( )
echoes
( )
echoes
Winter 2010-2011
Staff Editors-‐in-‐Chief Caroline
Blehart
&
Kari
Putterman
Layout
Editor
Head
Copy
Editor
Assistant
Layout
Editors
Copy
Editors
Kate
Welsh
Phoebe
Brosnan Lauren
Harvey
Elizabeth
Keene
Elizabeth
Keene
Abigail
Arnold Cecille
de
Laurentis Carly
Silver Tara
Sonin Angela
Wang
Managing
Editor
Publicity
Directors
Treasurer
Abigail
Arnold
Rachel
Howard Tara
Sonin
Sponsored
in
part
by
the
Arts
Initiative
at
Columbia
University.
This
funding
is
made
possible
through
a
generous
gift
from
the
Gatsby
Charitable
Foundation.
Echoes
is
a
general
literary
magazine
that
fosters
the
free
expression
of
the
Barnard
College
and
Columbia
University
communities
through
poetry,
prose
and
artwork.
Table of Contents Writing Anne
Brink,
Brighton
Beach Joanna
Barnett,
I
Am
Never
Jealous Nicollette
Barsamian,
Glose
on
Lorca’s
“Dawn” Tara
Sonin,
Towards
Thee
I
Roll Abigail
Arnold,
Nights
at
Kilroy’s Joyce
Ng,
Brutal
Little
Text Andrew
Hamilton,
Akrasia
Forest Chelsea
McGettigan,
Leer
Bolaño
in
Translation
(inglés) Chelsea
McGettigan,
To
read
Bolaño
en
traducción
(Spanish) Nico
Gurian,
Crossover Mikhaela
Mahoney,
The
Argument Tara
Sonin,
They
Took
Dinah
From
the
House
of
Shechem
Sam
Johnson,
Untitled Kate
Welsh,
Between
Dinner
and
the
Show Katie
McNeirney,
Allegory Rebecca
Gray,
to
saw
a
thought
and
take
Art Barrie
Sterling,
Untitled Barrie
Sterling,
Untitled Allyza
Lustig,
Jujuy,
Argentina Barrie
Sterling,
Untitled Shaowei
Wang,
Cold
Radiance Allyza
Lustig,
Mandril Cover
Art:
Barrie
Sterling,
Untitled
1 3 4 5 7 12 13 16 17 18 19 29 31 34 35 37 2 6 15 28 33 36
Brighton Beach by Anne Brink I
have
memories ǯ ƪ eyes
up
and
hands
open
to
the
sky to
see
the
world
in
a
picture
frame, hungry
for
light. Night’s
dreams
worn
black
and
smooth, cloaks
obscuring
us
in
shadow ơ tears
of
gold
and
orange as
we
waited
for
the
future
to
come. Above
the
beach
we
saw
the
lift-‐bridge
rise over
the
deepest
part
of
the
bay and
touch
the
hills where
my
mother
still,
sat arms
folded
around
her
sides. We
will
be
back
she
said. We
can
pack
the
future
in
a
box
and
eat
it
for
lunch
tomorrow if
you
want
with
tears
and
gold
and
light weighing
heavy
in
our
pockets still
hungry
for
the
future.
1
Caroline Framed
by Barrie Sterling
make page numbers pt.1 smaller and in same font/shade as echoes logo
2
I Am Never Jealous by Joanna Barnett ơ Smothered
scientists
in
sulfur and
got
a
museum
erected
to
her
fury With
nonstop
footage
of
her
temper Showing
every
hiker That
she
can
drop
them
Ƥ Faster
than
June
can Rita
got
there
three
weeks
too
late Anything
Louis
had
was
waterlogged His
bulldog
lying
slack-‐jawed
outside
Versailles Martyred
and
Canonized
on
the
AstroTurf But
she
rammed
Sam So
someone
might
remember Ƥ
3
Glose on Lorca’s “Dawn” by Nicolette Barsamian
Those
who
go
out
early
know
in
their
bones there
will
be
no
paradise
or
loves
that
bloom
and
die: they
know
they
will
be
mired
in
numbers
and
laws, in
mindless
games,
in
fruitless
labors.
-‐
Frederico
Garcia
Lorca,
“Dawn”
Yellow
as
yellow’s
thistle, red
rearranges
the
roar
in
your
eyes. New
York
(Nueva
York)
awakes
and
rolls yellow,
red,
orange
from
the
skies as
the
whispering
mires
of
black
billow
their
way
back to
recapture
the
bits
of
the
night.
(Those
who
go
out
early
know
in
their
bones) Lost
connections
on
the
subway
platform, girls
gone
from
green
to
grey.
The
mud
splatters
your
white
Sambas, your
Venti
Iced
Mochaccino
now
lives
in
the
drain. The
promise
of
pulchritude
still
festers, ȮɡɄ ȵɦɖɏɋǤ (There
will
be
no
paradise
or
loves
that
bloom
and
die) ǯ ƥ Ǣ “Do
Not
Block
the
Box!”
blasts
and
blows
as
you
sigh. ͊͞Ǥ͜͞ ǡ Ƥ ơ
transportals 1,2,3
approaching
Penn
Station,
4,5,6
has
arrived
at
Canal
Street $11.26:
daily
pack
of
heart
attack,
$9.95:
wholesome
panini. Scarlet
Louboutin
pumps
can’t
pull
out
of
Big
Red
Juicy
(gum)
stuck
to
the
street. (They
know
they
will
be
mired
in
numbers
and
laws)
There
are
some
sanctimonious
souls
who
still
hope, ǡ ǡ ơ ǣ These
Streets
Will
Make
You
Feel
Brand
New/
Big
Lights
Will
Inspire
You I
Want
to
Wake
Up
in
a
City
That
Doesn’t
Sleep
/
If
I
Can
Make
It
There, I’ll
Make
it
Anywhere,
New
York,
New
York,
New
York ǯ Ǣ ǣ It’s
a
hard
knock
life. (in
mindless
games,
in
fruitless
labors)
4
Towards Thee I Roll by Tara Sonin Come
hell
or
high
water,
Ahab
is
in
the
distance. Our
odyssey
rests
on
a
chewed-‐up
leg: His,
chump
change
for
whales–Mine,
I
tried
to
barter
for
love.
On
shore,
he
is
waving
a
prosthetic
he
built, cut
from
the
marbled
body
of
a
catalpa
tree
infested
with
worms
in
the
backyard
of
my
hallucinatory
childhood
home. There
must
have
been
millions
of
them: worms
weeping
from
the
carcass
of
the
rotted
limb,
splinter-‐
ridden,
in
Ahab’s
anchored
hand
Ƥ ǡ Ƥ Ǥ He
picks
it
up.
I
have
seen
that
look
before: How
many
worms
for
a
whale? A
round,
white
sun
holds
his
gaze
before
disappearing
into
ocean
thunder. I
can
see
how
far
those
ripples
descend
and
question
turning
back:
for
unlike
my
love,
I
am
unprepared
to
lose
limbs
by
chasing
worms Just
when
I
think
he
is
lost,
crisscrossed
in
time, buried
underneath
a
foamy
break, He
looks
up!
I
am
caught
at
last. Towards
thee
I
roll,
he
growls—zealot,
with
an
obvious
intent—
Stuck,
teetering
in
the
wooden
boat,
I
am
thinking: Is
there
something
wrong
with
me?
