corning community college
Vreface
The naysayers would have you believe that the written word creates little impact on today s college students, that the time-intensive effort to create the written word is not of interest to a generation used to instant and electronic gratification
The naysayers are wrong. Exhibit “A” is the issue of this year’s SCOP which you are holding in your hands. In fact, had we the financial wherewithal, we could ltave published an issue much larger than this one Over 5(H) pages of manuscript were submitted for publication.
As the editor of this year's SCOP, I am delighted with the w orks you are about to encounter The selections are representative of a diverse student body Many, but not all, of the pieces are written by those students enrolled in the Creative Writing courses All of the pieces are original works produced by students, full- and part-time. day and evening, young and not so young To each writer. I extend thanks and congratulations.
In addition, thanks are given to:
•	Student Government for financially supporting the prize competitions.
•	The Communications/Humanities faculty and staff for publicizing SCOP in their classes and soliciting materials from their students.
•	Byron Shaw. chairman of the division, for making sure the funding for publication costs was in place.
•	loyce Hallenbeck and Arme Smith of Printing Sendees, whose good humor and technological wizardry turn random parts into a coherent whole.
•	Professors Brendan Curtin. Glenn Harris. Vince Lisella. Robert McEnroe.
Henry Moonschein. Alice Moore, Clare Reidy. Barbara Snedecor. and Bruce Sonner, all of whom sen ed as judges for the prize competitions.
•	Rebecca Fowler, a student who once again created an eloquent advertising display for SCOP in the Commons.
•	And. especially, Renee Gross of the Communications Learning Center, who did all the grunt w ork with grace, aplomb, and good karma.
1 do so declare.
Michael Gilmartin Professor of English Coming Community College
Table of Contents
Desear	Rebecca Fowler
WintreFire	Matthew Samuelson
Jerome	Sue Putney
A Grain of Sand	Matther Samuelson
Ice on Dreams Compounds	Susan Putney’
Ellison Park	Mary anna Hartman
El Destomillador Phillips	Dion Clark
Nameless	Jonathan Povoski
The Woman	Jennifer Kuhn
Nice Guys	Julia M. Duncan
Cause and Effect	Rebecca Fowler
Going to College	Michelle Flynn
The Striped Within a Spotted Herd	D. M. Gray
The Tangled Web of the Glove-less Druid	John Elmquist
Ibis peribus numquam redibus	Matt Sweet
The Soul of Magic	Dion Clark
Absent Waves	Gerry Carpenter
Still His Eden Keeps	Rebecca Fowler
Astonishment	Jennifer Clark
Scratchy and the Spinster	Cliff McCauley
Highway of Procrastination	Megan Maslar
Country Setting	Virginia J. Sepelak
Cracked	Cherie Stull
Hills Like White Elephants: A Variation	Melissa Dyer
MvMaibles	Grant Blackburn
Another Man's Treasure	Linda Kakretz
Women Have No Wilderness	Melissa S. Dyer
A Day In My Life	Marie Cazorla
The Stairs	Colin Davis
The Personals	Dorie L. Robinson
The Soldier In Me	Shawna Hoyt
Essaying the Miracle	Grant Blackburn
“Yes. a thousand times"	Cherie Stull
Woods	Ian Hill
Spnng Woods	Sue Putney
Baby Cohn Ann L. Hardy-Russell & Edward Hardy'	
Seeds	Megan Maslar
St Christopher and Small Creatures	Mary anno Hartman
Hard Cash	Jodi Reynolds
Spring Fever	Linda Kakretz
Minnesota Summers	Jennifer Clark
An Autumn Night	Matthew' Samuelson
No Spare Change	Dion Clark
Leftovers	Melissa S. Dyer
Mad!	Catherine Mullen
The Rapture	Heather A. Mather
A Homecoming	Jenny Raferty
Life is a Banquet... “What people bring back from the salad bar	Dorie L. Robinson
is amazing"	Ahnece Hancock
True Innocence	Pam Pearce
“So why did you come back?”	Zach Schoonover
My Amazonias Giri	Kathleen Albertson
Star	Jeshua Hamilton
Baby Love	Marie Cazoria
Mom’s Heart	Joy Wheeler
Time Spent	Grant Blackburn
“Last night 1 felt a little insane”	Ahnece Hancock
The Great Adventure	Virginia J. Sepelak
“i am such an accessory”	Nicole Matkosky
Four Humours	Catherine Mullen
“Dancer, dance under the pale lit moon”	Mandy Phelan
Good Night M’lady	Kim Adams
A Kiss	Kim Adams
Catholic Wedding	Matt Sweet
Bastard	Don Crawford
A Midsummer’s Madness	Linda Kakretz
Primal Song	Gerry Carpenter
Bobby’s Hat	Dion Clark
“It’s a typical American scene”	Kristina Kuhn
The River of Dreams	Virginia J. Sepelak
Sunday Worship	Gerry Carpenter
Love Affair	Cherie Stull
Feats	Catherine Mullen
In Justice For All	Sarah Van Skiver
Runaway	Michelle Flynn
My Mother’s Freedom	Jessica Bonham
Hell	Jeshua Hamilton
Algebra	Mary anna Hartman
Freeze Frame	Sue Putney
Home Town	Jessica Bonham
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SCOP Literary Contest is open to all full time and part time students at Coming Community College during the 1997-1998 academic year. Entry into the contest gives permission for publication in SCOP. The judges’ decisions are final.
	SCOT Contest Winners	
	Voetry	
First:	“Desear”	Rebecca Fowler
Second:	“Wintre Fire”	Matthew Samuelson
Third:	“Jerome”	Susan Putney
	Short Story	
First:	Grain of Sand	Matthew Samuelson
Second:	Ice on Dreams Compounds	Susan Putney
Third:	Ellison Park	Mary anna Hartman
	Drama	
First:	El Destomillador Phillips	Dion Clark
Second:	Nameless	Jonathan Povoski
	Non- fiction Essay	
First:	Observation: A Woman	Jennifer Kuhn
Second:	Nice Guys	Julia Duncan
Third:	Cause and Effect	Rebecca Fowler
Cover Artist:	Curtis Chandler	
Copyright 1998, SCOP Publications Coming Community College Coming, New York
After first publication, all rights revert to the original owner.
M
A Grain of Sand
Matthew Samuelson
Victor James walked along the shoulder of the highway thinking about how beautiful the sunset had been that evening. How red it had been, and the sparse clouds that surrounded it looked to be on fire. He shifted the isack on his back and smiled at the uncomfortable weight. The wind blew cold breath in his face numbing his nose. He enjoyed being uncomfortable.
It made him feel alive and helped to remind him that there were things such as nature over which he could exercise no control.
The headlights of an oncoming car blinded him momentarily as it neared. He raised his thumb and held it out for the driver to see. The car stowed and he heard the sound of loud music playing within. It stopped just test where he stood. He ran toward it and just as he neared the back bumper the trunk popped open. " Get in!” laughed the driver. Victor heard the laughter of die others in the vehicle as well before it sped off, the still open trunk lid bobbing up and down. He decided to extend a different finger in their direction en though he knew they would not see.
He chuckled at himself and continued walking. A green and white told him that a town called Spenville was three miles up the road. He he would stay the night there and began singing to himself. “She my bags last night, preflighl. Zero hours, nine a m. and I’m gonna be as a kite by then. . .”
The past three days had been the best of Victor’s life. He had left his home m Clarksborough, Pennsy lvania the day after his twenty-seventh ftsthday with only a knapsack of provisions, five hundred in cash, and the dothes on his back. He had planned this for months beforehand. He was phriihilring to Arizona simply because he warned to. His uncle Aarren lived just ov er the border and awaited his arrival. He would spend a week there and then fly back home. The adventure of a lifetime, thought Victor.
The day after he had left he managed a ride with some college indents headed to a city in Kansas called Peace. He had left there today at noon and had been walking all day. It was now going on eight o’clock and he ■aked forw ard to the comfort of a cheap motel room.
Earlier today he stopped at a Texaco gas station to buy some beef . The teenage clerk behind the counter had looked ready to jump out of skin at the sight of him He paid for his food and got out of there as not to her further. Now, he admitted that he didn’t exactly look like a man in any sense of the word, but he was clean and he had washed his at the motel’s small laundry facility that morning. He guessed long hair kd beard stubble was more intimidating than he thought. Either that or the girl U never seen a man with long hair before. He thought that last was unlikely,
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but he also did not think the hippie look was in style round these parts. Not that he could be called a hippie either.
Despite the wary looks he received in the small towns he passed through, he tried to avoid the larger cities. They scared him, especially at night. He did not like the idea of being beaten up and left for dead, nor, for that matter, did the idea of being mugged much appeal to him He needed everything he had to get to Arizona, including his health.
The mid-western countryside was barren, but in no way boring to Victor. The occasional cornfield even lent a sense of spice to the surroundings. That, and they made a really great place for him to go to the bathroom. He looked at it as doing the farmers a favor. It was less money out of their pocket on fertilizer, even if it only meant a few good ears of com.
“And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time,” he sang, smiling to himself. He lit a cigarette and gazed up at the sky. Clouds had moved in, but in-between them, the stars shone down as though someone had punched holes in the sky and shone a flashlight through from the other side. He drew on his cigarette and coughed as the smoke tickled his throat. He threw down the smoldering remains of the cancer stick and stamped out its light. On an impulse, he pulled the rest of the pack from his pocket, tossed it into the road and began stomping on it. The stomping turned into a little dance, and once he was convinced he had killed it, he spit and kept walking, drawing the crisp night air into his lungs.
A short time later he entered Spenville. He walked through a quiet residential neighborhood admiring the nice homes and their neatly manicured lawns. The windows of most houses on the street were illuminated by the soft, blue light of television sets. On the other side of the street passed a small group of smoking teenagers, some pushing bikes, who laughed and chatted not even noticing he was there. In the distance, he could begin to make out the lights of signs on gas stations and fast food restaurants. There was bound to be a motel up ahead somewhere. Victor walked a little faster
He left the residential streets and up ahead, past an Arby’s restaurant was a painted sign that read, “SPENVILLE MOTEL: Only $20 A Night!” It was only a few blocks ahead. He passed a Convenient Mart on the way and had to fight the urge to stop and purchase a pack of cigarettes.
He knew he had to quit sometime, and tonight was as good as any.
There were four cars in the parking lot of the small motel. All had out of state plates. He entered the double glass doors of the establishment and took in the sights. The lobby was spacious and in decent order. To his left was a small lounge with a bar. In front of him was the front desk behind which sat a short, gray-haired woman who was smoking a cigarette and flipping through a magazine.
“Good evening,” he said as he approached the front desk. “I’d like a room for the night.” He smiled pleasantly at her as she glanced up and reached over to a rack of keys on the wall. She pulled one off and slid it across the desk.
“Room eighteen. Three doors down on yer left.” She smiled up at him and gestured with her hand to a corridor on his right.
“Thank you.” He was a little surprised by her lack of negative interest in his disheveled appearance
“I’ll get you some towels.” She stood and walked through the doorway behind where she had been sitting. “Where are you from?” she asked from the other room.
“Pennsylvania.”
“Oh.” She emerged from the room with some towels and washcloths. “The beds here are soft and have clean sheets on them. The heat in the rooms works and in case something happens to it. there are a couple extra blankets in the closet. We don’t get cable, just three local stations and sometimes channel thirteen when the wind isn’t too strong. Haven’t had much business lately, but the rooms get cleaned about twice a week.”
“Thank you,” he said again. “How late is your lounge open'7 '
“Til about eleven o’clock.” She smiled again and drew on her cigarette. “Might want to make sure you locked your car doors. Some have been stolen around here over the past few weeks.”
“1 don’t have a car with me.” He felt embarrassed about admitting his lack of automotive transportation, though he did not know why he should.
The woman raised her eyebrows and cackled humorously. “It’s just as well then. Would you like to pay now?”
“Yes please.” He produced thirty dollars and laid it on the counter as she rang him up. She gave him back his change and offered him another smile.
“Have a good night and God bless.”
He thanked her once again, wished her the same and went to his room. He unlocked the door, clicked on the lights and surveyed his lodgings for the evening.
The room smelled of stale cigarette smoke and pine air-freshener. The small television sat in one comer of the room next to a small table with an uncomfortable looking wooden chair. He sat on the bed. It did indeed feel soft. He placed his knapsack on the bed, the towels and washcloths in the bathroom, und decided to wash up and shave. When he was through, he put on a clean T-shht, pulled his shoulder-length red hair back into a pony tail and went to the lounge.
The lounge had green carpeting worn flat, faded, and stained in Places. A big screen TV sat in one comer, and an old juke box sat in the other. Closer to the bar. there was a small sofa and two easy chairs situated around a small coffee table. The seats were occupied by four gentlemen looking well mto their fifties. Two were smoking cigars and all drank steaming cups of black coffee. They nodded a greeting to him as he walked past.
There were three stools at the small bar. On one stool sat an obese woman. She was facing away from Victor, looking out of the lounge's only window He paid little attention to her as he told the bar tender he would like a screwdriver with no ice. The dark-haired bar tender produced a plastic cup and
began preparing the drink. “Hey pal. make that half vodka and half orange juice. I’m looking for fast gratification.” He winked and smiled to make it obvious that he was in good humor, but the bar tender only gave him a tired nod and set about his task.
He paid for the drink and glanced over at the woman who sat on the stool one away from his. Her plump fingers clutched a cup of what appeared to be ice water. Her attention remained focused out the picture window, her back [ to him. Her shoulders shook with sobs.
She turned enough to take a drink of her water. He saw that her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were red where they should have been white. He debated with himself over whether or not he should say something to | her or whether he should just leave her alone. The old men behind them laughed raucously and slapped their knees at a joke one of them had told. They seemed oblivious to the two of them at the bar.
"Are you okay miss?” he asked cautiously.
She turned with a look of mild surprise on her face. After a moment she nodded, offered a weak smile, and took a drink of her water. Her face was pimpled, but not unattractive and she had dark green eyes that were more likely made so by contact lenses than by natural selection. Her hair was blond, but had blue streaks here and there. She’s from out of town too, Victor thought, a small smile appearing on his face.
“My name is Victor.” He offered his hand to be shaken. She took it in a weak grip, her hands cold and moist with sweat.
"Margaret.” She wiped her face with the back of her other hand and made a wet sounding sniffle with her nose.
“Good to meet you Margaret.” He gave her the most sincere smile he could muster in light of her current state. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“That’s all right.” Her voice broke on the last word and she took a drink of water. “But thank you anyway .”
“Well if you change your mind-”
“Thanks.” She turned her attention back to the window.
Victor was not offended and understood her unwillingness. He was, after all, a complete stranger to her. He downed his drink in two swallows and,! grimacing at the taste, eyed the juke box in the comer. “Do you mind if I play I some music Margaret?” She shook her head silently without looking at him.
He ordered another beer and when it came, he walked to the juke.
The four men, apparently bothered by where his attention was directed, took their coffee and conversation to their rooms, nodding a farewell to him as they went. They were not mde about it, and Victor nodded back smiling. When they were gone he turned back to the song list on the juke. Most of it was country and western, but his eyes were drawn to the selection of oldef music they had. His gaze settled on an old Billie Holiday tune. One of his favorites. He put in a quarter and punched in the numbers. He heard the sound of the record finding its place inside of the machine and then the soft hiss and crackle as the record spun and the needle found its mark.
S

The music began and Billie’s voice came pure and beautiful through a speaker mounted in the ceiling of the quiet lounge. “The very thought of you...” she sang, her soft voice making the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up with pleasure.
Humming under his breath, he sat his beer on the small coffee table, and walked over to Margaret He held out his hand to her and said, “May I have this dance?”
She looked a little surprised and he thought she might say no, but instead she smiled and took his hand He led her to the empty portion of floor by the juke box.
They danced without saying a word to each other. She cried on his shoulder for most of the time, but he did not mind at all The sight of them dancing together might have looked funny to anyone watching, but no one was. The bar tender wiped glasses and the woman at the front desk read her magazine.
When the song ended. Margaret thanked him and said goodnight Victor sat alone in the lounge and finished his beer. After a while he decided to retire Feeling the pleasant effects of the alcohol, he went to his room, fell on the bed, and fell to sleep.
The next night as he walked south-west along the shoulder of another seemingly endless stretch of highway, he thought not of Margaret, the lounge they had danced in. nor the town of Spenville itself. He thought of the whole of the world and a thousand other grains of sand. He produced a bottle of water from his coat pocket and unscrewed the cap. He stopped to take a drink and to relish the nip of the cold night wind against his face.
He wandered off the road to a group of trees he saw clustered nearby. He laid his blanket out on a patch of grass, sat down and gazed up at the sky, smiling childishly at his own contentment. He raised the bottle of water to his lips letting some of its contents fill his mouth. He swallowed gratefully and roade himself as comfortable as he could. That night he fell to sleep almost instantly The surface he lay on could have been a rock, the bed at the penville Motel, or even a cloud. As his dreams enveloped his mind in a warm anst of scattered images, he found he was too content to care.
Ice On Dreams Compounds
Susan Puttie)
Just before falling asleep every night, she lies in bed with her eyes closed and pictures the worst ways for him to die. No. Not die. Suffer.
Tonight the hail is pecking on the patio roof. It’s black outside—the kind of black that’s glued around a storm. It’s black inside too, but a quieter black. The only sounds are the shallow breathing of the kids asleep in the next room and the twitching of the dog’s paws as he chases squirrels in his sleep She eases back on the pillow, catching a whiff of bleach on its case as it forms a nest around her head. Settling her body under the quilt and closing her eyes, she imagines giant flames lapping at his flesh while his tongue swells from thirst. While he can still talk to explain himself or ask for help, he doesn ’t. Little by little his throat is choked off until he can’t talk or even breathe She can smell the flesh being singed.
Her hand reaches toward the table, grabs a cigarette, and lights it. A few minutes later, she lies back down, closes her eyes, and finds him this time in the very core of Hell. He’s frozen in a contorted position under ice that never melts. A thin straw sticks out of the ice so he can suck in just enough air to stay alive.
It had been hailing that night too. As the dark fell, she carried plates to the table, pausing to glance out the window. Streaks of dirty water ran down the outside, carrying bits of decayed leaves from the broken eaves trough. The inside, steamed up from cooking, had a Hi’ scrawled diagonally in the lower comer.
As they sat down, she said, “The kids have an open house at school this Thursday night. I sure hope the weather clears up before then. This gray stuff is so depressing day after day”.
“I’ll be working. I have to finish that contract job before Friday if you want me to get paid,” he said. “I can’t be two places at one time.”
“I’m thinking about putting in some new flower beds on the side of the house as soon as the weather breaks. It’s pretty plain looking out there,” she said.
As he reached two forks across the table to scoop spaghetti, he grunted, just enough so she knew he’d heard.
“So, you’ll help me with the flower beds? We’ll need another load of dirt and she said.
“I’m not into flower beds. You do whatever you want. You will anyway,” he said, shifting his bulk in the chair
Twirling spaghetti around a fork, she said, “I just wish you would do1 little more around here.” Inhaling deeply, she resolved to do what she would do anyway.
“I do plenty around here,” he said, reaching across the table for the hot peppers. “Why are you always bitching? You don’t have things so bad.” Each syllable of this last was punctuated by a shake of the peppery jar.
And now she was angry. “Look around Drive down the block. Every man in the neighborhood is taking care of his yard. You can’t even be bothered to take out the trash once a week.
“I’ve been mowing grass since I was 12 years old,” he yelled. “The damned lawn doesn't need to be mowed every weekend. If it was up to you, the grass would be tom out by the roots. Jesus Christ, can’t I even eat a meal without you whining about something?”
“Look, I don’t want to fight tonight I’m just asking you to care a little more You don't remember birthdays or even your own anniversary. Remember? Tomorrow?'
“Is there anything else you don't like?” he yelled, shoving back his chair and heaving his body out of it in one motion. “If you’re so damned unhappy, why don’t you leave?”
Picking up his beer, he headed for the family room, where he sank into -his recliner and picked up the remote. From the kitchen, she heard the announcer yell... and they’ve sacked him...a loss of 12 yards. Mechanically, she cleared the table, plopping dishes into soapy water She pushed a glass down until it gurgled full of water, wiped a lipstick stain off its rim, dunked it in rinse water, and hooked it on the edge of the drainer. Finished with the dishes, she faltered into the family room, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and found him dormant in his chair—again.
In the morning when she woke up, he was faltering in the doorway.
Sony about last night," he muttered, his eyes looking everywhere but at her.
I have to meet Tommy for coffee, so I’m going now.”
“Yeah, it’s OK.” she yawned, from the kitchen, noticing that the Hi! on the window had streaked itself into a blocked road. There were other channels There were other open roads on this very same highway. Only one of them was blocked. It was icy. The others were free and clear. Those that were free and clear had been attended to. Those that had been free and clear had been needed. Beyond them was a vast expanse, free of ice, free of cold, free of the things that make roads need to be needed.
“By the way, do you remember today?”
“Is it garbage day already? Seems like you just took it out the other he answered over his shoulder as he walked toward the door.
Now life is very quiet She doesn’t find the winter depressing any “tore. She takes out her own garbage. She sends herself a card every year on her anniversary. She eats a lot of popcorn.
He falls asleep every night in his recliner, the remote in his hand His Brass is tall; his garbage never taken out.
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Ellison Park
Maryanna Hartman
It was on a Sunday in July that we picnicked at Ellison Park with Nana and dad’s brothers’ families. We always had a good time there and that one particular Sunday was beautiful and sunny with a cool breeze that ruffled the back of my neck. The mixture of clover and grass at the top of the bank had a good vantage point. Directly behind me, beyond the old iron water pump where the beat-up silver tin bucket waited to be filled, was the pavilion where we all had lunch. A bunch of my cousins were rolling down the hill, their knees and clothing stained a brownish-green. They did a sequence of about-turns and ran back up the hill. 1 was wearing my new blue shorts and the polka dot halter I received for my birthday from Aunt Dorothy and 1 didn’t want it soiled, so 1 just sat there on Nana's rocking chair cushion watching them
Dad was in a fairly good mood, as he drank beer, smoked, and played horse-shoes. Of course, he’d slept all morning so he was well rested. The dark green tables were surrounded by several playpens for my younger cousins. Aunt Betty’s rosy checked baby girl was lying in her netted blue and silver carriage creating cute little cooing sounds. Sometimes she allowed me to push her around, but she had asked me to leave her alone that day unless she started to cry; Then 1 would be able to walk her around the perimeter of our site. A maple play-pen at the far end of one of the tables was occupied by two year old Jeanine, playing with rubber squeaky toys. The bright colored floral patterns on all the tablecloths were partially hidden, crowded with baskets and cardboard boxes from the market. Baseball gloves, bats and a croquet set, all in a big thick army sack with black letters that spelled Jamison, sat next to the large oak tree that overlooked the steep bank where the kids were delighting in play.
It was about 4:00 p.m. and we’d already filled up on hamburgers, hot-dogs, grape Kool-Aid and fruited Jello. A tin wash tub was filled with beer bottles surrounded by big squares of ice that had begun to melt. My cousin Jimmy was chipping away at the blocks with an ice pick. When he saw me, he came over and sat next to me. While throwing the black-handled pick into the ground like a jackknife, he was told by his dad to knock it off because he might hit one of the kids. So we sat there watching the parade of cousins frolicking on the well worn grass.
At thirteen, Jimmy was the oldest and more-or-less the guardian of the older kids. That summer he’d become very friendly with me and I felt very special when he singled me out to spend time with. He was a cute kid blessed with reddish hair, freckles all over his nose and a pocket full of tricks.
