University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
by Johnny T. Chaos what else but chaos spinning around my head in the back of the chapel of the school where she pulled me not her first kiss but mine her pulling me alone by the hand my first time holding hands even the soft fingers stuck between mine soft and wet and warm… Continue reading The Creation
by Derek R. Smith Nothing hits harder Than cold waves on rocky beaches Except maybe a poet who’s Inspired by this whole well-trod Metaphorical scene where Ocean kisses land. Then when the poet spots A single clear blueish chunk of Beach glass underfoot Amongst the gray rocks It all appears, the movie montage, How an… Continue reading Breaking
by Zachary Hodges the lilac of his touch, ever-cream skin glistening as we bask in the light of a newly dawned era. the lives we’ve lived through the men of the past, loving strangers not safe for the average lambda lover. and the black and white photo rolls, the delicacy in their hand holds, how… Continue reading pink triangles
by August Chaffin My father asked me if I’d ever written any poems about him. “There’s one about your black widow bite.” I said, “it was an allegory.” I revealed no more. I was too scared he’d understand what I’ve been trying to say for my whole life. movement 3 by Sopi August Chaffin (he/him/his)… Continue reading In the Car
by Alden Wallace Against my will and wholly ignorant of it the leaves are falling again. The sky floats by the glass. The grey sea rages under a grey sky dotted with crows sailing home. O to be soaring and knowing all. Made of clay but today feeling like stone—sand pulled back slowly into the… Continue reading Big Rain from a Small Cloud
—Lorne Balfe, from The Last Man on the Moon by Maya Jacyszyn I've never pictured heaven with a front porch, or much of heaven really, but it comes to me now clearly. There are no clouds. Why do paintings always show clouds? And so much light? I suppose upward means clouds and light, but up… Continue reading Sitting on God’s Front Porch
by Jessi Fuller Fields I'm-wrong-about-this threatens to drop down dreadful-sincere but here's what I know— the smell of roast beef stoppers me and the pressure builds shooting me back to a table set for six on a Sunday father at the head God on his lips our hands join in blessings for the feast of… Continue reading Sturdy as potatoes
by Stephen Mead The paper cuts, the finger bleeds, but a clot comes, & will the pages stain? Try different parchment, re-do or remake a pattern of the red. Has the hand been through a lawnmower? Are razors seen in sheets? Faithless but for masochism, no deep trust but for the overboard & loving the… Continue reading Listen
by Alexis Pearson If not for my bare shoulder unexpectedly caressing your cheek stamping the beginning of a prolonged goodbye into the raw breath of strangers still I would not know how to turn walls into boats, your hands a sea with no bed my feet dangling. If learning to tread water means first drowning… Continue reading Glass Cages
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 