Ƥ Ǥ Ǥ Still,
I
keep
reaching
into
the
deep.
Following. When
I
reach
the
shore— not
a
whale
or
a
worm,
but
a
tangible
being—
my
feet
touch
dry
land,
I
am
gripped
by
sandpaper
hands,
and
I
wonder
if
he
will
ever
understand
me
Or
if
we
will
forever
be
slaves
to
phantoms.
5
by Barrie Sterling
6
Nights At KilroyтАЩs by Abigail Arnold ┬Ц ┬З┬О┬З┬Ш┬З┬Р ┬С╟п┬Е┬О┬С┬Е┬Н╟б ┬Г┬Х┬К┬Г ┬Л┬О┬Ф┬С┬Ы ┬Д┬З┬Й┬Г┬Р ┬Х┬С┬Ф┬Ц┬Л┬Р┬Й ┬Ц┬К┬З ┬Е┬С╞б┬З┬З ┬Е┬Ч┬Т┬Х by
┬атАитАйcolor.
┬атАитАй
┬атАитАйShe
┬атАитАйput
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйbrown
┬атАитАйones
┬атАитАйon
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйtop
┬атАитАйshelf
┬атАитАйand
┬атАитАйlined
┬атАитАйup
┬атАитАй the
┬атАитАйblue
┬атАитАйones
┬атАитАйin
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйmiddle.
┬атАитАйThe
┬атАитАйgrey
┬атАитАйones
┬атАитАйwere
┬атАитАйreally
┬атАитАйgetting
┬атАитАйtoo
┬атАитАй chipped
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйgive
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйcustomers,
┬атАитАйso
┬атАитАйshe
┬атАитАйput
┬атАитАйthem
┬атАитАйaside
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйtake
┬атАитАйup
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАй her
┬атАитАйapartment.
┬атАитАйThey
┬атАитАйwould
┬атАитАйmake
┬атАитАйgood
┬атАитАйplanters
┬атАитАйfor
┬атАитАйpansies.
┬атАитАй Sasha
┬атАитАйalways
┬атАитАйarranged
┬атАитАйand
┬атАитАйcleaned
┬атАитАйup
┬атАитАйaround
┬атАитАйeleven,
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйslow
┬атАитАй time
┬атАитАйat
┬атАитАйKilroyтАЩs
┬атАитАйDiner.
┬атАитАйIt
┬атАитАйmade
┬атАитАйit
┬атАитАйeasier
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйkeep
┬атАитАйeverything
┬атАитАйunder
┬атАитАй ┬Е┬С┬Р┬Ц┬Ф┬С┬О╟д ┬К┬З ┬Ф┬З┬П┬З┬П┬Д┬З┬Ф┬З┬Ж ┬К┬З┬Ф ╞д┬Ф┬Х┬Ц ┬Ж┬Г┬Ы┬Х ┬Г┬Ц ┬Ц┬К┬З ┬Ж┬Л┬Р┬З┬Ф╟б ┬Щ┬К┬З┬Р ┬Х┬К┬З╟п┬Ж ┬Д┬З┬З┬Р excited
┬атАитАйand
┬атАитАй(she
┬атАитАйsaw
┬атАитАйit
┬атАитАйclearly
┬атАитАйnow)
┬атАитАйcompletely
┬атАитАйclueless.
┬атАитАй
┬атАитАйSheтАЩd
┬атАитАйnever
┬атАитАй washed
┬атАитАйany
┬атАитАйof
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйdishes,
┬атАитАйand
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйsticky
┬атАитАйthings
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйall
┬атАитАйpiled
┬атАитАйup
┬атАитАйin
┬атАитАй ┬Ц┬К┬З ┬Х┬Л┬Р┬Н╟д ┬К┬З ┬Х┬П┬З┬О┬О┬Х ┬С┬И ┬П┬З┬О┬Ц┬З┬Ж ┬П┬З┬Ф┬Л┬Е┬Г┬Р ┬Е┬К┬З┬З┬Х┬З╟б ┬Е┬С╞б┬З┬З ┬Ж┬Ф┬З┬Й┬Х╟б ┬Г┬Р┬Ж the
┬атАитАйlast
┬атАитАйremnants
┬атАитАйof
┬атАитАйpie
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйbegun
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйmix,
┬атАитАйand
┬атАитАйsheтАЩd
┬атАитАйnearly
┬атАитАйgone
┬атАитАй mad.
┬атАитАйShe
┬атАитАйsupposed
┬атАитАйthat
┬атАитАйshe
┬атАитАйtended
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйovercompensate
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйlittle
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАй avoid
┬атАитАйthings
┬атАитАйof
┬атАитАйthat
┬атАитАйsort
┬атАитАйhappening
┬атАитАйagain.
┬атАитАй
┬атАитАй
┬атАитАй Sasha
┬атАитАйusually
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйeverything
┬атАитАйin
┬атАитАйorder
┬атАитАйby
┬атАитАйmidnight,
┬атАитАйwhen
┬атАитАй she
┬атАитАйswitched
┬атАитАйshifts
┬атАитАйwith
┬атАитАйher
┬атАитАйdaughter
┬атАитАйAnna.
┬атАитАйIf
┬атАитАйSasha
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйher
┬атАитАй ┬Щ┬Г┬Ы╟б ┬Х┬К┬З ┬Щ┬С┬Ч┬О┬Ж ┬К┬Г┬Ш┬З ┬К┬Л┬Ф┬З┬Ж ┬Х┬С┬П┬З┬С┬Р┬З ┬З┬О┬Х┬З ┬Г┬И┬Ц┬З┬Ф ┬Р┬Р┬Г ╞д┬Р┬Л┬Х┬К┬З┬Ж ┬Е┬С┬О┬О┬З┬Й┬З╟д She
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйwanted
┬атАитАйAnna
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйget
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйjob
┬атАитАйworthy
┬атАитАйof
┬атАитАйher
┬атАитАйgood
┬атАитАйeducation,
┬атАитАйbut
┬атАитАй Anna
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйinsisted
┬атАитАйthat
┬атАитАйSasha
┬атАитАйneeded
┬атАитАйher.
┬атАитАйтАЬIтАЩll
┬атАитАйhave
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйchance
┬атАитАйsome
┬атАитАй other
┬атАитАйtime,тАЭ
┬атАитАйshe
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйsaid,
┬атАитАйtossing
┬атАитАйher
┬атАитАйhead
┬атАитАйand
┬атАитАйreaching
┬атАитАйover
┬атАитАйSasha
┬атАитАй to
┬атАитАйgrab
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйslice
┬атАитАйof
┬атАитАйwarm
┬атАитАйchocolate
┬атАитАйcake
┬атАитАй├а
┬атАитАйla
┬атАитАйmode.
┬атАитАйEven
┬атАитАйthough
┬атАитАйshe
┬атАитАй didnтАЩt
┬атАитАйwant
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйtie
┬атАитАйAnna
┬атАитАйdown,
┬атАитАйSasha
┬атАитАйwas
┬атАитАйglad
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйhave
┬атАитАйher
┬атАитАйthere.
