University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
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 Amanda Vogt I met a boy at the swimming pool once. He was skinny and flat—like all it would take was one jab of my finger to send him stumbling backward, sinking below the ripples of the water. We stood chest to chest, too close to the ledge, his suit dripping icy splashes onto… Continue reading The Swimming Pool
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 Carl Boon The pictures prove our parents were young, with neat clothes and unscarred skin. The pictures prove they did things: picnicked at sundown among yellow-studded Pennsylvania hills, stood in line on Friday afternoons at the First National Bank, paychecks in hand, and drove Pontiacs, their destinations sometimes unclear, their Amoco maps folded incorrectly.… Continue reading Notes For Our Parents
by Sylvester Kwakye Before you kiss a reptile, be sure your lips are dead. before the picnic started,a viper had kissed her calf but she kept discussinghow it tasted her endurancewas soon a heart attack a face filled with rivuletof demise that little creature was goneforever. to begin a new life our doubts saw its… Continue reading Before you kiss a reptile, be sure your lips are dead.
by Aamena Lalji We eat popsicles in front of the television, sucking on them ‘til our cheeks are sore, peeling like wallpaper. Red juice drips down both our chins. You break the stick in half and tuck the pieces beneath your top lip, over your front teeth, smile that gummy smile at me. “I’m a… Continue reading Walrus
by Mariam Ahmed where do dreams gowhen we awaken? they dissipate intounknown dimensions a portal opens siphoningair from my lungs why is it harder to breathewhen I’mwith you? my oncewild thoughts turning stale quick afteryou spoke so soft leave my bleeding hearton this tray table I’m in no upright position when the oxygenmask fallsI won’t reach for it the barest… Continue reading Saturation: A Sequence
Ignatian Literary Magazine 