University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
by Tanisha E. Khan Snapdragons, wild garlic, her loose armshugging closed her cardigans, touringyou around her garden. You visited herfor two weeks each summer. How strange —The Grandmother, by Kayla Czaga (i) toronto your eyelashes catch on jagged edges,around twists of brass flowers caked in dirt—a lock,rusted and half-remembered, with grit in… Continue reading summers with nan
by Rigby Martin He smells like Bergamot and honey, especially on his neck where my lips last lingered. When I found him, he smelled like roses and linden with hints of smoke and haze. The scent permeated throughout with the resonance of salt on his sleeves. I thought I saw wildflowers and sage from the… Continue reading Flavors
by Margaret E. Gillio I fell in love on a bus ride down the southern coast of Turkey. Steep roads, rickety bus, and views of Mediterranean blue. This memory saves me and your father from suffocation. 2:00am during the pandemic. I lie awake, microwaving peas in my mind. Spaghetti. Fried rice. Meals you and your brother… Continue reading Letter to My Teenage Daughter
by Cedar Clark Content warning: eating disorder Fragments of you,scattered across the plate as if hunger could be foldedinto the corners of your napkin. You carvethe emptiness with a forkfilling the voidwith whispers of control, counting every breathlike a calorie. A cruel illusionof bone and shadows. In the quiet of the kitchen,you measure worthin empty… Continue reading The Disease of Perfectionists
by Caleb Coy There are two reasons that the road goes on forever. The first is that roads are always connected. The second is that you will circle around them when you are utterly lost, not merely out of direction but out of the space you move in. And there’s a third reason. The road… Continue reading Buckling Interstate 80-40
by Zan Miller The Denny’s Line Cook I worked as a server at Denny’s when I was 20. I lived up in Cumberland in February; dirty snow clung to my white snow boots. There was nowhere to sit in the “smoker’s area”—the buckets were set up beside the dumpster. He worked as a line cook… Continue reading The Ones I Almost Loved
by Malcolm Culleton Reply to: Ride offered to Dallas 3/19 (UNO) Craigslist ID: grk4x-3685879461 Sunday, March 17th 2013 Hello, I might be interested in riding with you to Dallas. I have spent much of the year traveling the country, have been in New Orleans for a few months now and am about ready to go… Continue reading Ride Wanted
by Jamilla VanDyke-Bailey his name was andrew and he was everything my father wasn’t. tall. angular. dull auburn skin with hands that build. uncle andrew of drive-by drop-bys to fix up my father's house for an underhanded price. now i only know him sick from a disease that eats. his skin now stretched tight across… Continue reading his name [is/was/forever will be] andrew
by Caelan Beard Dear Ruth, My parents live now just a few kilometres from where you grew up. I’ve been past your childhood house with its piano you loved. The mill where your father, Albert, made the family’s livelihood sits across the street, hovering above the Saugeen. Straddling the river is the bridge you used… Continue reading Dear Ruth
by Jackson Connor During my first sophomore year of college, having recently joined the math major after giving up my pursuit of engineering, I spent a lot of time learning how to smoke cigarettes. An old-school autodidact by nature, I mostly learned through observing my peers, my family, and Robert De Niro. Categorically, I figured… Continue reading The Cigarette Artist
Ignatian Literary Magazine 