┬атАитАйThe
┬атАитАй customers
┬атАитАйliked
┬атАитАйAnna,
┬атАитАйwith
┬атАитАйher
┬атАитАйfrequent
┬атАитАйsmiles
┬атАитАйand
┬атАитАйjokes.
┬атАитАйAn
┬атАитАйelder-┬нтАР ly
┬атАитАйcustomer
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйonce
┬атАитАйtold
┬атАитАйSasha
┬атАитАйthat
┬атАитАйAnna
┬атАитАйmade
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйdays
┬атАитАйbrighter,
┬атАитАй which
┬атАитАйSasha
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйthought
┬атАитАйan
┬атАитАйexcellent
┬атАитАйway
┬атАитАйof
┬атАитАйputting
┬атАитАйit.
┬атАитАйBesides,
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАй diner
┬атАитАйwouldnтАЩt
┬атАитАйhave
┬атАитАйbeen
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйfamily
┬атАитАйconcern
┬атАитАйif
┬атАитАйSasha
┬атАитАйhad
┬атАитАйbeen
┬атАитАйthere
┬атАитАй alone,
┬атАитАйwith
┬атАитАйAnna
┬атАитАйgone
┬атАитАйand
┬атАитАйSam,
┬атАитАйSashaтАЩs
┬атАитАйhusband,
┬атАитАйdead
┬атАитАйfor
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйpast
┬атАитАй ten
┬атАитАйyears.
┬атАитАй
┬атАитАй On
┬атАитАйthis
┬атАитАйnight,
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйusual
┬атАитАйcustomers
┬атАитАйwere
┬атАитАйthere.
┬атАитАйAt
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйtable
┬атАитАйin
┬атАитАй the
┬атАитАйfront
┬атАитАйsat
┬атАитАйJohn
┬атАитАйBuchanan,
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйpoliceman,
┬атАитАйwho
┬атАитАйalways
┬атАитАйdrank
┬атАитАйat
┬атАитАй ┬О┬З┬Г┬Х┬Ц ┬Ц┬К┬Ф┬З┬З ┬Е┬Ч┬Т┬Х ┬С┬И ┬Е┬С╞б┬З┬З ┬Г┬Р┬Ж ┬Г┬Ц┬З ┬Г ┬Ш┬З┬Ф┬Ы ┬Ц┬К┬Л┬Р ┬Х┬О┬Л┬Е┬З ┬С┬И ┬Г┬Т┬Т┬О┬З ┬Т┬Л┬З╟д ┬С┬К┬Р ┬О┬Л┬Н┬З┬Ж ┬Ц┬С ┬Г┬Ф┬Ф┬Г┬Р┬Й┬З ┬Ц┬К┬З ┬Е┬С╞б┬З┬З ┬Е┬Ч┬Т┬Х ┬Л┬Р ┬Т┬Ы┬Ф┬Г┬П┬Л┬Ж┬Х╟б ┬Щ┬К┬Л┬Е┬К ┬Д┬С┬Ц┬К ┬Ц┬З┬Ф┬Ф┬Л╞д┬З┬Ж
7
and
fascinated
Sasha.
She
watched
him
narrowly,
admiring
the
perfect
way
he
balanced
them,
noting
the
precise
movements
of
his
large
hands,
and
praying
to
God
that
he
wouldn’t
make
a
false
move.
Across
from
John
sat
Loretta
Martin,
who
was
frankly
Sasha’s
least
favorite
customer.
She
had
once
slapped
Ted
Stevens,
a
hospital
clown
who
left
generous
tips,
and
he
hadn’t
come
to
the
diner
since.
Loretta
herself
never
tipped,
and
she
sat
there
for
several
hours
nursing
the
same
tiny
cup
of
tea.
It
was
contrary
to
the
spirit
of
being
a
regular
customer.
“Hey,
Sasha,”
said
John.
“I’ve
got
to
be
going
now.
See
you
later,
beautiful.”
He
waved
to
the
two
women.
Sasha
gave
John
a
half
smile
and
vigorously
scrubbed
a
plate
with
a
stubborn
stain
as
he
set
out
into
the
rainy
night.
“You
going
to
head
out
too,
Loretta?”
Sasha
asked
hopefully.
“Oh,
I
don’t
think
so,”
said
Loretta,
dumping
about
half
the
sugar
bowl
into
her
cup.
Sasha
made
a
mental
note
to
buy
more
sugar.
Loretta
stirred
the
sugar
into
the
tea
with
one
skinny
hand,
twisting
an
unnaturally
bright
red
curl
with
the
other.
“That
John
sure
is
good
looking,
isn’t
he?”
“I
suppose,”
Sasha
replied
vaguely.
Just
then,
Anna
burst
in
from
their
apartment.
She
plopped
herself
down
on
an
empty
stool
at
the
counter,
swept
her
brown
hair
ǡ Ǥ Ƥ Ǣ ǯ ǡdz Ǥ Dz ǡ Ǥ Hi,
Loretta.”
“Oh,
dear,”
said
Sasha.
“Maybe
we
ought
to
just
take
it
down
and
store
it
in
the
closet.
After
all,
your
father
was
the
one
who
bought
it,
not
me.”
“No,
I
like
it.
How
many
people
can
say
that
they
have
a
moose
head
in
their
living
room?”
said
Anna.
“How’s
business
to-‐ night?”
“As
usual.
Families,
regulars.”
“Well,
I’ll
stay
here
and
serve
the
late
night
creeps.
You
can
ơ ǡdz ơ Ǥ
“I’ll
be
leaving
too,”
said
Loretta.
She
rose
from
her
table,
8
tossed
some
bills
and
change
on
the
counter,
and
sauntered
out
the
ơ Ǥ counting
the
money.
“No
tip!
Again!”
said
Anna.
“What
a
bitch.”
Sasha
sighed.
“I’m
really
tired
of
her.”
“You
should
be,”
said
Anna.
“She
never
tips.
She
drove
away
our
best
customer.
I
think
she
only
comes
in
here
to
look
at
John.”
“Oh,
do
you
think
that?”
Sasha
asked.
Avoiding
Anna’s
eyes,
she
went
back
to
scrubbing
at
the
plate,
even
though
her
hands
felt
raw.
She
wondered
what
had
caused
the
stain.
“Everything
okay?”
Anna
asked.
Sasha
nodded.
“You
don’t
sound
okay,
so
I’m
just
asking.”
“It
was
a
tiring
day,
that’s
all,”
said
Sasha.
“Don’t
worry
about
Ǥdz ǡ ǡ ơǤ wondered
if
she
should
keep
it
in
the
diner—the
customers
prob-‐ ably
wouldn’t
notice.
No,
she
couldn’t
stand
it,
she
decided,
putting
it
with
the
cracked
cups.
“I’m
going
upstairs.”
“Love
you,
Mom,”
said
Anna,
giving
her
a
quick
hug.
“I
love
you
too.”
Working
quickly
that
Saturday
evening,
Sasha
plated
slices
of
apple
pie.
The
customers
always
said
that
Kilroy’s
apple
pie
smelled
delicious,
but
Sasha
had
gotten
used
to
the
smell
in
the
past
twenty-‐seven
years.
“I’ve
got
a
new
cake
with
cherries,”
Anna
shouted
from
the
kitchen.
She
pushed
the
swinging
door
open
with
her
elbow
and
brought
a
cake
over
to
Sasha.
