University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
by Scout Faller stained as we are with forgetting. sitting like an idiot and with your one spoken language, american english, a poorly fitted coat. hair flat, face to the sun like you knew all her names before addressing her. dripping with the exigence, a snotty bitch—reaching for the coffee cup in a way that… Continue reading notes app poem
by Candice Kelsey Today, we are ordered into total lockdown. I tell my students to cluster away from the doors, Avoid direct visibility of scope & crosshairs. 12-gauge semiautomatic shotguns, Glock 20s rarely miss. Their assignments become locking doors, stacking Desks in barricade, turning out lights. I would gladly, without any hesitation, take A spray… Continue reading This is Only a Drill
by Travis Stephens Loose valves, a rocker tip-tapper, something out of whack in my chest. It rattles. Bangs. Time for a tune up, god knows, not a replacement, maybe a little service. Pluck it out. Set it on the work bench. Pressure wash it of memory, of rust and greasy stuff. Maybe a new coat… Continue reading Heart Medicine
by Hannah Mitchell Writing always feels like a seance at my desk. The souls of my foremothers rise, Curve, twist themselves through my pen. (They demand I write in pen.) (There will be no erasures.) Let me introduce my hand-me-down heart: At its core, a lamp trimmed With cast-off buttons. (My grandmother's mother couldn't write… Continue reading My Grandmothers Write Through Me
by Hannah Mitchell He did not, probably, work with his own hands. A river-god, seated beneath an arch: Unconfined, unlimited, A chemical vessel. Remarkable hills at the foot of the rainbow (The most beautiful of all the colors, A delicate violet, a deep green) Gently exhaled, "We have our joys and sorrows in common." Narcissus… Continue reading The Promotion of Narcissus
by Clint King A spider was spinning a web in Self-Help, even after they sterilized the bookstore, leaving hardly a reader's fingerprint or dog ear folded down. She took my breath away; it was all the advice I ever needed to see this glorious climber lower and raise such a body over stacks of sob… Continue reading A Spider in the Bookstore
by James Morehead beneath dimmed chandeliers gripping the mic and dripping sweat onto the barricade rushers below. Perhaps I hear sugar hiccups on cheerios or little red come back as I twist my ear plugs tighter to push pack the pulsing bass and distortion pedal screech. I try inventing lyrics: be true my love, be… Continue reading She sings in cursive on the Fillmore stage
by William Blackburn saving face with grace, clipping coupons: manufactured cents-off sales, percentages played as gamblers dice whispered and cast aside hoping languid language tranquil resting after diatribe vibrato echoed sneaking on reverberations in slanting timbres across that daily distance from you to me, this chamber, home to homily or simply hominy— all harmonized minor… Continue reading Advertisements
by BEE LB the heart susceptible to predation takes on symbiosis, allowing for growth, expansion, protection. the way a hummingbird will nest near the hawk— too small to be worth the effort of eating— and too low to be threatened by the jays flying high above. the way a heart will thread closed— an attempt… Continue reading this is how you heal
by John Grey Only one window is lit, those familiar glass louvre slats. I briefly glimpse a moving shadow. That's where I had my desk, my swivel chair. And a clunky typewriter. And stacks of paper. And beyond that is where I slept, where I ate, watched TV, cleaned my teeth and showered. I feel… Continue reading Drawn, Once Again, To the Old House
Ignatian Literary Magazine 