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Great Lake Review - Fall 1991

Material Information

Title:
Great Lake Review - Fall 1991
Series Title:
Great Lake Review
Publisher:
SUNY Oswego
Publication Date:
Language:
English

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Genre:
serial ( sobekcm )

Notes

Abstract:
Garrett Wagner Editor in Chief, Michael Munnelly Treasurer, Editorial Staff (in order of appearance) Shannon Tuttle Michael Martin Liliana Almendarez Justin Goltermann Tom Fugalli Adam Altman David James Robinson Tania Gad ( ,,, )
Scope and Content:
ART Caramia Donovan On Your Mark front cover Renee Page Figure 4 Kimberly J. Baker Thoughts Lost to Time 1. 10 Kimberly J. Baker Thoughts Lost to Time II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 11 Siu-Lin Phyllis Lee AP. 14 Todd Sebastian Williams untitled 20-21 Caramia Donovan untitled 25 Caramia Donovan untitled _ ' 27 Todd Sebastian Williams March of the Babling Idiots 30 Renee Page My Best Buddy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 35 J. A. Carle untitled 40 FICTION Alison M. Way An Excerpt From Finite and Endless 6-8 Laura A. Loncar An Excerpt From The Good Catholic. . . . . . . . . . .. . .. 12 Tania Gad The Light Bulb 15-16 Bethany Payne Spring Cleaning 22·23 Anthony S. Galbraith A Summer Story 27-28 Tania Gad untitled 33 POETRY Shannon Tuttle The Singer 4 Mortiche Water Spirit 5 Garrett Wagner Your Masterpiece 5 Shannon Tuttle Bulletin 9 Beverlee Salley Hundreds of Grackles 10 Tom Fugalli Artemis' Swan Song 11 Liliana Almendarez Dream Sequence 13 Jeffrey R. Gardiner A Spider's Web 13 Beverlee Salley The Petrified Mother 14 Frank D. Hill Black River 17 John Ceilly untitled 17 Frank D. Hill Two AM. 17 Mortiche Devil's Rose 18 Tom Mayer untitled 19 Shannon Tuttle Faucet Dripping. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 Juliana Post since the electricity 27 AUGUST 1990 20 Sidian The Fire.................................. . .. 24 Marc McGee Marble Dreams . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 24 Timothy Senft Wind 25 Beverlee Salley Motel Maid ,........................... 26 Juliana Post red eleven shoe makers or the ginger spirit 10-2-89 ., 29 Steve Leeds It's Cold " 30 Tom Fugalji "Here lies one whose name was writ in water" 31 Nat Siembor Lento '" 31 J. A. Carle 1:37 AM. Bus Station, Syracuse , 32 Garrett Wagner "Why you'll take no more lovers" 34 Mortiche Liquid Diet 34 Mortiche Rhyme of the Witch's Child _ 35 Adam Altman The Song of the Mad Maze _ 36 Beverlee Salley Waiting Room 37 Justin Golterman Word-play 38 Michael Martin Just A Moment 38 Denise Shapiro She Worried 39 Tom Fugalli I Slept With an lndian and Awoke inside in a Bleeding Fire back cover
General Note:
Great Lake Review is SUNY Oswego's student-edited literary and art magazine. Great Lake Review is published, in general, every semester, and contains primarily student art work, poetry, fiction, and other literary works.

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This item is licensed with the Creative Commons Attribution No Derivatives License. This license allows for redistribution, commercial and non-commercial, as long as it is passed along unchanged and in whole, with credit to the author.

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Fall 1991 Garrett Wagner Editor in Chief Michael Munnelly Treasurer Editorial Staff (in order of appearance) Shannon Tuttle Michael Martin Liliana Almendarez Justin Goltermann Tom Fugalli Adam Altman David James Robinson Tania Gad Copynght 1991 @ Great Lake Review All rights reserved to authors and artists, This magazine is made possible by the funds provided by the Student Association and by the ellorts of the students of the State University of New York at Oswego,

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"There is such enormous pressure to conform in this society, and those of us who reject these singular models of how to live, how to write, how to fuck, how to make art, are on the other side of the world. We have new stories and new ways of telling them." -Amy Scholder, from the introduction to High Risk 2

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enormous pressure to conform lnd those of us who reject lodeIs of how to live, how to ck, how to make art, are on f the world. We have new ways of telling them." er, from the introduction to High Risk 2 GREAT LAKE REVIEW FALL 1991 Caramia Donovan Renee Page Kimberly J. Baker Kimberly J. Baker Siu-Lin Phyllis Lee Todd Sebastian Williams Caramia Donovan Caramia Donovan Todd Sebastian Williams Renee Page J. A. Carle Alison M. Way Laura A. Loncar Tania Gad Bethany Payne Anthony S. Galbraith Tania Gad Shannon Tuttle Mortiche Garrett Wagner Shannon Tuttle Beverlee Salley Tom Fugalli Liliana Almendarez Jeffrey R. Gardiner Beverlee Salley Frank D. Hill John Ceilly Frank D. Hill Mortiche Tom Mayer Shannon Tuttle Juliana Post Sidian Marc McGee Timothy Senft Beverlee Salley Juliana Post Steve Leeds Tom FugalJi Nat Siembor J. A. Carle Garrett Wagner Mortiche Mortiche Adam Altman Beverlee Salley Justin Golterman Michael Martin Denise Shapiro Tom Fugalli ART On Your Mark front cover Figure 4 Thoughts Lost to Time 1. 10 Thoughts Lost to Time II ........................... .. 11 AP. 14 untitled 20-21 untitled 25 untitled '27 March of the Babling Idiots 30 My Best Buddy. ................................... .. 35 untitled 40 FICTION An Excerpt From Finite and Endless 6-8 An Excerpt From The Good Catholic. ......... .. ... 12 The Light Bulb 15-16 Spring Cleaning 22 A Summer Story 27-28 untitled 33 POETRY The Singer 4 Water Spirit 5 Your Masterpiece 5 Bulletin 9 Hundreds of Grackles 10 Artemis' Swan Song 11 Dream Sequence 13 A Spider's Web 13 The Petrified Mother 14 Black River 17 untitled 17 Two AM. 17 Devil's Rose 18 untitled 19 Faucet Dripping. ............... 19 since the electricity 27 AUGUST 1990 20 The Fire.................................. .. 24 Marble Dreams ............ ... 24 Wind 25 Motel Maid ,........................... 26 red eleven shoe makers or the ginger spirit 10-2-89 ., 29 It's Cold 30 "Here lies one whose name was writ in water" 31 Lento '" 31 1:37 AM. Bus Station, Syracuse 32 "Why you'll take no more lovers" 34 Liquid Diet 34 Rhyme of the Witch's Child 35 The Song of the Mad Maze 36 Waiting Room 37 Word-play 38 Just A Moment 38 She Worried 39 I Slept With an lndian and Awoke inside in a Bleeding Fire back cover 3

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Figure Renee Page The Singer Her voice is a buzzard alone descending to poke at the bones in the subway around her. A careful initial nudge is enough to show her; nothing, no fiesh or a single feeling is dangling from these skeletons. Her voice is a buzzard ascending alone to circle the subway ceiling. It will fall back down when hunger fills her again, when the lyrics again speak of loneliness. -Shannon Tuttle 4

