University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
by Chisom Okorafor Brown is the color of flesh, I say, And everyone nods. That makes sense, After all, your flesh is brown. And other have different colors. But that's not what I meant. I know flesh exists in other colors. Yet brown is the color of flesh. Flesh is meaty and fatty and sweaty,… Continue reading Brown Flesh
by L.A. Clark We could have had some fun together, you and I. I can admit that to myself now. At least when you were little, I think it would have been good times. I have a way with babies and toddlers. I love them, and they love me in return. Mostly what it takes… Continue reading You and I
by Siavash Saadlou My cousin Meysam says that my father wasn’t exactly made for war. “He would get misty-eyed,” he says, “as soon as you read him a poem.” My eyes glaze over a photo of Mahmoud with regret as I hear These words—in the photo he is standing on a rooftop in his Uniform,… Continue reading Words and Lives
by Rosalind Kaplan When I started writing, I listened to the advice of teachers and other writers to write what you know. So I wrote about the world of medicine, being a med student, a doctor, and the things that nobody tells you ’til you’re too far in to turn around. I wrote about mothering,… Continue reading I Won’t Waste Your Time
by Tohm Bakelas you thought summer might not end this year, that autumn had no chance, but then without warning the temperature dropped, and it seemed as if overnight leaves changed from green to yellow, from yellow to red, from red to purple, from purple to black. all those faded lemonade sunsets you chased no… Continue reading the same situation
by Judith Ford It’s dusk and I’m at the beginning of a four-mile run. I’m half-listening to songs by Enya through my Walkman headphones. I’m running beside a busy road but I barely hear the cars above Enya’s voice. It’s 1987 and I’m thirty-nine years old. Today is Christmas Eve and I’m trying to shed… Continue reading Hands On My Back
by Beverly Rose Joyce My grandpa drove a truck. George, not Russ. It was just like the one on Sanford and Son. But green. Not emerald or kelly or hunter; more army. He kept in the back the tools of his trade: trowel, spackle knife, levels, floats, mixer, sponges, chalk, thread, hammer, hawk. And, of… Continue reading Her George
by Ashlyn Inman It’s strange being in a place that you spent most of your life in and feeling like everything is familiar except one thing. For as long as I could remember, we had a dog in the house. Even before we lived in this particular house, we had a dog in the family.… Continue reading Dog in a Box
by Jim Ross To fend off doers of foul deeds I keep my bedroom door securely locked. The only one I cannot keep away is Death. Death carries a skeleton key good for every door. Tonight, he comes, inserts his key into the cylinder, and turns. The ancient lock rattles as cylinders grind and bolts… Continue reading Night Watch
by Violet Piper I ache with Love. I have bent over and around myself for months, avoiding the mirror. There I am, though, in the reflection on the subway window, with the tunnel behind me. I look pained and afraid of the pain—like I stubbed my toe on the podium during a public speech. I… Continue reading Throat Awareness and the Unfair Thoughts
Ignatian Literary Magazine 