Fall 2
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Dear Reader Welcome to our staff zine! I am so happy to have you. I am so proud of all the work our staff has done this semester, and so excited for all that is yet to come. This staff zine
is simply for fun, a way to onboard our new staff and introduce ourselves not only to you, but to each other as well.
I have always loved making these staff zines because they
allow our incredibly creative staff to explore a bit outside of
of the most grounding and humbling elements of the Wis-
be out of their comfort zone. It has been such a privilege to
ically going to class is again now a part of the daily life of
individuals in the creation of this zine.
this change back to a life like that which we had before
Though there was no strict theme this time around, there
reality. The past few days have been particularly brutal
sions. The first was the idea of hybridity, of virtuality, of
believe this cold reminds us of where we are and gives us
about all that has changed) we have all existed in different
of glitch, loosely tie this zine together, and I hope you can
tions and trying to make sense of an event that was both
speak to one another.
make art that captured this uncertainty, this “glitch”, this
I also want to let you all know that our submission period
with a slow connection, freezing often, we wanted to make
I have been working scrupulously behind the scenes in
their typical mediums, and make art that might otherwise
consin experience. For the first time in a long time, phys-
be able to work again, in person, with so many passionate
a student. The cold temperatures only seem to pronounce BBC breakout rooms and zoom lectures were our everyday
were a few ideas we kept coming back to in our discus-
as temperatures are finally dropping for the winter, but I
in-person vs online. After the past two years (just think
an acute sense of place. These two themes, of winter and
spaces and in many different ways, feeling different emo-
go through each page of this zine to see how all the pieces
out of our control and entirely irreversible. We decided to “technical difficulty”, this “malfunction”. Like a computer
is now open for our spring edition of the journal. This year
art that played into this virtual space of disorder.
order to be able to compensate the undergraduate student
Tangentially related, the other idea we wanted to present in
now have the ability to give away twelve prizes of $200
Moving out of virtual spaces that make the world feel so
essay. You all are awesome and deserve to be compensat-
We ended up choosing the idea of Wisconsin winter as one
campus. Please view our submittable page (linked on our
artists we feature, and I am so excited to announce that we
our art were themes of winter, a different kind of freezing.
each for a single piece of visual art, poetry, short story or
connected, we wanted to celebrate something that felt local.
ed for all the incredible art you are creating while on this
website and in our Instagram bio) for all the details. I hope you consider submitting!
Thank you all for reading, this is us. Sam Wood
Editor-in-chief 2
Table of Contents 4
Sam Wood
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Megan Sherman
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Natalie Ketchum
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Bria Caldecott
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Jane McCauley
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Anjika Verma
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Danielle Farina
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Olivia Dunham
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Autumn Payette
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Nina Boals
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Marley Mendez
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Peat Gales on the downs lift her wings and speak her real name, her quiet name.
Down between granite pools, bulrush buries moss and lizards taste her thoughts. “exhale thy breath,
that thee may blow life into the reeds,
that thee may blow life into the nostrils of the sea,” “bundle thy sickled sheaves,
“that in bulrush thee may rest eternally, “and sow the stars thee heave,” “I give thee flight,
the earth but cowled around me.”
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Knowing My mother dreamt of me before I was born; she recognized my hair, my face, and the
spirit of who I would be. Prescience is red on our tongues.
My grandmother believes herself a witch. The primal language of fungi carry the soil
and the wind— this is our existence. We recognize our kin.
My grandmother’s mother died blowing breath into my lungs. My mother’s death will overwinter below ground. Still shaded, I dream in spores.
Taupe Aria Taupe Aria consists of quaking antlers and aspen herds, of dirtied ice underfoot. It is the
song of cirrus in a dry sky, of comment and continuation, of Vestal Virgins and linen foot-
prints; Taupe Aria is an adjustment to silence in leather bound books and nooks, scything for spring. It is the whisper of twilight in yourself, a song of forgotten dreams and fox
earths. Taupe Aria is hostility in longevity, the side-stepping of strangers on cement and achieving achievable goals. It slithers in hard water and soft ice, and swims with bears
over downy pink riverbed carcasses. Taupe Aria is a hush, an aged white wine and prescience.
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He constructs curves
Slip skip slide over loose earth
stop stop glide across tumbling, poking pebbles. His mountain bones jut out harshly,
offering a false hand to grab that will give way,
that will show you how to surf back down the hillside on dirt and rocks and branches. His earthy stubble makes stained palms bubble with specks of blood
that you offer as payment, smearing on his stones just so you can keep stumbling up
his winding paths of tree stumps and fallen leaves. Reach for roots sticking out the side of his face and scale up his nose into his eye
where you wish to catch your breath, just for a moment
while he rumbles with laughter somewhere deep below.