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Renee Page The Singer is a buzzard alone 9 to poke at the bones ay around her. A ial nudge is enough to nothing, no flesh or E!ling is dangling from tons. Her voice is a scending alone to circle the iling. It will fall back down er fills her again, when gain speak of loneliness. -Shannon Tuttle Water Spirit She, outside my window, dancing, was a figure so entrancing That I found that I was staring at her floating, breeze-whipped mane. Still she danced, her cape unfurling in the storm, wherein the whirling Breezes seemed to send her twirling just outside my windowpane In the diamond drops that grew and crawled along my windowpane Was she just a trick of rain? She was livened by the thunder pulses, dancing faster underNeath the clapping branches of the tree that scratched my windowpane. Both the tree and she were bending in the wind. She started blending Into the fog the dance was ending and I feared I was insane. As she melted, disappearing, I was sure I was insane For she was just a trick of rain. Mortiche Your masterpiece Am I to be your masterpiece, will you hang me on your wall? Or display my bronzed body, frozen in animal-like crawl. When I am to wield the powerful brush, and my subject is my mind, Will a masterpiece develop from the crayon sketches you left behind? And if I fail, then what? Tell me what is it Iam to do. Do I become that poor apprentice that I now see in you? -Garrett Wagner 5

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An excerpt from Finite and Endless by Alison M. Way The first time Isee him, he is standing next to me in the candystore staring at the jellybeans with a moonbeam glimmer in his eyes. To be sure, there aren't many people in this world who look at candy in such a way, but you must understand that he simply has those sort of eyes. "The colors are beautiful ... just beautiful ... "he murmurs, his fingertips brushing against the smooth, cool glass of the display case. His voice has a resonance, a quality of depth to it, that reminds me of how people sound when they whisper to you in dreams. "Yes, "1 reply, "and they taste good, too." It suddenly occurs to me that this is one of the most idiotic comments I could possibly have made but then again, I don't even know this man so why do I even care? "What tastes good?" he asks turning to me with a face so filled with bewilderment that I can't help but wonder if I've just spoken in Sanskrit. "The jellybeans," I say, "I was talking about the jellybeans they taste good, you know?" Once again he turns away from the captivating candy. He smiles at me only, it isn't really a smile at all, it's much more than that. It's almost as if the features of his face are positively overcome with the beauty of life. It's the most glorious smile I've ever seen, but I hardly dare to let him know it. Laughing, he says, "Oh, I wouldn't know about the jellybeans their taste, that is.I buy thembecauseofthecolors -I just like to look at them, you see." "Well, I suppose that's as good a reason as any other for buying jellybeans." I reply wondering to myself about the significance of this truly bizarre conversation, as I have always been one to search for deeply hidden meaning within the most trifling of circumstances. It has always been a wonderful way to lend substance to an existence lacking just such a thing. The man smiles at me again, only this time the expression lacks much of its former pizzazz. He turns away from me beckoning to the bored-looking salesgirl for some assistance. Needless to say, she perks up visibly as she proceeds to weigh several bags of the colorful sweets, cracking stupid little jokes that make the man smile, if only just a little, tiny bit. So much for my disarming, charismatic wit. I'm in the chocolate department struggling though a tedious, personal dilemma between the sponge candy and the chocolate-covered raisins, when I feel the gaze upon me. You know the feeling that distinctly uncomfortable sensation of being watched by unseen eyes. You don't know who it is. You're not even sure why you noticed. You know only the unbearable weight of another's attention. I look up with a nervous start brushing my unruly mane out of my eyes as I look about in search of the hidden observer. True, I am accustomed to people looking at me, but one should not assume that this makes the attention desirable or somehow easier to bear. I am aware of the stranger's eyes upon me just as another would feel his flesh burning in the searing flames. The scrutiny is agonizing. I am quite alone in my aisle, save for the old man a couple of shelves down who is far too preccupied with fine chocolates to be the slightest bit concerned with me. Figuring myself to be quite the paranoid, I reach for the glorious box of chocolate delights only to come face-to-face with the eccentric jellybean man whose beauty appears as I remove my treasure from the shelf. Hidden in the next aisle, an aisle filled with gourmet jellybeans of every persuasion, he has been contemplating me from his hidden vantage point amongst myriad confections. I feel the beginnings of a downright crimson blush moving up my neck to conquer my face. I am absolutely incensed for no particular reason. "What are you doing?!" I say, my voice a vicious mutter. He smiles and it's the brilliant smile he gave me before. .6

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An excerpt from Finite and Endless by Alison M. Way le is standing next to me in the candy store staring :>eam glimmer in his eyes. To be sure, there aren't Iho look at candy in such a way, but you must is those sort of eyes. I... just beautiful ... he murmurs, his fingertips I, cool glass of the display case. His voice has a to it, that reminds me of how people sound when 1S. Vtaste good, too." It suddenly occurs to me that comments I could possibly have made but then man so why do I even care? e asks turning to me with a face so filled with p but wonder if I've just spoken in Sanskrit. "I was talking about the jellybeans they taste in he turns away from the captivating candy. He a smile at all, it's much more than that. It's ; face are positively overcome with the beauty of Ie I've ever seen, but I hardly dare to let him know I wouldn't know about the jellybeans their use of the colors -I just like to look at them, you ; as good a reason as any other for buying Ig to myself about the significance of this truly ve always been one to search for deeply hidden ifling of circumstances. It has always been a lnce to an existence lacking just such a thing. ain, only this time the expression lacks much of its way from me beckoning to the bored-looking !. Needless to say, she perks up visibly as she ags of the colorful sweets, cracking stupid little "Ie, if only just a little, tiny bit. So much for my partment struggling though a tedious, personal candy and the chocolate-covered raisins, when I mow the feeling that distinctly uncomfortable Iy unseen eyes. You don't know who it is. You're iced. You know only the unbearable weight of with a nervous start brushing my unruly mane ou t in search of the hidden observer. True, I am .og at me, but one should not assume that this Ie or somehow easier to bear. I am aware of the It as another would feel his flesh burning in the is agonizing. sle, save for the old man a couple of shelves down h fine chocolates to be the slightest bit concerned quite the paranoid, I reach for the glorious box of me face-to-face with the eccentric jellybean man !move my treasure from the shelf. Hidden in the gourmet jellybeans of every persuasion, he has 1m his hidden vantage point amongst myriad ings of a downright crimson blush moving up my Jl1 absolutely incensed for no particular reason. (say, my voice a vicious mutter. He smiles and it's before. "I'm looking at you." "Why?" "Why? Because you're beautiful -and much nicer to look at than jellybeans ... is that a good enough reason for you?" "It hardly justifies such blatant ogling!" I curtly reply, hardly daring to let my gaze meet with his ... for more than an instant or two, that is. "Ogling!!!" he laughs and the flesh around his deep, dark eyes seems to crinkle up lending a sense of gentle softness to his stunning features. "Ogling!! -I just love it!! What a fantastic word!!" I am beginning to wonder if there is, by any chance, a sign attached to my forehead stating Welcome All Attractive Men ofDubious Mental Facility, but I stay where I am not moving as I listen to the purr of his laughter if only to humor him ... and perhaps my own self. He has stopped laughing now, still the humor lingers in his eyes as if to suggest that he is still laughing deep within himself in some happy, careless place. I want desperately to laugh with him, to share the splendor of a silly meaningless word in the midst of all my rather affected seriousness, yet just as I begin to feel myself letting go. I am suddenly aware of the customers who observe who ogle us with a collective gaze of curious disdain. I know that I am blushing like a cat in a sandbox just as I know that all of these candy-crazed creatures are appalled by our over-the-counter discourse. I should really leave right now -I should leave and free myself from unnecessary troubles and even more unnecessary embarrassment. "... Hey, are you listening to me? Is there a person behind that pretty face? Hello?" The stranger is waving a long-fingered hand in front of my face -indeed, he has been talking to me all the while and I have hardly heard a syllable, Suddenly, he disappears. His face is altogether absent from the space we called a gateway and I feel almost alone in my aisle that has suddenly filled with people. Then he is coming down my aisle, coming towards me in a tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged body that make me feel smaller, more fragile witheachgaining step. I want to run away but I amquiteconfident that ifI look down, I will find my feet buried in stony cement. Wearing a black turtleneck sweater and faded jeans, he looks sharp and confident in a way that suggests looking good comes easily to him. I feel nervous, my heart pounding in my burning chest like a militant drummer. He is so close that I can smell the fresh sensuality of his soap. "Now this is much better than shouting at each other across boxes of candy," he says, then suddenly he becomes strangely pensive, finally exclaiming, "You're very beautiful, aren't you your eyes are absolutely marvelous. Tell me, do you look very pretty when you cry?" He moves forward andthough I am very flattered, I take a step back as ifin reproach, hardly aware of my motivation. I want to say thank you. I want to tell him that I hardly cry at all, but instead I say, "I have to go. I really have to go somewhere." He begins to look puzzled, his dark, finely-arched brows crinkling up in a caterpillar of perplexity. Then he seems almost hurt as if I have disappointed him in some absolutely horrible way. "No," he says, his voice a hesitant murmur of deliberation, "that's not true. You don't have anyplace to go. You just don't want to be here. You don't want to be with me. That's what you're trying to say, isn't it?" At this moment, I could hardly have believed that my face could get any redder. Still the flames climbed higher into the depths of my cheeks, as if to conquer a defenseless place. Everyone is watching us. Surely they sense the displeasure in his voice. They are probably wondering what I could possibly have done to disappoint a stranger so. "Look," I say, pushing a few locks of the mess that is my hair behind my left ear, "I have to go. Idon't know what you want from me ... I'm sorry but I have to go." And I grab two boxes of candy. I'm not even sure that they're mine, but I grab them and I turn around and begin to make my way towards the cashier with a good deal of nervous determination. I know that I am behaving in a