“Fred
says
for
you
to
try
it,
Mom,
because
he’s
sure
you’ll
like
it
and
that
you’ll
put
it
on
the
menu
and
that
we’ll
make
a
million
dollars.”
“Well,
I’ll
try
it
later,”
said
Sasha.
“Just
put
it
on
the
counter
Ǥdz Ǣ Ƥ employee
who
had
been
at
Kilroy’s
almost
as
long
as
she
had.
On
the
other
hand,
he
was
given
to
outlandish
new
cake
ideas
at
inoppor-‐ tune
times.
The
time
for
cake
tasting
was
on
a
quiet
weeknight,
not
during
the
Saturday
dinner
rush.
9
“I’ll
try
it
now
if
you
won’t,”
said
Anna,
seizing
a
fork
from
a
pile
of
dirty
dishes
and
giving
it
a
quick
rinse.
Sasha
suppressed
a
shudder.
“Otherwise
it
won’t
be
warm.”
She
speared
a
forkful
of
the
cake,
which
looked
to
be
mostly
chocolate,
and
put
it
in
her
mouth.
“It
tastes
okay.
The
texture
is
gross,
though.
Maybe
if
he
mashed
up
the
cherries…
You
need
anything?”
“Finish
the
slice,
Anna.
Don’t
just
leave
it
on
the
counter,”
Ǥ Dz ơ Ǥdz Dz Ƥ ǡdz Ǥ Dz ǡ Ǥ Ǥ There
are
these
little
hard
things
in
the
cake.
That’s
gross.”
She
took
a
last
bite
and
headed
over
to
the
sink.
“I’ll
wash
these
dishes
before
I
go.
I
would
not
recommend
that
cake.”
“Thanks,”
said
Sasha.
“So
you
wouldn’t
put
it
at
the
top
of
the
cake
scale?”
“I
wouldn’t
even
put
it
in
the
middle
of
the
cake
scale,”
said
Anna.
“It’s
down
there
with
that
custard
cake.”
Sasha
groaned
and
laughed,
remembering
one
of
Fred’s
attempts
gone
awry.
“Why
can’t
Fred
make
me
another
cake
with
sprinkles?
Just
because
I’m
not
six
anymore
doesn’t
mean
that
I
don’t
still
like
sprinkles.”
“I’m
sure
that
he
would
make
you
one
if
we
asked,”
said
Sasha.
“Look
out
for
one
on
your
next
birthday,
perhaps.”
Anna
smiled,
placing
the
dishes
neatly
on
the
shelves.
“You’re
the
best,
Mom,”
she
said.
“See
you
later.”
She
headed
up-‐ stairs.
At
eleven
that
night,
Sasha
did
her
usual
tidying
up,
waiting
for
Anna
to
come
down
and
take
over.
The
diner
was
almost
desert-‐ ed.
Loretta
hadn’t
come
in
that
evening
at
all—not
that
Sasha
could
say
she
missed
her.
John
was
there,
though,
stacking
cups
as
usual.
He
looked
up
and
smiled
at
her.
His
teeth
were
really
very
nice.
“Any
exciting
diner
stories
today?”
he
asked,
pulling
his
chair
closer
to
the
counter.
“Fred
made
a
new
cake,”
said
Sasha.
“I
haven’t
tried
it
yet,
though.
I
suppose
I
should
get
to
that
now.”
She
went
to
retrieve
the
cake
from
the
back
counter.
Tasting
a
small
sliver,
she
found
herself
agreeing
with
Anna’s
opinion.
The
cake
tasted
delicious,
but
it
was
10
uneven
and
lumpy.
Not
Fred’s
best.
Ǣ Ǥ Dz don’t
look
like
you’re
enjoying
it,”
he
said.
“Give
me
a
piece?”
He
held
out
his
plate
with
an
appealing
look.
“I
don’t
promise
much,”
Sasha
said,
cutting
him
a
slice,
“but
you’re
welcome
to
it.”
“If
it’s
bad,
you
can
give
it
to
me
for
free,”
said
John.
“It’s
on
the
house
in
any
case,”
said
Sasha.
“It’s
not
on
the
menu
yet.
I
don’t
feel
I
can
charge.”
“Oh,
it’s
not
bad
at
all,”
John
declared.
He
was
quite
a
neat
ǡ ǡ ơ Ǥ Dz I
can’t
pay?” “Don’t
even
think
about
it.”
Sasha
tried
to
giggle.
She
wondered
if
it
sounded
as
forced
as
it
felt.
“I’ll
have
to
return
the
favor,
in
that
case,”
he
said.
“I’ve
got
ơ ǡ Ǥ ǯ ơ Ǥdz into
his
wallet
for
some
bills,
which
he
then
handed
to
her.
Sasha
gave
him
a
quick
smile
as
she
took
the
money
and
gave
him
back
his
change.
“See
you
soon,
Sash.”
With
a
mock
bow,
he
headed
out
the
door.
ƪ ǡ Ƥ -‐ ished
tidying
up.
John
Buchanan
was
a
man
who
knew
how
to
do
things.
The
incident
was
still
on
her
mind
as
she
said
goodnight
to
Anna
and
headed
for
her
bedroom,
giving
a
quick
glance
at
the
old
moose
head
that
Sam
had
purchased
for
their
living
room
ǯ Ƥ Ǥ ǡ properly,
not
that
that
could
be
counted
on.
Sasha
wondered
if
men
who
knew
how
to
do
things
could
be
counted
on.
Silly,
incompetent
men—well,
if
they
could
get
themselves
together
enough
to
make
a
gesture,
they
probably
meant
it.
Men
who
knew
how
to
do
things
Ǥ ơ bow,
to
call
someone
“beautiful.”
They
could
do
these
things
just
to
brighten
up
someone’s
day.
They
could
smile
at
anyone,
be
it
her
or
a
customer
like
Loretta.
She
thought
about
John
Buchanan’s
hands
as
he
stacked
cups
and
handed
her
money,
large
but
precise.
11
Akrasia Forest by Andrew Hamilton Our
hearts
do
in
dark
forests
dwell.
Each
feeling,
choosing,
kernel
core
lives
in
a
roughly-‐tangled
dell,
a
wilderness
of
soul
and
spore. Each
forest
lives,
each
forest
grows,
unfurls
through
time
our
destinies.
Alive
with
buzzing
thoughts,
each
glows,
cohesive-‐seeming
unities. But
any
object
so
complex
Ǣ a
thorny
mess
to
reason
vex,
Ƥ Ǥ With
verdure
dampened
by
moon
light
Ǣ in
each
remaining
numbered
night,
they
grow
one
more
decision
tree. These
trees
form
shady
woodlands
vast
entranced
in
thought,
alone,
intent.
These
tortured
trunks
of
choices
past
are
‘twixt
diverse
desires
rent. As
fresh
arrives
each
new
day’s
dawn,
the
battered
trunks
still
stand
up
stout
but
noxious,
oozing,
bleed
upon
the
softly-‐creeping
moss
of
doubt. Within
each
grove
and
ancient
glade,
discordant
mobs
of
passions
brash
contest
control
of
choices
made,
as
grim
‘mid
stand
and
copse
they
clash. Through
dim
dendritic
alleys
fast
en
route
to
rotting
battle-‐lines
12
good job here. Barrie (Sterling) says she likes it.
