University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
by Kyle Lauderman Baileystown never grieved harder than the day Sam Morris let that out-of-towner Ally into his life. Sam Morris was one of us. His grandaddy built Baileystown from the ground up, taking on the inhospitable Nevada terrain and forging this land into the fine, humble town he knew it could be. When Sam’s… Continue reading Mrs. Morris
by Caelan Beard Dear Ruth, My parents live now just a few kilometres from where you grew up. I’ve been past your childhood house with its piano you loved. The mill where your father, Albert, made the family’s livelihood sits across the street, hovering above the Saugeen. Straddling the river is the bridge you used… Continue reading Dear Ruth
by Jamilla VanDyke-Bailey his name was andrew and he was everything my father wasn’t. tall. angular. dull auburn skin with hands that build. uncle andrew of drive-by drop-bys to fix up my father's house for an underhanded price. now i only know him sick from a disease that eats. his skin now stretched tight across… Continue reading his name [is/was/forever will be] andrew
by Malcolm Culleton Reply to: Ride offered to Dallas 3/19 (UNO) Craigslist ID: grk4x-3685879461 Sunday, March 17th 2013 Hello, I might be interested in riding with you to Dallas. I have spent much of the year traveling the country, have been in New Orleans for a few months now and am about ready to go… Continue reading Ride Wanted
by Zan Miller The Denny’s Line Cook I worked as a server at Denny’s when I was 20. I lived up in Cumberland in February; dirty snow clung to my white snow boots. There was nowhere to sit in the “smoker’s area”—the buckets were set up beside the dumpster. He worked as a line cook… Continue reading The Ones I Almost Loved
by Caleb Coy There are two reasons that the road goes on forever. The first is that roads are always connected. The second is that you will circle around them when you are utterly lost, not merely out of direction but out of the space you move in. And there’s a third reason. The road… Continue reading Buckling Interstate 80-40
by Ramon Jimenez Leather and leftover tires.The wheels of my feet.I felt a superpower when I had them on.I could jump like Jordan and climb like a jaguar. How I struggled to grow upand carve out an identity on this stolen land of America.Huaraches let me stomp on the pride of the occupiers.These slippers of… Continue reading Huaraches
by Joel Bush Scooping two dead ducklingsout of the pool filter,I feel a weightmuch heavier thantheir few ounces inmy hands.I have no bettergrave for their brownand yellow bodiesthan a plastic bag and trash can.Their mother has flownaway, while I’m groundedwith her children. Garden State by Jack Dunnett Joel Bush reads things. He also writes things.… Continue reading Weight
by Danny P. Barbare At the End of the Mica Asphalt Where the mica asphalt road endsin the brushclear water ebbs in the sandy,muddy shore. Shiny bubblespop. Tree roots gnarl inthe open.The navy blue water iswhite capping near and far.Bass boatsskim with a tiny hum. Thehouse on the hill issurrounded by a grassy yard.It’s a… Continue reading At the End of the Mica Asphalt // The Gazebo Alone
by Laine Derr At 51, recalling a weathered father,I order a gin martini, light vermouthw/ a twist. He froze to death on a daylike this, a man no longer a man– The crisp air reminds me of him. Swirling memories, the doctors saypain has tunneled to my wrists, yearsof standing up, bagging and checking,paper or… Continue reading Light Vermouth
Ignatian Literary Magazine 