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positively obnoxious manner but if there's one thing-this city has taught me, it's how to be rude without remorse. Candy in tow, I head for the line at the register, confident that I have emerged altogether unscathed from yet another confrontation with a deranged madman. I wait in the lengthy line with a nervous soul, chewing on a hangnail as I watch the little boy in front of me picking his nose with an intensity of singlemindedness that I find most impressive. "Tell me one thing ... don't you feel it?" he whispers in my tingling ear and I whirl around gasping despite my self-restraint to face this stanger who refuses to fail in his pursuits. "Don't I feel what?!" I cry out and then I realize that I am crushing the boxes of candy against me to stifle the pounding in my chest. "Don't you feel it between us?" he insists and when he reaches out to grasp my arm, the contact makes me tremble. "Don't you feel something magical and pure that makes you just know we ought to be together. Can't you realize what has happened to the two of us?!?" And he looks into my eyes and Iam stunned by the magic that I see in them. They are eyes of the deepest, softest, blackest midnight and in the midst of all that endless shadow, an undeniable fire burns there. He looks at me and I know that I understand him ... and I never want to look away, ever. He returns my gaze in his calm, penetrating manner as if he were searching deep inside of me and taking his place within the most private, intimate recesses of my mind. Iseem to want him there, deep inside of my soul. Still, I feel nervous and defenseless before him like a virgin who awaits the caresses of her first lover. I know what I want but I can hardly guess what to expect. There is a shroud of thick, cotton stillness so deep around me that I no longer know what it is to be a customer waiting in line in a candystore. It's as if I have never done such a thing in all of my life. I become nothing more than a helpless victim to the gentle temptations of this stranger, feeling the undeniable release of my surrender as the worldly box of chocolates falls to the silent marble floor. His great, willow-fingered hands seem to cradle my face, luring me up -leading me closer to the warm sanctuary of his wet, crimson-lipped mouth. He will kiss me, I think, andIwatchas his thick lashes close over the passion in his eyes, as his lips part ever-so-subtly to take me in. I feel his hot breath falling moist upon my burning skin; I smell the fragrance of his body and I am reminded of a rainstorm in a dense, primeval forest, I want to be soaked with the rain as I wander beneath the ancient trees. And then he is kissing me and I am kissing him back as if my life depends on it indeed I am certain that it does. His mouth is warm and sweet and his tongue dips into me like a bee loves a nectar-filled flower, leaving suddenly to make me want him more. Suddenl!.!, like a ray of light that leaves a darkened room, the kiss is over and we are back in the candystore line where we have been all along. "You are the one," he whispers in my ear and although I want to listen, to connect with him once amlin, I can hardly hear his soothing whisper over the hushed murmurs of disdain uttered by our onlookers. Everyone is staring. Are they looking at me or is it the pile of truffles at my feet that enchants them so? Has our kiss kindled a passion inside each and everyone of them? Iseem to hold the leading role in this performance, yet, I can hardly remember my lines (if I ever had any) as I tremble beneath the censorious gaze of my audience. Each pair of sightless eyes seems to understand the ineptness I'm feeling upon this stage. They know that I do not belong here, that moments such as this one are a true rarity to the regularity of my existence. They know that I am faking it for they have witnessed the calamitous breakdown of my stifled composure. They know that I have never been kissed like that before in all of my life. I fear that I may hear the first brazen bleatings of mocking laughter at any moment. And so I run out of the store.

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but if there's one thing.this city has taught me, it's rse. r the line at the register, confident that I have from yet another confrontation with a deranged line with a nervous soul, chewing on a hangnail as t of me picking his nose with an intensity of ost impressive. 't you feel it?" he whispers in my tingling ear and I my self-restraint to face this stanger who refuses out and then I realize that I am crushing the stifle the pounding in my chest. us?" he insists and when he reaches out to grasp e tremble. "Don't you feel something magical and we ought to be together. Can't you realize what ?!?" And he looks into my eyes and Iam stunned They are eyes of the deepest, softest, blackest II that endless shadow, an undeniable fire burns ow that I understand him ... and I never want to his calm, penetrating manner as if he were and taking his place within the most private, I seem to want him there, deep inside of my soul. seless before him like a virgin who awaits the now what I want but I can hardly guess what to k, cotton stillness so deep around me that I no customer waiting in line in a candystore. It's as if I in all of my life. I become nothing more than a mptations of this stranger, feeling the undeniable he worldly box of chocolates falls to the silent d hands seem to cradle my face, luring me up rm sanctuary of his wet, crimson-lipped mouth. atch as his thick lashes close over the passion in subtly to take me in. I feel his hot breath falling ; I smell the fragrance of his body and I am ense, primeval forest, I want to be soaked with the ancient trees. and I am kissing him back as if my life depends at it does. His mouth is warm and sweet and his loves a nectar-filled flower, leaving suddenly to ht that leaves a darkened room, the kiss is over store line where we have been all along. ispers in my ear and although I want to listen, to I can hardly hear his soothing whisper over the ttered by our onlookers. they looking at me or is it the pile of truffles at my Has our kiss kindled a passion inside each and old the leading role in this performance, yet, Ican (if I ever had any) as I tremble beneath the ience. Each pair of sightless eyes seems to feeling upon this stage. They know that I do not ch as this one are a true rarity to the regularity of hat I am faking it for they have witnessed the stifled composure. They know that I have never all of my life. I fear that I may hear the first brazen at any moment. And so I run out of the store. Bulletin Twelve months hang limp in my kitchen, beside yellow, cutout, sinful menus. I pin up dead flowers, dried twelve months. Hang limp in your old age! Grey, thin, wrinkled skin can't hide yellow, cutout, sin ister eyes. In minutes two cars collide; twelve months hang limp in a victim's head. Dingy graves are not wide yellow cutout, sin gle pits. Once again widow becomes bride; twelve months hang limp in yellow, cutout sin. -Shannon Tuttle