I agree
these
ragged
feelings
hurry
past
and
hack
aside
regretful
vines. Then
donning
wistful
root
and
bark,
these
rank
and
frenzied
fungal
hordes
all
straining,
struggle
in
the
dark
‘round
primal
wild
unthinking
lords. Oh,
if
these
crews
could
but
agree
what’s
best
for
us,
and
when,
and
why,
ǯ ǯ Ǣ Ƥ Ǥ In
great
and
moldy
agonies,
our
hearts
all
tremble,
moan
and
roar,
wishing
combatants
to
appease,
surcease
demanding
of
this
war. Oh
we
would
dearly
pay
to
rest
ƪ Ǥ Each
urge
not
shouting
it
knows
best,
but
to
all
others
like
a
friend.
For
what
on
one
more
foully
grates
than
stings
and
scorns
of
civil
war?
That
bloody
feud
among
the
states
of
mind
that,
though
they
fealty
swore
to
common
ends
and
calm
debates
now
campaign
savage
with
full
bore. Yet
our
poor
hearts
cannot
surmise how
deaf
the
woods
are
to
our
plea.
With
war
they
cannot
break
their
ties,
for
but
constituent
havoc
free, and
strife
to
give
our
passions
rise,
we
would
unconscious,
heartless
be. For
without
writhing
contrast
bright— systemic
constituted
brawl
–
Ƥ Ȃ
we
would
not
be
alive
at
all.
13
Brutal Little Text by Joyce Ng Standing
in
the
shallow
end
blowing
bubbles Half-‐drowning
in
the
deep
end ơ My
body
knows
it’s
safe
to
bleed
here Nothing
is
sacred. Ƥ Ǥ Punctuating
self-‐presentation, Ƥ ơ Filters
language. Ƥ Ǥ
14
“Jujuy, Argentina� by Allyza Lustig please just make sure we send this (entire thing) in CMYK (for all color pages) and not RGB. You're the Best!
15
Nice job! good ~ action
Leer Bolaño in Translation (inglés) by Chelsea McGettigan To
read
this
hombre
adecuado I
need
a
lifetime
of
engaño And
an
eternidad
of
romance To
dissect
his
canto
soberano.
A
detective
on
the
prowl,
él
no
sabe
quién
le
sigue And
his
poets,
poetas
son,
pero
también
son
detectives. Se
acuesta
with
a
goddess
dressed
in
ropa
de
anciana y
si
Platón
lo
desease ǯ ƪ Ǥ Yes,
he’s
an
hombre
desconocido. And
his
work
no
terminaba. Ƥ Y
esto
no
lo
esperaba. Whose
language
is
this
between
two
lands? ¿Quién
duerme
entre
mis
párpados
delincuentes? I
know
the
poet
needs
a
subject: He
roots
the
reader
in
his
hands.
16
To read Bolaño en traducción (Spanish) by Chelsea McGettigan nice page flip. Works well with languages.
Para
leer
a
este
adecuate
man Necesito
toda
una
vida
de
deception Y
una
eternity
de
romance Para
diseccionar
su
soverign
song.
Un
detective
andante,
he
doesn’t
know
he’s
the
objective Y
sus
poetas,
poets
they
are,
but
they’re
also
detectives. He
goes
to
bed
con
una
diosa
en
ancient
dress and
if
Plato
wantedǡ ± À ƪ Ǥ Si,
es
un
unknown
man. Y
su
trabajo,
never-‐ending. Pero
me
veo
descuidada And
that’s
not
what
I
expected. ¿Quién
domina
este
idioma
entre
países? Who
sleeps
between
my
delinquent
eyelids? El
poeta
necesita
el
sujeto Y
al
lector
le
da
raíces.
17
Crossover by Nico Gurian Someone
is
sweating. His
tattered
blue
uniform
grounds
him
to
the
dirt
of
a
foreign
land. And
they
shall
beat
their
swords
into
plowshares and
their
spears
into
pruning
hooks. He
is
a
father.
Ǣ Ǥ He
is
a
caretaker,
away,
stuck
on
a
rubble-‐ridden
road. Ǣ There
is
none
to
take
her
by
the
hand
among
all
the
sons
she
has
brought
up. This
is
an
orphaned
land. ǡ ǡ Ƥ ǡ -‐ nounced
burden.
The
burn
sears
strong. But
he
was
wounded
for
our
transgressions, he
was
bruised
for
our
iniquities. On
the
horizon,
the
blurred
lines
of
dust
and
rock
are outlined
by
blackened
blood. This
is
his
work.
18
The Argument by Mikhaela Mahoney The
scene
begins
in
blackness.
A
single
violin
is
heard
playing
something
beautiful
and
slow.
A
second
violin
joins.
The
lights
come
up
on
a
child’s
bedroom.
The
room
is
neat,
but
certainly
lived
in.
There
are
stacks
of
books
on
an
Up
Left
desk
and
be-‐ side
his
bed,
which
is
left
of
center.
There
are
framed
photos,
a
few
travel
posters
with
mountains
on
them,
pictures
of
concert
halls,
music
sheets,
and
the
covers
of
the
Harry
Potter
books
(or
something
analogous)
tacked
up
on
the
walls.
The
windows
are
all
closed
and
locked.
In
the
room,
a
man
and
a
child
are
playing
the
violin.
The
child
(Nathaniel)
is
about
11,
and
sitting
on
the
bed.
He
is
very
small
and
gangly
and
ill-‐looking.
He
has
a
severe
Ƥ Ǥ ȋ Ȍ bed,
tall,
handsome,
brown
hair,
dressed
simply
but
well.
As
he
plays,
his
music
calms
him
and
a
quiet
energy
spreads
through
him.
They
continue
to
play.
It’s
dusk. Brian
enters.
They
don’t
acknowledge
him. BRIAN Okay,
buddy.
Mom’s
waiting
out
in
the
car. SEAN We’ve
still
got
another
20
minutes. BRIAN (Ignoring
Sean,
he
speaks
to
Nathaniel)
You
can
make
it
up
to-‐ morrow,
alright?
You’re
going
to
be
late,
Nathaniel,
and
I
don’t
want
you
to
have
to
wait
in
the
waiting
room
too
long. NATHANIEL (To
Sean)
I
like
the
waiting
room!
It’s
better
than
the
doctor’s
and
I
get
to
read
all
sorts
of
magazines
we
don’t
get
at
home.
ȋ ơ Ȍ
There’s
one
just
for
kids
that
I’m
going
to
write
a
letter
to,
I
think.
19
Thanks,
Sean!
Make
something
good
for
dinner! (He
exits,
leaves
the
violin
on
his
bed
without
putting
it
away.) BRIAN Maybe
I’m
wrong,
but
I
thought
the
whole
point
of
you
teach-‐ ing
him
was
that
we
wouldn’t
have
to
worry
about
scheduling. (Not
bitterly)
Or
pay.
SEAN
BRIAN ƪ Ǥ and
we
never
know
in
advance. SEAN And
god
knows
no
other
violin
teacher
would
ever
understand
that. BRIAN He
likes—we
all
like—it’s
important
for
you
to
be
around.
For
you
to
know
him.
