University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
by Sam Moe The night after my grandmother’s funeral, while I’m half-asleep on her faded gold couch in the living room, where below our fourth-floor apartment are people screaming, and singing, and laughing, in the distance there are sirens and more laughter—I hear someone—or something—lean into my ear and sigh once, loudly. * Ghosts. Poltergeists.… Continue reading Ghost City
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 Leslie Benigni The woods bring me back to myself and to myself I shall go, not wider but deeper. Doing things for myself, such a formerly unknown thing, to help myself be myself, doing things for myself. The woods give me respite and recharge. Off on a journey to the woods to nowhere, a… Continue reading November Reeling
by Steve Petkus Emboldened by the nipper of ginthat was his only supperin the rental car between viewings,the dead man’s son returnstwenty minutes late and tripson the carpet, knocks a lampfrom the table nearest the casket.“Damn it,” he spits, and a steely hushfalls on those gathered for the day’sfinal session. In diminished lightthe son grimaces,… Continue reading Hapless
by Joshua Monroe After making love, he usually went straight to his desk by the bed, typed away on his refurbished typewriter. An heirloom from one of his clients—he mentioned that once. While he typed, apparently unaware of the previous moments and of my cheeks, still flushed, I liked to imagine he was writing a… Continue reading The Typist
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 Christine Roland Every Sunday when I was in grade school, Mom stuffed me into pilled tights and a bib collar dress, pinned my hair in a headache-inducing bun, and brought me with her to the 10 a.m. service. Just me. We hardly saw my older sister, who was aging out of high school, and… Continue reading It Was Not God
by Heikki Huotari The anthem is a function of the feedback, Jimi Hendrix, may your serenade goout untamed. You may have won a hundred years a hundred years ago. Therepartee has been upgraded, that's what they say. Put the entities together in aroom and they'll sing kumbaya in unison. The power outage was the doing… Continue reading Everything Except The Carbon Sink II
by Erik Peters We sit on the terrace. Evening gathers in the arid valley at our feet, pooling in the dells. Mexico City, a distant memory veiled in industrial haze, lies just over the next ridge. Birdsong fills the darkling air—flock and family exchanging the day’s news. In the village below, life is as it… Continue reading Mexican Elegy
by Ilma Qureshi fireflies can you catch a poem like a firefly?flickering through nettles andrising oak trees,does a poem ever lay still? does wisdomlike ripe plumsfall from branches or does one make senseby drawing watercasket after casketfrom a swollen well? just when you think of life as a beautiful orchidfull of oranges and unknown wonder,your… Continue reading fireflies
Ignatian Literary Magazine 