Imprint Issue No. 2: Drifting Through Dust

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A Note From The Editor

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Complex Simplicities Jack Del Pizzo

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Dark and Light Molly Laird

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“The Swedish Forrest” Abigail Lewis Maybe We’ll Make a Home Here Sofia Cortes

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“Peeking In” Riley Ellison “The Basics Behind Us” Morgan Frech

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Cloudy Sky Molly Laird

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Sisters Sasha Kokhan

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“Sunbathing in Shadows” Morgan Frech

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“Sunset on the Danube” Abigail Lewis

A Note From the Editor

“Drifting Through Dust,” was a theme inspired by the concept of capturing and transcending reality. Throughout this collection, we have work that accomplishes both, and so much more.

I want to give a very big thank you to everyone who submitted to Imprint this year. Without your willingness to entrust us with your work, Imprint does not exist. I also want to acknowledge the continued support and flexibility of the Marquette Wire staff and administration. Thank you for giving Imprint the space to exist.

II hope that as you read and witness this collection, you too feel inspired to create work that captures the essence of what is and what can be.

Sincerely,

KileyBrockway

Kiley Brockway LitMag Editor-in-Chief 2024

Complex Simplicities

By Jack Del Pizzo

We often find that oftentimes when making inquiries, it’s hard sometimes for rarer finds to surface easily.

So when we find that rarer find—that diamond in the rough— we try quite hard to see their heart, and figure out what’s what.

Solo, singular, standalone; One word is all we need, and with one word we’ll say to you the cries of which we heed.

For no-one ever tells the truth with words so many stacking though truth often is singular, one word often seems lacking.

So when you find that special word, that word you feel is true, Then with your voice, convey your choice, be free! Begin anew.

We often find that oftentimes one word is quite enough, for with one word, the story heard, so rarely is a bluff

Dark And Light

By Molly Laird

P A G E 4

“Well, will you?” he asked. And I jumped in. No thought or rationale could have stopped me. Caution thrown into the water with me. He could have said anything, and I would trust him. I hoped he was just as wildly overcome for me too. But it always came back to me giving for him. I fell deeply and trusted blindly, the naive fool. A tangled, messy connection that somehow flowed through me and flooded my senses. Which is exactly how I ended up in that chilled, dark water as he remained on the riverbank. A knowing, silent laugh gleamed in his eyes as he knew what power he held. As I floated away from shore with just my face breaking the surface, I saw him watch me almost in awe. Not of me swimming in a full-length gown, but rather the realization of my crazy. I laughed and waited for him to join me, waves a cold calm. He never did.

My dark hair disappeared in the abyss of the water stark against my pale skin and white dress. Fighting the weight of the water, delicate fabric billowed with the push and pull of the river. The long dress seemed to work against me, as if wanting to shrink into the deep shadows of the waters. Begging to pull me away from what waited ashore. Once a pure, spotless symbol of hopeful unity thrown into stained misconception. Still afloat in the water, I watched him start to pace in his timeless black suit, no tie. Steady chaos brewed in his near black eyes and locked onto mine of piercing blue. Hands in his pockets, he waited. Hands treading water tirelessly, I waited.

Just that same morning we had rushed to the tiny courthouse, ever the perfect picture. A man and a woman who looked enthralled with each other. We did it without question, as easy as giving in to a dare, armed in a black suit and white dress. He asked me the night before in the late hours of the night tangled up together. As casual as any ordinary menial question, he knew the gravity he carried yet cared less. My eagerness and shock outshined his questionable intention. I had enough belief for the both of us. He did not give me a ring or any token of promise. Rather I clung onto those whispers of forever. Hesitation had no room between us, I would leave my world behind and run away with this man on any whim.

We woke up in the bliss of two to be married. I made nothing of it when he asked me if we should make it official that very same day. His interest further sparked my elation and why should time be wasted. Impulsively we dressed in a rush, ransacking closets for anything delicate white and pressed black. In a blur we ran out the door together, hand in hand. I never second guessed him, not once, not for even a second. We had a wild burning passion that truly could drive one mad.

On the drive home from the court house, I was giddy with delight and enchanted by the spontaneity. He pulled the car over on the edge of town, along the river. We had spent time with those waters, the living pulse that weaved through the town. Edged with rocky banks that rose and fell along the water’s edge. I loved looking at the mysterious rolling river and getting lost trying to make sense of what laid under the surface. When the car came to a stop, I looked at him with curiosity. He had a look in his eye that I should have suspected. He led the way down to the water, not completely unusual for us to do. We had walked along the river before. He always had been ridiculously good at skipping rocks. Skipping across the water in defiance without any concern until the rock ultimately sank. I never was any good, could never figure out how. It was lucky if I could get two skips of the rock. I had always laughed it off as my rock just sank straight down from the start.

The banks of the river dipped toward the water, and we stood on the slightly elevated rocky bluff. “How cold do you think the water is?” he asked me.

I shrugged and replied, “No idea, shouldn’t be too cold.”

“See how cold it is,” he told me.

“Ok, hold my shoes real quick,” I said without any hesitation while taking off my heels and gathering up my dress. The difficulty of my draping dress did not prove to be too much of a challenge, catching my balance with only one outstretched arm. I made the short way down the crumbling rocks to the water’s surface. I dipped a foot halfway in and the water lapped against me. I glanced back with a teasing expression as if telling him “look I actually did it”. He had dropped my nice shoes into the dirt, discarded beside him.

