University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
by Leslie Benigni The woods bring me back to myself and to myself I shall go, not wider but deeper. Doing things for myself, such a formerly unknown thing, to help myself be myself, doing things for myself. The woods give me respite and recharge. Off on a journey to the woods to nowhere, a… Continue reading November Reeling
by Sam Moe The night after my grandmother’s funeral, while I’m half-asleep on her faded gold couch in the living room, where below our fourth-floor apartment are people screaming, and singing, and laughing, in the distance there are sirens and more laughter—I hear someone—or something—lean into my ear and sigh once, loudly. * Ghosts. Poltergeists.… Continue reading Ghost City
by Sura K. Hassan I “Run, run for the Sun.” One of the shortcomings of growing up in the dry, scorching, crumbling desert city that is Karachi was the inability to escape from the ever-present, nauseatingly-bright sun. My poor, dear mother, maternal aunt, and even grandmothers all tried to do something about the permanent tan… Continue reading Seven Things Nana Used to Say
by R. H. Nicholson Father Francis Paganini was dead. He had collapsed in the rectory kitchen while drinking a glass of water as he cooled down from playing basketball with the fifth-grade boys at St. Joseph of Arimathea School. A youthful, vigorous man of deep faith, whose unbound energy was contagious among his parishioners, Father… Continue reading Father Frank’s Funeral
by Elaine Ferrell Gabrielle was sixteen to my thirteen. She openly smoked, drank on the sly, and was often in trouble with her parents. I worshiped her. I admired Gabby’s lanky posture, for I was short and slouchy. I revered her long, straight hair, since my own was curly, tangled, and wild. Lamenting my boring… Continue reading Chasing Gabby
by Aamena Lalji We eat popsicles in front of the television, sucking on them ‘til our cheeks are sore, peeling like wallpaper. Red juice drips down both our chins. You break the stick in half and tuck the pieces beneath your top lip, over your front teeth, smile that gummy smile at me. “I’m a… Continue reading Walrus
by Carl Boon The pictures prove our parents were young, with neat clothes and unscarred skin. The pictures prove they did things: picnicked at sundown among yellow-studded Pennsylvania hills, stood in line on Friday afternoons at the First National Bank, paychecks in hand, and drove Pontiacs, their destinations sometimes unclear, their Amoco maps folded incorrectly.… Continue reading Notes For Our Parents
by Amanda Vogt I met a boy at the swimming pool once. He was skinny and flat—like all it would take was one jab of my finger to send him stumbling backward, sinking below the ripples of the water. We stood chest to chest, too close to the ledge, his suit dripping icy splashes onto… Continue reading The Swimming Pool
by K Roberts They dug up the time capsule ahead of schedule. Loganville High needed a new gym, so the statue of our mascot, Jersey Jerry, was uprooted along with the southeast parking lot and a laptop-sized locked metal box intended to be buried for a century. The treasure chest had lasted 52 years, and… Continue reading Time Capsule
by Jos Burns The shop was carefully arranged, a dimly lit, fragile ecology in the damp evening air. Handwritten price tags dangled from thick cotton string, a casual denial of barcode technology. A few candles burned on a desk in the back, shedding almost as much light as the heavily shaded incandescent lamps. The shop… Continue reading The Transaction
Ignatian Literary Magazine 