University of San Francisco's Student-Run Literary Magazine
Issue 35
by Jim Ross To fend off doers of foul deeds I keep my bedroom door securely locked. The only one I cannot keep away is Death. Death carries a skeleton key good for every door. Tonight, he comes, inserts his key into the cylinder, and turns. The ancient lock rattles as cylinders grind and bolts… Continue reading Night Watch
by August Chaffin My father asked me if I’d ever written any poems about him. “There’s one about your black widow bite.” I said, “it was an allegory.” I revealed no more. I was too scared he’d understand what I’ve been trying to say for my whole life. movement 3 by Sopi August Chaffin (he/him/his)… Continue reading In the Car
by Sean Padraic McCarthy When Julia awoke, her mother was already up, sitting at the table in the kitchen, looking out the back window upon the wood. There was a steep hill rising up from the edge of the wood, and now it wasn’t summer anymore, and all the leaves were gone from the trees,… Continue reading The Devil in the Wood
by Ashlyn Inman It’s strange being in a place that you spent most of your life in and feeling like everything is familiar except one thing. For as long as I could remember, we had a dog in the house. Even before we lived in this particular house, we had a dog in the family.… Continue reading Dog in a Box
by Alden Wallace Against my will and wholly ignorant of it the leaves are falling again. The sky floats by the glass. The grey sea rages under a grey sky dotted with crows sailing home. O to be soaring and knowing all. Made of clay but today feeling like stone—sand pulled back slowly into the… Continue reading Big Rain from a Small Cloud
by Joe Baumann Fritz hid the wings for Otto’s wake. He donned the Ted Baker trench coat Otto gifted him nearly a decade before and which Fritz had given more care and attention than any other possession so that it still looked new, wearing it over his sports coat, beneath which the wings were pinned.… Continue reading Vulture
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 Colin Keating 1 I’m in imminent danger of getting Way Too Psyched. I’ll try to end this song sweetly but no promises. My back hurts and my neck is a cubicle. The airtight compartment of my life is collapsing into a traffic cone, a backwash attendant, your own megaphone… But! All my fucking quilting… Continue reading Let’s Get a Party Started (I’m Fucking Serious)
by Alex Scaife I Water drained slowly into the copper pipes beneath me, with a churning sound that continued until the spinning mass of liquid had disappeared. I lay naked with damp, tangled strands falling across my face and beads of sweat clinging to my forehead. Red veins meandered through the whites of my eyes… Continue reading Mayakovsky
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
Ignatian Literary Magazine 