering his name in his ear. He imagined what it would feel like to grab her hips. What it would feel like to kiss

her. Feel her tongue. Taste her. And then he stood up, picked up both of their checks, and turned to walk away. "Where are you going?" she asked, startled for the first time. He turned and looked at her one last time. "I'm teaching you about moments." The sun

was low in the sky as he walked out the door, and all of the endless nighttime lay before

him.

"selfish thoughts"

by Christina Abbott to convince each other it was still alright. The earth was still spinning,

That day the phone rang differently, & I knew who it was. I looked up

the grass was still growing, growing on the grave he would lie in soon.

from the television, hearing

fortune in the long, shrill

Trained to serve and protect, this is his climax,

ring. We met eyes, neither one wanting to answer.

payoff for years of being treated more

She picked up the phone-

monster than man- yet

I turned away. The news blaring with stories of anguish & tragedy, but all I could hear was the sound of her voice, the sound of her fingers drumming on the countertop.

The phone punched down on the receiver- I dreaded looking at her, not wanting to hear

what he had said. But she called my name, almost

a whisper, the words stopping in her throat- ebbing softer against the heavy tick of the metronome quickening, matching

Just. want him here to protect. Selfish thoughts bang against each other inside my head, but I brush them aside to be there for her. For his sister who looks at me

with his eyes, asks, "Do you think he'll be alright?" A Lie works its way out of my mouth,

while my heart leaps suicidally from my chest & splatters

onto the smooth wood floor.

the flushed pace of my lungs. I heard all I needed to know

by the shake of her head & the ache in her eyes. The moment hung,

breathless, the calm before the storm, then a rippleI lost any sense that remained

of the outside world, immersed in memories that would certainly be the last. My vision went fuzzy & I clung

to her- like a sailor to a mast during a tempest- feeling her tepid tears on my neck.

The vibration of her cries echoing in my empty heart. Then we broke away, each trying

Untitled by Shawna Ayoub your simple phrases and casual embraces embarrass me. to the point that I want to run instead of stick with you. and I'm sick of you so walk away hand in hand if it's going to mean anything otherwise go separately because that's all I can stand. is it anger or jealousy? I think it is neither and both because I long for what you feel but I am dismayed by what you are when you are together apart is when I love you most it is then that you need loving and then that I need to give it but nowI cannot give and you cannot take so I say a temporary farewell to a friend until I regain a friend when you can be a friend instead of a toy

for cuddling.

by Christopher Harris Bloomfield Thought Progression, Lost Love I don't have what it takes, I think, to run where it is that I want to go, unless of course I find my stride, in which case I'm golden in all that I do and nothing will stop me on my way to wherever my eyes last glance upon in

final moments

of inspiration. Long

winded I know but I'm sure that it's true, showing no signs of imminent failure like past theories on flight, and this leads to assurance of lasting confidence.

Ah, but I've not seen her for days feel like weeks seem like she's just a dream I have every night in the center of my pillow's feathered curve where I'm cradled and carried off to be with her for as long as I can keep my eyes closed. I miss the taste of her skin

when we laid in bed for days, when she was warm and soft, fresh from her dreams.I long for the smell of her breasts smell like apples as ripe as the season allows. Stop it, you think too much! What good can come from all of this thinking? I'm sure nothing much but the discovery of my own ignorance. But I miss the metamorphosis of her mind, odd to weird, weird to something I've yet to

figure out,

as if to say I know all

about the other phases. Even now I can see the hairs of her neck prickle to attention with the introduction of my warm breath. I can see it almost touch it. Almost, but she's not

here, or there even. Nothing but a dream I have when the strains of the day become more than the normal dosage. She's moved on I'm sure but I'm lost and not found in the

last place that she would ever think to look. She can't see me, but I want to tell her, I have to or she might never understand what she does to me, what I can't do to myself or anyone else.

BELLEROPHON by Ayodele J)egede

COMET by AyodeleJegede

angel, my enemy

because a sickness is inherent in your skin and scent...

i was a sour love letter on god's table waiting along with the fire and brimstone. i was full of unholy bile and other nasty energies

all rosy and pure like blood.

too bright and hot for men or god.

you're quiet like an alien, but you lie.

you'll stab me before my road is through

you are not my kind so you must leave my house. we are organic like imported fruit but look at yourself, angel: you are

different. your prayer

your belief your emotion your face

your blood

my tongue was loud with bitter notes like a half-eaten pomegranate. i lay on a table like soot or toxic love.

then even god himself could not stand me so he threw me down to earth and i traversed the stars. i traversed moons. i traversed life. my tail was strong, red, bold... my heart surged a million miles an hour... a million more... a million more... a million more... only to discover the journey to be infinite only to discover my anger to be my

is not like mine. so you must die.

waste.

i know what you once were, brother. i know who you once resembled, friend.

throat

for the first time a breath climbs my

but hush. my saber will be the

find word,

hum and laugh

chord,

finally closing my diaphragm. my tail is gray and fine.. .the surge is

dead... my

fists are

removed.

you will ever need to hear.

goodnight, angel. thank you.

i recline, letting these skin cells rest. in eternity i float now with all of

solitude's majesty. my tail is an empty, rolling, rainbow colossus. in eternity i float

like a letter of love building its happiness. it is better to float eternally in love.