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Thoughts Lost to Time [ Kimberly J. Baker Hundreds of Grackles The birds gather And glide And rest in the top of the tallest tree. It is a cold December dusk. They rise and circle, Like a swarm of locusts, Chattering And lighting on another tree And yet another. Momentous decision. Settled and huddled in the treetop of an elm, They are silhouetted against the greying sky Like dark seed pods clinging to the branches. A curious lullaby, The urgent chorus of bedding down Serenades me As I click my typewriter in fits and starts And set my words upon the page. -Beuerlee Salley .10

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ndreds of Grackles her he top of the tallest tree. ecember dusk. d circle, of locusts, on another tree her. decision. uddled in the treetop of an elm, ouetted against the greying sky d pods clinging to the branches. Ilaby, horus of bedding down ne typewriter in fits and starts ords upon the page. Beverlee Salley 10 Thoughts Lost to Time If Kimberly J. Baker Artemis' Swan Song Stars are strewn along onyx aisles in mute distraction in their velvet chairs, as the moon waits like a celestial spot-light for the sun to steal the stage. Battle-scarred and bludgeoned, the moon's pale face softly limps into the bosom of cloudy sanctuary. Where it conduct the tides and regulates the rhythms of Waters and Daughters. Its mystery symphony only reverberates within the jeweled chambers of the conch, the racing dreams of sleeping Artists, and the distilled fluids behind the eyes of Lovers and Lunatics. Each dawn will witness the birth of the Beast: The moon is betrayed and sacrificed by the Resurrection in the East. As all languid lunar remnants burrow deep into the sea, the sun exposes what is real with raging mediocrity. -Tom Fugalli 11

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An Excerpt From: THE GOOD CATHOLIC by Laura A. Loncar Morgan (Crosses Herself) I'd start with the "Our Father" if I could remember it. I'm sorry God. Sorry for everything! I get sick to my stomach every time I think about it. What I did. I wanna vomit every time I remember. (Morgan leans over a bit as her stomach contracts in a dry heave) Makes me sick. STUPID DOG! I didn't mean to ... to hurt him. Not like I did. But he was in the way, he was there. (She puts her head in her hands and thinks for a minute) I can't think aobut it, Because it felt so good. (She begins to weep uncontrollably) It was wonderful. It was like a drug. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. Hitting him and hitting him 'till he cried as hard as I cried. 'Till he hurt like I hurt. God! I can't live with myself. I didn't want to stop, God. And then I saw the blood. On my hands. On my face. And I thought, "What have I done," God, "What have I done!" and then I looked at him lying there, and you know what he did? He wagged his tail. He didn't know what happened. He thought he did something wrong, it was like he was asking MY forgiveness for ME beating HIM. I wish he got mad at me, tried to bite me ... or something. But he didn't ... he just lied there, crying. How many nights did Ilie there crying. Because of what people did to me. And now I know how good it feels ... inside ... to hurt someone else. And now I know what I can do, how to hurt someone else so I feel better. But I don't ever want to do it again. I'm just so afraid ... of myself. It felt so good ... never again, God ... Please! Never again. 12

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An Excerpt From: GOOD CATHOLIC by Laura A. Loncar Morgan I'd start with the "Our Father" if I could arry God. Sorry for everything! I get h every time I think about it. What I every time I remember. (Morgan leans stomach contracts in a dry heave) lUPID DOG! I didn't mean to ... to I did. But he was in the way, he was er head in her hands and thinks for a 'nk aobut it, Because it felt so good. p uncontrollably) It was wonderful. It couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. ting him 'till he cried as hard as I cried. hurt. God! I can't live with myself. I God. And then I saw the blood. On y face. And I thought, "What have I at have I done!" and then I looked at d you know what he did? He wagged know what happened. He thought he ong, it was like he was asking MY beating HIM. I wish he got mad at me, or something. But he didn't ... he just How many nights did Ilie there crying. eople did to me. And now I know how ide ... to hurt someone else. And now do, how to hurt someone else so I feel t ever want to do it again. I'm just so It felt so good ... never again, God ... n. 12 Dream Sequence My dreams bud by my bed this night. My wishes hide high above my head. The night shall know my name. The stars shall whisper secrets. The noise of laughter lingers lightly. The heaven marks the moonlight madness. Ice is twinkling in the racing revelry. Stars are restless in t he twirl of twilight. Sweet is the sing song of seduction. Nothing is as enticing as the new night. The night dies, as the light shines. The day is a fading dream away. Liliana Almendarez A Spider's Web It spins, twisting and turning Glistening, the Sun's first tears adorn its crystalline threads. Reflecting the light, The tears emanate warmth and delight. The wind sighs, The delicate fabric stretches and bends, Wrapping about a weak foundation. Why is this Mother Nature's most beautiful creation? It's geometric figures writhe In a hypnotic pattern. Its swift and deadly master Gives it a feeling of fear, and disaster. How could something so beautiful and perfect, Be yet another deadly trap? The master knows its entangling maze, Gathering his prey in the early dawn's haze. Jeffery R. Gardiner 13

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AP. The Petrified Mother Like an ancient shark Moving through an ocean, She monitors her dank world Not knowing who her children are. Love and hate merge and shrivel For survival. Any flesh is food. Nursery rhymes and fairy tales Are told at bedtime Concealing and revealing Truths and lies. The children bleed in their sleep But never show their wounds. The old predator presides In the sacrificial ocean, Lullaby and goodnight. The rigid birth canal, The toxic breast, The stroke of midnight, And mother's kiss Bestow the legacy Of terror. Beuerlee Salley Siu-Lin Phyllis Lee 14

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e Petrified Mother ancient shark through an ocean, nitors her dank world wing who her children are. d hate merge and shrivel ivai. h is food. rhymes and fairy tales at bedtime ling and revealing and lies. dren bleed in their sleep er show their wounds. predator presides crificial ocean, and goodnight. d birth canal, ic breast, oke of midnight, ther's kiss the legacy r. Beverlee Salley Siu-Lin Phyllis Lee 14 The Light Bulb by Tania Gad Her knees leaned against the hard tile, while she crouched over the bath tub scrubbing my little brother, Shaun, impatiently. She just seemed so far away from where she actually was. It scared me. Iwas only eight years old. Ineeded to know that nothing was going to change, and we'd always all be protected by each other. Iwalked into the dim bathroom, five light bulbs worked the lamp, and only one was working. It was a perfect match for the line of questioning I was about to ask her, because out of the five people in my family, I was the only oneworking. I timidly began to askherifshewasmadatmyfather. Ispoketo her as if she was tangled in explosives, and I had to watch every word that came out of my mouth for fear she might say, "Tania! Stop asking so many questions and get to bed!" She always gave me that line, and there was no way I could handle it at that moment. All she did was splash the water abruptly onto my three year old brother, repeating, "I've got to get out of this house; I can't stand that bastard_" She was crying; my mother was crying. "NothingI do is good enough," sigh, sigh. "I can't do anything right. He should drop dead. I can't do it anymore; I just can't do it anymore." Oh the rush I felt through my body. I knew then there was no way we'd live together forever. But I still questioned her just so I could hear what I wanted to hear, you know, force the words into her mouth that said, "I will not divorce your father," because it was 8:30, and I had to go to bed, because there was school the next day, and those words were the only thing that could make me comatose for the night. So I proceeded with the questions, "Mommy, do you love me?" "Yeah, I do." "Do you love Darren?" (My older brother) "Yes." "Even when you yell at him?" "Sometimes." "Do you love me when you yell at me?" "Sometimes." "How come you don't love me when you yell at me, is it because I turn bad?" "Yes, but I love you." "Do you love S haun?" "Yes, of course." Do you love daddy?" "Tania, not now." "But do you?" "No, I don't." "But why? Why did you get married if you don't love each other?" "Tania go to bed." I began bouncing and jerking my knee inside and out, whining, "Mommy. Please, oh please. Iwon't ask anymore questions, I promise. Just tell me, are you going to divorce daddy?" "I don't know." Oh the salt from my tears was now burning my face. "But mommy, are you or aren't you?" Inside my head I was thinking, oh please no, oh please God NO. What am I going to do if she says yes? Oh please God no. I asked again; she yelled at me to leave her alone. I was surprised her fuse hadn't blown sooner. I then said, "Only if you promise me that you won't 15