While we were sitting there, he asked if my brothers and 1 wanted to g° down to the amusement section to play games in the Penny Arcade. Tempting me with a fistful of tickets, I ran to get Bobby and David, who agreed it would be a neat idea. So, the four of us scampered off, after getting permission from
Nana and mom, who were busy keeping their eyes on the twins, along with all the other kids.
We had a good time winning free tickets for games or cheap prizes of gold colored rings (that turned your finger green), paper fans or baseball cards. Bobby won a Duncan yo-yo and was thrilled. He and David wanted to keep trying for another one, so Jimmy gave them another handful of tickets. We had spent about a half hour there when he asked me if I wanted to go hide on my brothers in a secret place over the railroad tracks that ran along the westside of the park. I jumped at the chance, and skipped off, giggling at the thought of tricking the boys. Bobby and David were preoccupied with the arcade, and I thought it would be a good adventure, something different. I loved hiding on my brothers. But, I also knew if they didn’t find us, they’d just go watch the talent show that was ongoing every weekend at the amphitheater in the center of the park.
Anyway, it sounded like a great escapade to me, so we excitedly dug our Keds into the small black stones that laid on the bank where the railroad tracks ran north to south. I took a handful and threw some up in the air. They rained back down on the railroad bed. We tried to walk on the rails for as long as we could keep our balance, but Jimmy was better than me. I kept falling off between the old splintered ties that were covered with a black sticky grime.
After a while I gave up. 1 was too worried about my outfit. Jimmy asked me if I knew how to make a slug. 1 said no, I didn’t even know what a slug was. He told me to go down over the bank toward the woods and wait at the bottom. He put a penny on the rail toward us and hopped on down the grade and plopped down next to me in the weeds. We sat listening patiently for a while, sometimes talking about how tipsy our dads would be before long. Then we heard the whistle and saw the smoke billowing from the tall stack in the front of the engine. We watched anxiously as the locomotive headed for the penny, its whistle blowing in short bursts. The engineer saw us and waved. We waved hack and Jimmy made some sort of howl, like boys always did. After it passed, we ran back up the bank and he grabbed the new version of the penny, which was flatter than a pancake and had no face nor words on it anymore. He said we could use it in a coke machine. The wheels had made it into a slug. “Wow, a coke for a penny !” he said, very proud that he’d be gypping the park of its Profit. 1 told him he didn’t dare do such a thing, but he assured me he did and s*>pped it in his dungaree’s watch pocket. He took that ice pick out of the loop that hung from the side of his pants and started throwing it like a jackknife into toe wooden ties between the tracks. Most of the time it just fell over. I ran down toe grade and then back up a couple of times checking out some pretty, sparkling black stones.
We ran back down the hill and ended up in a thick wooded area with °°dles of hiding places. I thought for a minute that maybe we should go back get the boys they’d love it. We took turns hiding on each other and racing ar°und between the bushes and pine trees. Soon, we heard voices and the sound of rustling through the bushes. Someone was coming. We looked at
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each other for a minute, then without a word the two of us jumped behind the tall pines. 1 thought sure it was probably Bobby and David.
We were both surprised to see that it was Aunt Maude and the man who worked at the roller-coaster. He always wore this silly looking black cowboy hat. But, who cared what kind of hat he wore. All I knew was I loved I the roller-coaster better than any other ride in the park and thought immediate!)] about free passes. I figured they were looking for Jimmy and me. 1 was about tJ step out from behind my tree, when he (Jimmy) motioned to me. He shook his I head back and forth, put his finger up to his nose, signaled me to be quiet and pointed to the ground in under the brown needled branches of a huge tree right behind us. So we crawled on all fours, as quietly as possible, and sat there Indian style. They were both busy laughing and talking and never heard any noise we might’ve made.
Besides, another train passed by, muffling the sound of the branches we scooted underneath. 1 sat there really quiet, thinking that at any moment we would jump out and scare them, but Jimmy whispered for me to sit still. We were there a long time. 1 remember the tree limbs were moving in the cool breeze. I was getting tired of the stupid black ants crawling on my legs though and I wanted to get up and go, but he wouldn’t let me. 1 was worried about getting my shorts dirty too. But, he kept telling me to shut-up or they’d heariw All of a sudden my feelings were hurt.
They had walked over on the other side of the path that was closer to the tall, weathered wooden fence that surrounded the glass factory. I don’t knot why we couldn’t let them see us. Pretty soon, we couldn’t even see where they went. Jimmy told me to stick tight and he’d be right back. I protested and insisted on going with him. He fumed and let me know on no uncertain terms that I couldn’t leave and to sit still. Then he was off. 1 couldn’t figure out why he got so mad at me. 1 didn’t want to stay there any longer and besides maybei we’d let them know we were there, Aunt Maude could’ve gotten us free tickets to the coaster. Maybe that’s what he went to ask for and was going to surprise me.
After he left, 1 crawled out from under the tree. I sat on a log in the clearing where broken beer and coke bottles were scattered. I wasn’t going to keep brushing those ants off me while 1 waited for him to come back. Besides,' was getting bites on my arms and legs.
He wasn’t gone long, but when he came back he was awful quiet. 1 be1 they said no tickets. His complexion had turned a little chalky though, so 1 figured something had upset him. 1 kept asking him what was wrong but he wouldn’t answer me. All he said was, “Let’s get outa here.’’ and started to walk at a brisk step down the rocky dirt path toward the railroad bed. I followed, stopping along the way to pick up some giant pine cones.
I kept pestering him to tell me what was the matter. I told him to hold up and maybe we should let his mom know we were in the woods too. 1 was trying to find out why they’d say no. He just kept walking faster, eventually picking up his pace until he was way ahead of me. 1 tried to keep up, but by tW
he was running. 1 figured he was tying to beat me over the tracks. “Let him go.”
I thought. “Who cares 7”
A train was coming because I heard the whistle from way back. He had already turned the bend and 1 heard his sneaks smashing into the cinders that blanketed the bank up to the tracks. The whistle kept blowing and blowing this time, like it couldn’t shut off. I guessed it was stuck. I ran to the bottom of the railroad bed and waited for it to go by, but the train was squealing its steel wheels like it was trying to slow down. Finally, it came to a stop.
Suddenly, I had a weird feeling like something really strange was floating in the air. 1 wondered if Jimmy felt the same thing because 1 knew he was on the other side by then because 1 could see the ice pick stuck in the ground under the train. Great! How was I supposed to cross the dumb tracks ? That stupid train was blocking my path, the engine was way down around the curve past the small lake. They shouldn’t park a train there. How was anyone supposed to get in the park ? 1 guess I’d just have to walk way around it.
The breeze was still blowing, only it wasn’t cool anymore. It had gotten very cold. There was a strong pine scent like the wind was breathing too hard through the pines. I thought of going back to find Aunt Maude and Tom Mix, but then, maybe I’d better not in case she was mad. 1 wouldn't want to be Jimmy. He had to explain where the ice pick went. I would’ve tried to reach it for him, but I didn’t want to risk getting my outfit dirty by crawling under the boxcars like boys always did. So....I just kept walking.
Desear
Rebecca Fowla
I am going
Where brilliant brush stroked flowers Adorn ceramic water pitchers.
the dishes in the washer have to be unloaded.
I want to go
And shop at sun wanned markets With tightly shuttered second story windows. yes, I can drive you to the mall.
Someday I will go
And resurrect my soul with spirited castanets And haunting guitars
turn off the television when you leave the room. Please take me
Where I can wear a sangria red dress And hold a mid-night black lace fan.
the wet laundry has to be thrown in the dryer.
I wish I could
Feel the thick evening air stirred softly By cool Mediterranean breezes.
snapping the crisp sheets and watching them float onto our bed. I used to dream Of clasping your hand And exploring narrow streets.
standing in the kitchen watching the sun sink behind the hills.
I am going.
I Lb
Wintre Fire
Matthew Samuelson
Amidst the trees so heavy hung with snow.
And unbeknownst to those who trod here later.
The new noon sun shall shine and then shall know.
What footstep in its absence left a crater.
In early mom through halls of nature’s making.
Where snowy hemlock walls are green and white,
A somber someone strolls with nature waking Thro’ paths by smaller feet left there at night.
These browns, and greens, and greys, in cloaks of white.
Like rooted church-bells; Silent and yet ringing.
Illuminated still by firelight When dawn doth break, and wakes the choirs' singing.
The branches sheathed in ice; when sunlit, gold.
An eye of flame looks thro’, its gazes cold.
Affection is this freeze, still, hearts will melt,
And warm at wintre’s peak, freeze touches felt.
The season springs a birth and death in one.
Where ice is fire; True love as cold as sun.
n
Jerome
When I was five,
The world was round and mostly blue On the leaned-back globe in the study.
Mr. Brinkley talked of a dark continent But they all looked the same to me.
Afternoons, I’d swan-dive on the den floor. Surround myself with all 48 Crayolas,
And practice staying inside the lines.
(No easy task with that broken brown one!)
My world was secure.
Sky King and Penny were in the Songbird Roy Rogers was catchin’ all the bad guys.
And Jerome was at work in the refrigerator.
Mom told us about the little guy in there Who turned the light on when the door opened. I was the only one who ever saw him.
Ever talked to him.
Sneaking up on the hinge side,
I’d reach across the door,
Jerk it open real fast.
And eventually, 1 caught him.
Dressed in dungarees, T-shirt and sneaks,
He was ice cube blue with radish red hair And small but very, very spry.
He talked to me once; told me his name
With the door propped open,
I’d move leftovers around.
And throw out the onions;
They made his eyes water.
Thanksgiving week I lost sleep.
How would Jerome move around Bowls piled on top of each other?
Would he slide on the waxed paper?
ft
Sue Putne)
Trip over tin foil?
As the leftovers dwindled, 1 slept again. Knowing he was sailing over celery and carrots, Bouncing off bottles of mustard and ketchup, Plodding through potatoes and stuffing, and Scaling slippery stainless to keep the light on.
Setting the table, Mom was grousing about Who drank the milk and put the empty bottle Back in the refrigerator.
She had to know it was Jerome
She was the one who told me about him
When I was five.
El Destornillador Phillips
Dion Qai
SCENE - A Mexican tavern. Several small round tables, -with three chairs at each table. Three Mexican men sit at a table in the middle of the room, drinking beer. It's obvious from their movements and speech that they have been doing this for some time now. There are various other people sitting at the tables and a bartender standing at the bar on the left, but they are all in a soft freeze for most of the play. There is a dim light spike shining on the table with the three Mexicans, but otherwise the room is dark except for a small green lamp that decorates the far side of the bar. A tape of steady rain falling on a roof plays during the play.
MAW hi: Give me a Phillips head screwdriver.
I tfiTI you, my friends mis amigos,
That one ordinary, everyday, Phillips head screwdriver (For a mere $7.99 at your average hardware store)
Will solve for yon, my friend,
Nearly any problem this side of oblivion.
Grunts of drunken approval from the other two Mexicans, MAN hi sets down his beer, and takes a screwdriver out of his back pocket. He holds it up to the light, staring at it through squintv eyes MAN #1:11 is a simple tool, yes?
Perfect mid unmarred by
I hp nitiijiliratrat mil iraripg The snriat rmnpfarrities Itert creep -They rrp-pp J fell you, they are sneaky bastards-Rigbl through vour plumbing system To bite you on the ass While von are merely attempting to observe fhnrHe Brown’s latest adventures.
At this point, MAN h2 and 3 realize that MAN hi is going off on one of his long winded drunken speeches and start laughing and making fun of him. MAN hi is lost in his thoughts and pays no attention to either of them, as if he is talking mainly to himself.
MAN 4fh He is a silly boy.
When will he team?
That tree, It will never stop molesting his poor kite, it will not leave him alone.
This tree, it is evil, it is a tool of the devil.
Mr. Brown, wise as he is, should know this Yon cannot fight these things.
And do you know why, my friends?
c3D
Why these problems must plague poor Mr. Brown?
MAN hi: (sarcastically) You know, I was thinking about that the other day,
and 1 think.
MAN #1: It is because he has not a Phillips head screwdriver.
MAN #2 and MAN h3 howl with laughter and slap the table.
MAN #1: Sad as it is, his kite will never fly.
It can never caress the wind with a loving embrace,
Or tenderly kiss the sun on a cool fall afternoon.
MAN #3: What do you know about tender kissing, senior?
MAN #1: (swaying a little as he stands up and paces around the room)
But, Mr. Brown is a simple man.
He does not need these complications.
His very soul does not bum for the lack of them.
The fiber of his being does not merely become An everyday part of his own balanced breakfast For want of them
MAN #4: (American sounding, from the back of the bar) Hey gringos! Get your pal-o to shut-o the hell up, comprende?
MAN hi: (drawing a pistol from his belt) Your espanol is a little off, senior. 1 believe the word you are looking for es silencio, (fires the gun at the floor near MAN #4) senior!
Callate! (fires) Ciena tu boca, (fires) senior!
(fires at the floor again, stands up and points the directly at MAN #4) Comprende!?
MAN #4 cowers in terror at the back of the bar, and no one else in the bar says a thing for the rest of the play. BARTENDER and MAN h3 watch with disinterest. MAN hi has ordered another drink from the bar and has been watching the scene. Abruptly, he puts down his now empty glass and begins speaking again.
MAN #1; He needs not to cannibalize himself. e would not taste so good in milk anyway.
°> this man truly needs ^ce sharp axe or chainsaw. e right tool, for the right occasion.
We a man the right tools d the know how to use them,
^ ^erything will be O K. in the land of make-believe.
(leans
against the bar again, as if he is finished speaking, but motions the
^riender for another drink)
N #2: (to MAN #3) What did 1 tell you about that Tequila, man?
N #3: Hey, get that stuff awav from him before he starts talking about Mr J^gers again!
Y ^ (slamming down a shot of Tequila) c°u ktow, I never did like Mr. Rodgers.
Ven as a small child.
(walks thoughtfully back to the table)
This man, with his wool sweaters And his grandfatherly appearance,
(MAN #1 grabs MAN #2 and hauls him to face level)
Do you think this man is truly at peace!?
No, he is not. And I will tell you why.
MAN it 1 grins and takes a dramatic pause, the other patrons of the bar are almost made curious by this display.
MAN #1: It is because he is not a Mechanic, (drops MAN #2)
MAN #2: (with disgust) Santa Maria.
MAN #1: This man is surrounded by a forest of trees And has no compass with which to guide himself.
And if he got one, he would not even know how to use it Because he has not the simple skills Skills! The skills of a Mechanic,
Which he desperately needs to guide him To guide him through this perilous situation In which he finds himself one morning.
This man is a buffoon.
MAN #3: (staring into his drink) You are the buffoon, senior.
MAN #1: (sighs in remembrance, ignoring him) My grandfather was a Mechanic.
He knew how to build an entire engine from scratch.
He knew how to fix your water heater
Or send it hurtling through the roof of your house.
He had the skills to survive! (throws the glass across the room)
The skills necessary to fend off an unforgiving world!
This was a man
Who could fly his kite as high as he damn well pleased.
(slumps down in a chair at the table)
MAN #2: Come on, man. You’re being stupid again. Let’s go home, si? MAN it 2 and MAN it 3 move to grab MAN it 1 under the arms so they can drag him off
MAN #1: (fighting them) No. No! (flings them away)
He took me aside one day,
A cool, windy day of fall,
And he told me something.
This man. This god.
This human compass.
He told me something I will not forget.
MAN #2 and MAN #3 remain on the floor to either side of and slightly behind MANH1.
MAN #1: “There is one time,” he said,
“One single moment when all the Hardened skills of a mechanic
Will not save you.
He looked me dead in the eyes and said,
“In the affairs of love,
Even the Phillips head screwdriver Will avail you not.”
The lights fade to black and the curtain closes.
Nameless
Characters:
JOE NAMELESS, overstressed workaholic, in mid-thirties but looks much older: graying hair, wrinkled face, bad back.
DORIS, his secretary, not seen during play.
Setting: a small office	__________________________________________
Enter hurriedly with briefcase JOE NAMELESS stage left
JOE: (Sets briefcase on desk, tosses hat at coat rack, misses, takes a step to recover
it, decides not to, turns, puts coat on chair, grabs a cup, pours himself some coffee
from coffee maker. Stares into coffee a moment. Steps to file cabinet, opens top
drawer, stares at the files in drawer Sighs. Puts cup to lips but does not drink, sees
something out window stage right, lowers cup, stares out window, looks quizzically
at cup, looks at files, looks at cup again, smiles, pours coffee into file cabinet onto
files. Closes drawer, smiles again, sits down at desk with satisfied grin.) Doris.	i
(Pushes intercom button) Doris. You there, Doris?
DORIS: (offstage left) Yes, Mr. Nameless, I’m here. What is it you need now?
JOE: What I nee- ah, hmm, uh, how long have you woiked for me, Doris?
DORIS: I dunno. thirteen, maybe fifteen years.
JOE: (to himself) Fifteen years. Hmmm. (to DORIS) You always called me Mr Nameless?
DORIS: Guesso JOE: Why?
DORIS: Dunno. Seemed proper. (Pause) Something the matter, Mr. Nameless?
JOE: Hmm? Oh. no, no, nothing’s wrong. Just, ah, just (sighs) don’t call me Mr.
Nameless. You can uh. call me Joe. (softly, to himself) Been Mr. Nameless too	I
long.
DORIS: (hesitantly) Okay, (testing him) Joe. (pause) Was there something you wanted?
JOE: Hmm, (sighs) yeah. I, uh, I nee—I was just wondering whether or not we’ve talked much, ya know, as people, not as, as, well as secretary and her boss?
DORIS: (slight pause) Not that 1 can recall, no, not much, (pause) Are you sure /	nothing’s wrong, Mist—um, Joe?
JOE: (thinking about something else) No, nothing’s wrong, (slight pause) I just been uh, I just uh, 1 think uh, I think I’m gonna call my wife, so. uh. so I’ll, we’ll talk later, okay?
DORIS: (unsure) Okay, Mist—um, Joe, we’ll talk later.
JOE: (picks up phone, begins to dial, stops, looks around puzzled, flips through rolodex, then to DORIS) I, uh, I can’t find our number.
DORIS: What?

JOE: (puzzled look) Well, I, uh. can’t remember my number. It’s uh, seven, seven, something. This, hmm, this is weird. I uh, 1 don't uh. I, (sighs) dammit DORIS: (slight pause) Okay, I’ve dialed on line one. (pause) Just push the— JOE: I know that, but why, I, (sighs) dammit (slight pause) It’s ringing, I gotta go. (pause, then happily) Hey there, (slight pause) No, nothing’s wrong. I just— (pause, listening) Nothing’s happened to the car. I'm alright I just. I- (pause) I know it’s not even nine yet but- (pause then almost annoyed but still happy)
Would you just stop for a minute? I just, 1 think 1 just, something just occurred to me. I haven't been to one of Joey’s ballgames in a long time, (slight pause)
Never? I had to have gone at least once. Yes, yes I did. Two weeks ago. Two weeks ago Tuesday, (slight pause) He plays on Thursdays? (slight pause) I know 1 saw him. I saw him hit a double, I remember that, a double, he got to second on a pop fly. that was it, pop fly to right field. I know I’m not imagining that, second on a pop fly ball (smiles) Heh, my Joey, (pause, smile fades then softly) Not been on base yet (admitting to himself) He plays on Thursdays, not Tuesdays, and i haven’t seen him yet. (to his wife) Today's Thursday, right? (slight pause) Hmm, well, hmm. play’s at five, right? (slight pause) Three? Okay, well, okay, tell him his, uh, nah. don’t tell him. I’ll just be home when he gets there- (slight pause) So I’ll leave, my boy’s- (slight pause) My boy’s more important than- (slight pause) I know, (pause) I don’t know. I just, it just (sighs) dammit Sorry, (pause) No. I’m okay, (happily) Just forget 1 called, don’t say anything to Joey, alright? (pause) I know. I think I’ll, oh, forget if just do whatever it is you do when we’re not there, alright? (pause) Okay, g’bye. (slight pause) uh. hold on a minute, couldja? I uh. I, when s the last time somebody told you how beautiful you are? (slight pause, smiling) Heheh. sure he did No. wait don’t go yet okay? I have to uh, I think, uh. just say something to me. (slight pause) Anything, (pause) I uh. I have to uh, just (sighs) dammit. Sorry. I uh. I think I’ve mumbled it too many times for it to mean anything but I, uh, I, I still love you, ya know, (pause, smiles, more pause) Yeah,
I m okay, (pause) Hold on, I, uh, I forgot to. uh. I’ve got to wish you happy birthday, (pause) I know it’s not for a month but uh. I don’t know, just uh. just happy birthday, (pause) Okay, you gotta go so uh. so I’ll see you I guess, of course I will but uh, but okay, (pause) g’bye. (hangs up phone, looks at it a short while, leans back in chair, slight pause, sits up, looks around) Doris, (pushes intercom button) Doris.
DORIS: Yes, Mi—Joe?
JOE: What time did I leave yesterday?
DORIS: (unsure) Seven I think (slight pause) Why?
JOE: Why so late, do you remember?
DORIS: I think you were working on that new account. You are supposed to make a presentation on the Johnson cost analysis tomorrow at noon. I’m sorry but I haven’t gotten the charts from the—
JOE: Don’t worry about the charts, (slight pause) Do you have any children, Doris?
DORIS: Yes, three, my youngest, Billy, plays baseball with your Joey. Haven’t you seen the pictures of them on my desk?
JOE: And we've nev er spoken ?
DORIS: (slight pause) Well, not about baseball or our boys, no. (concerned) What’s going on with you, M—Joe? You don’t usually speak to me til lunch and now you’ve, you’re—are you okay?
JOE: You didn’t leave til seven yesterday either, did you?
DORIS: I always stay here until you’re set with you’re work. You wanted those figures and charts by this morning so—
JOE: What did your kids do til Mommy got home?
DORIS: The sitter knows I’m sometimes late. She’ll feed them or put them to bed, but I’m usually there.
JOE: Have you ever missed one of Billy ’s games?
DORIS: Once.
JOE: (genuinely) I'm sorry . I shouldn’t keep you so late, (sadly) Joey hasn’t even been on base yet.
DORIS: I know. He really nee- (phone rings) Hello, (slight pause) yes he is, (slight pause) of course, (to JOE)Mr Bossman’s on line one. he says it’s very urgent.
JOE: Okay, (picks up phone and presses button) Good morning, Mr Bossman How are you? (pause) Well, no, no I haven’t. I wasn’t planning to either, (pause) I figured I ’d take a day of relaxation, (pause) I know I have that presentation.
(pause) Well, I doubt I'd be able to get to it. (slight pause) I said I won’t be able to do it. (slight pause) I said no, 1 won't do it this morning, nor will I do it today And hopefully not tomorrow either, (pause) Yes, 1 think ldo have a problem. I don’t know what it is. but my mind's been wandering this morning (slight pause then patronizingly) Oh no sir, not too far. I can still tend to all this important business that has to be done, (pause) No, sir, never. Why would I do that? You know I respect you so. (DORIS chuckles offstage) Of course, sir. I’ll get right on it. (slight pause) Okay, (slight pause) alright (slight pause) sure thing. Goodbye, sir. (hangs up phone) Moron, (pause) Doris, you feel like a cup of coffee? Feel like a coffee machine? Here, take mine, (stands, unplugs coffee maker, removes pot takes machine offstage left. Returns, takes pot left as well, returns, sits, looks off stage left) You can keep that.