You stir up his unconquered, unchallenged floors and walls so he sighs dust around you that burns to breathe in and clings to skin
under your worn wool that keeps out the stinging cold like armor. When you pull yourself up over the last rock, and reach the top of his head finally
you flop onto messy umber hair and look out
across the misty sea of sailing clouds in baby blue skies and white linen
and watch the distinct tree line expose the barest skin. His air so thin, it mocks you with breathlessness and dizziness.
In the farthest distance, past layered mountain tops peaking up,
the slightest curve sinks into the horizon in a world of white, black, and green in his world
you are learning to crawl in. 11
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Monica Lewinsky Admits that She is Entirely to Blame for Affair with Bill Clinton Ladies and gentlemen of the court,
I stand before you today with my hands
on the bible, prepared to tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I implore you, please
do not put any blame on him how would he, American politician, attorney,
Leader 42 of the Free World,
He can initiate nuclear warfare
sear-sucker suit,
meaning I cannot even borrow space,
with his woodsy smile and
how would he be able to say no to me sorority sister, parading around my post-adolescent hips that are
contoured by the shadow of my youth, my youth, which was three years ago?
and I cannot yet rent a car,
cannot temporarily exist from place to place,
but he, he does not need permission to enter where he is unwanted or to fix what is not broken,
to take what is not his. So obviously,
I should have known, should have expected that he would want to take me too,
would command my body an advantageous
territory for him to spread himself vastly, rich with resources to capitalize on and bolster his egonomy.
Please, blame me and my un-American ideals,
for what is less American than
respecting the borders in which people exist?
What is less American than
believing that power is something cherished and not something to be abused? 16
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Carry In My Pocket After May 14th of 2022 I will have to find my new home.
Wisconsin has been my place of residence since
conception. I have always known the humid summers and
harsh winters and have loved it dearly. I’ve traveled to other places, and admired their beauty, but nothing can beat the trees littering rolling hills and farmland surrounding
nestles of little towns kept lit by Main Street streetlamps. But it is time to move away.
My greatest endevour since the age of five has been
my education and it’s hard to imagine doing anything but. Currently, as an English major, I am making the choice to move abroad and teach English for a year or two. If I can
travel far away, I can tuck away the thoughts of finding the perfect job every family member asks about at Thanksgiv-
ing. I only hope that I am either brave enough to move to a new country, or cowardly enough to not stay in the U.S.
I am at the moment of great flux. My best friends
in the entire world are all moving to new places after May 14th. I know what it’s like to have friends move away to another school, but not so far that I can’t reach them on
a weekend trip. I have already had to let me siblings go
to the closer Illinois, but the much further California and
Texas. I miss them dearly. And I’ll miss my friends that are
But I am unceasingly excited for the opportunities that
are going to do incredible things, find wonderful jobs, and
going to move just as far.
abound after May 14th. I am certain that my best friends
fall in love with their new homes. I cannot help but squeal with excitement when my roommates tell me they are
accepting a job offer—job offers in Maryland, Connecticut, D.C., Spain. The truth is, we won’t be as connected any-
more. I can’t barge into their rooms to share my most recent obsession. I can’t call them for what feels like ten times un-
til they pick up the goddamn phone so we can finally go on our weekend adventures. I won’t be able to give them the tightest of hugs after we’ve finished the most exhaustive
exams. We are all moving away. We are all going to have to 18
forge our new places in the world.
On a quiet Friday night a few weeks back, I had
been feeling low, and distracted by empty media—pushing away some unhappy feeling. When I finally put my phone down, I relished in the quite of our apartment. I sat on
my bed and slow tears began to fall from the center of my
eyes. I finally felt the rush of everything I had been feeling this semester. I sobbed and spoke out to the nothing white walls while my roommates slept. I will miss them. They
have such great opportunities waiting for them. I will miss
them. They are going to move to exciting new places. I will miss them. They can finally be reunited with long distance partners. I will miss them. I can’t be so selfish to hope that any of them would stay close to me and ruin a chance of
great opportunity. I will miss them. I will miss them. I will miss them.
But in that moment, I finally felt able to say good-
bye. I know I have time with them in the spring, and some fleeting moments of summer before we leave. I’ll cry on
May 14th and cry harder when we pack up the apartment, we’ve shared for two years.
For it is also I that has unlimited possibilities wait-
ing for me outside the walls of this University. My truest
friends will want me to go, know that I have to go, even if I am scared. They know how hard I’ve worked and know
that my best chances lay far away from this aformentioned home. I know that my work would not have been accom-
plished without the unquestioning love and support from
my closest friends. On my travels I will carry these people
with me, in the pocket closest to my heart. My only request is that my friends also carry me along with them in the pockets closest to theirs.
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