He
loves
having
you
around. I’m
not
going
anywhere,
Bri. Okay.
SEAN BRIAN
SEAN I’m
just
giving
you
a
hard
time.
It
always
just…jars
me
a
little
when
I
stop
playing.
Like…I
don’t
know.
Like
nothing
appropri-‐ ate
to
say
in
a
kid’s
room. Thanks
for
that
image.
BRIAN
20
SEAN It’s
true,
though!
There’s
nothing
else
like
it!
Ask
Nat
about
it
sometime.
He’ll
have
the
words
for
it. He’s
very
good,
isn’t
he?
BRIAN
SEAN All
bullshit
aside?
Yeah,
he’s
very
good.
Better
than
any
of
my
other
students,
probably. Better
than
you
were.
BRIAN SEAN
By
far. (Pause) At
his
age. (Pause) He
could
really
go
places/
you
know. Could
have
gone/places. What?
BRIAN SEAN
BRIAN Give
me
a
break,
Sean.
It’s
lucky
that
you’re
around
to
teach
ơǡ ǡ ǯ it
when— SEAN No
real
need
for
it.
You’re
unbelievable.
BRIAN When
he’ll
be
too
weak
for
it,
really.
21
SEAN I
read
that
kids
with
CF
are
supposed
to
exercise
a
little,
Brian.
Play
tag,
I
don’t
know.
Sit
up
straight./
Breath
deeply.
Play
the
violin.
BRIAN
SEAN Yeah,
play
the
violin.
It’s
good
for
him. BRIAN It’s
good
for
you,
you
mean.
It’s
pretty
good
to
you,
by
the
looks
of
it. SEAN (Slowly,
level)
Listen,
Brian,
I’m
not
here
to
reenter
into
any
of
our…shit.
But
I
am
here.
I
could
be
in
New
York/
on
a
solo
Ǣ ǯ ǯ Ǣ with
your
son.
Because
I
like
him,
and
I
like
playing
with
him,
and
I
love
him,
Brian.
BRIAN So
go
to
New
York,
Sean,
go
back
there.
Go
get
paid
scads
of
money
from
old
women
in
fur
coats
for
playing
their
favorite— And
while
you’re
at
it,
ask
if
they’ve
got
any
change
to
spare
for
some
research
foundations,
ask
if
they
can
spare
a
moment
of
your
lovely
concert
to
think
about
more
than
their
own
enter-‐ tainment,
build
a
hospital,
for
chrissakes. SEAN I
don’t
want
to
talk
about
this
anymore. Fine.
BRIAN
22
I
am
happy
I’m
here,
Brian. I’m
glad.
SEAN BRIAN
SEAN It
really
means
a
lot
to
me.
To
play/with
him. Jesus
Christ,
I
know.
BRIAN
SEAN (With
weight)
With
him.
To
play
with
him.
(Silence)
He’s
a
pretty
incredible
kid. (Pause.) Talented. BRIAN (Sarcastically)
Wonderful.
Maybe
you
can
take
him
on
tour
with
you,/
then
neither
of
you
would
have
to
be
stuck
with
us. SEAN He
could
go
on
his
own
tour
one
day,
Brian.
I’m
serious.
(Excit-‐ edly)
He’s
really
got
something— BRIAN What
aren’t
you
getting
here,
Sean?
He
doesn’t
have
the
“one
day”
that
you
did,
you
know?
His
“one
day”
could
be
literally
just
one,
/
do
you
understand? SEAN How
can
you
have
given
up
already?
He’s
only
11,
people
are
living
longer
all
the
time
now—I
work
with
somebody
in
the
school
systems
who’s
28,
a
full
time
teacher,
with
a
wife—and
a/
family
who
supports
him.
23
BRIAN A
┬атАитАйkid?
┬атАитАйA
┬атАитАйkid?
┬атАитАйDo
┬атАитАйyou
┬атАитАйknow
┬атАитАйhow
┬атАитАйCF
┬атАитАйis
┬атАитАйpassed,
┬атАитАйSean?
┬атАитАйDo
┬атАитАйyou?
┬атАитАй Have
┬атАитАйyou
┬атАитАйdone
┬атАитАйany
┬атАитАйresearch/
┬атАитАйinto
┬атАитАйthis
┬атАитАйat
┬атАитАйall? Of
┬атАитАйcourse
┬атАитАйI
┬атАитАйhave.
SEAN
BRIAN Well,
┬атАитАйitтАЩs
┬атАитАйpassed
┬атАитАйhereditarily.
┬атАитАйThere
┬атАитАйare
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйlot
┬атАитАйof
┬атАитАйcarriers
┬атАитАйout
┬атАитАй there,
┬атАитАйbut
┬атАитАйit
┬атАитАйdoesnтАЩtтАжmanifest
┬атАитАйitselfтАжunless
┬атАитАйthere
┬атАитАйare
┬атАитАйtwo.
┬атАитАйHus-┬нтАР band
┬атАитАйand
┬атАитАйwife.
┬атАитАйBoth. SEAN You
┬атАитАйdonтАЩt
┬атАитАйknow/that
┬атАитАйhis
┬атАитАйwife
┬атАитАйwould
┬атАитАйhaveтАФ BRIAN Of
┬атАитАйcourse
┬атАитАйI
┬атАитАйdonтАЩt
┬атАитАйknow!
┬атАитАйDo
┬атАитАйyou
┬атАитАйthink
┬атАитАйwe
┬атАитАйknew?
┬атАитАйDo
┬атАитАйyou
┬атАитАйthink
┬атАитАй this
┬атАитАйwas
┬атАитАйsomething
┬атАитАйwe
┬атАитАйwere
┬атАитАйexcited
┬атАитАйabout?
┬атАитАйтАЬHey,
┬атАитАйRachel,
┬атАитАйyou
┬атАитАй ┬Н┬Р┬С┬Щ ┬Щ┬К┬Г┬Ц ┬Щ┬С┬Ч┬О┬Ж ┬Д┬З ┬И┬Ч┬Р╟л ┬Г┬Ц┬Е┬К┬Л┬Р┬Й ┬Г ┬Е┬К┬Л┬О┬Ж ┬Х┬Ч╞б┬З┬Ф ┬Г┬Р┬Ж ┬Ж┬Л┬З╟и ┬З┬Ц╟п┬Х get
┬атАитАйit
┬атАитАйonтАФletтАЩs
┬атАитАйmake
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйbaby!тАЭ
┬атАитАйYou
┬атАитАйthink
┬атАитАйwe
┬атАитАйwanted
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйwatch
┬атАитАйev-┬нтАР erything
┬атАитАйweтАЩve
┬атАитАйworked
┬атАитАйfor
┬атАитАйbe
┬атАитАйsucked
┬атАитАйdown
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйantiseptic
┬атАитАйmedi-┬нтАР cal
┬атАитАйdrain
┬атАитАйtrying
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйhelp
┬атАитАйhim?
┬атАитАйTo
┬атАитАйkeep
┬атАитАйhim
┬атАитАйalive? SEAN But
┬атАитАйyou
┬атАитАйare
┬атАитАйkeeping
┬атАитАйhim
┬атАитАйalive!
┬атАитАйHeтАЩs
┬атАитАйfucking
┬атАитАйalive,
┬атАитАйBrian!