DORIS: What am I going to do with it? I have one here already
JOE: Take it home then, give it to your sitter. I don’t want it. I don’t want it
around me. (pause) When's the last time you enjoyed a good rain?
DORIS: What?
JOE: Haven’t you ever stood out in the rain, just letting it soak in?
DORIS: Why would I do that?
JOE: No reason. Just to do it.
DORIS: I haven’t. Why? When have you?
JOE: (remembering) Too long ago. (long pause) Right after my wife and I were married, (pause) We had to run some errands in town so we decided to walk and take in some sun. (slight pause) I just came out of the post office, she out of the bank next door The big, black rainclouds came out of nowhere, (slight pause) By the time I had gone twenty feet towards her it was pouring. She jumped into the
bank lobby while 1 walked slowly around enjoying the wet. (slight pause) As I was spinning around I caught a glimpse of her smile. Then it hit me why we were together, (slight pause) Her big beautiful eyes were finally full, full of life. She leapt through the door into my arms before I could beg her to come out and get wet. I was dizzy from the spinning and we tumbled to the ground laughing. We thrashed around like children on the cool, wet sidewalk Then it was suddenly over. It was one of those flash storms that come from the blue and zip right off. The sun was back out and we were soaked. We got up slowly, laughing amid the puzzled looks from the passers-by. Then we finished our business downtown, jumping in puddles all the way. (long pause) 1 think we could use a good rain today, (long pause) I uh. I think I'm gonna call her again She didn't seem too happy this morning I hate to see her sad. Especially when I can t fix it. (slight pause) Do vou know what that's like?
DORIS: (pause then softly) Yes, everyday
JOE: (pause) I think I’m gonna call her (picks up phone) I got it this time. 1 uh. I don't know what was wrong before, I guess I just, just uh, (sighs) dammit, (dials) It's ringing Hel—damn answering machines, (to phone) Hey, honey, it’s me again, as if you couldn’t tell. 1 was uh, just thinking about you again. 1 wanted to talk but. well, you're not there so hey, ‘f you uh. get this before 1 get home, gimme a call, wouldja? 1 uh, I dunno. I just, well 1 nee- (sighs then to DORIS) Remind me to get rid of my answering machine sometime, would you? Damn things. Too many things, not enough space, (softly to himself) Not enough time, (to DORIS) Mr. Bossman said he wanted a preview of my plan for the Johnson account. I think I'll have something for him (slight pause) Would you like to leave early today, Doris?
DORIS: Kind of, yeah. Billy ’s got a game today. I’ve got some things to do at home, sure Why? (joking) You thinking of firing me or something, Joe9 JOE: (walks to file cabinet, opens top drawer, grabs file from back of pile, looks at it smtles, then to himself) Dry. Good, (takes lighter from pocket lights comer, climbs up on desk, then to DORIS) Here's Bossman’s Johnson account, (water sprays from ceiling as alarms sound) And here's our rain DORIS: What in the world are you doing, Joe?
JOE: (lets the fire go out. dances around on his desk) Isn’t it great? It’s a rainin’!! A hard rain’s gonna fall, indeed! Hell, the sky just exploded!!
SHOUTS FROM OFFSTAGE: The building’s on fire!! Omigod!! Get out!
Hurry!
JOE: Doris, go, go home, take the day off. Take the week off. Hell, don't ever come back! I’m not gonna. No one is. Nobody can. I can’t just sit here and take this. And I can’t watch anybody else do it either. I ’ve wasted too much of my life behind this desk and I can t stand losing anymore. I haven’t seen my boy play baseball. He hasn’t even been on base yet (slight pause) because he hasn’t seen me smile at him. Ever. He needs his father. I need him, and I need my wife, (pause) and I need me. (stands on desk as lights dim and curtain falls)
The Woman

Jennifer Kuhn
* The subject of my observation was a woman who was ahead of me in a line for an hour last spring. 1 chose her because 1 had an hour of free time simply to observe, and I was very interested in her because of her similarity to another woman 1 know.
This woman was in her late thirties, early forties, and was about five feet two inches tall, and about one hundred ten to one hundred twenty pounds. All 1 really knew about her was she had at least one child, because we were in line to sign our children up for a summer cohesion program. She reminded me of a woman I once worked for. who was a professor of economics at Cortland State. What was it that gave both women that same aspect of earned success and confidence?
Her hair was dark brown, frizzy in that late thirty year old way in women who don’t dye or perm their hair and cut in a flattering non-style which looked like it would be easy to care for. Her face wore little if any makeup, but she didn’t need any. Her skin was clear and smooth, save for a few laugh lines, and had the texture of healthy skin that has seen a lot of the sun. I then observed her clothing, since clothes make the man, perhaps the clothing is what gave the impressions. She was wearing a turtleneck, corduroy pants, and loafers, with a fleece jacket tied loosely about her waist. She had small silver earrings on, a wedding band, and her watch was simple. There were two differences between this woman and all the rest of those standing in line with us, in regards to her clothing. One was that her clothing was much more simple, and the other that hers was much better quality. The earrings, wedding band, and watch, while understated, looked expensive, the band of the watch good thick quality leather and the silver simple but with that liquid mercury feel, not the tinny metal of cheap silver plate. The turtleneck was thick with a tight weave, like the kind you would buy in a Lands End catalog, not thin and loosely woven like those from Walmart. The pants were of that thick soft corded material, the cords being almost ‘A. inches wide, with the feeling of suede, and very well tailored. My husband, coming from a poor family, grew up in those cheap, thin corded corduroys that screamed “poor ”, but these pants couldn’t even be seen as the same thing, as they spoke of luxury and comfort. The woman’s loafers were, again, simple but quality, as they had the look of having walked many miles but would walk many more. The colors she chose were also of importance. All pieces were earth tones, most likely with names that were spices, or fruit. The fleece was dark forest green, maybe hunter green, and the turtleneck mulberry, or perhaps burgundy. The pants would be nutmeg, being a darkish brown, and the loafers chocolate. This woman had put money into her clothing and I wondered if she had waited until they were on sale, or just started picking things out as the catalogs came in the mail.
3%
Somehow I doubted that the clothing was all, I had the impression she would look the same in old sweats. So then, what more contributed? The woman was joined by two women who appeared to be her friends, all having that same confident, successful look, but in different ways, and 1 was able to observe her interacting She stood with her feet a shoulder width apart, alternating with her hands behind her back or crossed in front of her. When her hands were crossed like that she didn’t seem to be covering herself, but simply that it was a good place to rest her arms. She leaned forward slightly, chin up. rigorously chewing gum, and looked directly into the eyes of whichever woman was speaking, smiling a little with a focused look. She was listening, not just letting the words flow by as she formed in her mind her next contribution. She accompanied her replies with occasional short gestures with her right hand, always returning it to the other hand when done. They spoke of gardening at one point, one woman asking for advice on her narcissus. Ironically, I seemed to know more than the woman, for her advice was to look it up in a book Why then did 1 not have this aura of competence? I got the feeling that the difference was she would need to hear the advice once, and those bright avid eyes would soak it up and expand on it, learning quickly enough that she would be giving the advice the next time.
All in all, here is what 1 surmise of this woman. I would guess this woman had a degree of some sort, because of her confidence, probably a business or other non-science field, because of her limited gardening knowledge. She and her husband, remember the wedding band, both had good jobs and has one or two children . She enjoyed the outdoors, maybe hiking, and camping, her skin had the texture of sun and fresh air. Her movements and gestures were compact and economical, and she didn't fuss a lot with her personal appearance, but her clothing was pressed, and immaculate, so I would also guess her house would be the same. Simple, with maybe an understated country or southwestern look, very clean, and minimalist, what was there would be of very good taste and quality. She either had no pets or one cat or dog, for I saw not one hair on her clothes, if she did have a pet it would have to be strictly monitored. She and her family ate healthy, and possibly worked out, for she was thin and healthy looking. She chose as friends other very intelligent, confident women, but would be kind and not egotistical with those that were not. I would guess her marriage was a 50/50 partnership. I don’t see someone like her a housewife, or cowering to do all the work and go to a job too. Her husband would give her the business, but she would outright argue or more likely just give it back with a smile. She seemed very nice, I would also guess she was well liked at her job, and by her neighbors. Her purse was small, but organized, she was probably someone who wrote thank you notes, on time. Oh, she was right handed, too.
Nice Guys
Julia M. Duncan
Nice guys finish last! Isn’t that how the saying goes? Nice guys get stepped on, left behind, dumped, dropped, laughed at and just plain hurt despite the fact that they try so hard to make everyone happy Now that doesn't make sense, does it? Why would a person want to get rid of or hurt someone who treats her so nice? It just isn’t logical, but it happens all the time. Just ask any nice guy.
I don’t even know how to begin to describe what a nice guy is. but you just know it when you meet one. He’s the guy that will spontaneously give you a hug when you look upset or tell you that you are awesome for no apparent reason. Oh, and he’s single. Okay, every once an a while that nice guy does get a girlfriend, but you will see that his ratio of time being single to time being in a relationship is heavily weighted to the single side. It’s a twisted paradox that goes fairly unnoticed.
A nice guy will go out with a girl a few times, and begin to really like her. All along, he is completely wonderful to her. Within a month, for no seemingly evident reason, she will ditch him. She’ll tell him that they make better friends, or she will get back with her ex-boyfriend, the jerk, or, even worse, she will just stop calling or talking to him and then will be seen in public with a different guy. Ouch!
So why do women seem to shun nice guys, even though they are constantly complaining that they can never find one? Well, I have a few guesses. For one thing, you expect less from a jerk. If he is mean to you, ignores you, or dumps you, it isn’t that bad because you knew all along that he was a jerk. It may hurt, but it doesn’t hurt that much; you can just write him offbecause he was a jerk anyway. Now if that nice guy did something as simple as forgot to call, you would be crushed; it would be like a stake through the heart. Also, when a jerk is nice to you or does something sweet you feel really special, more special than you would if he was constantly nice to you, like a nice guy is.
Now, it’s not that "jerks" are always mean. They can be nice; that is why we women date them. We see that they can be nice, then we think that we can turn them into classic nice guys. They are a challenge. Have you ever heard someone say (or said yourself),”1 know Johnny is dating Julie and Jen too, but he is so nice to me, and I know that 1 can make him see that I am the one for him" or "I know he acts like a jerk when we are around his friends, but when we are alone, he is so sweet?” This sounds ridiculous right9 Sure it does, but I’ve heard a number of very intelligent women say something along these lines; I may have even said something similar myself. We think that we can fix them. A jerk to a woman is like a broken appliance is to a man; a problem that seems easily remedied at first, but after a lot of wasted effort, is eventually forgotten about and cast aside. The difference is that if a man can’t fix the appliance, he can call a professional, but women don’t have that luxury; there is no jerk fixer in the phone book!
30
We can’t forget the idea that nice guys are boring. It’s not that they aren’t fun to be around, it’s just that they give us nothing to worry about. They don’t go out with the guys and get hammered, flirt with women at bars, or just not come home at night. They are usually tame too. They don’t drive sports cars at high speeds or do those other ‘"sexy yet dangerous” things. You know, the activities that will seriously limit a guy’s life span All in all, they leave us worry free, just like a nice polyester dress that never stains does (but you don’t see us buying a lot of those either).
All of these are good reasons, but the real reason women don’t seem to date nice guys is hidden away because we don’t really want to think about it ourselves. We don’t date nice guys because we can’t treat them as nicely as they treat us. Scary! When a guy isn’t always wonderful to you, you can ditch him to go hang with the girls or yell at him in a fit of PMS without feeling too guilty. However, when a guy is one hundred percent nice to you all of the time, how can you ever do anything that isn’t nice without feeling like you are a horrible person? Dating someone who is nicer than you can make you feel like you’ve been bashed upside the head with a baseball bat. It’s like dating a saint; you just can’t compare All of a sudden you feel that you lack something, and it leads to the realization that you may not be as wonderful as you think. Now, that hurts! I suppose though, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as seeing that jerk you are dating out with some other woman after he told you that he was sick in bed for the night!
51
Cause And Effect
Rebecca Fowler
There was a time, long ago, when I was Scarlet. Not quiet, sticky sweet, mealy mouthed Melanie, but green eyes flashing, cool headed, self confident Scarlet. I can not say for sure, when exactly, I began to lose my edge. It was a slow process. On account of my decision not to go to college, I became cautious and compromising. Thankfully, maturity and a restless spirit has made me see clearly that I must reverse my academic decision.
When I was eighteen, I decided not to attend college after high school. I was gagging and could not cram one more boring fact into my head. It might not sound like such a daring decision, but one has to understand, “Little Bitty Beck” went face to face with “Goliath”. I had to tackle the Northwestern football scholarship Business graduate and his Stephens Women’s College team mate. Victorious, I was allowed to work at my father’s department store and travel with the money 1 earned. Everyday I headed to work knowing that my next pay check would go toward Virginia Beach in the spring, the Grand Tetons in the summer, and Chicago at New Years. I even made it as far as Europe for six weeks with a
girlfriend.
It was a great time in my life, but the long term effect of choosing to ditch college cannot be over looked. The education I received from high school was adequate to sustain me for awhile. I started out living off the fat. Then I noticed my strength was ebbing 1 was draining my reserves without replenishing the supply. The blood flowing to my head was malnourished. My mind was slowly starving. I began to lose my edge.
1 started worrying about sounding stupid. My self-confidence was fading along with my thought pattern. My metamorphosis had begun. No longer Scarlet, it was easier to be less challenging, more compromising and agreeable..Melanie.
And so, without the confidence in myself to try anything too far out of the ordinary , I have patterned my daily life after the Titanic, that safe unsinkable luxury liner. Everyday I wake up to the same safe routine, in the same safe house. I even have a safe job, doing the identical work I did at my father’s store. Yes, the good life. Safely, my life is sailing right along. But, lately, something inside of me is no longer satisfied I am tired of working every Friday night and Sundays. I want more. More money is always nice, but it is something deeper than that. I want to read great books and discuss them. I want to understand mathematical formulas. I want to be able to speak logically. I want to write creatively. I want to think. So, I am jumping over board. I am abandoning my safe surroundings and trading it for knowledge. I realize now that my luxury liner, although comfortable, was on a doomed voyage into the cold dark sea.
Consequently, here I am, thirty seven years old, sitting in my parked car at Coming Community College. I am in the driver’s seat unable to get any control of the situation. My eyes are filling with tears of embarrassment and my throat is
closing from humiliation. I want to return to my old. safe, comfortable, unchallenging life. What made me think I could squeeze college into my life at this stage? My household has become chaotic, 1 have to leave my family on Monday and Thursday evenings for class, plus my work schedule is constantly being rearranged for my classes.
Most of all, college is frightening. It takes all my courage to walk down unknown hallways and enter rooms filled with strangers. Exposing my ideas to a professor for judgment is also unnerving. I am shyly stripping away protective layers and uncovering my private thoughts and personal experiences that have been carefully covered and kept from view.
My latest computer lab was most humbling. I was trying to access my Honors E- mail. Another student directed me to the "kid in the green hat” for help. The “kid in the green hat” informed me that it was a closed system. (Obviously, I did not look like Honors material, to him.) Yes, I realized that it is a closed system . “You are in Honors? O K. Enter your E-mail address, now enter the last four digits of your social security number, now pick a six letter password.” That was easy C L U L E S. “Don’t forget your password and next time you should bring a note book with you.” Get lost “kid in the green hat” I thought to myself. Hey, could it be my confidence is slowly returning?
My appetite for knowledge will not be satisfied easily or quickly. I am not sure how long it will take me to earn my degree, but I am certainly not going to let some college kid in a green hat intimidate me. “As God is my witness .... I’m going to live through this, and when it’s over, I’m never going to be hungry again No, nor any of my folks. If I have to steal or kill - as God is my witness. I’m never going to be hungry again.”	Scarlet O’Hara
33
Going to College
I thought what I wanted, was to go away when I graduated from high school two short years ago.
But a part of me knew that I wasn’t ready.
I wanted to stay here for now.
I needed time to figure things out.
But, I could not tell my parents.
“You’ve already been accepted to that college in Maine.
They’ll kill you if you don’t go,”
I thought.
What would my friends think?
They’d think I’m crazy.
I can’t tell them about this.
I will feel so left out.
The thought of going away,
It’s just too much of a change.
I couldn’t stand to say goodbye.
Packing up that big, maroon van
that my dad rented was so terrifying and
difficult.
Reality of leaving hit me, like fifty waves crashing on a seashore.
The drive was long, about eight hours.
I know I sobbed more than I talked.
Hearing my mom say,
“You’ll be fine once you get there,”
Michelle Flynn
/
was no comfort at all.
All I knew was, I wanted to go home.
I knew from the moment I got to school,
It was wrong for me.
The college was so small,
Just like my catholic high school.
There were no guys in the dorms.
(How’s a girl supposed to live like this?)
It had all these “stuck-up” cliques,
Again, just like high school.
At this point,
I knew I belonged home.
A week later,
I went home.
Yet, I have one regret.
That is realizing it could be like this anywhere.
L
3S~
The Striped Within a Spotted Herd
D. M. Gray
Although one individual may argue that he is a totally private person, another might aver that he is an extrovert; I wholeheartedly agree with the premise, “We are private beings, as well as social beings. That we must live in the world with other people can be both exasperating and comforting.” We, as individuals, spend the majority of our lives in the inner sanctums of the mind, yet we can never seem to rise above our intrinsic desire to be accepted or the need to fit in with the crowd. As human beings, we have an innate paradox programmed within our souls; our desire to be both a part of the herd and apart from the herd.
On one hand, social contact with others of our kind is certainly beneficial in many ways. It fulfills our need for companionship and entertainment, education and growth, and emotional and physical support; it reinforces our sense of self-worth. Each of us needs validation as a person, generally through the recognition and empathy of others of the same ilk. As the English poet, John Donne (1572-1631), penned in his Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, “No man is an Island, entire of it selfe;...any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde;...” No matter how strongly one individual may think he stands alone, his inherent need for communion with others of his species will sap his might as surely as Delilah stole Samson ’s power. Companionship nurtures the heart, the mind, and the soul, providing us with the orchestra with which we can compose the music of our selves.
On the other hand, that we continue to struggle internally with our inability to cope in even casual relationships with other human beings is evidenced by the large numbers of us who seek professional counseling Psychologists have become the soul-scrutinizers who attempt to heal the many wounds we inflict upon each other through our human failings of deception and deceit, guile and wile, greed and jealousy, pride and prejudice, suspicion and egotism. Marriages are failing in record numbers, our prison systems are overcrowded with examples of those of our species with a distorted perception of communal intercourse, escalating interracial tension continues to be a problem, and inner-city gang rivalries are decimating the ranks of our young On a more personal level, to socialize—even on a small scale—is to risk disillusionment, disappointment, and the ultimate pain and humiliation of rejection.
Moreover, that we each struggle with the contradiction of solitude versus society is obvious in the patterns of our fives. When we reach out to fellow man in grief, are we not seeking solace from the very source of our pain? No matter how independent we each feel we are, do we not require the physician for the body, the educator for the mind, and the spiritual guru for the soul? Today’s teenager pierces his navel to express his individuality; in this act he finds status and recognition with his peers. Increasing numbers of psychologists who once focused on adaptation of individual behavioral traits to a more rigid code of standards based on the general
populace are now coming to realize the existence of our personal mental fives and experiences, and a new dawn of true acceptance of the individual is breaking. Yet, do not the very words "acceptance’’ and “individual” belie one another? The paradox remains
In conclusion, our inner inconsistencies may best be illustrated by these words that poured from the very essence of my soul as once, in great personal agony, I shared my own conflicting emotions with a friend:
I feel like I live in a zoo, a big and beautiful zoo. All around me are herds and herds of giraffes. They all look alike, with the same spotted hides, long, graceful necks, thin legs, and knobby knees. They all eat the same kinds of leaves, sleep in the same places, and run the same way, at the same time, to the same destination. I see them glance at me from time to time, whispering among themselves about my different appearance and sleeping and eating habits, smug in their sameness. Although they allow me to brow se within the herd, I can sense that they will never fully accept me as one of them. Yet, as I bend to drink from the communal pond, I pause to regard my own familiar reflection—bold black and white stripes, strong, thick neck, and sturdy frame. I cannot help but admire my own very different kind of beauty , and I am sad to think that the giraffes cannot or will not open their eyes to the unique but positive qualities of a zebra.
These ambivalent feelings neatly sum up both my emotions at the time and the contradiction we each face constantly as we travel down the individualized paths of our lives. Whether one views living among other humans as mostly positive or mostly negative depends largely on his/her own personal expectations, experiences, and emotional scars. On one hand, solitude can be solace, giving us the space to both heal and grow as an individual; aloneness is the resting place from which we assess and heal the bmises of encounters with other human beings On the other hand, others of our breed form the very safety net which protects us from the pit of despair and loneliness; our friends and family are the stepping stones that carry us safely across the raging torrent of our emotional lives Exasperation or comfort our natural penchant towards hope and faith and optimism, our need for communion with the herd, our desire for validation and comfort from one another, will •nvariably tip the scale in favor of community rather than isolation, for, in truth, nothing is so good that isn’t better shared.
Z1
The Tangled Web of the Glove-less Druid
John D. Elmquist
I lost my new leather gloves the other day. That’s the end of my story.
Or is it?
To the casual observer, and the warm handed thief who's probably wearing them right now . the introduction, body, and conclusion of this story are all encompassed within that very simple sentence. But you, the reader, are about to once again be immersed into the twisted dementia I know as my life as you learn the rest of the story.
In order for me to tell you “The tale of the missing gloves”, first I have to put the story into context. So, let me update you on how my life is going on a personal, as opposed to scholarly, level: A few weeks into the semester 1 happened to stumble upon the “Spencer Pub” complete with pool table. As you who have followed my writing to date already know, this haven soon became my second home.
Anyway, one day on the way to my second home, as I was passing the smoker’s lounge windows, I happened to glance in to see who might be hanging around Suddenly, my heart began beating out the music to the most primal dance known to mankind, as I found myself confronted with what I consider to be the most adorable creature I have ever laid eyes upon. I was like a druid, walking down a forest path in the summer, watching the play of light and shadows through the wind-blown leaves, as I lovingly listened to the birds singing their songs of praise to the great Earth Mother, when suddenly I spot the physical embodiment of my most hallowed beliefs: A unicorn, standing nobly in a brilliant beam of sunlight at the edge of a small clearing.
Upon recovery of my senses, I rushed down the wooded path to the pool room to inquire of my fellow forest inhabitants if per chance they knew the name of this wondrous creature residing in the forest glade, but, much to my chagrin, not one of my friends could help me out of my dilemma. What was I to do? This was the woman I had waited a lifetime for, and I didn’t want to rush blindly into her sanctuary of solitude without proper introduction, thereby risking her displeasure.
Consequently, after weeks and weeks of working through one circle of friends into the next, in the most complex and confusing dance ever performed, I eventually found myself in Her inner circle of attendants. Imagine my sense of joy and fulfillment as I was able to commune, one on one, with the most precious creature under the sun. And so did the smoker’s lounge in the Commons become my third home.
You, of course, understand that the courtship ritual demands that you keep in touch with your beloved. In the 90’s, this is translated to mean that you are forced to live on the telephone from time to time. So we come to the beginning of the end of my leather gloves from Wilsons.