Stated Simply by Shawna Ayoub

The Light Paper By Your Side

by Sean Redenbaugh Memories fade in time But ink, my friend, does not

What's been written down Can never be forgot

It's simple, as you said but what you meant was not in your words Not in your eyes

when you looked that way or your hands when you reached out Not in the legs that carried you

your reasons hidden So let the paper share

The feelings that you keep The smiles that you wear And tears you gently weep Put secrets that you hide Between it's stripes of blue

And paper by your side Will hold them strong and true

your true thoughts concealed simple, it is simple, it's not to know you or see you or touch you

or walk beside you or with you but near you is where you meant to be and above you, inside you

what you said was not, "It's simple," but, "I love you."

"War torn"

by Rebecca Bloch A gooey caramel dawn breaks over the beer stained country, slowly awaking

people who would rather not begin another day. Bombings erupt sporadically,

spraying dust like midday sand kicked up. by eager children. A woman stands alone, amidst this

fiery chaos,

her honey colored hair dulled, her smile dried like a yellow rose. Gleaming like cat's eyes at night, the woman's eyes resemble huge, lonely moons searching for permanent escape from constant terror.

She stands alone, the taste of bitter champagne on her tongue, her family

lost forever. War has shown her survival skills; the hazy highlighted instinct to make it through to the next day. Without hope, despairing, finally she is beckoned by a safety light that calls her name - following, she stumbles upon a camp where despite

the urine infested smells, food can be obtained. She thinks she will crumble in this place, thinks she can finally let her emotions soar like prayer flags in the wind. When there is nowhere

else to look but up, slowly a spark of amber lights inside her. She knows that this cannot all be in vain, that there is more than the vomit infested

world in which she lives. And slowly she begins to see that though she had started to rot like a peach in the heat, she must stand strong for all the people who came before her dying innocently, and for all the people to come into the world after her, deserving better. Deserving

to see the sun through the clouds of her country.

Untitled by Kathryn Camisa

SATIN by Kitty Rogers

people black imprints

Shadows caress the worn planks of pine, pressed smooth with time and scarred by passion.

stuck upon a wall many walls

thousands of remnants of

The sun leaks through, dripping across my sweat-stained barre Once a striking honey-gold.

horror Hiroshima

humanity eternally framed and captured

for

Classical notes used to slice through the steamy air, thick with heavy breath and seeping pores. Releasing inner turmoil, outer endurance The needle bounces atop a plastic plate.

future generations

who won't follow cremated black ash

A sliver of light drapes its way across the floor,

no long there

Interrupted shadows.

a shadow

Intertwined among a darkness of nylon, a mass of coiled legwarmers, slinky georgette wraps Laid to rest, tattered slippers and retired pointe shoes.

of a fleeing seeing

dying frying being human destined

being

to incinerate so war can end continue...

My finger glides along the cool satin, spinning

cobwebs onto wrinkled seams Pirouetting past each flesh-coloured stitch. Leather souls soft to the touch, shine A furtive pride, worn deep. Lonely occupants of my personal lost and found, the only members of this fantasy cast not preparing themselves for the stage. Sentimental surges sting these beady browns, yet Lightened once again by a familiar crackling - the record begins, and pointe shoes clap the pine.

CIRCUMSTANCE by Kitty Rogers A year passed like the train in your room-

Rattling the walls that used to be unbreakable, melting the pennies I placed on its tracks. Our paths twisted like roots as we ran away from the stars, afraid of the parallels our two worlds were spinning. I close my eyes and remember you backwards, tracing your shape with inquisitive fingers.

Like shadows on the ceiling we shiver above the flame, crisp wick falls like dust as the breath of time swirls through its hourglass. Lifted up by your guitar strings and a gamble taken in the dark, like a puppetI fall weak

behind my front. Drawn to each other like the pastels in your framea vintage dream set aside and waiting with psychic patience. Out the window

green blur molds itself back into trees, as the wheels slow to a stop and we meet in the middle. I reach out to shake your hand

but instead you kiss the freckle on my palm.

Mirror by Kitty Rogers

The Light Only Time Delivers

by Sean Redenbaugh When all the days connect to one And somber skies conceal the sun Sleep is mixed with wasted time And pain pours out in tonic rhyme

When darkness fills your broken heart And sadness tears your life apart The shortest moments feel so long And wounds live on in scornful song So listen to your heart's content And write until your pen is spent But only sleep will calm the noise And only time delivers poise

Coffee Mug by Sean Redenbaugh

Ato.