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 Allen Keith The only faces left are on the clock and the shocked sockets of my walls; one staring back from a mirror, dazed, looking a thousand yards deeper than need be. I asked for this, wanted it, fought for it. It takes effort to attain solitude in a city of six million morons.… Continue reading Cheers
by Rhonda Browning White She hangs bundles of lavender, peppermint, catnip, and chamomile that dangle like hands tied at fragile wrists drying into skeletal bones to be crumbled into usefulness beyond their death Dangle like hands tied at fragile wrists beside stitched chimes of leather britches, beans she will soak back to life in winter,… Continue reading Delicacies
by Travis Stephens She ladles dressing on the salad with a distracted profligacy; it is called Green Goddess, and I drop two cherry tomatoes to the floor. Or are they grape tomatoes? Tiny orbs of seed and acid, like the scrotum of summer, perhaps, or the tiny budding breasts of memory. Or fruit. Not a… Continue reading Pomp & Circumstance
by Eitan Perlin I've been told many times by many people I remind them of someone they knew who killed themselves it's odd to be a specter a reflector of a long love lost or a good friend gone it doesn't sting nor am I complaining merely stating the peculiarity of embodying a medium ushering… Continue reading I, Charon
by Catherine Stansfield I've learned that every day is the day you died each moment, the phone call, empty on my side as a parking lot at dusk, when the sun sets and the masses clear and the deer have already crossed the sea of asphalt in search of green instead of three staring eyes—headlights… Continue reading One Year Later
(to Diane Mehta) by Drew Pisarra I lie on grass and stare at clouds while a friend reads the cosmic musings of Wallace Stevens, something about a snake and the snow and somebody's mother. Not mine. A figure more commonplace than divine. I don't comprehend it in full, even when my friend decodes two cryptic… Continue reading Leap Year
—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
Ignatian Literary Magazine 