Where I currently reside, there’s no phone that I can use unless it is the direst of emergencies so I have to use pay phones to call Michele. What? I haven’t introduced you two yet? Please, forgive me. Reader, this is Michele. Michele, this is reader. Now, where was I? Oh yes, pay phones. Anyway, I decided to go to Barnes and Nobles to drink some cappuccino and do some browsing. While I was thus occupied, the urge hit me to call Michele. I exited the store, went over to the pay phone, and dialed Michele’s number. She was home! Three quarters later, I asked her if she could call me back because I was out of change. The number wasn’t on the phone, but that wasn’t a problem thanks to technology. Michele has caller I D. and, therefore, easily got the number.
Five minutes later, there was still no call from Michele and I was getting worried. I decided to drive over to Tops where I could get more change and call from inside where it was warmer. In Tops, there’s a pay phone on each side of the entrance. I went to the one on the left, took off my gloves, placed them on top of the phone, picked up the receiver, and put in a quarter. The damned thing got jammed. Now, remember, I was in the middle of a conversation with Michele 10 minutes ago and, by this point, my concern is really on the rise. Now I have a jammed pay phone coming between myself and the object of my desires. You might say that I was getting a little pissed off. So I slam back down the receiver and go over to the other phone (remember, my gloves are on top of the phone I just left.) and dial Michele again. All maimer of praise to the gods, and all manner of curses be heaped upon technology. She was home and hoping that I’d call back because the phone at Barnes and Nobles didn’t allow incoming calls. To sum up our conversation, I asked her if I could come over to her apartment and see her. No sooner had I been granted permission, then I was out the door and on the fly, glove-less and clue-less.
In summary, let’s review the causes and effects of my losing my new gloves. Under the category of causes you could go for the obvious and say, You’re really absentminded. lohn," or you could look a little closer, and dig out the indirect causes of my loss: The pay phone at Barnes and Nobles wouldn’t accept incoming calls so I went to Tops. To use the pay phone there,
I needed to take off my gloves and, thanks to the new, streamlined pay phones, J had to put my gloves on top of it. out of my line of sight. Then the damned Phone jammed, causing me to hurriedly abandon it and head for the other one. mally, Michele said I could come and see her so 1 ran out of the store in a urrY I think you’d have to agree with me that the indirect causes far out-weigh the direct causes, and they ’re much more interesting.
Now, what about the effects?
One obvious effect resulting from my loss is that 1 can expect to have co hands this winter. However, as we think about this problem, it may give ™ayto P°shive things in the future Like they say: “Cold hands, warm heart.”
1 a lot of luck, maybe I can get Michele to warm my hands and heart Ah. ause effect, what a tangled web you weave.
3^
Ibis peribus numquam redibus
Matt Sweet
I went to the shores of South Carolina After 1 graduated from University.
I was lost in the bog and trying to find my way out This is when 1 met the Sybil.
She was very old looking Even from the distance I was from her.
She lived in a large dark cave Along-side the one of many bogs In an unpopulated area near Columbia.
I asked her what my future was going to be like She looked at me and preceded to laugh at me She then paused, looked back and laughed again “Ibis peribus numquam redibus,” she said without emotion.
I shuddered by what the Sybil told me As she walked back into the damp cave.
The prophesy she foretold was a riddle Of which 1 could never understand unless I continnued my life.
Ibis peribus numquam redibus, could have two meanings.
One. that I would go on a journey: be killed and never ret’;™
Or, that I would go on a journey, would return and never be killed.
I could never find the Sybil again to find out what she meant.
In seven years, I have not found the answer.
Surely, 1 have been on a long ardous journey,
Surrounded by people who just don’t understand They see that 1 am a capable person.
Collecting A’s in school like 1 was in an alphabet factory,
I drive a car, don’t have any need for an assistant,
My homework is done by my pen alone, and I have no scribes or attendandants to do my homework for me.
I do it all with my own pen, my own typewriter, my own mind.
Am I going to die after this journey?
Or am I going to return after all this shortsightedness ends.
Surely, my journey has been long and painful,
But, I have grown from my journey,
MO
Where a weak man would have gone to insanity,
But I know that, even though I have a million strikes against me I still have a strong mind and a strong heart,
My mind is now focused on one thing.
It is Employment that is most important to me.
School will always be a second, but I will never get a grade below an A again.
School, to me, is an augmented form of exile.
1 am not being paid for my years I spend in school, So, it is not paid for my years I spend in school,
So, it is not appreciated by others as much.
I am not providing a service to benefit the people,
1 am rather, providing a benefit of my own Which ultimately doesn’t provide me with an income.
The Sybil was right.
The journey goes on.
What happens next?
Do I die?
Or do I return?
Ml
The Soul of Magic
The breath is kept in jaded spines Hoarded side lest it reveal And yield up self to artifice;
Sundered soul with hammers peeled Hollow-red, night-howl’s call Cowls even sleepless eyes When distempered iron collars Cry for sacked cities And raw spoils to be wrought;
Rumbled shaking unearths the Night.
Change about; charge the Seasoned alleyway through Cracked white plaster walls Of ancient pristinity and purpose Turn circular; swirling ocean Pools in which hardened pupils sail Through Chronos’ cornea to consume What is abstract of purpose and spheroid;
The fire of dreams
Secrets in motion as a rolling globe
In spatial continuity;
Wayward hands uknight the Earth
Iron kindled water blazes Smoke filled storm of war arises Hades’ stone grip cauterizes The cauldron swirl portends despair,
Bubble obscured thrash-form twists Wraith like within twilight catalyst Thunder cloud sears morning mist Darkened magnets meld with fair;
Faerie bound upon the bestial altar The athame descends as a pendulum Through dimensions withered and inconceived To resolve in order the broken revolution;
To rend the Night and Earth again.
----------r
ion Clark
Absent Waves
gerry carpenter
“I enjoy the beach, even though I have never been there,” she thought to herself.
“When I think about it, 1 feel as if I have lived there my whole life.”
I can see her, standing with her feet sunk into the warm sand, feeling each granule seeping between her toes, resting on their webs.
She notices the whales
singing, the dolphins
splashing, the horizon
floating
and quietly wonders why God would make such an awesome sight.
She sits while the tide rises and sweeps over her sandy feet waiting for the sun to go down, so the grunion will arrive.
As the sun sinks upon the rising ocean, it shines on her one more time and its light gleams off her gentle and soft body.
She feels as warm as any hot summer day.
I wish I were there.
M3
Still His Eden Keeps
Rebecca Fowler
The family dog, Oscar, starts to yap even before my friends ring the door bell. He is a French poodle that us kids “had to have” as Mom reminds us daily, as she fills his water dish and distributes his Kennel Ration. But we never dare tell her, once a day, that what we really asked for was a collie. 1 guess when the three of us kids said the word collie, Mom and Dad heard the word dog. So they talked it over for a couple of days, then answered our plea. Yes, we could own a dog. Unfortunately, when Mom and Dad said the word dog, the three of us had mental pictures of a gold and cream colored collie lovingly running, in slow motion, up to us. We were unable to hide our disappointment when Dad came home with a miniature, black, French poodle. I still think we should have named it Lassie.
1 know exactly who is on the other side of the door, standing on the front steps. It’s the same group of kids that has been picking me up every Friday night since school started three weeks ago. There are eight of us that hang out and walk around the neighborhood after daik. I'm not really sure why we walk around in the cool dark evenings I guess we all want to be together and get out of our parent's houses. We aren’t exactly the "Sharks” or the “Jets” but for our village it’s about as close as we’ll ever get.
There is something strange about walking around outside, on crisp fall nights. It’s like some bone deep instincts get stirred up in us. Take for example “hunt and gather " and “fight or flight”. Our main entertainment has been chucking rotten tomatoes at cars. This is where the old hunt and gather instinct awakens in our veins. About three of us girls go and raid a garden that we happen to be passing. We hand over the extra ripe harvest, that we just gathered, to the guys for ammo. Then they go and hunt for the perfect moving beast.
Last weekend, I guess you could say we went a little over the edge.
Instead of gathering the usual crop of soft oozing tomatoes, Kathy came out of a garden with an orphaned zucchini. We all really laughed until Chris flung it at a pick up truck traveling up the viaduct. The eight of us watched that zucchini fly high and far, then arch downward for the kill. We all decided then that Chris must be part Aborigine the way he handled that zucchini as if it were a boomerang. All of us heard the thud when that zucchini struck the pick up Then the truck’s tires let out a scream as the top layer of rubber was peeled off by the road. Here is where instinct number two kicks in: fight or flight. We scattered in eight different directions.
While trying to squeeze out of my front door without letting Oscar outside, I notice that something is very different tonight. Another tribesman. Johnny from the other neighborhood is in the middle of the usual clump of kids. Johnny, who returned to school after summer vacation with the longest hair, deepest tan and wearing the most faded jeans. Johnny from Earth Science. Johnny, who I
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deliberately sat one row to the left and two seats behind, so I could see him and the chalkboard without straining.
Mom is hollering something from the kitchen about staying out of trouble and not being too late. Here I am with a big home, a mom in the kitchen and a stupid dog that wants to follow me around. I am so bubble bath clean, I feel dirty. Everyone knows that Johnny’s mom left half his family during the summer. I’ve heard of the expression “all or nothing”. But half? Johnny and his dad were left behind. Kinda like the unwanted, forgotten vegetables we’ve been gathering to lob at cars.
The nine of us start to ramble towards the village Memorial Park. The girls usually sit on the benches and make jabs at the guys. The guys usually goof around with the phony cannons. No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep my eyes from looking over at Johnny as he sits down besides Lisa. He came all this way to be with Lisa. I hope I never told any of the girls that I live solely for my Earth Science class.
Someone mentions that maybe Johnny would like to join “Aussie Chris” and do a little target practice. Johnny is entertained by the idea, but I have a feeling he stopped throwing veggies at cars years ago. His neighborhood buddies were probably enjoying a smoke and a cold beer, right now, down at the dike. We all start to leave the park and Johnny slips his hand into mine.
This is not the bear paw mitten clasp of my dad. It is not the slender grasp of my mom Johnny gently weaves his fingers between mine and our palms are touching. He squeezes my lumd and nods his head at Steuben Street as my friends walk toward Chemung Street.
Alone, in silence, we are walking through the lacy shadows created by the streetlights and trees. 1 wonder if he knows that I think about him every morning when I pick out my school clothes. I want to tell him that he should never have been left behind to rot in the garden. All those hundreds of imaginary conversations that I have had with him in the past three weeks and now that we are together, I can’t Hunk of one complete sentence to say. It does not matter. I know that Johnny walked to my side of the village to be near me and to hold my hand. I know my friends are having a blast right now raiding someone’s garden and my mom is home doing crossword puzzles as she waits up for me.
Astonishment
This cannot be my house.
Just another Thanksgiving.
Smells,
Turkey, pumpkin pie, coffee and stuffing Same kind of smells and tastes for the past years and years.
Lying on the stiff couch, after stuffing my guts full,
I reach for the ugly red, fake leather,
alligator skin picture album.
Like I don’t know what old faded pictures are in that album.
Bored out of my mind,
I slowly open the dusty cover It cracks and creaks and smells musty.
Like an old forgotten library book.
Flipping though the pages,
I see images of my grandparents, during their courting years.
So young,
So happy.
Grandpa’s Army picture.
So handsome, yet sad.
My house?
In black and white?
Without the red Chevy Cavalier, red Chevy pickup,
the green Grand Prix or the black Toyota truck in the driveway?
No satellite dish, swing set or trampoline?
No garage, addition or porch?
No four wheelers parked on the hill?
An out house?
My grandmother leans down, Jennifer Clark Not saying a word,
everyone else piles around us.
All at once they had something to say. Stepping back, staring at the pictures.
1 watched Listened,
to all of the stories.
How many times?
Over and over again
Somehow.
this Thanksgiving was different.
1 will remember it, not for the turkey, stuffing,
or the runny pumpkin pie.
I will remember, forgotten memories.
Scratchy and the Spinster
Cliff McCauley
Scratchy Wilson, a mean spirited bully, is a lonely old man whose idea of calling on a friend involves bringing a gun along. He has no friends and there is a reason for it. Miss Brill a lonely old spinster with nothing but good intentions towards the world, also has no friends. There is a reason for that as well. Stephen Crane’s Scratchy Wilson in “ The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky”, and Katherine Mansfield’s title character in “Miss Brill” have one thing in common. Neither one fits in with the rest of the world. It’s as if the world were a tuxedo and they are a pair of brown shoes. One thinking she was a part of society, and was not, and the other did his best to keep the world at arms length. One who my heart went out to, and the other I have no sympathy for at all.
Miss Brill is a sympathetic character, who we can all relate to at some point in our life. Loneliness does not only affect the loners, it invades the lives of all of us from time to time. However, Miss Brill is not just lonely, she is a voyeur at the window of life. On Sundays she spends the afternoon at the town concert at what she believes is her “special” seat, but the fact is, the seat is “reserved” for her because there is no one who wants to sit with her. Not because she is an unlikable person, it’s just that she never let anybody know her. Since she thought that she was a part of society, she never actually ventured into society. If she showed no interest in befriending people they would justifiably leave her to herself. In the end of “Miss Brill” she discovers the truth about her relationship with the rest of the world. It is a terribly painful realization, that she is not one of the people in the park, but merely watching the people in the park. Is she sentenced to the rest of her life in isolation? I don’t believe so, because the painful truth of her past will motivate her to change that situation for the future She is a thoughtful and intelligent person and has the ability to do, what is one of the hardest things for a human being, that is change a flawed part of her character. Making a big change in our personality is difficult for us to do, because it requires some painful self evaluation. Basically we have to find our past as invalid, and that is a huge hurdle I believe that Miss Brill has the insight and strength of character to succeed, because she is fundamentally a good person who no longer wants to occupy that “special” seat on Sunday afternoon.
On the other hand we have Scratchy Wilson, a mean spirited, bullying fool. He believes he has friends, but he has none. He is a quiet meek man when he is sober who “wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the barkeep tells the traveling salesman when they find out that Scratchy is on the warpath. He goes on to say “ when he’s drunk he’s a terror,” shooting up the town and intimidating anyone who has the unmitigated gall to cross his path. Some might romanticize Scratchy by saying he is just a big galloot who is nostalgic for the
old days, but I can’t see him in that light. It’s been my experience that bullies feed on the smell of fear. Intimidating people is not just a game, it sustains them and makes them feel important. They are scared people and find that scaring and sometimes hurting people makes them feel like they are not alone in their fear. Basically they are cowards, and the ones who are bullies, only when they are drunk, are the biggest cowards of the breed. Mean while back at the saloon, the "man of bottles” explains to the drummer, as they cower behind the bar, “that when Scratchy is on the war-trail we hunt our holes— naturally ” This is exactly what a man like Scratchy is shooting for (no pun intended). People like that don’t have the insight, fortitude, or desire to change. They are the proverbial old dogs of society, there is no teaching them new tricks. If there is, then it has to be proven over the long haul and not just
one incident at the end of one day.
At the end of “Miss Brill” she has a painful revelation that requires intelligent thought and the ability to do some serious soul searching. Then the opportunity to overcome presents itself. In the end of “The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky,” Scratchy walks away from a confrontation with Sheriff Potter dazed and confused, not because of thoughtful insight but because the Sheriff was married and there was something new added to the equation. Besides, the Sheriff never cowered before him, and he couldn’t bully the sheriff the way he could the rest of the town. I find it hard to believe that this was a realization for him, more like a monkey wrench thrown in the works. The next time he gets drunk he will be out bullying people again.
So, the only thing I can see where they are alike is in the fact that they are both social outcasts. I do not see the same conclusion being drawn by both of these characters. I only see the possibility of change for “Miss Brill,” and not much of a possibility of change for Scratchy Wilson.
Highway of Procrastination
Megan Maslar
Steering the wheel of the rundown station wagon. With my foot forever on the accelerator,
I venture out.
First, 1 see a dominating circle of red Hanging down..
Yes, l
definitely need to stop procrastinating
When it is time to unclutter a room That is barely walkable.
Or a term paper demands to be started Early,
Nothing could be worse than waiting	waiting
waiting.
Then,
I am given the more submissive green light
Hie results are dearly foreseeable;
No more wading through a sea of long past calenders Restful nights and peaceful days;
No dangers of missing imposed or self-set deadlines
Dreams are only dreams, though A granite wall lies straight ahead.
Which to do first? Which to do first?
Room 75	OR	paper 400
I resolve to turn right,
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Knowing that the road would be full of rocks and mud.
While the other would be a sun-kissed Sunday drive.
First comes the newspaper romping with the dog something to wear electronic card-Playing
Realizing that I had not let my former decision have the right of way, 1 drag out the materials,
The ten hour articles from the library, the mutilated notebook,
The barely working pen.
In the highlights of the road, I am stuck.
The caked mud snares my weather- beaten tires
And the monstrous rocks prevent me from reaching my destination
Maybe I should have turned left at that wall
Peeking out, I see a sign: speed limit 10
With the gas dribbling out,
Mud-wracked eyes shutting.
All thoughts of that first red light
Yes, I
definitely need to stop procrastinating.
S\
Country Setting
Virginia J. Sepelak
Walking down the dusty dirt road with the sweet aroma of spring phlox drifting across my nose stirring my senses and tiger lilies dotting the roadside spring green with their yellows and oranges Lowing of the cows as they graze in the distance Putt Putt
of the tractor moving along Clink Clunk of the occasional rock plucked
by the plow’s fingers as it turns over the rich, wet earth The strong pungent odor of maneur as the bams are cleaned and spread on the fields penetrates and mixes with other sweet smells CAW CAW
The sound of crows and blackbirds swooping for the fresh turned worms An occassional screech of the hawk as he swoops down for his prey Whinnies of the horse as he kicks up his heels, freedom., after his long confinement

A rabbit hops out in front of me from the brush A squirrel scampers out too startling each other as we pass
trying to ingnore the other’s presence On a rock lies a lazy, green, grass snake baking himself in the warm rays of sunlight In the distance a buzzing., growing louder louder Stopping, looking, expecting to see an angry swarm swooping down Louder, nerve wracking as 1 look for a place to hide
COVER......WHERE......WHERE CAN 1 HIDE?
It’s becoming a rumble Shaking
the tranquil atmosphere with its sound Stopping, looking, turning around to see A large black blob coming toward me Closer Closer taking on form
A swarm of Harleys coming over the rise
S3
Cracked
Cherie Stull
Anna and her Mend Georgie were sitting in the Lynnhaven Mall food court eating french Mes. It was Friday afternoon, and they were hanging out as they always did on Friday after school. Anna was fifteen and Georgie was sixteen. At this age Anna had a lot of opinions, but about this she was right. A jagged crack was all that remained of her spirit Her mother was dead. A suicide statistic at thirty-nine. Her father may as well have been dead as he was preserving himself through pickling. Anna had dark circles under her eyes from staying up late to make sure her father didn’t drop a lit cigarette in his drunken stupor and bum down the house.
She fell asleep in class, and her grades were slipping. The teachers apologized for her troubles and gave her B’s and C’s. They weren’t supposed to know what had happened. How did they find out, she wondered silently over her Mes. She wished they would just leave her the hell alone, even brand her a slacker and forget she was there. It was their nosy pity that weakened her
resolve and made her want to give in and cry. Anna Med every day to steel herself against the pain.
She supposed that her mother had gone to the nether world for what she had done, but Georgie was sure that God would understand.
“It was genetic,” she explained, “and that’s God’s department, his fault.”
Anna wasn’t sure, but she didn’t argue. This death had confused all of her childhood beliefs.
The day Anna’s mother died she went into the bathroom and cut off all her hair, which had been a considerable length. She had read that it was a sign of mourning and it was all she could think of to do. Black became her signature color. Anna worked obsessively in the garden that had been her mother’s pride and joy. During the harvest season she built a small pyre in the
backyard and binned the fruits of her labor. As the smoke drifted into the sky Anna finally cried.
Now in late November with Christmas on the way things only seemed worse. Her father’s drinking was the only clue that he felt remorse for allowing his wife to swallow sixty-eight sleeping pills while he watched. Anna wanted to kill him every day, but he was all she had left. “But the mall is no place for tragic reminiscing,” she thought.
Georgie and Anna finished their Mes. They wandered through the mall, saying hello to Mends and giggling in the direction of cute boys. Some were with their mothers and then they laughed ouMght as the boys’ faces
turned red when their mothers asked, “Honey, do you want the superman boxers or briefs.”
When Georgie dropped Anna off, they found that her father was not home, and it didn’t appear that he would be. The two bottles of vodka that
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were in the Mdge were now gone. Given the all is clear sign, Georgie parked the car at the back of the house and came in. They watched a couple of movies and ordered pizza. They made prank phone calls to the Maytag repair man and
Mends from school.
In the dark coolness of late evening they slipped out onto the front porch. It was an old country house and little could be seen except for trees.
Anna despised drinking but she wasn’t opposed to the joint in Georgie’s purse (from her brother’s sock drawer as usual). There was no moon but thousands of stars. Georgie lit the small joint and inhaled. They smoked in silence for a few minutes. Anna waited for the Friday night question. Finally, Georgie spoke, “If you could experience one day in your life over again, what day would it be?” It was just the kind of question that Anna hated. The two sat in the quiet
pondering the answer.
“Well, you start,” said Anna.
“No I asked the question. You have to answer.”
Anna took a breath. “Ok. If I could relive one day I would relive the day of my mother’s death. I would stay home. I would make sure she didn’t have those pills. I would have called the ambulance. I would have done
everything dad should of done .”
“Anna, how could you have known?”
“I don’t know but I should have seen the signs. I mean I did know she had problems but, I didn’t...,I should have been watching more closely,” Anna said.
Anna replayed that morning in her mind. She had come downstairs for breakfast. Her mother had seemed almost cheerful. She had hummed “Mr. Sandman Bring Me a Dream”. How ironic that seemed now. She made coffee for Dad and was making his lunch when Georgie arrived to pick Anna up for school.
“Georgie was right there was no way 1 could have known she would get fed up for the last time that morning,” Anna thought. “I couldn’t have known,” Anna whispered.
Georgie looked at her carefully. “I think you look much better with long hair Anna.” Anna knew what she was saying but it was really hard to Hunk of moving on. For now she was content to sit on the porch looking at the night sky. She lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke in a deep sigh.
55
Hills Like White Elephants: A Variation
Melissa Dyer
I sat at the bar out side the valley of Ebro where my boyfriend and I had come for a small business trip. This trip to me would be nothing involving pleasure as the first year of our relationship had been. The sun that shone brightly upon the hills reflected that of a white elephant’s skin. I feel like the white elephant trodding through this whole trip. 1 am exactly like a while elephant and this thing that grows inside of me is as while as it can get. The express horn Barcelona would come soon and we would then go to Madrid for our business.
I took my summer hal off and looked at him He was so silent and solemn looking, I had to break the silence. “What should we drink?” 1 asked him.
“It’s pretty hot” he said back to me. I could tell he wasn’t listening to a word I was saying.
“Let’s drink beer.”
“Dos Cervesas,” he yelled to the bartender.
I looked at him for the longest time and wondered if I were not to go through with this, would he still be with me? I knew the answer to the question, and I no longer cared I looked across the hills again and heard myself saying, “They ’re lovely hills They really don’t look like white elephants ”
He looked at me indifferently and asked if I wanted another drink. This I could not pass up. I would rather pass out right now than wonder what was happening to our relationship, my life. Everything had happened so fast.
“All right,” I replied to him.
I expected him to say everything would be all right and all he could say to me was “The beer is nice and cool.”