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divorce daddy." She said, "We'll see." Eww, it was always "We'll see." I knew "we'll see" always meant whatever I wanted wasn't going to happen. I knew because whenever I wanted bubble gum, "we'll see" was a wonderful means of postponing the time til we left the candy store so I wouldn't be able to ask anymore. But Iknew that was the best answer I was going to get that night, so I went to bed after counting all the people in the world who loved me on my fingers, and figuring out how old Shaun was going to be when I turned nineteen; he would be thirteen, and Iwas worried he would have to live alone with either my mother or father if they divorced, so I decided I would give free therapy sessions to every member of my family once a week, so I could heal whatever was wrong with my family. It is now eleven years later. I knew then that things would never be the way Iwanted. That rush in my stomach told me. And sure enough, I was right. My parents are still living together, and they've been trying to divorce legally for the past five years, while Iwent through high school. And damn it, Ican't wait until it's final. I only wish my mother would have divorced my father after she gave Shaun his bath. 16

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e'll see." Eww, it was always "We'll see." I knew tever I wanted wasn't going to happen. I knew ubble gum, "we'll see" was a wonderful means left the candy store so I wouldn't be able to ask the best answer I was going to get that night, so II the people in the world who loved me on my old Shaun was going to be when I turned n, and I was worried he would have to live alone er if they divorced, so I decided I would give free mber of my family once a week, so I could heal y family. I knew then that things would never be the way mach told me. And sure enough, I was right. My r, and they've been trying to divorce legally for nt through high school. And damn it, I can't wait other would have divorced my father after she Black River White foaming eddies swallow my chartreuse lure and spin our boat downstream. Frank D. Hill The boy who couldn't finish a thing he would play ball with himself, throwing it up and walking away without catching it, he'd reflect on his actions consistently, only half way to the point of actual recollection. John Ceilly Two AM Their hands laugh smoothly along peach curves and dark curls. Did they fall in love? Frank D. Hill 16 17

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Devil's Rose She'd heard the story from a guest Who'd stayed at her parent's Inn in Lee. For weeks, then months, they were hard pressed To convince her it was not to be Satanic folktales held no key To excitement. But, the story goes, Late that night she vowed that she Would dance until the Devil rose. And danced she on, by the tale obsessed And on she danced, insane with glee And when she finally sat to rest, She saw him, lost, beneath a tree Thought that he had heard her plea Explaining, then, she tore her clothes. He, unused to such a free advance the little devil rose. "Does your whole town go 'round undressed?" To all he said, she did agree. She thought, perhaps, it was a test And learned a lot beneath that tree. (A bit TOO much -if you ask me! Though he still hoped they'd come to blows) An all too willing sinner, he Had pricked her with the devil's rose. "My, a friendly town is Lee Good thing just my doctor knows About me." But a human, he Then left her with the Devil's Rose. *(Devil's rose is an archaic term for syphilis.) Mortiche 18

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Devil's Rose e story from a guest at her parent's Inn in Lee. en months, they were hard pressed er itwas not to be es held no key 1. But, the story goes, t she vowed that she until the Devil rose. he on, by the tale obsessed need, insane with glee finally sat to rest, lost, beneath a tree he had heard her plea en, she tore her clothes. such a free e little devil rose. hole town go 'round undressed?" she did agree. perhaps, it was a test a lot beneath that tree. r.uch -if you ask me! hoped they'd come to blows) Iling sinner, he [her with the devil's rose. ly town is Lee st my doctor knows ut a human, he with the Devil's Rose.* e is an archaic term for syphilis.) -Mortiche 18 i hear just) ice d r p p n g from one more sun; raise commonknowledge: ilose( uwin a (teeny tiny) gain. Tom Mayer Faucet Dripping Her morning coffee tastes silent, as she sips it in her empty house. She bites her nails and gazes around and dreams empty dreams of the life she would lead if the noise would stop -the faucet dripping. A man and boys invade the dream, interrupt her sipping with kisses and hugs; they pinch her spirit. Tears fall from her eyes because she knows that her house contains her life, her boys, her dripping dreams, and tomorrow's coffee stains. Shannon Tuttle 19

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27 AUGUST 1990 since the electricity was out this morning, i wondered if hell froze over if it did, then i could forget that promise that i made to myself about you. Juliana Post 20

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UGUST 1990 his morning, self about you. Juliana Post Todd Sebastian Williams 20 21

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Spring Cleaning by Bethany Payne Funny what you'll find when you start cleaning out the debris in your life. It was staring me in the face my own face ... my reflection in the mirror on the front of the medicine cabinet admonished me everyday. "Tomorrow!" I would scowl at myself. But Iwas runningout ofroom in the kitchen with the new medications, soaps, body lotions, make-up, zit removers and hair products I'd collected. "Enough is enough. It's just a cabinet. Harmless. Absolutely nothing to fear. You'd be amazed. Taking a deep breath, I reached out, took hold of the mirror's edge, and pulled. Junk spilled out everywhere. The bottle of ibuprofen that I'd been in too much pain to close tumbled and emptied its contents all over the sink, counter and floor. Seeing it made me think of my last period -the one I was so late for. The prayers I'd recited everyday, the struggle not to buy a home pregnancy test every time I passed the drugstore, and destruction of my fingernails came to mind. Bending to pick up the pills and cram them into the bottle I remembered the rush of relief at the first cramps, followed by the annoyance at the bloating, headache, backache, and irritation that was so much worse than other months. But, "Better late than pregnant ..." I'd muttered to myself in between mouthfuls of chocolate brownies, chocolate-covered marzipan, peanut but.ter and chocolate, and potato chips. Laughing to myself, Istarted grabbing miscellaneous bottles of expired diet pills, cold tablets, vitamins, sticky half-empty hair-sprays, contact lens cleansers and crumbling tubes of toothpaste. "So far so good." I feel pride at my accomplishment thus far until. My hand retreats with the tootbrush in its grasp. His. And here I'd thought I'd cleaned the apartment of even the most inconsequential reminders of him. How the hell could I forget his stupid toothbrush? Memories came flooding in: fighting like kids over space in the mirror as he shaved and I put on lipstick, flicking water at each other off toothbrushes, political discussions in the bathtub. The "he" I refer to was the latest in a string of bad relationships. The "he" who could have been the fertilizer of the would-be child I feared before that last late period. That "he." It'd been over before I counted the days in my pocket calendar and discovered my tardiness. I certainly couldn't have told him I'd be damned if I'd let him think I was trying to con him back with a possible paternity suit. So the question now is -what to do with the toothbrush? Throw it out or use it to polish my silver jewelry? Concentrating on this new difficult decision in my life, I marched into the bedroom and headed straight for the closet. Flinging open the doors, I stood back and surveyed the terrain ... bad fashion moves, crippling heels, and ... clothes that distinctly said "Ex." I began my inventory. Rifling through I extracted the rented but never returned tuxedo of the wanna-be movie star (Number Three), the torn workshirts of the Handyman (Number Two), the berkenstocks of Number One (ok, so hewas aDead-head from my college days) and the hideous dress I'd never worn -a gift from the latest (the Sculptor). 22

