University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
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
by Jong Yun Won For four months I walk the streets of Incheondesperate for egg rolland sour kimchi-jjigae.So stricken by diaspora without a recipeI land in YouTube, watch a fifty second clipof a white woman teach me culture.How wretched.You roll the egg onto itselfwhich makes a cloud-like textureas long as you know how heat works.You… Continue reading Gae-Lan-Mari
by Trisha Chen i tuck myself into a quiet-corner cookie cutter shape of a person, i ignore the bumps, the creaks, the peaks, the valleys, i shine a flashlight at my own pupils in the mirror hoping to see into the dark pitfall, i feel saltwater pushing at my waterline dam. i push against the… Continue reading bitter and better are one vowel apart
by Violet Piper I ache with Love. I have bent over and around myself for months, avoiding the mirror. There I am, though, in the reflection on the subway window, with the tunnel behind me. I look pained and afraid of the pain—like I stubbed my toe on the podium during a public speech. I… Continue reading Throat Awareness and the Unfair Thoughts
by Mary Murray It’s strange to think that your friend has been dead for a decade. The living you’ve done is a betrayal. The pints and crisps in beer gardens, pretending not to be cold; the windy beach walks, wet sand and cold toes. The favourite things you used to share together. For ten years… Continue reading Anniversary // Grief
by Huina Zheng TW: mentions of abduction, human trafficking, abortion, rape, sexism? Even though I took Gaokao, the national college entrance examination in China, over a decade ago, I dream that I am taking the exams at least once a year. In the dream, everything is dark and blurry. In a classroom where other examinees… Continue reading The Pilgrimage of Gaokao
By Ronald Walker Mr. Walker works in a painting style he terms "Suburban Primitive". This style combines his interest in the origins and functions of art along with life in the suburbs, which he views in both a physical and psychological manner. His work has been shown in 45 solo exhibits and numerous group shows… Continue reading It’s Whom For Dinner
Ignatian Literary Magazine 