I did not care if the beer was piss warm as long as it numbed me and my feelings. “It’s lovely,” is all I could say in reply to that. What else could I say.
Suddenly he said what I was hoping to hear but didn’t want to hear. He said to me, “It’s really an awfully simple operation, Jig. It’s really not anything. It’s just to let the air in.”
How does he know it’s simple? He sits there drinking his beer and can not feel what I am feeling. Why would he want to kill our relationship by killing something that is both of us combined? I couldn ’t even look at his face. I want him to love me still, but I know that without this operation, it would never be again. I stared at the banged up table legs until he spoke to me again.
“I know you wouldn’t mind it, Jig. It’s really not anything. It’s just to let the air in.”
How would he know how I was feeling, he hasn’t listened to me since we found out. I love him dearly but it doesn’t seem to hit him I can’t bear to speak to him. My voice is gone. I’m afraid to speak for I will burst out crying.
I am only nineteen and hardly ready for such an ordeal as this. My mother would never approve of what I was to do, and neither would I. But I will do it to
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please him and forever hate him for it. I didn t care what he had to say any more, I just let him talk.
He reassured me that everything would be fine if I just did this small thing. It’s not so small. I’m not ready to accept this. He is just casting off what should be sacred and a part of us. I love him so much but he is the wolf in sheep ’s clothing. I hear him say to me, “If you don’t want to do it you don’t have to.” It was such a lie The same statement was made that got us into this mess. He said we didn’t have to make love if 1 didn’t want to, but that really meant I’ll be very upset with you if we don’t. He lied to me then and he was lying to me now. If 1 did not go through
with this. 1 would be left behind and alone.
“I love you now. You know I love you.” He said to me as if 1 needed to be
persuaded anymore.
My head was spinning as he spoke I wished he would stop talking. The train would be here soon, and I would be gone. He could have what he wanted. He loves me now, but when that train comes we will leave together, when 1 come back I will be arriving alone I can handle it like I handle everything else. I just wish I could go away and not like this and stay with him my whole life. But now I hate him and there is no way I can get back what he wants to take away from me.
He said, “It’s ours.”
I knew in my heart that he was not speaking of the thing inside of me but of the earth in front of us; The very hills that appeared to be white elephants to me.
My Marbles
Grant Blackburn
I think I ’ve lost all the marbles in my bag.
The smallest to the largest of them all, clear blue aggies, and my lucky red striker, my one green marble that never gets bumped, my basher with just a slight twist of orange.
You don’t know what its like to be
alone
With no one to say you are going to be loved,
I can’t find my chalk, to help me draw the line. No more boundaries to confine my bag of tricks, No more walls to hide me from all my frights.
I’ve lost all my marbles and found all my fears.
51
Another Man’s Treasure
Characters
Charlie
Max
Alice
Three or four unidentified persons A young woman’s voice.
Props
Canopied booth with three tables arranged in a “U”
A can opener, book, radio, and flashlight
Kitchenette, place settings for two, biscuits, butter, stock pot. scissors, ads. Backyard scene featuring two houses separated by a picket fence.
A living room set scene, recliner. television, table, six-pack of beer
SCENE 1
There are several people mulling around a flea market. Two men who are
together are looking over a table of merchandise in a canopied booth; A
perfect picture of long time friends enjoying a morning out on a beautiful late summer day.
Max: 1 can’t believe Alice let you out this morning. I mean two outings in two days...not even twenty four hours, actually.
Charlie: Yeah....it sort of makes me nervous. She’s been after me since
spring to clean out the cellar and the garage. This is probably the last decent weekend of the summer.
Max: She didn’t remind you, right? I mean she forgot it probably.
Charlie: That woman forgets nothing and she can make you feel guilty without sayin’ anything, Max.
Max: Yeah. . .weU come on, snap out of the doldrums. You can face the music later. It’s not like that stuff will go away. 1 mean the garage and the cellar will still be there when you go home. So will Alice, heh, heh.. Anyway, you can do penance later sometime.
Charlie wanders a little bit further, looking quite melancholy if not a bit grim.
He picks up a piece of merchandise, shakes his head and tosses it back on the table. He turns back to Max.
Charlie: You know what Max? Life is just one big flea market.
Max: What do you mean by that, Charlie?
Charlie: Just that! A bunch of people wandering aimlessly, looking like a bunch of deer caught in the headlights, all confused and picking up a bunch of crap along the way.
Max: Gee, I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself.
Charlie: I mean it Max. Look at this rhinestone studded shoe hom with the initials on it. Twenty five dollars! What a rip off!
Max: Shoe horns are useful.
Charlie: You have never used a shoe hom in your life, Max. Rhinestones yet! Give me a break! Not to mention this stuff is way over priced.
Max: (Cautiously approaching the touchy subject) Yeah, well Charlie, 1 think what's eatin you was way over priced too. That young chick you tried to pick up at the bowling alley last night, that is.
Charlie: (Totally ignoring that comment) They just want to sell you something that’s way over priced that you would never get any use out of.
Max: Yeah, well you’re right about that Charlie. She was way over priced and at your age you’d never get the use out of her either. Haw! Haw! Haw! Charlie: (agitated) Knock it off Max! You have a one track mind!
Max: (sulking a little) Actually, yours has been pretty one track ever since last night and I was just trying to de-rail a few of those thoughts by bringing you here.
Charlie: (Still evading the obvious) For crying out loud! Now, who would need a hunting knife with a handle that unscrews and holds a saw, matches, and... toothpicks?
Max: I don’t know. If I was a hunter, I might. Hey, it even has a compass on the handle.
Charlie: 1 can see you now, Max. You down Bambi, grab the knife, dress him out and make a fire; Then propping yourself up against a big tree with your last cold one, you lean back casually to pick your teeth!
Max: (Wistfully) Yeah.. . sounds great to me.
Charlie: Right! You’d more than likely get lost in spite of the compass and use the toothpicks to prop your eyelids open so you don’t go to sleep and freeze to death.
Max: (innocently) Either way it would come in pretty handy.
Charlie: (holding up a can opener) Now this would be a useful item.
Max: What for? I mean you can buy one in any grocery store.
Charlie: How many times have you gone on a cookout and didn’t have a can opener for the beans?
Max: Lots of times. But only because I forgot it, not because I didn’t own one.
Charlie: I still think it’s crazy. Look at this quilt for five hundred dollars. Max: Hey, I’ll bet Alice would love to have that.
Charlie: Alice would put it on a rack and shake the dust off once or twice a year. How functional is that?
Max: Still, she might forget all about you not cleaning the garage and cellar.
Besides that, women don’t do everything just because it’s functional. They do it because they’re women.
Charlie: Max, I can’t see it! This whole flea market routine is just like life, 1 tellya! All this is junk! Just junk! Nobody else wants it, so they bring it here and ask all kinds of ridiculous money for it. They make believe it’s important to them but it’s not. It’s junk!
Max: Well Charlie, you know what they say. One man's junk is another guy’s treasure.
They move to the third table. Charlie s agitation is more obvious because of his effort to hide it by his feigned attempt at being interested in the merchandise there.
Charlie: Yeah, look at this radio. (He pauses, scowling) It looks ..familiar....Wait a minute! It is familiar! That’s mine!
Max: Don’t look now Charlie, but this flashlight looks a lot like the one I used to borrow from you, too.
Charlie: Gimme that!! Wait a minute ..I’ll be....That’s my sci-fi book collection over there! What’s my stuff doin’here?!
Max: Looks like your treasure was Alice’s junk, Charlie. 1 don’t think you have to worry about cleaning the cellar or garage any more.
Charlie: (Truly perplexed) Why’d she do that Max? Alice never has touched
my stuff before. She wouldn’t dare. 1 mean she knows this stuff is important to me.
Max: Maybe she thought you were collecting too much junk on your way through life Charlie. (He laughs lightly.)
Charlie: You’re a big help! How about lending me a few bucks so 1 can get this stuff out of hock.
Max, a true friend, pulls out his wallet and the lights fade as the curtain falls. SCENE 2
A middle aged blonde woman is sitting, facing the audience at a small kitchen table, humming to herself while cutting coupons from ads. At either end of the table are place settings. She hears a key in the latch and begins to rise from her chair.
Alice: Hi Charlie. How was the flea market? Did you buy anything new? Charlie: (Mockingly) No, I didn’t buy anything new. There’s nothing new at flea markets, just the same old junk!
Alice: (Patiently, trying again) Well, did you buy anything interesting then? Charlie: (Sarcastically) As a matter of fact I did, Alice. I bought a nice can opener, some book collections, a radio, and a flashlight.
Alice: (With sincerity) That’s nice Dear. Are you ready to eat dinner yet? Charlie: (Absently) No. I mean yes! What’s for dinner?
Alice: I made a nice beef stew. It was such a beautiful, brisk evening. I
thought a stew and some home made biscuits would taste so good. Don’t you think so?
1*0

Charlie: (Somewhat disarmed, he studies Alice) Yeah, yeah....stew would be good I’ll wash up.
Charlie exits side stage. Alice hums to herself as she ladles stew into the bowls and sets them on the table. Charlie returns and sits down. He grabs the butter and begins spreading his biscuit, he takes a huge bite. Alice is just sitting
down.
Alice: You must be really hungry. Didn’t you and Max have any lunch today. Charlie: As a matter of fact we didn’t. We spent all we had at the flea
market.
Alice: (Enthusiastically) My goodness! You two must have hit the jackpot! Charlie looks angrily across the table and studies Alice while she busily butters a biscuit. Alice looks up and innocently asks:
Alice: Is anything wrong. Dear? You look upset Did you bum your mouth
on the stew.
Charlie: Why Alice? Why did you take my stuff to the flea market?
Alice: What are you talking about, Charlie? I didn’t take any of your stuff to the flea market.
Charlie: You didn’t!? Then tell me this! Why was my stuff there?! Did it just get up and walk to the flea market?!
Alice: I did take some old things that were laying around in the garage and the cellar, but not anything you use. I mean nothing important, anyway.
Charlie: (On his feet and yelling now) How dare you decide what is important in my life Alice?! How would you know what’s important to me? Alice: (Cowering, but with a steady voice) I did clean the basement and the garage last week and I only threw out what was broken. I took the rest to the flea market. They were just things you never even look at or else things you had two or more of. I didn’t think you needed them anymore.
Charlie: (Really angry now) You didn’t think I needed them anymore. (Then with real venom) Well maybe 1 don’t need you anymore! What do you think about that?!
Alice stares wearily at her soup bowl and Charlie stomps out the door, slamming it as he goes. The curtain falls.
SCENE 3
The curtain rises and Charlie is leaning on a picket fence talking to Max who's standing on the opposite side.
Charlie: The nerve of that woman! Just acting all sweet and innocent, like it was no big deal. She knew what she was doing!
Max: (consolingly) Charlie, she probably didn’t mean anything at all by it. Charlie: (Snorts) 1 doubt that! She probably did it just to get her point across that I didn’t clean the garage and basement.
Max: Charlie, Alice isn’t like that. I mean she doesn’t have a vindictive bone in her body. Anyway, is it such a big deal? You got the stuff back.
lx> I
1
Charlie: (pouting) Easy for you to say. It wasn’t your things that ended up at the flea market.
Max: Be thankful she didn’t just give it away or throw it out. Look on the
bright side, at least she was resourceful enough to make some money from that stuff.
Charlie: (sarcastically) Are you forgetting who bought it, dummy? Maybe you'd like to contribute to Alice's resourcefulness and forget about me paying you back what 1 owe you for getting the stuff out of hock
Max: I’ m sure Alice will be more than willing to give you back the proceeds. She’s a pretty understanding person. Charlie.
Charlie: (Pouting again and looking deep in thought as he looks at the
ground) Well, she didn't seem to understand that she had no business touching my stuff.
Max: Right....(Changing the redundant subject) Hey Charlie, ya wanna go
bowling tonight?
Charlie: (still in deep thought, looking far away) Huh? No...no Max, 1 think I’ll stay home and watch the game on TV tonight.. .have a few beers, and just. ..kick back a little.
Max: Okay, Charlie. See ya sometime tomorrow, maybe.
Charlie walks away looking rather dazed and Max just turns and walks toward his house as the curtain falls.
SCENE 4
The curtain rises and Charlie is laying back in his recliner snoring. Four or five empty beer bottles are on the table next to him. The TV is on but the
station has gone off the air. Charlie begins to mumble as his head moves from side to side. He is dreaming.
Charlie: (mumbling) Life is just one big flea market.
Max: (voice only) She’s way over priced Charlie and at your age you’d never get the use out of her.
Charlie: (voice only) Nobody wants this stuff. They just bring it here and make believe it’s important to them.
Alice: (voice only) It was all stuff you never look at Charlie. It didn’t look important to me.
Max: (voice only) Looks like your treasure was Alice’s junk, Charlie. Maybe she thought you were collecting too much junk on your way through life,
Charlie.
Max's chuckle, Alice's laughter, and a young woman s laughter can be heard.
Charlie: (shouting angrily) I don’t need you anymore! I don’t need any of you anymore!
Charlie abruptly opens his eyes, shakes his head, and wipes the sweat from his forehead.
Charlie: (muttering to himself) I must have been dreaming.
Charlie looks around the room and not seeing Alice, walks to the bedroom doorway. He walks back to his chair and checks his watch. We hear a key in
a lock and Alice enters through the outside door. Charlie looks at her. They study one another for a few seconds, saving nothing.
Charlie: (Challenging) It’s two A.M. Where have you been?
Alice: (Sidestepping the question, answers coolly) Oh, is it? I guess 1 lost
track of time.
Charlie: (relentlessly) Obviously. . .where have you been?
Alice: Out, Charlie. 1 just needed to go out and think a little.
Charlie: (trying to conceal his anxiety) About what? Think about what?
Alice: About what you said to me Charlie. About you not needing me
anymore
Charlie: (nonchalantly) Oh that. . . .! was just mad about you taking my stuff to the flea market.
Alice: Yeah, well I thought about it a lot. I thought about us a lot, Charlie. I decided I’m going to leave.
Charlie: (Impatiently) Aw, Alice, you know you aren’t going to leave.
We’ve been together too long for that.
Alice: That's just it Charlie. We’ve been together a long time and I’m just like those things 1 took to the flea maiket. You don’t even notice me....or take care of me the way a man should a wife. You'd never even miss me until I
was gone.
Charlie: Come on Alice. You know I didn't mean what I said, and you don't mean what you’re saying either.
Alice: (M'ith resolute calm) No. Charlie, you’re wrong about that 1 do mean what I’m saying.
Charlie: (Opening another beer) Alice, get some sleep on it. You’ll feel better tomorrow. Things will look different in the morning.
Alice sighs and shaking her head goes into the bedroom. As Charlie drinks his
beer the curtain falls.
SCENE 5
Charlie is calling over the back fence.
Charlie: Max! Hey Max! Max, come here!
Max: (walking over to the fence) Yeah Charlie, what 's up?
Charlie: (His head is down and he’s shaking it in disbelief). She’s gone
Max ...Alice is gone.
Max: Well, what did you expect, Charlie?
Charlie: (angrily) And just what do you mean by that, Mr. Know-it-all?! Max: You can’t vetbally beat on somebody like that, Charlie, for years and years and expect them to take it forever.
Charlie: (Shocked at his friend’s candor) What do you mean by that?
Max: Just that. Charlie. When was the last time you paid her half as much attention as you paid that girl at the bowling alley the other night?
Charlie: Come on man, she’s my wife.... Anyway, what would you know
about it?
L$>
m
Max: (Unruffled he cuts him off) That's just it Charlie, she's your wife and she deserves better You don’t take people who love you for granted and you don’t treat them like ...like junk!
Charlie: Well who needs you, man?! Some kind of friend you are! Thanks for the encouragement.
Max: Yeah, well just remember this, Charlie, one man's junk is another man’s treasure.
Charlie turns his hack to walk awav and hesitates as the light of dawning crosses his face. He turns and catches sight of Alice standing in the doorway of Max's house. As he stands in disbelief, the curtain falls.
THE END
G>4
Women Have No Wilderness
Melissa S. Dyer
“Women have no wilderness in them,"
My father would say.
He watches the fishing video on TV,
Every hunting season is a vacation To relax in a padded tree stand With his head against the tree.
A big ten point enters the clearing,
Crunching brown leaves to get his attention.
He aims and shoots.
Puts the deer in the old truck.
Brings it to the butcher to cut the rack off for his trophy room.
I don’t enjoy Field and Stream magazine,
But I love to walk barefoot in creeks Until the mud squishes between my toes.
And crayfish brush against my ankles.
1 walk in the woods.
My bare feet pounding on the cool dirt In the heat of the warmest summer To wrestle the berry patch for Wild blackberries to make my father a pie.
My father enjoys the taste of blackberry pie,
Hand picked with my pricked fingers,
He enjoys eating it,
I enjoy making it.
The warm wild blackberries slither down his throat.
1 guess there is wilderness in my father, but no wilderness in me?
OS’
#<
A Day In My Life
Marie Cazorla
Things haven’t been the same around my house since my dad left town. Oh, sure, everything looks the same-newspapers strewn around the living room back issues of the 77 ' Guide and People magazine piled in every comer, tons of dishes in the sink But things feel different. When I come home, which is a rare event, I don't sense any tension or hostility. My mom is either out working the late shift at Joe's, the comer restaurant to make ends meet or sleeping off a less than sober night I don’t have any brothers or sisters, or pets for that matter. Some people might get lonely in this type of situation, but not me. I’d rather be by myself.
The end of summer is coming way too fast for me. I don’t mind school but I hate having such a boring routine. I love how carefree and easy summer is. Every day I wake up and have the whole day to do whatever I want to go wherever I feel, to think a thousand new thoughts and experience a thousand new feelings. A couple days ago I went for a walk and ended up in some thick dark woods. I stayed there for hours, exploring every' last inch of nature. I always am amazed at the surprises that hide in nature. Just the little things, like neat bugs, or a strange patch of moss. It makes me think of how much there is out for me to discover.
I have never been out of my hometown. Not even for a vacation. My family ’s idea of a vacation was always going to my grandmother’s house for a Fourth of July picnic. My grandma and aunt and uncle live in town, and we’d get together and celebrate Independence Day, which was ironic for me because I have yet to experience freedom (in the sense that I would like). These ‘’vacations” would always end 15) in some stupid argument caused primarily because everyone was drunk. No one ever cared if I drank despite the fact that, by law, I can’t. No one seemed to notice.
This particular day, I feel like some company I walk over to Susan’s house. She’s this girl that I know only because we live fairly close to one another. I wouldn’t call her a friend, but we usually have fun when we get together. So I walk over there. She lives in this one-story white house that needs a new paint job. The lawn is overrun with weeds and there are usually stray cats hanging around the garbage cans. I walk in and find Susan sitting on the couch with some neighborhood guys. There are beer cans laying around and everyone looks pretty wasted.
“Hey guys, what’s going on?” I ask.
It looks like it’s taking some effort for them to answer me.
“Not too much,” Susan finally replies. “Want a beer?”
I take one from the fridge and sit in the floor. The television is on some old movie, but no one is paying too much attention anyway. Things stay this way for awhile. We stare at the tv. and drink beer. I am beginning to feel a bit numb when one of the guys says we should spice things up around here and packs a bong. We pass it around and he packs another...and another. ..until he has no more. I start to zone out. My eyes are facing the tv. but I am unaware of what I’m watching. 1
start to feel really tired. I decide that I’ve had enough of being around people and so I’ll go home
1 don’t think anyone notices when 1 leave. When I get home, my mom is out. I am so tired but I have to eat. 1 feel like I haven’t eaten in days. I look around the kitchen and find that all we have is Cheese Puffs and beer. Nothing else. I grab a handful and a beer and go sit on the porch. It’s starting to get dark out. and cold, although it’s only seven o’clock (a sure sign that summer is winding down). I light a cigarette and watch the cars drive by. My mind wanders and I find myself thinking of my father. I wish so bad that he would pull up in the driveway, in a nice car, after a day at work (at a good job). We would go inside and have a great (firmer that my mom had prepared and talk about our upcoming vacation.
I snap back to reality when I see headlights in my direction. My mom is being helped up the driveway by some people I don’t know (but I presume she met at a bar). They get her to the porch and then leave.
“C’mon mom,” 1 say. helping her up. “Let’s go inside.”
The Stairs
Colin Davis
He sees her from the bottom of the stairs. Wearing a short smirk and a shorter skirt. Beaming green eyes inviting him up to her place. Narrow and crooked steps at one time covered with something resembling carpet.
Smell of clove incense hitting him in the face. Her place was small and oozed of seventies retro.
He saw her from the bottom of the stairs.
Slender waist shaped for a pair of arms.
So very different but so much akin.
Lingering perfume and painted toenails Hours spent discovering each other.
They sat at the top of the stairs and talked.
For him talking to her felt right
The incense had burned out and the stairs were
still crooked.
The Personals
dorie L Robinson
A single, white, non-smoker,
(As I started with some doubt)
A female student 46.
Enjoys some dining out.
I’m 6’ tall, an armful.
Long brown hair and big green eyes.
Kind and caring, honest sensitive.
Will answer all replies.
I do not seek the great outdoors Long walks don't make me swoon.
Let’s cuddle up and watch Dale Earnhardt Sunday afternoon.
I’d like a guy who is employed. Appreciates good cooking.
And if you only have one head To me you’ll be good looking.
You must be single, kids okay,
A sense of humor's nice.
And if you’re into varicose veins Then you’ve just been blest twice.
Seek man who’ll wash my hair for me Then gently comb it through.
Who’ll slow dance in my dining room While singing, “Only You”.
A world of ecstasy awaits Come, let us enter in it It’s really quite a bargain At one ninety-nine a minute.
The Soldier In Me
Shawna Hoyt
Still here in 1998, the war is still on, with very little retreat within the last few months.
I can remember when the first battle took place, in an efficiency.
Hardly enough room for war, but enough room to let the echoes of fire bounce from between the 32 by 32 foot barricade.
We are now in a larger battlefield and the enemy is closing in.
the shots are still continuously painfully hitting my armored vest making me
weaker and weaker.
Even though only a few shots had actually penetrated through my vest.
I was then and still am very weak.
Throughout this war many vague treaties were interrupted when the two of opposite sides were united.
There were a few days, but not too many when I could go behind enemy lines and the sounds of laughter would fill the battle ground.
For a few moments all the sadness, loneliness, fear and dismay would all seem
to go away.
I haven’t seen or felt this way in quite sometime.
1 was just a civilian when the war first started, but now I am a veteran.
A veteran of many unmerciful battles all of which have been unresolved.
The enemy has not yet given up.
At certain times I would be ready to retreat with my brittle, frayed white flag held tightly in my hand.
But the enemy would continue shooting at my vest.
I do not try to retreat anymore.
LOVE IS WAR!
Essaying the Miracle
Grant Blackburn
In explaining Hume's critique of the belief in miracles, we must first agree upon the definition of a miracle. The Webster Dictionary defines a miracle as: a supernatural event regarded as to define action, one of the acts worked by Christ which revealed his divinity an extremely remarkable achievement or event, an unexpected piece of luck. Therefore, a miracle is based on one's perception of experiences, what one sees. It is based on an individual's own reality, and the faith in which he or she believes in. It is based on interior events such as what we are taught and exterior events, such as what we hear or see for ourselves.
