University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
—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
by BEE LB the heart susceptible to predation takes on symbiosis, allowing for growth, expansion, protection. the way a hummingbird will nest near the hawk— too small to be worth the effort of eating— and too low to be threatened by the jays flying high above. the way a heart will thread closed— an attempt… Continue reading this is how you heal
by William Blackburn saving face with grace, clipping coupons: manufactured cents-off sales, percentages played as gamblers dice whispered and cast aside hoping languid language tranquil resting after diatribe vibrato echoed sneaking on reverberations in slanting timbres across that daily distance from you to me, this chamber, home to homily or simply hominy— all harmonized minor… Continue reading Advertisements
by James Morehead beneath dimmed chandeliers gripping the mic and dripping sweat onto the barricade rushers below. Perhaps I hear sugar hiccups on cheerios or little red come back as I twist my ear plugs tighter to push pack the pulsing bass and distortion pedal screech. I try inventing lyrics: be true my love, be… Continue reading She sings in cursive on the Fillmore stage
by Clint King A spider was spinning a web in Self-Help, even after they sterilized the bookstore, leaving hardly a reader's fingerprint or dog ear folded down. She took my breath away; it was all the advice I ever needed to see this glorious climber lower and raise such a body over stacks of sob… Continue reading A Spider in the Bookstore
by Hannah Mitchell He did not, probably, work with his own hands. A river-god, seated beneath an arch: Unconfined, unlimited, A chemical vessel. Remarkable hills at the foot of the rainbow (The most beautiful of all the colors, A delicate violet, a deep green) Gently exhaled, "We have our joys and sorrows in common." Narcissus… Continue reading The Promotion of Narcissus