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Spring Cleaning by Bethany Payne hen you start cleaning out the debris in your life. lee -my own face ... my reflection in the mirror e cabinet admonished me everyday. )wl at myself. But I was running out of room in the edications, soaps, body lotions, make-up, zit :5 I'd collected. just a cabinet. Harmless. Absolutely nothing to reached out, took hold of the mirror's edge, and 'lere. The bottle of ibuprofen that I'd been in too led and emptied its contents all over the sink, : made me think of my last period -the one I was recited everyday, the struggle not to buy a home I passed the drugstore, and destruction of my lills and cram them into the bottle I remembered irst cramps, followed by the annoyance at the che, and irritation that was so much worse than late than pregnant ..." I'd muttered to myself in )colate brownies, chocolate-covered marzipan, te, and potato chips. tedgrabbing miscellaneous bott les of ex pired diet 1S, sticky half-empty hair-sprays, contact lens Ibes of toothpaste. lride at my accomplishment thus far until. My Ibrush in its grasp. I'd cleaned the apartment of even the most I of him. How the hell could I forget his stupid Iin: fighting like kids over space in the mirror as he :k, flicking water at each other off toothbrushes, bathtub. he latest in a string of bad relationships. The "he" ertilizer of the would-be child I feared before that counted the days in my pocket calendar and certainly couldn't have told him I'd be damned if Ig to con him back with a possible paternity suit. what to do with the toothbrush? Throw it out or !Welry? ew difficult decision in my life, I marched into the ght for the closet. Flinging open the doors, I stood ... bad fashion moves, crippling heels, and ... HEx." through I extracted the rented but never vanna-be movie star (Number Three), the torn Ian (Number Two), the berkenstocks of Number -head from my college days) and the hideous dress 1m the latest (the Sculptor). 22 I was now a Woman With A Mission. Starting on the dresser drawers, I tore through, searching, boxers, men's bikini's, regular briefs, worn jeans much too large for me to have adopted, sweatpants, tie-dyes, and the hideously ugly plaid wool cap. With mounting strength of conviction, I picked up my jewelry box and emptied its contents onto the vanity table cufflinks and a broken belt-buckle. To the hall closet now bowling ball, single golf club, racquet ball glove. "Guess I wasn't as thorough as I thought" races through my mind as I race to the kitchen. Pushing aside the things that belong in the now empty bathroom medicine cabinet, Istarted tossing spice jars (I always hated the Handyman's tastes for cumin and paprika), a rusting container of slim-fast (the Actor was famous for devloping my insecurity "Darling, the Opening is in two days couldn't you drop just five pounds??" -the herbal teas ... (well, I guess I could keep these ... My taste for the beverage began with the Deadhead and resurfaced with the sculptor. .. I'm actually rather fond of the stuff). There, that just about ... the records! Off I go to the stereo compartment -out with Johnny Mathis, the New Age, and Metallica (all from the Handyman, believe it or not). I drag all of this clutter into the kitchen, open the oven door, grab lighter fluid, strike the match, and WHOOSH! I've singed my bangs and eyelashes -but everything is going up in smoke or melting into a puddle. I sit back on my ankles, watching the flames, and feel an aching in the fingers of my right hand -I am still clutching the toothbrush ... I toss it on top of the pyre. I hum a satisfied tune. Doubtless my landlord is calling the police. Someone's banging on the door. The place is pretty much trashed. But, for the first time in years, I feel really clean. 23

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The Fire The smoke rises into the air; the blackened bark floats lazily upward. I smell the pines, and I feel sadness. Memories of the past have touched me, but I have forgotten them. A log is added to the flames; the sparks fly higher and the heat grows more intense. I feel the warmth of the fire and I shiver with sudden chills. The wood has set free a shower of sparks; a sudden crunch and it rains upward. I watch the sparks rise over the flames; they are powered by the heat of the wood. The tiny dots of light spiral into the darkness; each one representing a soul. The voices of the departing ones could be heard; softly coming from within the fireplace. The firewood hissed and popped and sounded like a faint whispering. I try to speak to one of the lonely voices, but my voice fails. So, I sit surrounded by hundreds of tiny voices, and remain in silence. The heat of the fire warms me; I am bathed in the power of the flames. I know what this fire is; it is the world. But this heat, this warmth of the flames that threatens to consume me, what is it? I say goodbye to the souls that flyaway; they echo back their cries, leaving a trail of wood scented memories behind and I sit alone and sad. When every last ember has turned grey and cold I still have not found the answer to my question. -Sidian Marble Dreams No flashbulbs, please. A sculptor's warped vision finding the grains of rock, sleeping on a slate bed of marble, dreaming of fondling a famous bust. -Marc McGee 24

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The Fire air; the blackened bark floats lazily upward. I sadness. e touched me, but I have forgotten them. es; the sparks fly higher and the heat grows re and I shiver with sudden chills. hower of sparks; a sudden crunch and it rains er the flames; they are powered by the heat of f light spiral into the darkness; each one g ones could be heard; softly coming from within d hissed and popped and sounded like a faint e lonely voices, but my voice fails. undreds of tiny voices, and remain in silence. s me; I am bathed in the power of the flames. is the world. h of the flames that threatens to consume me, s that flyaway; they echo back their cries, nted memories behind and I sit alone and sad. las turned grey and cold I still have not found )n. -Sidian Marble Dreams hbulbs, please. Itor'S warped vision the grains of rock, 3 on a slate bed of marble, ng of fondling a famous bust. -Marc McGee 24 Wind Seagulls whipping over the trees, tumbling and spinning in the torrent of wind, a black crow sailing behind them. -Timothy Senft Caramia Donovan 25

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Motel Maid The bed in room three Is happily rumpled, Covered with a carless top sheet and spread, An attempt to conceal the evidence Of a blissful romp of intimacy. I smile and dream. The bed in room five Is a veteran of war wounds. A pounded wedge of pillows Leans against the headboard in exhaustion. The pillow cases are damp with sweat. One has a ripped open seam. The bed lies like a half naked survivor Trying to heal. Sheets and blanket are trampled on the floor. Pain clings to the mattress. Nightmares scream out of the hollows. I wheel in my cart. The clean linen looks like stacks of sterile bandages. The bed in room ten has been stripped. The death sheets are swallowed by a pillow case Propped up near the door. The mattress, Stained with traces of a life that ceased, Exudes the smells of decay. I open the door and windows Ta let in the sun-fresh air. The bed in room twenty Is as full as a pregnant cat. Half hidden within the hills and valleys of blanket Are storybooks and crayons, A teddy bear, And two curled up children. There is the sweet sour smell of urine and cookies. A woman raises her head, Puts her finger to her lips As I smile and quietly close the door. Beverlee Salley 26

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The Fire ir; the blackened bark floats lazily upward. I sadness. e touched me, but I have forgotten them. es; the sparks fly higher and the heat grows e and I shiver with sudden chills. hower of sparks; a sudden crunch and it rains er the flames; they are powered by the heat of f light spiral into the darkness; each one ones could be heard; softly coming from within d hissed and popped and sounded like a faint e lonely voices, but my voice fails. ndreds of tiny voices, and remain in silence. s me; I am bathed in the power of the flames. is the world. of the flames that threatens to consume me, that flyaway; they echo back their cries, ented memories behind and I sit alone and sad. las turned grey and cold I still have not found n. Sidian Marble Dreams bulbs, please. or's warped vision he grains of rock, on a slate bed of marble, g of fondling a famous bust. -Marc McGee 24 Wind Seagulls whipping over the trees, tumbling and spinning in the torrent of wind, a black crow sailing behind them. Timothy Senft Caramia Donovan 25