When reading Hume's view of a miracle, he interprets or defmes a miracle as this: “A miracle.” he states, "is a violation of the laws of nature, an event which is not normal to mankind.” Hume explains when he says. “Nothing is esteemed as a miracle, if it has ever happened in the common course of nature. It is no miracle that a man seemingly in good health should die on a sudden." Hume states that this death is quite unusual, however, it seemed to happen naturally. He could only call it a true miracle if this dead man w ere to come back to life. This would be a miraculous event because such an experience has not yet been observed. In this, his view of a miracle would be true. Hume discredits the belief in a miracle merely because it goes against natural law.
Hume defines the laws of nature to be what has been "uniformly” observed by mankind, such as the law of gravity. He views society as being liberal in what it considers to be a miracle. He gives us four ideas to support his philosophy in defining a true miracle. These points lead us to believe that there has never been an established miraculous event. Hume’s first reason in contradicting a miracle is that in all of history there has not been a miraculous event with a sufficient number of witnesses. He questions the integrity of the witnesses and the reputation in which they hold in society. If their reputation holds great integrity, only then can we have full assurance in the testimony of men (he takes note to define them as "men”). Hume is constantly questioning the proof for miracles. He asks questions such as this: Who is qualified? Who has the authority to say who qualifies? As he asks the questions we can see there are no real answers In this case, it tends to stretch the validity of the witnesses to the miracle.
Hume’s second reason in contradicting the validity’ of a miracle is that he views all of what we choose to accept or not accept through past experience as relative to what history dictates to us. Also, he tends to discredit an individual by playing on their consciousness or sense of reality. An example of this is the individual's need for “excitement” from miracles. Even the individual who can’t enjoy the pleasure will believ e in a miracle.
regardless of the possibility of a miracle. This leads the individual to feel a sense of belonging and pride. These individuals tend to be the followers within society, and tend to believe faster than the leaders. With no regard to the miracle’s validity, the individual tends to lose sense of their own differentiation between fantasy and reality because miracles lead to such strong temptations
As humans we tend to try to gain attention, and to gossip of the unknown. Because of emotions and behavior, Hume tends to believe there have been many forged miracles. His third reason in discrediting the belief in a miracle is testimony versus reality. Hume states, “It forms a strong presumption against all supernatural and miraculous events, that they are observed chiefly to abound among ignorant ancestors; or if civilized people has ever given admission to any of them, that people received them from these barbarous ancestors, who transmitted them with that inviolable authority, which always attends perceived opinions." Anyhow, many of the miraculous events which happened in the past couldn’t be considered a miracle in today’s world, or at any other period. The reality most people believed in at that period can be considered lies or exaggerations as a result. Figure such beliefs as spontaneous generation, alchemy, and the theory of “Aither” (the mysterious fifth element that came as did the other beliefs from pre-Renaissance dark ages ) Hume discredits the miracle because of the time period in which the miracle is taking place, the mentality, or the reality of individuals at that given time. Hume suggests that during certain times in history we are told of miraculous accounts of travelers. "'Because we as individuals love to wonder, there is an end to common sense, and human testimony, in these circumstances, loses all pretensions to authority .” The final point Hume gives to discredit the validity of a miracle is that there must be a number of witnesses to validate the miracle. “So that not only the miracle destroys the credit of testimony, but the testimony then destroys itself.” This basically means that the witnesses must all give the exact same testimony of the facts of the event which could be rehearsed testimony or mass hypnotic suggestion. Hume finds difficulty proving any individual’s veracity, as well as difficulty detecting absolute truth at any point in history. If it is trusted to society through debate, rumors, and man’s ideas, it tends to be difficult to gauge the validity of the miracle.
Hume states a few events which many believe are miracles, are indeed not. He discredits many of these miracles through his critiques. I have chosen to illustrate two “so-called” miracles from the New American Bible and to show how Hume would view these miracles. The stories are of Noah’s Ark and The Burning Bush. The story of Noah’s Ark took place when the Hebrew God began to realize how great man’s wickedness on earth had become. He began to regret that he created man on earth. The Lord decided the only way to rid the world of wickedness would be to destroy all men, and all living creatures on the earth. The only people
1\
which he would not destroy were to be Noah and his blood. He also would save a pair of animals of each species. The rest were to be cleansed from the earth. The Lord requested Noah to build a ark. and explained exactly how it was to be made. Noah supposedly spent six hundred years of his life building the ark. When the ark was finally complete The Lord told Noah it was time to gather the selected few, as the floods were about to come.
These floods lasted foity days and forty' nights, (in addition to the 600 years he spent building the ark. Forty days and nights is directly translated to mean "a long time.” This time frame raises some skepticism.) The floods wiped out all creatures on earth except those on the ark. In the six hundred and first year of Noah’s life the floods stopped and the earth began to dry. Noah then built an altar to the Lord and choosing from every clean animal he offered sacrifice on the altar.
As God states “Never again will I doom the earth because of man. since the desires of man s heart are evil from the start ( A tie to manicheanism perhaps ), nor will 1 ever strike down all living beings, as I have done.” In deciding upon whether this is a valid miracle in Hume's opinion of miracles. I believe he would consider it to be a miracle but would have a hard time validating it. The reasons in which he would criticize the validity within the testimony would be testimony versus the reality. To further support the theory he would argue the time period in which the miracle had taken place. And would find it difficult to believe without a reasonable doubt. There is a question to whether it would be lies or exaggerations. Furthermore, it could not possibly be a validated miracle considering the amount of men in which witnessed the event. As well as questioning the integrity of the witnesses. Although this miracle was an act of God we can still question the validity of our ancestors or God for that matter. Hume would not be satisfied with the integrity of the individuals, nor with the amount of witnesses at the given time. Therefore we can only view thic as a miracle depending upon our own individual perceptions of what we believe to be true. This leads to a non-uniform event since we as individuals hold different beliefs of what we hold as true
The second miracle which I will discuss was that of Moses and the burning bush. As Moses was working in the fields, Megarax, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in fire flaming out of the holy bush. Almost amazing the bush was full of flames but was yet not consumed. As he walked closer he heard the voice, the voice of God telling Moses he was the chosen one to take the Israelites out of Egypt away from the cruel hands of the Egyptians. In disbelief that he was the chosen one, he set forth on his journey to Egypt with God watching over him and leading the way. As Moses leads the Israelites out of Egypt he comes to the Red Sea with the Egyptians close behind As the Bible explains the miracle, it takes place with the Red Sea parting, letting the Israelites flee to freedom. As the Egyptians were crossing the sea it “imparted" and let them drown within the waters of the sea. In justifying whether Hume would discredit this
miracle he would definitely see how one may say it is a miracle, but again would have a hard time validating the testimony of the miracle. Again we see the pattern of the fact that there is no one of high standing to testify for the event. We can only view this as a truthful experience through our belief in God and the Bible. It is what we are taught to believe through religious texts, and at worship in the House of the Lord. Preconceived belief is all we have for validity.
In conclusion, a miracle is actually based on an individual’s own perception of past and present experiences. The belief in a miraculous event tends to have no real evidence through man’s hope, it tends to be something better through our expectations. I can not debate the belief of a miracle. There is no right or wrong belief. It is viewed through our own individual perception and faith, our existence and sense of reality.
Cherie Stull
Yes. a thousand times She would love him, forever.
She had to give him up Desire your sister's husband?
She had to put him out of her mind.
To sleep
She felt hollow
Nausea.
an icy feeling of grief a terrible cold, flowed
over
her
wool robe, heavy cloak, slippers, two shawls No good
Pedro spoke of marriage
She worked on the marriage bedspread
and wept.
Furiously Not that night,
nor many others,
for as long as she lived She could not free herself from that cold.
—
A.
Woods
Ian Hill
As I came to the edge of the woods,
I peered cautiously out into the world.
It was a place of old for me a remnant of painful reality of memories driven out by my lonely sanctity.
I had left it all behind so long ago never looking back
but always watching over my shoulder
and waiting
for them to come.
It should have never been I had no right to act in that way but so much was at risk my love, my honor, my dignity
Now I live with myself through the scorching summers and the quiet, icy-aired nights always reading the stars and hearing the whispering stream
I can never return
only watch this one time
across the field
with its center tree
and its long grass
as the rolling autumn clouds
start to make their way
to my home in the woods.

Spring Woods
Sue Putney
I’ve heard it said that man comes to love The ground where he lives.
All winter, I watched these woods.
Now I understand.
On their edge, saplings arranged by the wind.
Slender tots, stretching toward the sun.
Growth aided by mild breezes and rains.
Bark toughened by winter winds,
Young complexions already scarred.
1 wander a maze of maple, pine, and oak,
Legs brushing weed flags bent by breezes.
Briars and field seeds hitchhike on my jeans.
My ears fill with the absence of sound.
The moist smell of new life pervades.
At its core, a clearing. Blue sky filters in.
Troops of white mushrooms encircle moss-covered rocks Uneven grass returns, buds like small heads.
Shoots shiver up through a cushion of pine straw .
A grooved, logging road, dappled in sunlight, Long-armed oaks reach out to me Pine’s limp brush caresses my face.
A once-green doghouse rests on its edge,
The roof opened for Spring cleaning.
The valley road uncoils like a spring.
Steep slopes lean toward the river.
The sound of water, runoff from recent rains,
Beckons softly, as the sun flirts with its surface.
~IST
Baby Colin
Ann L. Hardy-Russell <£ Edward Hardy
My name is Colin, I would like to tell the people of the world my Dad’s story. On Wednesday. April 19, 1995, at 9:02 a.m. Dad's life changed forev er. My mother Mary, my father Peter and I, baby Colin entered an elevator in the Alfred P. Murrah Federal building. The following conversation occurred.
‘'Mary, I’ll pick Colin up after work and meet you at Pizza hut.”
“ I may be a little late,” said mom, I have a 3 p.m. meeting with John
Mahlenbacher's parents. They always go on and on about----! Smash, slam.
noise, noise, noise, confusion follows. What’s happening?? The elevator is falling —Help! Help! Crash.
For several moments my Dad is disoriented. The elevator had crashed, It’s dark and dusty. Screams can be heard.
Dad yelled, “Where am I? What’s going on? Mary, are you OK? Mary answer me, Mary please. I can’t move. Mary help me, something is holding my legs down. Come on, God damnit Mary, answer me.”
Poor Daddy, he doesn’t know that Mom and I left the elevator and came home. Now we are really worried about Dad and no way to help or console him, my poor, poor Daddy. It’s really something here. Suddenly I’m an adult in a baby 's body. I can walk and talk. I can function as an adult and still be a baby angel, I like this place.
Boom, crash, a deafening explosion occurred. “My God what’s happening?” Dad said.
After this explosion Dad sees light, falling beams, mortar, plaster and furniture flying by him. Dad looked out into the air, space occupied by dirt and dust is all he can see. Dad now realizes that the elevator door had fallen on him and is holding his legs down. He’s hurt and choking from the dust.
The air begins to clear. He’s still disoriented and can’t figure out what has happened
“Mary, are you OK? Where’s the baby, I can’t hear him, I can’t see
you.”
Soon the dust settles. Dad looks over and sees Mom lying on the bottom of the elevator. She is still, she’s not breathing. My foot is the only part of me seen from beneath Mom. I was six months old and there I laid under Mom where I had died.
Dad can hear people screaming, it’s a bomb, it’s a bomb! Screams of help are heard along with crying and sounds of fear and terror. Dad looks at his watch, 9:10 a.m. He begins to cry and sob quietly. He’s confused, frightened and bereaved. Beside him Mom and I lay dead. “Daddy we are physically dead but don't be afraid. Mommy and I are right here with you and we are going to get you through this.”
Incredible noise surrounds Dad. his watch shows 10 a.m.. sirens and rescue workers are shouting orders.
Dad thinks to himself. “It must have been a bomb, Mary and Colin are gone. How could this happen, what demon did this? 11:08 a.m. I must be somewhere between the 4“' and 5th floor or maybe the 3rd and 4th floor. Hello down there, we could use some help up here. Oh God, please help me! What do I have to live for? I struggled to get through college to become an Accountant and why. to end up like this. My beautiful Mary, such a good teacher and she could make a great apple pie. My darling from the heartland, hard to believe that such an amazing girl could have fallen for a dud like me from New Jersey.”
The bells from a near by church chime 12, still no rescue for my Dad. He thinks there may never be a rescue for him. Maybe not, one would think that in heaven you could foretell the future, but I guess not. I’m pretty new at this Angel stuff. “Mommy do you know what’s gong to happen0” 1 hope Daddy is rescued soon.
Dad dozed off. the pain in his legs has worn him out, if only he could move, just a little If only Mom were alive, she could help
Dad prays. “Oh God. Mary is gone my beautiful little son is gone, all gone, please God. take me too.”
Silly Daddy, it doesn’t work that way so don’t waste your prayers on such foolishness.
2 p.m. Dad looks out. he can’t see up or down, just straight out in the air. He sees an adjacent building that has windows blown out. The sound of voices, cries and sirens is deafening. Dad knows his rescue is probably close.
It looks like hundreds of rescue workers. They must be taking a risk, the rest of the building could fall. Daddy would be amazed at all the people here to help. A nurse just died trying to help someone. In fact, almost immediately, all those who realized the extent of the blast rushed to help the injured. Everyone helped from paramedics to off-duty cops. Even people like a restaurant worker and an elderly passer by pitched in to help after the explosion.
Dad wonders if any others besides his family have died.
Yes, Daddy there are lot’s of us who died in the explosion. I’m in line at the pearly gates with a nice girl, she’s quite old, she turned 4 yesterday, she went to the same Day Care I did.
Dad’s mind continues to wonder, “Mary, it’s 4 p.m., I know you are not alive but I know you are here with me in spirit. I can see you riding on a cloud, holding Colin. Your students are going to miss you. What a terrible thing for 1st graders to have their teacher die.”
I don’t know about that cloud business Dad, they didn’t tell us about
that yet.
Dad thinks, “I wish someone would get up here, I wish I had taken that job with that accounting firm on 3rd street. If I had, Colin wouldn’t have

been in day care here, and Mary and I wouldn't have been in this building and she would be alive right now. 1 killed my wife and child."
Poor Daddy! He's doing that guilt thing that people do when someone dies.
Dad yells. “Help! Help, is anyone coming 15) here? I’ve been here 9 hours My wife and child are dead, we re stuck here in this elevator, please someone help.”
Again. Dad dozes. He wakes up, it's pitch dark, he struggles to see his watch. Fortunately the watch glows in the dark, it’s 7:22 p.m. It’s quite cold and Dad can no longer feel this toes.
Dad reflects on Fat Boy, the nuclear bomb dropped on Nagasaki, that ended World War Two. The bomb left a cloud over the city that was like night. He thinks, how horrible for those people, they must have been in shock, so many dead. They had no idea what hit them. The confusion must have been unbearable. People must have been running all over the place in a complete state of disorientation. They must have stumbled over dead bodies because they couldn't see, with no sense of time or direction.
The night drags on and still no sign of help. Maybe no one know s that Dad is there. Certainly, there are plenty of people around, lot's of activity and noise. I wonder if they can't find him. It's so, so dangerous for them, searching for survivors. I can see the firefighters and other rescuers swarming over the building. Hang on Dad. they are getting close, you're going to make it.
Dad says. “God. I'm cold. Hello, can anyone hear me, we need help, please someone hear me. I’m going crazy, and I can’t take the pain anymore. I wish I could just go to sleep and never wake up Then I could be with Mary and Colin. It’s after mid-night they're never going to find me, they’re not going to be able to get me out of here.”
It’s very cold and raining now. The driving rain and wind are pounding Dad’s body. and dangling wires are whipping his right arm, he can’t move out of the way or even dry himself. It’s 2 a.m.. Dad marvels at the fact that he’s still alive.
3:15 a.m. a rescue worker shouts. “Hello up there, what’s your
name?”
“Peter. Peter Kennedy. My wife and baby are dead and I’m trapped. There’s a metal door holding my legs down.”
OK, Peter listen, we will get to you, the part of the building you are trapped in is out of reach to us, but we’ll figure something out. Hang on buddy, help’s on the way.
“Thanks guys, thanks.”
"Thank you God!”
5 a.m., 20 hours after the Alfred P. Murrah Federal building in Oklahoma City was bombed, Mommy and I were joined by my Dad. Hi Dad, I’m Colin! Look I can walk and talk, Hi Dad.
Seeds
Megan Maslar
There I was.
Lying in that sweaty place.
With those other round imposters
Until 1 felt this strange knocking.
Not just once, but FOUR,
FOUR times.
The next thing I knew, these cold, clammy hands
Lifted me up and whipped me
Into some kind of steel cage!
What's this? A puddle!
The surface is so unbearable at this new place.
I think I 'd rather go back.
At least there.—
Owwwwwh!!
What are they slicing into me for?
My precious cells!
Falling all over the place!
Phwew!
At least they saved some of me.
But now, I feel these jagged needles
Piercing
Into my flesh
And stripping me down to my foundation.
I'm fading.
fading,
fading..

St. Christopher and Small Creatures
Maryanna Hartman
It was a cold March morning, as the long body took the wide angled turn off the main thoroughfare, down the often dusty earthen road, meandering from side to side.
up and down, over the hard packed, soon-to-be muddy ruts.
One pleasant early riser, who sped on by, succeeded in beating the flashing red lights and boldly gave me the center fingered high sign.
It was always a full load I picked up at the run-down trailer
park (the eyesore near the newly constructed Clover store) where the dwellings of my most precious cargo sat in single file The rusted aluminum homes were caked with soil from the nearby gravel pit, the culprit responsible for the fine dirt resembling brown snow that settled in the comers of the half inch window sills. Littered with broken bottles and
beer cans, small foot prints lay molded in clay yards, below
beat-up storm doors..some hanging by a lone hinge, where
cinder blocks or decaying wood sufficed for steps.
The road toward Pennsbury Elementary was heavy with traffic along old Route 1, just outside Philly. The huge yellow monster crammed with quickly aging, steadily rambunctious five to twelve year olds generated the necessity to pull over two or three times, approach the rear of the vehicle, and separate some obvious enemies. It had become commonplace The resulting effect on the return trip to the driver’s seat was always complete silence, until once again, the yellow-bird was well underway.
Traveling in an eastward direction, up across the railroad
bridge just before Trenton Road.the blinding early
morning sun lasered full force through the windshield.
The visor was immediately pulled down. It was then a massive amount of spiders and bugs fell into my lap, startling
me so...that maneuvering the bus to the side of the road
in an attempt to avoid a large tractor trailer loaded with Alpo and a small khaki colored Beetle, while my peripheral eyed the passing lane crowded with a blend of cars and trucks, was a extremely harrowing experience.
My open-eyed reaction granted these rascals their anticipated
delight but repressed anxiety produced my best performance, allowing the little gremlins to safely reach their destination. They had no conception of the
danger....of how many lives were at stake when they planted
that batch of creepy crawlers above the sun-visor
the previous day. Later...cringing, while sweeping away those
very authentic looking creatures..I detected in that
pile of disgusting debris a grime covered 
......St. Christopher medal.
Hard Cash
Jodi Reynolds
I am twenty-three years old and I'm at the end of my senior year in college. The other night I bought scratch-off lottery ticket and I won two hundred dollars. I had a good time and treated my friends to a couple free rounds of beer and spent the rest on food. I think back on how money always concerned me while I was younger. The concept is still amazing. Money can make a person, or break a person.
1 got allowance, (a whole dollar) once a week, but then 1 started getting just seventy-five cents My mom and dad said it was inflation or something to do with the economy. The only thing I understood was that prices were going up in the country , so I got a quarter decrease in my pay.
Sure, like the economy is hard work. I thought. 1 had to make my bed. wash some dishes, and try to remember to feed our dog, Sparky.
After my mom and dad had gotten a divorce when 1 was just elev en years old. I stopped getting allowance altogether. They fought for days because my dad got a better job offer with better money. It was like he became a completely different person and then he moved three thousand miles away for that six thousand dollar a month job. My mom always told me he loved me, but his priorities were in a different place. School teaching did not have a great deal of money involved like my dad's job. but my mom loved it regardless. There was no large settlement after the legal papers; just my mom and I continuing on with our lives.
Life did go on and ev erything I did while I was in school entailed some amount of money. For example, I can remember being in Brownies and Girl Scouts. We had to pay dues of fifty cents to one dollar every week. Half of us, including myself, got the money from one of our parents, unless the fortunate tight wads that were my friends actually saved their allowances.
The best investment for my friends and me was penny candy. One day I didn’t even have a penny. The man was in the back of the store, so I reached my hand in the jar, pulled our a Tootsie Roll, and walked out. It was only a penny, right? I mean it wasn’t my fault the store coincidentally closed down a year later.
Being in every sport all through school meant that equipment had to be purchased. Everything from soccer cleats to softball gloves, and basketball sneakers to nice white socks. Joining Prep and Cinderella softball leagues cost seven dollars or more. The local summer soccer camps cost about thirty dollars, and a new Spalding basketball to practice with at home cost twenty dollars.
My mom paid for everything, but what did I have? I knew I was only a kid, but I always thought there was some job that I could work at. My mom
always said. “Samantha, enjoy your childhood, because as soon as you grow up and start working, it will be over.” How could the fun be over if I had money?
I could never find that answer while I was young because I was too busy going to school dances and playing sports. I would occasionally go to the movies with my friends and my mom would give me a ride, and enough money for a ticket, an overpriced bag of salty popcorn, and a small soda.
I did not spend my mom’s money all the time though. My telescope was my escape. I could spend a great amount of time outside looking at starts and the constellations without spending any money. Luckily, one of my friends 1 had growing up was the only one whom I could always count on to have a good time with, even if we had little or no money. Nikki Howards. Nikki and 1 would do everything from hiking and hiking to spending a night out on the town watching people promenade around. Sometimes, she would even steal some liquor from her parents and we would camp out either behind my house or hers, and make our famous Green Punch', (Mountain Dew and Vodka).
Our senior year, we both got a car from our parents. They were not new. but they were a form of transportation, so we did not complain. The agreement was to use the car to go to and from school and extracurricular events, and to start paying it off by working. Work? I could not believe it was time to work already. I was so caught up in being dependent on my mom that 1 forgo how bad I wanted to be independent. Nikki had to find a job too.
For two weeks, we spent our Fridays and Saturdays filling our applications and going to stressful interviews at fast food restaurants. Nikki got a job at Ponderosa, and a temporary agency found a catering job at a big local corporation for me.
I was so excited about my new job that I dedicated most of my time to becoming a better professional fine dining server like my boss wanted I did not have time to do the things I liked anymore. I had to quit the sports I was in, I could only see Nikki in school, and by the time I got home at night from work, I had to study and then I was too tired to go outside to look at the stars.
The job was everything to me though. I remember feeling important because my co-workers and I had a strict dress code. We had to wear a white tuxedo shirt with a black tie, dress pants, shoes, and socks; and our appearance had to be clean and professional. This feeling soon diminished like the money in the '39 Stock Crash. I started getting depressed at work because certain executives were being rude and inconsiderate. My boss told me to ignore them because they had a disease that we didn’t: money.
Every night I would go home completely depressed. My mom tried to cheer me up, but nothing seemed to work. Nikki said that since she was the dishwasher at her job, she didn’t ever work with vulgar customers.
I wanted to quit, but the money was great. I had only worked there three months and I got a two dollar raise. I knew the money I was getting was probably half the amount the corporation employees were getting, but I was proud of my money because of the hard work I put in to get it. I also knew
that some of the employees there worked hard too. but that was no reason for them to treat me like a brainless lump on a log.
After a few more busy months, catering slowed down, and I actually had some free time. Nikki and I planned to camp out in my back field.