“It’s not bad at all,” I called out back to him. Braving the not completely unbearable temperature. I drew circles in the water with my foot that rippled and disappeared. Forgotten in my own world, captivated by the dark water in contrast with my pale slight foot, I laughed to myself. We did it, we really did the damn thing. It was crazy but here we were, married.

“Jump in, you won’t,” he jested from behind me. I turned toward his playful smirk.

“I will if you will,” I bantered back, knowing he wouldn’t want to get his suit wet.

“Ok deal,” he replied to my surprise. I was entertained with the idea, newly weds jumping in together.

“You promise?” I persistently asked him, wanting him to full heartedly agree. The yearning hopeful question lingered between us.

“Ya, go on,” he prodded. Complete confidence from him gave me enough reassurance. He would be the one pushing me in, but in the end, I would be the one who jumped. Building up the courage I knew I was going into that cold water. I was about to join whatever laid beneath that dark surface. Looking back at him one last time, I still did not fully know if he’d join me.

Nevertheless, I was still going in, head first.

maybe we’ll make a home here

By Sofia Cortes

we have ugly pillows on a nice couch a ringed wooden table because we don’t have coasters yet

our lights are new brightening the cracks in our ceiling and our sink still spits up our neighbor’s breakfast and we always feed the cat that visits us while we hang our sheets

she’s with me all the time but she offers me things and takes my plate when I’m done i let her borrow my dresses then we become comfortable together maybe we’ll make a home here someday

P A G E 7

Artwork: “Peeking In”

By Riley Ellison

Winner of the 2023 October Contest

Photograph: “The Basics Behind Us”

By Morgan Frech

Cloudy Sky

By Molly Laird

Looking up into the cloudy sky

And you can’t quite understand why

Trying to grasp the future’s forecast

Wondering if it can ever last

Will storms come in to frighten Or will skies clear to see the horizon

Unknown evolving yet still silent

Truth hidden in the moving moment

Still questioning the need for shadows

Can’t predict what else follows Yet day dawns with overwhelming light

That doesn’t need to be met with a fight

Unwavering clouds will forever be Light escaping to try and break free

By Sasha Kokhan PAGE 10 Sisters

I swallow 400 mg ibuprofen with some water and stare hard out the window. As the car rolls through traffic fat flakes of rain lick the hood. There’s a skid before my sister Vera presses the brake to stop. She’s speaking now. The red glow from the stoplight touches everything in her car. I roll the ibuprofen bottle between my hands; the corner of the label is peeling off.

Vera reaches over to the passenger seat and tugs the nape of my neck with her forefinger and her thumb.

“I know you’re not listening, but I’m trying to tell you something important Selah.”

“Ouch.” I say. She releases her grip.

I tilt my head back and use my fingers to massage the long cord of neck muscle. Green light fills the car as it jerks forward. Now I’m remembering that when my cat, Gena, was a kitten his mom would pick him up by the little fold in his neck. Vera kept picking Gena up by his scruff even after he became an adult. According to the internet when a kitten is picked up by its scruff it has a reflex that automatically makes it go limp. With adulthood this reflex is lost.

“Well, I’m just saying you shouldn’t be asking me to call you out in the middle of the day. You’re lucky that I even take the time out of my day to drive you back from school, I work full time you know.” She jabs her finger into my shoulder, repeats “You know?” The road lifts a little and the car drifts dangerously toward the right lane. Vera’s car is a 2001 Honda Civic that she bought with her waitressing money.

I flick my thumb back and forth on the corner of the ibuprofen label. It peels away easily, leaving behind a thin sticky film. A few months after we got Gena he began coughing. No one in our family ever owned a cat before so one day Papa, Vera, and I took him to the vet. It turned out Gena had asthma. The vet asked if anybody in the house smoked cigarettes. Papa was angry, spitting wet flecks of saliva onto the vets face as he insisted through crumbled English that there was no better home for the cat than with them.

“Selah” Vera huffs.

“What?”

“You’re still not listening to me.”

“Okay.”

The lane begins to merge. A car in the lane next to us honks.

“You’re impossible to talk to.” Vera slams the horn.

The lane merges onto the highway. Vera presses her foot on the gas pedal. I whip my hand up to the grab handle and lean into the car door.

“Selah my driving isn’t that bad.” Vera uses her free hand to shove me.

“Let go of the grab handle or I’m not driving you back from school again.”

I look at Vera. She knows that I’m still too young to get my drivers license, and that Papa refuses to wake up before 9 am. Sometimes she says shit like this where I hope to god she’s joking but I know she isn’t. When Gena died last March, she said she wished it was me instead. My thumb circles the film on the ibuprofen bottle; I crumple the label.

“You stink of cigarettes.”

The car rattles on the highway. Vera grips the steering wheel and rolls up her sleeve. Her forearm is long and skinny, and for the first time I notice that it’s covered in circular scabs. I find myself quiet for the rest of the car ride.

“Sunbathing in the Shadows”

By Morgan Frech

Photograph:

“Sunset on the Danube”

By Abigail Lewis