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Motel Maid The bed in room three Is happily rumpled, Covered with a carless top sheet and spread, An attempt to conceal the evidence Of a blissful romp of intimacy. I smile and dream. The bed in room five Is a veteran of war wounds. A pounded wedge of pillows Leans against the headboard in exhaustion. The pillow cases are damp with sweat. One has a ripped open seam. The bed lies like a half naked survivor Trying to heal. Sheets and blanket are trampled on the floor. Pain clings to the mattress. Nightmares scream out of the hollows. I wheel in my cart. The clean linen looks like stacks of sterile bandages. The bed in room ten has been stripped. The death sheets are swallowed by a pillow case Propped up near the door. The mattress, Stained with traces of a life that ceased, Exudes the smells of decay. I open the door and windows To let in the sun-fresh air. The bed in room twenty Is as full as a pregnant cat. Half hidden within the hills and valleys of blanket Are storybooks and crayons, A teddy bear, And two curled up children. There is the sweet sour smell of urine and cookies. A woman raises her head, Puts her finger to her lips As I smile and quietly close the door. Beuerlee Salley 26

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Motel Maid 1m three pled, a carless top sheet and spread, conceal the evidence Imp of intimacy. !am. >m five war wounds. !dge of pillows the headboard in exhaustion. ;es are damp with sweat. )ed open seam. ke a half naked survivor mket are trampled on the floor. the mattress. :ream out of the hollows. cart. n looks like stacks of sterile bandages. :>m ten has been stripped. lets are swallowed by a pillow case ear the door. races of a life that ceased, ells of decay. r and windows un-fresh air. om twenty :>regnant cat. ithin the hills and valleys of blanket s and crayons, !d up children. weet sour smell of urine and cookies. ieS her head, !T to her lips i quietly close the door. Beverlee Salley 26 Caramia Donovan A SUMMER STORY by Anthony Galbraith Jessica found a diamond in farmer Cromby's cornfield. She held the object in her palm, her nose nearly touching it. Her blue eyes were wide in absolute amazement. Her mouth hung open as though she wanted to say something, but no words came out. "It is beautiful," she finally breathed. She tilted her palm and marveled at the way the thing constantly sparkled; no matter where the sun shined, the diamond always glistened. Then, the sun broke through the tall cornstalks around her and struck the jewel, setting free a multitude of tiny beams of light to dance on the green leaves and into her eyes. She closed her eyes and tried to blink away the spots of light that burned in her head. Opening her eyes she moved her hand and saw the diamond resting, peacefully, in her hand, sparkling, but not as brightly as before. She began to wonder where such a beautiful thing had come from. She looked around her, in the dirt and among the shadows of the cornstalks for more, but she didn't see any others. Jessica looked into the sky. The small, high clouds above looked like horses' tails. Could the diamond have fallen out of the sky? She asked herself. Shrugging her shoulders, she looked back down at the diamond. "Where did this come from?" she asked. She questioned the tall cornstalks around her, the dirt beneath her feet, the clouds above her head. "Maybe the diamond fell from a ring. A ring worn by farmer Cromby as he plowed his field," she said, imagining the diamond falling from the ring and the freshly turned soil below. "He probably doesn't even know it's missing." Jessica looked again at the diamond, then at her hand. She tried to visualize the diamond set in a ring. Too big! The diamond would never fit on a ring. She thought. This diamond could fit in a crown. 27

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"This is a diamond from a crown!" she said suddenly. Jessica began to walk in a small circle and tried to think of who would wear a crown. "A queen," she said. "A queen that came to inspect the corn after it has been plowed. She came one day to check the field and the diamond fell from her crown, unnoticed," she said, finishing with a sigh. "I have a queen's diamond!" she said to the crow that flew overhead. The crow replied with a loud, "caw!" "it must be worth a fortune!" she said. She stared at the diamond and tried to imagine what she could buy with it. She had to decide what she would buy with the diamond. It didn't take long for her to make up her mind. She had always dreamed of owning a castle. "I will buy a castle and Iwill be a princess!" she cried. "I will be rich and will follow behind the queen as she inspects the field." Jessica smiled and walked in a circle between the cornstalks. She pulled leaves from the stalks and began to weave them into bows and braids. She sang songs to the birds that flew overhead and to the crickets that chirped beside her. By the time the sun had moved from the overhead, she had made a small pile of corn leaf bows and braids. She weaved the braids into her fine blonde hair and attached the bows to her dress. She then broke over some cornstalks and made a small clearing in the field. She threw the broken stalks over her and let them rest across the tall cornstalks that remained planted in the ground, making a roof. Jessica began to dance and sing in the shade of her unsteady hut. She held the diamond in her hand as though it were an egg. With her head held high, she walked with a straight back and her eyes closed. She acted proper. She was a princess. Her moment of joy was soon interrupted by urgent shouts and the loud sound of cornstalks being trampled. "Jessica!" Where are you?" shouted her brother. "Hide 'n Seek is over now, okay!" Jessica stopped singing and stood still. She held the diamond in her hand and hid it behind her back. The trampling grew louder. "Jessica! Come on!" he screamed. "Oh! There you are," he said, jumping slightly as he came into her shaded area. Her brother stood before her, the tall cornstalks that grew around him made him seem even shorter than he already was. "What is that in your hair?" "Braids," she said. "Looks like weeds to me." "I have bows, too," she said, turning slightly to show them hanging from her dress. "They look boring. I don't like bows," he said looking around him. "Did you make this hut?" "Yes." Jessica noticed that he was staring at her, suspiciously. She took a step back. "What do you got there?" he asked sweetly. "Nothing," she said quickly, taking another step back. "Come on, let me see! Is it a frog! A snake?" "No, it's nothing." Jessica feared that if her brother saw the diamond, he would take it and then he would be rich. But she knew that if he had the diamond, he would use it to buy such foolish things as candy or toys. He reached around her to grab her arm, but she pulled her arm away. "Then let me see!" he said. UNo." "Please?" he said. Her brother reached out and pulled her arm sharply and she felt the diamond fly from ther hand. "NO! Kevin!" she cried. The diamond fell slowly downward. Jessica reached out to catch it, but didn't move fast enough. The diamond hit a rock and shattered into hundreds of tiny splinters, spreading over the dirt and among the cornstalks. "My diamond!" she screamed. "Diamond?" said Kevin. "That's not a diamond, it's just a piece of glass." 28

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10-2-89 crown!" she said suddenly. Jessica began to walk think of who would wear a crown. "A queen," she o inspect the corn after it has been plowed. She he field and the diamond fell from her crown, ing with a sigh. "I have a queen's diamond!" she verhead. loud, "caw!" e!" she said. She stared at the diamond and tried uy with it. She had to decide what she would buy to make up her mind. She had always dreamed of castle and1will be a princess!" she cried. "I will be e queen as she inspects the field." Jessica smiled een the cornstalks. She pulled leaves from the hem into bows and braids. She sang songs to the d to the crickets that chirped beside her. By the m the overhead, she had made a small pile of corn weaved the braids into her fine blonde hair and ress. e cornstalks and made a small clearing in t he field. ks over her and let them rest across the tall lanted in the ground, making a roof. nd sing in the shade of her unsteady hut. S he held though it were an egg. With her head held high, ack and her eyes closed. She acted proper. She soon interrupted by urgent shouts and the loud trampled. u?" shouted her brother. "Hide 'n Seek is over and stood still. She held the diamond in her hand .. The trampling grew louder. screamed. "Oh! There you are," he said, jumping .r shaded area. Her brother stood before her, the ound him made him seem even shorter than he in your hair?" said, turning slightly to show them hanging from t like bows," he said looking around him. "Did you at he was staring at her, suspiciously. She took a ." he asked sweetly. kly, taking another step back. it a frog! A snake?" a feared that if her brother saw the diamond, he would be rich. But she knew that if he had the to buy such foolish things as candy or toys. He b her arm, but she pulled her arm away. id. other reached out and pulled her arm sharply and om ther hand The diamond fell slowly downward. Jessica didn't move fast enough. The diamond hit a rock ds of tiny splinters, spreading over the dirt and diamond!" she screamed. "That's not a diamond, it's just a piece of glass." 28 red eleven shoe makers or the ginger spirit the twelve pack authors/theives chose to convene on a nacht made suitable as the zwolf moons took to the skaie & under their portmanteau they wore incandescent vessels & poured vin to goblets of marble -so we were forced to invent straws to suck the liquid down our mouths loved the straws & the invention was stolen on that sabbath Juliana Post 29