Nikki and I had to steal some more Vodka from her parents, but we both actually bought the Mountain Dew. I mixed our drinks and we talked for hours about how we would be going our own ways to college after the summer and what type of careers we would have. 1 thought about how much an education at college would cost and how my career will be able to pay that money back.
I looked over at the hill where Sparky was buried and I realized how thankful I was for the priceless memories I had, the people in my life, and knowing that the working and family experiences up to this point would make me a better person in the future when I became successful.
1 drank to the snoring earth, to the closed eye of the moon, to the trees that nodded and sighed: until almost dreaming, 1 fell back upon the blanket.
Spring Fever
Linda Kakretz
I was bom one of February ’s children A time when winter holds firm grip As crocus, day lilies, and daffodils Awaken beneath its snow blanket.
Perhaps that’s why my restless heart Always seemed poised on the edge Of some great chasm or canyon Where below strong currents flow
And water falls cascade, tumbling My senses as on hinds feet mount high Leaving knees weakened ephemeral And pulse running wild
So on days like this when sunshine reigns And azure blue skies seem to thrust The cold wind's rage from February days My heart takes flight on butterfly wings
Excitement wells in my breast My mind begins to wander Basking in knowledge that springtime will reign Prying off the chill fingers of winter
Minnesota Summers
Jennifer Clark
The rain set in early tonight.
Usually on these hot. sticky August nights it didn't rain until after
All summer long we have been battered.
Enough is enough.
The sirens, mom and dad
bursting into our tiny bedroom, scooping us up into their arms
and running into the basement.
Tonight was different.
The rain was coming down, just enough
to make the black-top street smell hot and new again.
We did not dare set one foot
outside that tiny yellow house that night. Daddy said he could see them forming, already.
For me.
Being six years old,
it was scary to think what was going to happen in just a short time.
Sitting on our kitchen counter, my small dirt stained hands gripping the window sill tight.
I watched my dad in the driveway.
He was staring at the eerie sky, a twisted mixture
of all the colors of the rainbow.
An Autumn Night
Matthew Samuelson
I gazed the moon late yesternight hoping to find some firelight within my dimming soul.
Ashes; ashes windblown and cold.
Embers that flared boastful and bold, now extinguished, are consoled.
Autumn’s leaves blushed before they died.
A whispered voice once moist, now dried;
Purposeless paper that tumbles.
Purposeless being that stumbles.
I am no more man than what my soul allows and so, now I too am fading.
There is no vague hint of melancholy to this air.
Plainly, what was once, is no longer there.
Yet, cleansed cannot describe the absence.
More soiled matter is found in this emptiness where abscised eyes fuel my grisly ignorance.
Shed this flesh I would But for it is within.
How can light from without illuminate a soul made opaque by sin?
No Spare Change
Dion Clark
“What's the matter with you, Jim? Don't you want me anymore?
Now, I had giv en this matter a lot of thought, and prepared this whole slew of explanations, delays, and tangents to go off on, but hearing that note in her voice when she said that just freaked me out. I mean, how do you tell the woman that you used to love that things just aren’t working anymore?
“Christ, Pen! That’s not what I meant-1 just can’t balance work, and the band, and you anymore. It’s too much. I... Look, my boss is a sadistic lunatic; Mark’s booked us all up in L A. for the next three months, and I just don’t want you feeling so damn lonely all the time.’’
Yes! Good save! Come on, kiddo, take it. Take the bait, be satisfied, and for God's sake, don't fucking cry on me.
Say something. Pen. This silence is getting too long...
“Jim?”
“Yeah.”
"Fuck you.”
Click.
You see all these people on shows like “Days of Our Lives” after a phone call like this, they always stare at the phone in their hand like it’s a damned hypnotist or something. I used to wonder about what kind of kick the producers got out of that scene, because it sure didn’t do anything for me.
Then I felt pretty stupid, because I realized that I must have been doing just that for the last five minutes.
“Fuck.”
I made another dent in the receiver handle as the phone slipped out of my hand and crashed into the one wooden eye within the hurricane of shit that was my apartment.
“Fuck!”
I turned to the poster of Ozzy Osborne which I kept on the wall for occasions such as this and slammed my fist into his smirking little face. A circular, fist sized section of the wall broke and threatened to fall back through the insulation. This forced me to check my rampage, and I raced into the kitchen to find a rusty bottle of wall patch under the sink. I had forgotten to move the poster after the last time this happened.
I covered the wreckage as fast as I could and sank to my knees among a sea of cassette tapes, unwashed clothing, and a moldy bowl of cheese dip, burying my face in my hands and trying to recapture the drama of the situation.
“Noooooo!”
But, it was useless. The moment was lost.
The phone rang soon after, but it was just the owner of the building, to whom I patiently explained that the reason behind all the noise was that my
friend Don had brought over his now pet monkeys to show me, and one of them had an ulcer, so he wasn’t very happy.
It was a good plan which usually worked, but I had forgotten that I had already used the pet monkey story.
Needless to say, the owner wasn’t too thrilled with me at the time, but she’d get over it. I cracked open a can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup and pondered the transitory nature of all things human.
Cars sped by on Dackwell St. below my window, and I wondered if the people inside them had any real idea about what they were doing with themselves. I sure didn’t. My game plan consisted of showing up to work on time, buying enough food to keep me going, and drumming in the band on weekends. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gone to a club or party and not been on stage. But on the bright side of things, my social calendar would be relatively free now that I had gotten rid of the Penmeister.
I flipped on the radio in disgust, and Beck’s “Loser" immediately blasted its way into my ears, grooving to a mellow beat halfway through the song. I turned it off. Soy un perdador indeed, you stupid shit. Thanks for telling me.
All things considered. I was having a pretty good day.
There’s something wild about that short moment in time that takes place just after you’ve broken up with someone, when you actually realize what’s happened to your life. First, of course, there’s the euphoric feeling that crashes into you when the weight slides off your shoulders. It produces a liberating feeling, a jolt of power that floods your brain like Wild Turkey and sends you shrieking merrily across a celestial eight lane highway. You dance dazedly through the traffic, singing and patting yourself on the back, all the while congratulating yourself because you’ve just taken on a monster as big and mean as an 8.6 quake and managed to survive.
You hit this high, and it’s a lot like all the others for a day or so, keeping you dazed and carefree and bouncy as all hell. You stroll along like a damn fop, bending over to pick up all the lucky pennies in the road and not noticing for an instant that there’s a G.O.D. truck with your name all over it filled with liquid oxygen that’s just jack knifed and is tearing up the eight lane like a rabid Piranha.
This is the particular moment that I speak of.
Before this moment there is the characteristically dopey high, and afterwards there is the given mass havoc and destruction of innocent human life, but the little click that occurs in between is damned interesting.
There you are, grasping your penny and hugging yourself because you just can’t believe how incredibly pure and beautiful it has become. You admire how dated it is, and yet, how the copper glints in the afternoon sun, the
skill and effort it must have taken to forge such an incredible vessel of unity and trust from such a crude (albeit passionately molten) birth.
E PLURIBUS UNUM
AND
THEN
YOU.
LOOK?
UP!
But I digress. Actually, the reason this moment is so incredibly interesting to me is because it makes me very, very thirsty for some reason. And that is because unlike most methods of debasement, this form is conceived, pondered, and brought about in the very throes of rational thought, there is no external intoxication, no foreign chemical frolicking about in your brain that causes you to think and act in any way alien to the personality you have spent vour entire life dev eloping.
This is what disturbs me the most, because at this moment, your realize that there is absolutely nothing you can blame the total worthlessness of your entire life on except yourself. You’ve driven right off the edge of the highway for no reason other than to appease your own whims. And from this moment on, the only way to survive is to drown yourself in the icy river below while everything around you bums to ashes.
Now that's the kind of change I can handle.
Left Overs
Melissa S. Dyer
There was some dirty plates.
He must have forgot to wash them. Didn’t forget to take the CD’s Or the ring I bought him.
They were gone.
The apartment was as clean as The day he moved in,
Only my clothes were left to hang.
My milk left to spoil.
All his belongings were gone.
There was nothing left.
Not a trace of a memento or photograph. The frame stood bare,
AD I had left.
Was the dirty plate we used to eat on.
1 picked the plate up in my hands.
And washed the dirt away.
MAD !
Catherine Mullen
There were some dirty plates scattered round the table.
They hadn’t washed them pristine and pure as I wished.
There were some greasy pots sitting on the stove.
They' hadn’t scraped them clean and spotless as I wished.
I got really mad !
I'm a house-proud woman, and I wanted the dishes done my way.
There w ere some smeary’ streaks all over the windows.
They hadn’t polished diem clear and bright as I wished.
There were some mounds of dust piled in every room.
They hadn’t scrubbed them spick and span as I wished.
I got really mad!
I’m a house-proud woman, and I wanted the house cleaned my way.
Now,
dishes are clean, windows sparkle, floors are spotless, just as I wish.
I’m a house-proud woman. Alone.
The Rapture
Heather A. Mather
There were some dirty plates,
milk wanning in the morning sun on the counter,
smoke emerged from the griddle left burning.
The Bible, still open on the table,
sat beside the half empty coffee she had drunk.
The sound of a stationary lawn mower
kept the deathly silence from setting in.
He slapped his snooze one last time
dragging himself from the comfort of their bed:
Inhaling deeply, he smelled the decaf she had made.
He stepped into the kitchen
anticipating his daily encounter
with the woman in his life.
In the empty kitchen,
in the stillness she left behind.
Approaching the open book,
a passage caught his eye:
“No one knows the day, the hour
of the coming of the Son of Man. Two men will be in the field; one will be taken,
the other left.
Two women will be at the handmill; one will be taken,
the other left.”
There were some dirty plates,
milk curdled on the counter,
and the smell of smoke still lingered.
A Homecoming
Jenny Raferty
Karen plucked up a clothes hanger from the pile lying on the bed.
She took the shirt from her other hand and fitted it onto the hanger. She wasn’t really thinking of the task she was trying to finish, she was listening to the quiet of the house. It was so eerie, like old abandoned homes that children often believe are haunted.
She had moved into the small, two bedroom house almost four months ago. She still could not bring herself to enjoy or even adjust to the quiet that now surrounded her days. She disliked the complete silence more then the arguments she used to have with her husband, arguments that had only begun after the Nightmare had happened. Karen had started to think of the events of a little over a year ago as the Nightmare. It had been the Nightmare that had made ev erything go wrong, the time when their peaceful, happy world had exploded into a million little fragments.
Nathan had asked her for a separation five months after the start of the Nightmare. He had told her that he believed they needed time apart and a separation would give them that. He had even suggested that it might help them get past the pain since they could not seem to help each other. Karen had not argued, deciding to be the one to move out. She no longer had been able to handle living in the home they had built together, a home that held too many memories and so much pain. It had been the home where tragedy had replaced her perfect life.
Her eyes focused back onto the chore she was doing and noticed the sweater she held in her hands At one time the sweater had been rough and a bright teal green. Now, time had bleached its bright color to a creamy green. The hundreds of washes had turned its roughness into a softness you could cuddle with. The sweater had been a gift from her Mother over nine years ago, three days after her son’s birth. The memories came flooding back to haunt her and her eyes misted over with tears. It was the same sweater she had been wearing the day the Nightmare had begun. The memories were too hurtful to be replayed in her mind so she tried to mentally push them away. It helped, but only a little.
Karen brought the sweater to her face and rubbed the soft fabric against her cheek. She felt hot tears flood her eyes and spill over, to run down her face. She dropped the sweater and rubbed the tears away angrily. For so long now she had been trying to get on with her life, a life that still after a year, had no meaning for her. She had been trying so hard to rid herself of the pity and the pain that had been controlling her life. Every time she thought she had a chance and it would get better something brought it all back. She stood up and walked toward the bedroom door.
She walked into the small, square hall, then into the bathroom. In the
9M
bathroom she leaned over the sink and turned on the cold water tap. She cupped her hands under the chilly water and let them fill before bringing them up to splash her face with. She splashed her face a few more times before turning the water off. She reached for the towel hanging on the rack next to the sink and wondered if the pain would ever diminish She was told almost everyday that it would, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe that The pain was always with her, tearing her heart and soul apart. She only wanted it to go away and wished for this very thing every second of everyday. It felt too much like a sharp knife buried deep within her chest, with the tip just touching her heart.
She returned to the bedroom, but not to finish hanging the clothes.
She sat down in the rocker, on the opposite side of the room from the bed and leaned back. She didn't rock, only sat there with her eyes closed trying to forget the past. She was starting to think of going downstairs to get a snack and a drink when she thought she heard a small noise. She opened eyes and listened carefully, her head cocked to one side. After a few seconds went by she heard nothing and decided she had only been hearing her mind tick away. She got up and headed back out of the bedroom, deciding that a snack and a drink did sound good.
She rounded the comer of her bedroom door to the stairs. She was taking her first step down when she jerked her foot back and stopped dead in her tracks. The light in the hallway was off so she could not see very well.
She could, however, make out the silhouette of a person standing at the bottom of her staircase. She stretched her arm out toward the wall, fumbling a bit before her fingers found the light switch and flicked it on.
Karen allowed her eyes to adjust. When she again looked down she gasped and brought her arms up to press against her chest. At the bottom, staring up at her, was a little boy of about nine. He showed no emotion at the sight of her; he only stood there watching her. It was almost like he had been waiting for her to make a trip downstairs. Karen could tell that the boy was not in very good shape. His face was shallow and sunken, causing shadows to form under his eyes and in the hollow of his cheeks. His eyes were so big; they cast the illusion of sadness to the boy’s features, although Karen suspected that the sadness was not all an illusion. She had a feeling that some of it was very real; the boy only hid it well.
His clothing was in worse condition. He was wearing Nike sneakers that were hardly noticeable. The sneakers were so scuffed and ragged that they were scarcely recognizable as footwear. His skinny legs were clad in jeans, the color of light blue. The white sweatshirt he wore looked to be three times too big for his small frame. The star on the front, Karen knew, represented the Dallas Cowboys, a football team. Both articles of clothing were tom beyond repair and were filthy, too. The clothes were so dirty Karen doubted they would ever come clean. On his head was a baseball cap that read ‘rule’ across the top front. It was the only thing the boy wore that did not show signs of wear. It was also covering shaggy, uncut light brown hair so light it almost
95"
appeared blonde. Karen’s heart hurt to see the boy looking like he did, so unloved and unprotected.
She let out a choked sob and stretched her hand out to the boy. She took a step down, only to moan in despair as the boy took a step back. A look of distrust fluttered over the boy’s face before being replaced with a look of doubt.
Before Karen’s heart could break into two halves at the boy’s expression, a thought occurred to her. She was dreaming, having a nightmare really, the same one that had tormented her life and tom her marriage apart. When was it ever going to end? Would this nightmare never leave her alone? Karen closed her weary eyes and tried to will the nightmare away. She opened them, hoping to find the boy gone. He wasn’t. She closed them again, this time shaking her head a little for good measure. He was still there when she opened them and looked down. Why? She wanted to scream out in anger and frustration, but her throat would not open up to let her.
In her nightmares, the boy always vanished and Karen woke up drenched in sweat and tears. Karen finally took another step down, watching the boy as she did. He didn’t move this time. Another thought entered into her mind as she took yet another step down She wasn’t sleeping She hadn’t even been in bed. Then how was this happening? This could not possibly be reality, could it? Was her waking mind finally beginning to lose touch with the real world? She needed to know. but was afraid to find out.
Just then another figure stepped up behind the boy. Karen tore her gaze from the boy to let her eyes fall on the new person. Her eyes rounded in shock and she almost lost her footing as her socked foot slipped. Behind the boy, looking a little unsure and lost, was Nathan. Karen thought she could also see a touch a joy on his face, but she couldn’t be sure.
They had not seen each other since the decision to separate had been settled. He had not changed much, appearing only slightly older. There was a little more gray in his hair and a few more wrinkles around his eyes, but otherwise he was still very good looking. He was still as handsome as the day they had been introduced to each other eleven years ago. They had fallen in love and married in that same year. They had only spoken a few times in the past few months and those times had been uncomfortable. They were like two distant friends who no longer had anything in common, and so talked rarely and only to be polite. Karen had never expected that they would grow so far apart.
Now he stood there, with the boy, watching her. He seemed to be dazed and confused, like he did not believe this was all really happening. She felt the same way, wanting to touch him and the boy in order to accept their reality. Karen slowly began to descend the stairs. She was afraid that if she went too fast or got too close, both the boy and the man would vanish When she was at last standing in front of them, she sighed in relief. They were still there, not fading out like she had been afraid of. She glanced down at the boy before looking at Nathan. She asked, in a simple way, only one thing.
“How?”
Nathan shook his head a bit in bewilderment. He had no straightforward answer for her. “He came to me. There was a knock at the door this morning. I expected a delivery person or something like that. He stood there, looking just like he is now.” Nathan paused before saying,
“Karen, I don’t think he really believes he is back. He....well ...he....” Nathan trailed off, unsure of how to put what he w anted to say into words.
Karen bent down to rest on one knee, eye level with the boy. She looked into his big blue eyes and smiled weakly. She asked him, “What happened? Where have you been?”
Nathan was the one to answer, but not with an explanation “He hasn’t said a word the whole time we have been together. He won’t even let me touch him. It’s almost like he blames us or thinks we will blame him for
whatever it is that did happen to him.”
Karen didn’t reply to what Nathan had said, she only gathered the small boy in her arms. The boy allowed this, but made no move to return the hug. Tears ran down her cheeks as she felt his frail body under his clothes.
She did not care, at that moment about anything else, she only cared that he was back. If later he needed help they would get it for him. Right now, it just felt good to have him in her arms after all this time. Karen still felt the pain but it wasn’t as strong as it used to be. Only a dull ache still ebbed within her for what her little boy must have gone through. Still crying, she told the boy, “That doesn’t matter. The only important thing right now is that you are back. You are with us and okay. You can tell us later what happened, when and if you want to. For now we are just glad that you are here with us again.”
The boy finally responded by placing his own arms around his mother’s neck. Huge, wracking sobs tore through his body, causing him to shake all over. He squeezed his mother harder and buried his face in the crook of her neck. After a few minutes he turned his head so that his mouth touched his mothers ear. He whispered. “I love you, Mom. Dad too!” Without looking, he reached an arm out to his father. Nathan looked at the skinny outstretched arm and tears formed in his eyes, rolling gently down his cheeks. He took the few steps that brought him to the two people he loved most and joined his son and wife in an embrace.
Life is a Banquet...
dorie L Robinson
“Try everything once,” my Dad used to say.
And he followed his words to the letter.
He ate anchovies, lox. relished Limburger cheese While the rest of us munched mild cheddar.
A child of the Sixties, though fifty himself.
Was the first on our block to try Yoga.
He dated exclusively college age girls And he looked pretty good in a toga.
I was envious of the bell-bottoms that hung Neatly creased in his closet no hangars.
A wine connoisseur who knew lager from ale.
Smoked some pot and liked Harvey Wallbangers
A well-traveied man and a gung-ho Marine With eight children his life had been blest.
Spoke some German and French with that brogue that he had But in truth he could speak Blarney best.
“The best thing in your life’s education,” he said,
“So be sure to get all that you can Whether studying flowers or typing or God Or the sexual needs of a man.”
Escargot is a must in the banquet of life.
Try a pom film , .they can be exciting.
Drive to work everyday by a different route.
Read a Playboy not just for the writing.
Talk with people and listen to all that they say.
You can learn from the poorest in spirit.
If you can lend a hand, for your truth take a stand,
Speak it loud so that others can hear it.
Give a listen to all kinds of music Write a poem every now and again.
Always pause for the laughter of children.
Try to live to a hundred and ten.

When he died he said not to be sorry. Why, just look at the times he had had! There was little he hadn’t accomplished. This is hue. but I sure miss you. Dad.
Ahnece Hancock
What people bring back from the salad bar is amazing.
They spend more time creating then eating.
Lettuce laid gently on the plate Brisk red radishes circling methodically as # on a clock.
h’s like they’re afraid to walk back to their table unless their work of art has been mastered.
Returning to the table is not easy either, you must have many years of practice to balance sesame seeds, croutons, and bacon bits.
Those who are new at this art force their toppings to stay in place by drenching them with dressing.
Once you arrive at your table, you wait patiently
for the others in your party to approve (mmm. wow. oh. my that looks good) Once you have this approval you may begin many never do though for by this time their main course has arrived.
9^
JK.
True Innocence
Pam Pearce
Dedicated to Charlotte Mitchelle who was truly a great woman of God.
Here I was in a place I thought I’d never be. I thought to myself for a moment in silence. I must be dreaming. I’m too young to die. ‘"What went wrong?” I wondered. I was never in the way. Nor was I a nuisance to anyone. I had been a beautiful, strong tree giving shade to weary travelers. I did not deserve this. I was now chopped up and hewed into long beams awaiting my sentence.
It was Passover time in Jerusalem. Everyone was getting ready for the feast of unleavened bread. This was supposed to be a happy time but for a tree, it was terrifying. Many people were crucified during this time of year. Of course one prisoner would be released, but countless others would suffer for the crimes they had committed. My greatest fear was that of being turned into a human death trap, the cross.
Most people say that a tree can’t feel, but they ’re wrong. We have emotions, needs, wants and desires. In some ways we’re just like people. Don’t tell me that humans are the only ones who feel those nails. Every year innocent trees are crucified along with humans. I would never go as far as to say that we are on their level, but we deserve some rights, too, you know.
The moment of truth was now upon me. The carpenter approached me mumbling curses under his breath. No, I was not going to be crafted into a beautiful table or chair. I could tell that I would be put together quickly-whatever I was. Within moments I had been shaped into the horrid figure of a cross,
In desperation, I cried out against the carpenter. Surely he was making a mistake! I was good, "righteous” wood. I didn’t deserve to die along with thieves and murderers. I protested as the carpenter picked me up giving him as many splinters as I possibly could.
He carried me to what some would call a courtyard, To me, it was the human torture chamber. I blinked my eyes in disbelief when a man who had been flogged nearly to death was expected to carry me.
Anger rose in me. This isn’t fair! I didn’t kill anyone like this man probably had. If a tree could cry, I would have.
The man stumbled as he bent down to pick me up. I could see the pain in his eyes. He was far past crying. He was broken. “Just let him die here”, I thought to myself. The man will be dead before they do the deed anyway. To my surprise the man put me on his shoulder. His blood was getting all over me. His breath came in short labored gasps. As he w alked, people picked up stones and mud and threw them at us. In the crowd some were
IDO
crying “Jesus is innocent”. I bet he is I thought, angered. Not as innocent as I am.
Suddenly the man fell. I pinned him hard against the ground. Some of my splinters had begun to work their way into his flesh. It was a short, sweet revenge. “Jesus, I love you”, a little girl cried. Her mother with some other women were standing by with a water jug. A guard yanked a man from the crowed and forced him to carry me. The victim rose to his feet with great difficulty. The woman gave him some water. I wish I could have had a drink about now. But of course, the trees are always forgotten. The rocks and mud were still coming. Surely the man would scream at the crowd, but he didn’t.
Finally we were there. Golgotha, the skull, place of death. Many innocent trees had found their end here. The man that had carried me threw me on the ground. I wanted to spit in his face. The man some called “Jesus” was made to lay on my cursed form. “No!”, I screamed as the nails came. “I’m innocent, I’m INNOCENT!” I cried. It was only afterwards did I notice that Jesus had said nothing. He had taken his punishment like a man.
