University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
Issue 35
by Steven O. Young Jr. I thought up a story for you. Honest! And it’s not that I can’t remember what it is, though I’m racking my brain, rummaging around these russet roots as if it somehow seeped through my scalp, putting on a good show. It’s simple and straightforward. Too simple and straightforward. It’s… Continue reading Storytelling
by Jos Burns The shop was carefully arranged, a dimly lit, fragile ecology in the damp evening air. Handwritten price tags dangled from thick cotton string, a casual denial of barcode technology. A few candles burned on a desk in the back, shedding almost as much light as the heavily shaded incandescent lamps. The shop… Continue reading The Transaction
by Tohm Bakelas you thought summer might not end this year, that autumn had no chance, but then without warning the temperature dropped, and it seemed as if overnight leaves changed from green to yellow, from yellow to red, from red to purple, from purple to black. all those faded lemonade sunsets you chased no… Continue reading the same situation
by Mary P. Chatfield Translation is always about loss as if you were looking through a glass the sight plain enough the tang and the touch missing the skull beneath the word’s skin. Catullus knew this when he described how the great gods came to the wedding feast bearing whole meadows of flowers whole forests… Continue reading Wrestling with Catullus XIV
by Judith Ford It’s dusk and I’m at the beginning of a four-mile run. I’m half-listening to songs by Enya through my Walkman headphones. I’m running beside a busy road but I barely hear the cars above Enya’s voice. It’s 1987 and I’m thirty-nine years old. Today is Christmas Eve and I’m trying to shed… Continue reading Hands On My Back
by Mary P. Chatfield Dear Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield, I am writing to thank you when I want to be writing a poem for your generous gift to our year-end appeal. my appeal is always for a poem about how the streetlight turns the snow the color of lemon sherbet, how the geese honk and… Continue reading Charity Case
by Terence Patrick Hughes Tom Tucker said he saw a dead body but when we got there it was gone. I had been minding my business that early evening outside of the house, transistor radio set against the top riser of the front steps, barely catching the signal of the Red Sox game with enough… Continue reading Tom Tucker’s Dead Body
by Beverly Rose Joyce My grandpa drove a truck. George, not Russ. It was just like the one on Sanford and Son. But green. Not emerald or kelly or hunter; more army. He kept in the back the tools of his trade: trowel, spackle knife, levels, floats, mixer, sponges, chalk, thread, hammer, hawk. And, of… Continue reading Her George
by Mila Danilov I wake to darkness so opaque, I can’t see my hand in front of my own face. My limbs are clammy with salt-water air and I inhale the smell of my skin. It doesn’t smell of anything but residual bug spray. No warmth or familiarity. In the darkness, I can see a… Continue reading Juene
by Colleen Markley Clarice wasn’t sure which was odder: that she was becoming invisible or that her husband hadn’t noticed. “I must be overtired,” she remarked to John, examining the skillet she was scrubbing through an opening in the back of her hand. Was this glaucoma? She glanced up from the suds to the window… Continue reading Vanishing Act
Ignatian Literary Magazine 