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Todd Sebastian Williams It's Cold That duck has frostbite! "But its got a down coat." Didn't anyone tell you Not to put it in the dryer? "No, the tag was missing." Oh. -Steve Leeds 30

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Todd Sebastian Williams It's Cold duck has frostbite! "But its got a down coaL" 't anyone tell you :0 put it in the dryer? "No, the tag was missing." Steue Leeds 30 "Here lies one whose name was writ in water" title taken from the tombstone of John Keats Will you lay with me on the shore of a forbidden cove until the sea baptizes us with her salty sermon? I want to worship before the altar of Atlantis and sacrifice something precious just for you. These waves have licked the secrets of the deepest Asian ocean. Watch them roll in revelry against the senseless sand. The tides soothing rhythm bathes the shore with sacred song, but the shore hears only lifeless lyrics from the desperate drone of driftwood. Let's climb upon the back of some Leviathan and drown reality in the depths of our dreams. Below us lay the ships which sailed their crews into the sweet cradle of immortal slumber. perhaps there waits a conch-carved grave for me which states: "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." I've grown tired of this thirsty desert caravan which moves in circles around mortal mirages. This sand stings my face like countless contradictions. I need something which will cleanse my eyes of doubt, and pull me deep beneath the surface of my soul. Will you lay with me on the shore of a forbidden cove until the sea baptizes us with her salty sermon? I want to worship before the altar of Atlantis and sacrifice something precious just for you. -Tom Fugalli Lento There plays none but silent music while we kiss Full quiet shrouds my ear, and all my thought is still. Each note of breath with yours entwines, along with heartbeats rhythm. Enfolding you within my clasp my touch ascends the scale, our senses full in equal measures, the echoes fall in counterpoint -Nat Siembor 31

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"Why you'll take no more lovers" You entered with steaming confidence You left with a hollowed heart You came home silent and numbed You scrubbed for hours on end it seemed But you couldn't get the smell of last night's lover out from under your fingernails. Garrett Wagner Liquid Diet I'm on a Liquid diet. All I drink Is Coca-Cola. Machines are So convenient, So I have A can for breakfast. I chug at Lunch and dinner, Though I know It makes me sick. So If I say That I can't stop Does that make Me a Coke addict? Mortiche 34

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ou'll take no more lovers" i with steaming confidence h a hollowed heart lome silent and numbed ed for hours on end it seemed Ildn't get the smell Ihl's lover Ider your fingernails. Garrett Wagner My Best Buddy Renee Page Liquid Diet ('mona Liquid diet. All I drink Is Coca-Cola. Machines are So convenient, So I have A can for breakfast. I chug at Lunch and dinner, Though I know It makes me sick. So If I say That I can't stop Does that make Me a Coke addict? Mortiche Rhyme of a Witch's Child It happened one sweltersome summer. She cursed a girl with an itch. This horrible malison, (The victim was Alison,) She learned from her mother, the witch. She nabbed an ugsome mouser "This cat is really my sis! Eldfather knows She'll turn you to toads! His daughter's my mother, the witch!" As she was allergic to fleas, She snot her nose and then scritched "DON'T MAKE FUN OF MY SNEEZE, 'CAUSE MY AUNTS ARE BANSHEES AND ALSO MY MOMMY'S A WITCH !" 'Cause of her wanchance we snickered. "We know," I said, "Your mom's a witch," You're in the slodder, And Wolfman's your father, But that just makes you a bitch!" Mortiche 35

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The Song of the Mad Maze I saw a quean one day While I was eating some peas. She grabbed and hit me Until I could see The dunts between my knees! A dumble, old man Saw me scream with pain, So he just sneered And sneered and fleered Until I went insane! A gowk of a man with a knevel Saw me receive the blows, So he punched me and beat me Until I could see All the hair under his nose! Now, I was crying with astound When an ugsome woman came. She touched me and scared me Until I could see The woman as a pretty dame! A young gunsel came To avert the people's gaze. I saw them swive; The sex was alive. I ran from the crazy maze! Adam Altman 36

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Song of the Mad Maze I saw a quean one day Ie was eating some peas. he grabbed and hit me Until! could see dunts between my knees! A dumble, old man w me scream with pain, So he just sneered nd sneered and neered Until! went insane! wk of a man with a knevel w me receive the blows, e punched me and beat me Until! could see I the hair under his nose! I was crying with astound n an ugsome woman came. touched me and scared me Until I could see woman as a pretty dame! A young gunsel came avert the people's gaze. I saw them swive; The sex was alive. an from the crazy maze! -Adam Altman Waiting Room The man entered the psychiatric clinic And sat down Holding his palms together between his rocking knees. The doctor appeared and said, "You just relax awhile; We're going to discuss a few things first And then we'll call you in." The man turned up passive eyes and said, "What am I, a guinea pig?" The doctor chuckled and turned away. I've seen an animal research lab. There was a dog with an extra head sewed on. Four passive dog eyes blinking. What am I, a guinea pig? The doctor patted him and turned away. My neighbor, on welfare, Was hospitalized for a vaginal infection. A woman doctor Brought in a nock of male interns, Insisting on a group examination. "What am I, a guinea pig?" "Cooperate! It's for your own good," Said the doctor. "Give me some credit for brains!" said My not-so-passive neighbor. The interns coughed and shifted from foot to foot. One chuckled and turned away. I spent the day around lobotomy patients. I saw disconnected anger in those passive eyes. One woman touched me repeatedly saying, "Awww, the baby. Awww, the baby." The therapist chucked and turned away. The man entered the psychiatric clinic And sat down Holding his palms between his rocking knees. The doctor appeared and said, "You just relax awhile; We're going to discuss a few things first And then we'll call you in." Beuerlee Salley 36 37

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/ Word-play We meet over a bottle of white wine and a softcover of Harlequin, alternating: now you read and I shall sip, ravishing the place where once your lips touched. We'll switch off every chapter sharing book and goblet alike. Whoops! Don't read too much, you might get sick! We'll finish off and begin where the book and Blue Nun left off. I am dizzy with you (or mayhaps the wine) as we mirthfully, prancing, dance around each .other, minds entwined in foreword. We penetrate further into discourse, working each other to and fro in coitus mentalis, finally reaching the climax ... and all that is left afterward is afterword, a verbal let down. Justin Goltermann Just a Moment She just looked at me that was all it was. Just a moment, Only a glance. That was al1l really needed or wanted from her. Michael Martin 38

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Word-play ver a bottle of white wine over of Harlequin, now you read and I vishing the place where lips touched. We'll switch off ter sharing book and Whoops! Don't read you might get sick! off and e the book and Blue Nun left off. with you (or e wine) as we mirthfully, ance around each cis entwined in foreword. ate further rse, working to and fro entalis, hing the climax ... t is left afterward d, a verbal Justin Goltermann Just a Moment She just looked at me that was all it was. Just a moment, Only a glance. hat was all I really needed or wanted from her. Michael Martin .38 She Worried She worried and worried and worried and worried about everyone and anyone about everything and nothing about little things and big things until it gnawed at her mind and her heart and soul and conscience and bones and crushed and broke down her whole being into nothing but worries splattered all over her grave. -Denise Shapiro 39

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J. A. Carle 40 I /

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40 J. A. Carle