University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
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 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 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 Christine Roland Every Sunday when I was in grade school, Mom stuffed me into pilled tights and a bib collar dress, pinned my hair in a headache-inducing bun, and brought me with her to the 10 a.m. service. Just me. We hardly saw my older sister, who was aging out of high school, and… Continue reading It Was Not God
by Angela Townsend If my world shrinks to all that my arms can carry, Monsieur Dupont shall be saved. Along with my mother’s quilts and my hard drive, I will salvage the wiry Gund hedgehog from 1986. He is six inches of plush and polyfill. He is an important Frenchman. He is language and longing… Continue reading Monsieur Dupont
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 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 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 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 Alexis Vaughen-Barnes “I hope you die soon.” The man in my parent’s room doesn't react to my thoughts. He continues to stare at the wall with a dull, unfocused gaze. On first glance, you’d assume it was a corpse, not a living man; there is no life or joy in his sunken eyes, no… Continue reading I’m Not a Bad Person