┬атАитАйLook
┬атАитАй at
┬атАитАйthis
┬атАитАйplace!
┬атАитАйItтАЩs
┬атАитАйgot
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйlittle
┬атАитАйsoul,
┬атАитАйyou
┬атАитАйknow?
┬атАитАйItтАЩs
┬атАитАйnot
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйhospital
┬атАитАй room!
┬атАитАй/
┬атАитАйNot
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйscience
┬атАитАйlaboratory
┬атАитАйwith
┬атАитАйemergency
┬атАитАйshowers
┬атАитАйor
┬атАитАй anythingтАФ
┬атАитАй BRIAN HeтАЩd
┬атАитАйbe
┬атАитАйsafer
┬атАитАйif
┬атАитАйit
┬атАитАйwere.
┬атАитАй(Pause) And
┬атАитАйthe
┬атАитАйmoneyтАЩs
┬атАитАйgoing
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйrun
┬атАитАйout.
┬атАитАйThe
┬атАитАйmoney
┬атАитАйis
┬атАитАйrunning
┬атАитАйout.
┬атАитАй And
┬атАитАйthen
┬атАитАйweтАЩll
┬атАитАйbe
┬атАитАйin
┬атАитАйfor/
┬атАитАйa
┬атАитАйbumpy
┬атАитАйride. SEAN
A
┬атАитАйtreat. (Silence.
┬атАитАй
┬атАитАйSean
┬атАитАйbegins
┬атАитАйto
┬атАитАйput
┬атАитАйNathanielтАЩs
┬атАитАйviolin
┬атАитАйback
┬атАитАйin
┬атАитАйits
┬атАитАйcase)
24
ơ ǡ Ǥ (Brian
does
not
respond.)
Brian?
If
you
need
help—
BRIAN
ǯ Ǥ Ǥ ơ Ǥ (He
picks
up
a
fallen
sheet
of
music).
Actually,
fuck
it.
No,
I
don’t
appreci-‐ ơ ǡ ơ Ǥ ǯ ǡ indulgent…fuckheads
of
the
world,
padding
your
pockets,
lin-‐ ing
your
underwear
with
silk.
It
would
be
like
accepting
blood
money.
We’re
going
to
do
this
on
our
own.
Without
your
help./
We’re
making
it
out
alive
and
without
you. SEAN What
I
do
is
important,
Brian!
People
come
up
to
me,/
after
shows,
with
tears
in
their
fucking
eyes,
you
know?
Life
is
utili-‐ tarian…death
without
something
to
make
it
beautiful!
Some-‐ thing
to
make
you
WANT
to
open
your
eyes! BRIAN What
you
do
is
a
waste
of
time
and
a
waste
of
money.
Tell
me,
Sean,
how
much
did
that
conservatory
cost
you,
huh?
We
didn’t
have
that
kind
of
money
then,
and
we
really
could
have
used
it
now,
you
know?
But
I’m
glad
you’re
happy,
I’m
glad
you’re
enjoying
yourself
out
there. SEAN What’s
the
point
if
you’re
not
enjoying
yourself
when
you
can?
Why
do
we
choose
to
live,
because
it’s
a
choice
you
know,
every
day,
if
not
to
enjoy
ourselves?
And
if
not
enjoying,
then
wres-‐ tling
with
meaning,
truth,
beauty,
love—these
separate
us
from
ǡ Ƥ ǫ ǯ art
is—it’s
humanity!
And
your
son— BRIAN Do
you
know
what
I
did?
Do
you
want
to
know
what
I
voted
for?
Which
propositions
I
shot
down?
25
Brian,
your
son—
SEAN
BRIAN Yeah,
his
school,
my
son,
my
son’s
school,
is
out
of
money.
And
they
asked
us,
asked
me,
“What
do
we
cut?”
And
I
said,
“Cut
funding
to
the
arts/”
and
give
every
last
dime,
every
last
fucking
penny,
to
science. SEAN These
programs—this
is
what
I
do!
Teaching
children
to
ex-‐ press
themselves,
think
creatively,
feel
like
they
have
something
to
contribute
to
the
world,
a
soul
that
matters,/
thoughts
that
matter— BRIAN I’m
a
little
preoccupied
with
bodies
at
the
moment,
Sean.
Bod-‐ Ƥ Ǥ SEAN Don’t
you
see
what
you’ve
done,
what
you’re
doing—how
can
anyone
solve
problems
without
creating—it’s
art,
Brian,
/it’s
all
art— BRIAN Your
schools
and
your
programs
will
come
back,
once
there’s
the
time
and
money
for
them.
We’re
giving,
everyone
in
this
town
is
giving
every
last
fucking
penny
to
science.
To
hospitals.
To
science
laboratories
and
/white
rats. SEAN ƪ Ǥ BRIAN We’re
going
to
survive
this.
That’s
how
you
survive.
26
SEAN No
one
ever
said
surviving
and
living
are
the
same.
But
I’m
sure
you’re
thinking
of
cutting
English
programs
next,
so
pay
no
at-‐ tention
to
that
distinction.
Just
pay
attention
to
yourself. BRIAN Ǥ ǡ Ƥ one.
You’re
killing
me,
Sean,
/positively
slaying
me. SEAN Well,
at
least
I’m
not
killing
your
son.
(Silence.) I’m
going
to
go
make
dinner.
Bread
and
water
sound
good?
As
long
as
we
survive,
right? (Sean
exits.)
EXCELLENT!
27
“Untitled� by Barrie Sterling Barrie Sterling would like to change the title of this piece to "Title" Please make sure the change is made in the TOC, too! Thanks!
28
They Took Dinah From the House of Shechem by Tara Sonin I.
And
they
left My
father
exists
like
air
in
wind
chimes. As
a
child
I
would
look
and
thinking
I
saw
Ƥ ǡ mossy
colored
teeth
and
cobwebs
of
hair,
I
saw
myself
instead: Ƥ ǡ and
would
walk
me
to
the
‘better
store’
on
Irving
Place
and
17th
Street,
across
from
the
statue
of
Washington
Irving,
whom
I
was
convinced
looked
just
like
him.
One
day
I
must
have
noticed,
walking
along
that
block,
years
after
the
lollipop
store
had
closed
down:
that’s
not
my
fa-‐ ther.
That’s
some
other
man.
He
must
have
done
something
special
to
get
an
iron
statue
of
his
face
on
a
street
corner.
People
still
meander
up
to
the
entrance
of
the
Record
Hunter on
5th
Avenue
between
42nd
and
43rd
Streets.
They
pause
before
the
locked
door I
read
that
New
York
Times
article
maybe
twice
a
month.
Ƥ Ǥ He
is
as
he
was
when
they
wrote
it,
watching
him pack
up
his
life
in
boxes
sealed
with
duct
tape encased
in
cigarette
smoke
and
deteriorating
denim. Watching
a
successful
man
with
a
beautiful
wife
lose
everything. I
am
not
mentioned
in
the
article
but My
smiling,
bald-‐headed
face
is
in
every
word Should
I
confess? I’m
not
sure
if
I
am
what
made
him
want
to
live
29
or
if
I
was
the
distraction
that
caused
this
awful
mistake: my
mother
felt
a
cramp
and
in
his
haste, my
father
signed
an
incorrect
paper
or
checked
the
wrong
tax
bracket.
He
is
the
same
at
70.
We
sit
at
lunch
to
celebrate
his
birthday, and
I
see
doubt
in
burrowing
pleats
across
his
face.
He
is
keening
inside,
still
that
thirteen-‐year-‐old
boy
who
knocked
his
head
on
the
glass
mirror
in
Melvin
Blaustein’s
house, who
would
do
anything
to
please
his
father,
the
jukebox
man. “Some
days
I
didn’t
think
I’d
make
it,”
he
says,
his
lips
curled
like
the
wetted
ends
of
an
envelope. II.
Where
do
they
take
her? ƪ ǡ ơ Ǧ Dinah
is
left:
tethered
to
the
desert,
Her
ebbing
breath
beneath
the
pooled
waters
of
a
hot
spring ƪ Ǧ ǡ when
all
she
wanted
was
to
be
acknowledged. I
used
to
have
this
dream
that
while
taking
out
the
garbage, I’d
see
these
strange,
dark
men
clumped
by
the
corner. Afraid,
I’d
start
to
run
back
to
the
door but
suddenly
I
become
caught
between
entranceways: The
men
on
one
side,
howling–
my
father
on
the
other and
myself,
locked
between
them. He
is
faceless,
but
I
recognize
him
immediately. Crying,
begging
for
him
to
let
me
in:
unlock
the
door! It
is
then
I
see
his
shackles:
chained
to
a
dream,
my
Jacob
just
stands
there,
ơ ǡ I
wake
up
before
Simon
and
Levi
can
drag
me
away: before
the
IRS
or
the
creditors
or
the
shame ruptures
us
any
further.
30
Untitled by Sam Johnson City
lights
careening
past
a
screen
of
screaming
scenes
between
the
lines
Ƥ ǡ ǡ
to
the
sponging caress
of
the
loveless
test
of
time,
reeling
to
kneel
at
the
peel
of
a
shrill
bell. Ƥ Ǧ Ǧ in
the
kiln
of
my
killin’
with
a
soft-‐mouth’d
villain, spraying
the
plague
of
rain
and
blame
to
shame
the
cranium’s
Ǣ free-‐lancin,
dancin
about
silver
spindles
of
rhyme to
imbue
with
symbol
symmetry
that
spherical
time. In
the
waste-‐land
skyscraping
hands
abandon
their strands
of
peace for
incredible
grandeur of
light—the
refrain in
the
neon-‐cold
night
turns
to
kaleidoscopic
fright, lurid
in
the
sea
of
removable
eyes and
loveable
though
lackluster
lives
the
city sleeps,
weeps,
in
the
cry
of
the
wind ƥ ǯ ǡ you
might
let
me
begin.
ǯ ǡ Ǣ
you
have
any
brain
at
all,
you’ll
know
that
nobody’s
sane. Like
a
clockwork
mind,
I’ve
just
begun
to
unwind, creating
undulating
verse
so
full, meticulous,
blind
to
the
ridiculous,
the
rest
of
us always
seeming
to
get
the
best
of
us
are
wells
of
blasphemous
swells
of
hate—
Ǥ ǯ Ǣ Dz dz ǯ Ǣ sure,
you
can
make
a
foreign
call,
but
it
will
cost
more
than
Ǣ and
to
create
a
state
of
bliss,
what
will
we
miss,
but
our
time?
31
Ȅ Ƥ and
you’ve
discarded
baggage
of
the
simple
morals
you
brought. Believe
in
death
and
you
die. Believe
in
life
and
you
lie, between
the
seemly
and
the
seams
of
such
appearances,
cry ƪ and
though
the
sea
is
not
full, wail
to
the
moon
and
spill
your
tide
to
its
contemplative
pull. Rearrange—rewind,
combine,
repeat,
and
entwine.
The
line Ƥ Ǥ Encircling
radio
waves
heave
upon
leaves
of
newspaper
reels and
eels
of
electric
thought
and
the
crowd
below
is bowing
in
collision
in
toiling
precision,
boiling
emission
of
howling
derision
and noise. But
in
the
soft
light
of
lamps, away
from
mutinous
amps, a
candle
glows
a
knowing
glow ǡ ƪ Ǥ In
darkening
curtains
of
secrecy,
bending
together to
make
the
black
blanket
sky
close
and
the
seams
knit together, like
the
dilating
black
hole
of
that
wondrous,
curious
jet Ƥ ǡ into
the
stratosphere
of
night
with
cities
gleaming
below, like
little
stars
as
far
as
Mars in
blinking twinkling Inkling— But
Night’s
octopus
ink
is
seeping,
sweeping
the
thinking from
stinking ơ ǡ ǡ like
a
pillow-‐lined
ceiling, reeling,
Kneeling
and falling to
sleep.
32
“Cold Radiance” by Shaowei Wang
33
Between Dinner and the Show by Kate Welsh Hannah’s
just
here
for
the
weekend,
so
we’re
walking
through
Times
Square
like
tourists,
and
I
am trying
to
give
the
illusion that
these
neon
lights
are
old news,
that
I
am
unimpressed by
billboards
bigger
than
buildings, that
I
don’t
notice
how
many
people
we
walk
straight
through.
My
blue
beret
does
nothing
to
cover
my
ears,
to
keep
the
cold
from
biting,
and
Hannah’s ơǡ she’s
from
Chicago,
that
this
cold
is
nothing.
The
red
steps
we
stand on
make
it
easier
to
pretend
it’s
warm—hot
even—so
we
take photos
of
ourselves,
like
everyone ǡ ƪ of
a
dozen
other
cameras
winking at
the
same
time.
We
go
inside
a
theatre to
ask
about
entering
the
ticket
lottery.
The
woman
you
can
barely
hear
behind
the
glass assures
us
it
won’t
be
a
problem to
get
seats.
“The
city,”
she
informs us,
“is
absolutely
desolate this
weekend.”
When
we
walk
outside we
are
spun
around
by
a
group following
a
women
in
a
yellow
hat
and
a
comedy
club
promoter
asks
if
we’re
Danish.
34
Allegory by Katie McNeirney ǡ ơ Ǣ he,
protesting— “I’m
not
hungry,”
he
pleaded.
“Besides, I
don’t
know
if
I
believe in
sex
before
marriage.”
The
next
week,
they
went to
a
faux-‐French
restaurant,
drank red
wine
and
white
and
he
hailed a
cab
and
they
stumbled
and
fumbled the
whole
way
home.
They
carried each
other
to
his
room
and
did
it on
top
of
the
rose
petals,
the
shattered wine
bottles,
the
still
burning
candles.
When
he
left
the
room,
she
took a
quick
swig
of
wine,
picked shards
of
green
glass
from
her
back,
and
pressed melted
wax
into
her
wounds.
35
“Mandril” by Allyza Lustig
36
to saw a thought and take by Rebecca Gray tastes
like
these
don’t
go
away
from
this
into
space
for
scrubbing
ribs
with
rain
and
be
looking
still
from
this
into
place
where
sounds
drying
out
make
me
want
to
shave
taste
buds
from
tongues
spoken
in
Papua,
New
Guinea
where
revenge
means
war
is
just
another
way
of
saying
desire
and
grief
taste
the
same
37
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