There we stood silhouetted by a dark. He was now dead after a labored six hours. I thought of the man who was nailed to me. How wrong I was to say that He deserved death! He said “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do”. It was then that I realized that the very son of God had died on me, the human death trap, the cross.
If a tree could ask forgiveness, I would.
Zach Schoonover
So why did you come back?
I mean, is the afterlife really that boring?
No pillars of fire?
No chains of ice?
No fluffy white clouds?
No large bank accounts?
I always imagined it to be like a CD club 12 for a penny, with nothing more to buy ever.
I could be wrong, I have been before.
Don’t worry your boredom will end soon enough Because we’ll all be with you inevitably.
My Amazonias Girl
Kathleen Albertson
The Sun is so hot.
A great ball of raging fire.
I can smell it can taste it and boy can I feel it.
It bums my flesh.
It is so hot.
She lives here,
in this land of the Sun,
in this land of green and water.
The great, brown river brought me to her shore.
Her face smiles at me, amongst others who scowl.
Her people know...
what my white skin, and blond hair means. But I come in Peace, with only a curious heart.
I only want to watch these people of the Jungle.
Dark, black eyes teach me the games, small dirty feet, show me the way.
Over the river, under the Sun.
She belongs here like the trees.
I am out of place, like a snowflake.
At night, white pindrops fall on her from the sky.
The endless green goes on, but only black now.
The hot sun is gone.
My Amazonias girl.
She teaches me, what I need to know.
Her tiny body, knows this jungle, inside and out.
Without her, I am lost.
Without her, the Sim would consume me.
She is my leader,
I am her student.
She is my Native friend,
I am her foreign hand.
She is my Amazonias Girl.
Star
Jeshua Hamilton
As I look into the dark blue sky When the sun sets and the moon rises. A little star in the east appears; The only star in sight.
It is now I make my wish A wish I’ll never forget. I wished upon this star, That we’ll be married someday.
Now it is a wish I’d rather forget.
For I’ve seen your other side.
The side when you seduce others And now sitting here and pondering
Can I wish to unwish my wish upon that star.
Or was it just a f
a
1
1
i
n
g star.
103
Baby Love
Marie Cazorli
Characters Don Thuraple Selma Thumple Dr. Marsh Sandv Sly
Hostess
Extras
Doctors
Patients
Nurses
People in restaurant
Scene I
This scene takes place in the living room of Don and Selma Thumple's house. It 's relatively tidy except for one small thing: boxes, bags, and plates of food are everywhere. Donald Thumple. a heavyset man in his late forties, sits in an easy chair watching television Selma Thumple. a large woman also in her late forties, enters from the kitchen, stage right
Selma: (cheerfully) Honey! I made your favorite tonight! Beef Stroganoff with chopped up pickles! (walks over to Don, sets up a tray)
Don: (grunts, mumbles) Mmph...(cranes head to see tv., which his wife is blocking) Could you move, Hon? I don’t want to miss this.
Selma: Sure thing! (starts to walk to kitchen)
Don: Hey. Hon? Could you get me a beer?
Selma: Of course, honey. (While Selma is in the kitchen, Don begins to eat his dinner. His eyes don’t leave the tv. screen once. All of a sudden, he drops his fork and clutches his stomach.)
Don: OOOOOWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (makes noises as if he’s in horrible pain and winces, eyes squeezed shut)
Selma: (rushes in from kitchen) Donny! (runs to him)
Don: (still clutching stomach) I'm all right, I'm all right! Just a little gas pain is all. Selma: (stands straight up, hands on hips, sternly) Donald Emblidge Thumple! It’s time you saw a doctor!
Don: (making a face and rolling eyes, mimicking Selma) “See the doctor! See the doctor!” That’s all you ever say anymore!
10^
Selma: (angrily) You’ve been having these pains for weeks! Don’t ya want them ta stop? (voice changes-sounds sad) Donny... I don't want anything to happen to ya. I love ya, Pooky. (sobbing now)
Don: (stands up, hugs wife-says gruffly) I love ya, to. I’m o.k. I just don’t want ta spend all that money to hear something I already know. Jus’cuz the guy’s got a degree he thinks he can outsmart me and make me spend bunches of money on things 1 don’t need. (Selma’s sobbing grows louder.) Shaddup! (even louder now-Don just wants her to be quiet) Hey, 1 know. How bout tomorrow night we go out? We ll go to that new restaurant in town.
Selma: (snaps head up) Big Bob s Al]-You-Can-Eat-Buffet-Fanlastico-For-$4.99? Dun: (smiles) That's the place! Whaddya say? (Selma seems to forget about her husband's pain.)
Selma: Oh Pooky? That's great! (grabs husband, swings him around in her arms) Don: (rolling eyes) Tomorrow it is! Me and you will dine in style! (Selma and Don hug-
Scene II
This scene takes place in the restaurant. About four tables with two chairs at each table are on stage. Behind the table is the buffet. A few people are in line while others are at their tables. Selma and Don enter from stage left. They wait behind the "Please Wait to be Seated” sign. A hostess steps up.
Hostess: (perky) Hi! Welcome to Big Bob's All-You-Can-Eat-Buffet-Fantastico-For-$4.99! (exhales loudly) Follow me. (takes them to a table, center stage) Your waitress will be with you in a moment. Enjoy! (exits stage right)
Selma: (in a hushed voice, eyes big) Donny! Isn’t this place great!
Don: (has a bored expression on his face, grunts) Yeah. (A waitress walks over to the table.)
Waitress: (talks fast in one breath, sounds as if she's extremely bored) Hi welcome to Big Bob’s AU-You-Can-Eat-BufFet-Fantastico-For-$4.99; my name is Sandy, here's your menus (sets menus down on the table) Can I get you a beverage?
Selma: I’d like a... let’s see... (scanning menu-Waitress rolls eyes and snaps gum loudly) Um...a large lemonade and a Super-Size Coke, please. Oh! And a small tomato juice.
Sandy: And you, Sir?
Don: I’ll have a pitcher of Budweiser.
Sandy: Are you also ready to order? (Selma looks at Don. nods head).
Don: Yeah. We’d both like the Buffet.
Sandy: 0.k. The plates are at the front of the Buffet line; go ahead and serve yourselves, thanks. (Exits stage right. Don and Selma go up in line and fill then-plates high with all types of food- a bucket of chicken wings, chocolate pudding sausage, com, fruit salad with whipped cream, etc. Sit back down at their table) Selma: (mushing the food together- takes a huge bite) Mmph. Hummy, mis mood's phanmasic! (Mouth is full, food spills out comers as she speaks.)
105
Don: (Has fork to mouth, sees food fly out of Selma’s mouth and onto the table. Looks disgusted.) Selma! That’s gross! (Mixes some pickles and chicken together, takes a huge bite. All of a sudden, he spits out his food and gasps. He clutches his stomach and falls out of his chair to the floor) Ow! Ow! Ooowww! Oh my Lord! Holy Cow! Ow!
Selma: (leaps up. rushes to Don) Don! Are you o k ? (Don moans loudly.) Somebody call 911! Call 911! (kneels down to Don) You'll be o k., Pooky! You’ll be oJr.!
Scene UI
Don is wheeled onstage on a stretcher to the waiting area of a hospital. Doctors and nurses are bustling about. Patients wait in chairs. Don continues to moan and hold his stomach. Selma follows behind the stretcher, scarfing down chicken wings in a bucket from the restaurant. A doctor rushes over.
Doctor (To Selma, in a monotonous voice.) I’m Dr Marsh. Marsh. Like a swamp! (laughs loudly) I’ll take good care of your husband, don’t worry. (Takes stretcher wheels it offstage Selma sits in one of the chairs and continues to eat the wings. A man comes over and sits down next to her. He has greasy hair and a scruffy' face. He looks Selma up and down.)
Man: Hey. how you doing? Name's Sly.
Selma: (Looks up at the man.) Good. (Gobbles down another wing.)
Sly: You know why I’m here?
Selma: (Uninterested.) No. (Man whispers into Selma’s ear. Her eyes grow wide. She picks up the bucket of wings and dumps them over Sly’s head. He stands up, glares at her, and moves to another seat. lust then, the doctor walks in with Don, who has a glowing smile on his face. Selma looks at this smile and gets an extremely confused look on her face.)
Dr. Marsh: Well, we’ve found out what’s wrong with your husband. He’s-Sehna: (Interrupting.) Is it serious? Is he o.k.? (grabs doctor’s tie) Tell me! What is it!
Dr. Marsh: Mrs. Thumple, congratulations. Your husband is pregnant!
Selma: What? Stop joking! What’s wrong?
Don: Snuggy, I’m pregnant! (Selma faints.)
Dr. Marsh: I’ll go get some smelling salts. (Exits stage right; Don pats Selma’s face.)
Don: Snuggy. wake up... wake up... (Doctor re-enters, uses smelling salts. Selma opens eyes, rises slowly.)
Selma: Did I... (confused)... Did I hear right? You’re... pregnant?
Don: (giggling) Yep! A baby! Oh. honey! A Pooky Jr! (Starts dancing around the E.R. waiting room, singing.) A baby! A baby! I’m going to have a baby! (Grabs Dr. Marsh’s arms. The two dance in a square-dance like fashion.)
Don and Dr. Marsh: (singing) A baby! A baby! I’m going to have a baby! (giggling, singing, dancing)
Selma takes one look at the chicken wings on the floor to Sly, a few feet away, to her husband and Dr. Marsh, dancing around the waiting room and faints again.
Curtains close.
Mom’s Heart
Joy Wheeler
As I stood on the edge of the cliff of life;
1 look down only to see a world of darkness, crying.
A world void of color as if singed by fire. Look... among this darkness is a child; a child dressed in vibrant red-she is searching;
searching but not finding a world of love, warmth, laughler-she is alone...
As I watch I am startled by an arm that grips me... warmth...
I feel it flow through me, and as I turn I find myself looking into my eyes,
It is at that moment I realize it is my mother-she holds me in love,
as we turn and look down, the darkness is gone... Laughter...
The color is as bright as a rainbow, the child is running, laughing towards her mother-It is then, I see, that the child
... she is me.
Time Spent
because she loves me.
Grant Blackburn
It’s 2:20, Friday, in New York I sit in bed and watch the moon throw dice on her back through the rain spotted windows.
I think of what I have done and who I am going to be able to love after tonight.
Time is suffocating me I get dressed without waking her can’t find my shirt but it doesn’t matter,
I need to leave and ride these ugly streets as it’s always safe to leave the scene of a crime.
Last call was two hours ago
I hop the turnstile but no one cares
the bums in the tunnels know I am an animal,
I hum through the subway on aluminum wheels only a dog would tuck and run away scared.
The hour draws nigh I am jumping between cars and wailing no man would leave her like I have tonight,
I look down my arm and see the red eyes accusing me they mirror the soul I am slowly cannibalizing.
Time catches up with me
I find myself back at her apartment
she hasn’t even woken up from the fiercest Nod,
I sit down and look for that silver spoon and wonder which lady in the room I love more.
It’s later than you think
I can’t do this anymore and it shows.
there is no room for poppies to bloom in my mind,
I put it all away and go back to bed
she wakes up and asks me if there is anything left,
“no, I’m spent.”
She laughs and says she has the cure for that and is drilling my arm before I can say no,
She poisoned me but I didn’t cry out,
10?
Last night I felt a little insane.
I didn’t know what to listen to- my mind or body.
My mind believes “I” should be the only catalyst of my pleasure.
My body knows the truth.
My mind has to practice having a good time before enjoying it.
My body knows the truth.
My mind wants to be the giver of pleasure -for that is where it derives it’s own.
My body knows the truth.
My mind tries to ignore the feeling.
My body know s the truth.
\CPi
Ahnece Hancock
The Great Adventure
Virginia J. Sepelak
His mother and sister picked them up and took them back home.
‘Mom led her down the hall, opened the first door on the left, threw her a pillow, and said. “It’s all yours now. This is home. Tonight I have inherited another daughter to my family” She switched on the light and wanted to turn and run. What a pig sty! She couldn't believe that anyone had ever lived like this! Clothes were all over the bed, the floor, the dresser, and any other piece of furniture that happened to be there. There was something that looked like last w eek’s science experiment sitting on a plate under the edge of the bed. A glass was perched precariously on the comer of the stereo, that looked as if it might have been milk at one time or another. She shut the door and looked around. Well, she guessed if she was going to have to sleep in here she should do something! She walked over and fought with the window , throwing it as far open as she could. A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in....That is if you dare.”
“I thought maybe you would at least like some clean sheets and blankets. The rest of the room is yours to do as you want with. He’ll never clean it up and probably won’t miss a thing if you throw it out!”
“I just don’t know where to start.” She replied.
“I’ll go get you a hamper for the clothes, but the rest is up to you. Clean out half the draw ers for you and half the closet. It’s more saved junk than anything ”
Mom helped her strip the bed and remake it. They talked all the while they were doing it joking about WHAT she had married. She w alked over to the dresser opening a drawer.
"Oh God! What does he want THIS in his drawer for?” She asked
Mom sauntered across the room and started laughing as she held up a pickled star nosed mole in ajar.
“He has had that since he went to Scout Camp when he was ten vears old. He doesn’t ever seem to throw away anything! I’ll go get you that hamper while you look around.”
She was a little leery to even reach down into any of the drawers. She opened a few more and found that a good share of them had nothing in it.
Now she knew why the clothes were all over the room. Mom came back with the hamper and left. She wasn’t sure what was clean or dirty so she just picked it all up and threw it in. She reached under the bed and found all sorts of good stuff. There were left-over plates of food, dirty clothes, umpteen mismatched pairs of shoes, and a bunch of girlie magazines. She threw the magazines in the garbage, added the clothes to the hamper, and then stacked up the dishes and carried them to the kitchen.
“So that’s where my dishes have been disappearing to. Now maybe my cupboards won’t be so empty! I just thought that someone had been breaking them and not telling me about it!”
“No, most of these were under his bed.”
“It’s yours now, so don’t let him get away with it.”
“You wouldn’t have any air freshener around would you? Better yet, maybe we ought to call in the exterminators. I’m scared to death to open the closet after what I found in some of the drawers.”
“You might be surprised. Bring me out your clothes so that you have something for school tomorrow.”
“I don't have much. I'll have to call my mother tomorrow and see if she’ll let me have my clothes. She probably will give me a whole lot of trouble.”
“I’ll pick you up after school and we’ll go down together. She’s mad, but 1 don’t think she’ll go that far.”
“Yeah, but she wants the marriage annulled.”
“She can’t. We already called a lawy er before we came to get you and the law won’t allow' it because you are pregnant and so close to eighteen.” “Oh!” She replied.
She wandered back into the bedroom and hesitantly w alked to the closet. Cautiously she opened the doors, standing to one side. She was afraid something would leap out at her. She peered around the door and gasped.
Except for the shelf in the top and a box on the floor, the closet was empty.
Boy, some things were sure going to change around here and quick! WHAT
had she gotten herself into.WHAT had she married?!?
She wandered over to the bed and sat on the edge. Staring off into space, she thought about all that had happened in the past week. She had found out she was pregnant. When she had tried to tell her parents, they wouldn’t listen. So. they ran away and got married down South. They lived on bologna sandwiches, the cops were all over the place looking for them, and then when they were almost home, they ran out of gas and money! Now, her parents probably had disowned her and wouldn’t have anything to do with her! “Was I crazy to do what I did?” She asked herself, arguing in her mind. Postwedding jitters. that’s what it was! At least HE had stood by her when her own familv wouldn’t and didn't want to listen. He could have run the other way. shut her out of his life, and claimed that the baby w asn’t his. Instead he had stood by her, had taken over, and had made all the decisions on what they would do. “I guess that counts for something, doesn’t it?” She asked herself. Just then he came into the bedroom, while she was daydreaming. He stood watching her for a few moments when she suddenly realized he was there and she asked him where he had been.
“Dad took me out to the bam, gave me a lecture about how my life style had better change and how I had better treat you. Then, he made me move the ladder back into the bam from under my window.”
U\
“What was a ladder doing under your window?” She asked innocently. “Is that why I had such a hard time opening it?”
He looked down at the floor and squirmed for a few minutes before replying. “No, that’s how I used to sneak the girls in after they were asleep.
At least I thought they were asleep until tonight and my conversation with Dad.”
She pondered this for a few minutes wondering how recent these activities had been going on, yet not daring to ask. Had he been that unfaithful to her while they were supposed to only be seeing each other? She dismissed the thoughts and got ready for bed. Morning was going to come awfully early and she was dreading tomorrow.
The next morning she went to school. Most of her classes were review for finals, so when study hall rolled around, she got a pass and went to the pay phone to call her mother.
“Mom...”
“Don’t you mom me! If you cared that much you wouldn ’t have run away with that no good, lush!”
“Mom...”
“You heard me, why did you even bother to call? You made your bed, so just lie in it! You aren’t welcome here anymore. Don’t call here, don’t come here, don’t even write a letter. Your father and I don’t want your influence on your younger brothers and sisters!”
"Mom. I need my clothes. I don’t have anything to wear.”
“You didn’t think about that when you took off with him. Let him and his family provide you with what you need. You seemed to feel you could talk to them and your sister more than you could me.”
“But Mom, you and Dad wouldn't listen to me. You always cut me off. I had to do something. I had to think of the baby too! It’s your grandchild, don’t you care about that?”
“It’s not my grandchild. I don’t have a daughter any more. Raise your bastard any way you see fit. You didn’t want our help, you didn’t want anything to do with us. If you had. you wouldn't have done the things that you have done!”
“Okay Mom. What ever you say, but can I at least have my clothes?” “How are you going to get them? I’m not bringing them to you and I don’t want that lush within miles of here!”
“His mom will bring me down after school for them. Is that okay?”
“I don’t want her in this house. I’ll pack them up and leave them on the porch for you. Don’t bother knocking or coming in.”
“Okay Mom, thanks. I’m sorry Mom. And Mom..........”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
CLICK!
She slowly placed the receiver back into its holder and just sat there. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she went back over the conversation.
Had she done wrong? Should she have made them listen instead of running away? Then she replayed in her mind a silent movie of their trip south. All the happy times, all the little things that they had shared. She compared her world before and then the trip and then now.
“No,” she said to herself, “if it be true. I'm content to have
paid the price.for the memories.”
Nicole Matkosky
i am such an accessory
sometimes i wish
that i was someone else
i never would want to
stay for this
live through that
maybe i should just die
then i wouldn’t have
to stay through this
die all alone
and not with a soul
all by myself and all alone
i must wash myself
from this place
take my soul
make haste
try to run
run away
from this place
from yourself
from everything
from this place
U3
Upon Hearing Poetry Read For The First Time Four Humours
Catherine Mullen
Words!
winging and singing through the air like birds, vanishing like wisps of smoke, rising, climbing, soaring like eagles, floating like gossamer strings of silk.
Words!
roaring, tumbling, plunging like Niagara, shushing like a mother soothing her baby, swishing, rushing, crashing like the tide, whispering like lovers sharing secrets.
Words!
crackling, snapping, popping like a house on fire, comforting like a blanket on a cold night, erupting, bursting, exploding like a volcano, resting like a sweet afternoon nap.
Words!
thrusting, pushing, clawing up like plants in spring, humming like a child at play, shattering, cracking, splintering like ice in winter, purring like a kitten on the hearth.
Words!
wonderful, wonderful words, the music of poetry.
Dancer, dance under the pale lit moon to the aging familiar time While daisies die in this madness all to fly The spirit sings reflected in the golden ring And honey drips off my fingers to my lips The tears all but sting as the clock bell rings Never again my soft pillows Or may I dance among the willows For the anger has been opened and The softness forever broken	Mandy Phelan
US'	
Good Night M’lady
Kim Adam
It was Friday night June seventeenth I think. I was a free girl, I could do any thing I wanted, within reason, of course. The point was that I had the choice, 1 no longer had to worry about what Rob would think, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t, but I at least had that choice to make.
The town carnival was going on that weekend and the rides had opened up that night. I had been going to the small town affair for two years now. It was always fun even though a little cheesy. I liked to go and watch John waste his money on the Over-Under quarter gambling booth, laugh at the poor souls that attempted Karaoke, run in to everybody I knew, and wander aimlessly around the mini carnival that was set up on the Baseball fields of the small park. I wanted to get there and mingle but I needed a ride. Knowing only two people who had vehicles, and also knowing that John was not home, left me Jim, My wonderful, pseudo next door neighbor. I gave him a call and asked if he wanted to go with me, he didn't have anything better to do so he picked me up and we went. On the way there we were listening to Jim s CD’s and chatting in general I started thinking about the past summer when I had been with Rob 99.8% of the time. That .2% was when I slept. Except at the beginning of that summer w hen I would come home from Rob’s and go for a walk around the neighborhood at night. Some times I would run in to Jim, and we’d walk together ad talk for hours about nothing at all.
“Remember when we used to go for walks last summer? ”, I asked.
“ Yeah.” he turned and looked at me, “ Yeah, I do.”
“ Eyes on the road Jim.” I mock warned him. He rolled his eyes at me and faced the road.
“There, Happy?”, he sighed. I giggled. “ Yes I remember that, and I also remember that all of a sudden you just stopped coming over and going on walks too, why is that?”
This time it was my turn to sigh. “ Well when I would tell Rob that I had been out walking with you and try to tell him about the really cool discussion I had, well he’d get kinda upset and I wouldn’t want to bring it up, so-”
“ I understand,” he interrupted. “ Yeah I know how that goes. Its Ok. I’m used to losing out to other guys.” By this time we had arrived at the park.
“ Come on Jim,” I said, rolling my eyes and getting out of the car,
“ that is the past And I for one am willing to keep it there. SO,” I took his arm, “ lets just have fun.” He agreed and we walked into the festivities.
We mingled for a while, talking to a few people we knew, and both made fun of John, as he won, and lost at the quarter gambling game. We ran into Leah and she tagged along with us for almost the rest of the night. We walked around and around the small set up, talking and talking. At one point we wandered over to the playground and sat on top of the monkey bars. Leah and I were enjoying our favorite past time, fighting, tearing each other down verbally, and Jim just sat back
|!U
and watched, When the Mosquitoes became too much for us to handle we decided that we should head back to the main area. Leah, determined to make it known that she was an independent woman, hurled herself off of the jungle gym. I waited till Jim had jumped down, and then asked him to help me. I slid down and he caught me. We kind of looked at each other for a second and then got going.
We stayed at the park for a little while longer and then offered to take Leah home. The ride there went much like the night had, and we all talked and joked around, the trip back however, went somewhat slower.
Jim and I didn’t talk much and he was playing one of his Guns N’ Roses CD s, I think the song was “ Sweet Child O' Mine”. The last lines of the song were interesting to me, “Where do we go, where do we go now?”. I didn’t want to go home, it was only 9:30.1 looked up ahead and saw the sign for the look out spot where you can see the whole valley. Spontaneously I said.
“Turn left up here.”
The road wound up the hill to where there was a pool, a miniature golf course, and picnic areas, as well as the look out spot. The whole ride up. I kept feeling that pressure feeling in my stomach, like I knew that something was going to happen.
We pulled in the parking area, got out of the car, and made our way to the gliding benches that over looked the town. We started off talking about upcoming finals for school and then about how Rob and I had finally split after a little more than a year of going out. I was relieved that was over and that I could talk about it with somebody besides Peter and John. I leaned over and put my head on his right shoulder. Sensing that I wanted to be comforted, he put his arm around me. We didn’t say anything for a while, just listened to the crickets, and the squeak of the bench, as we glided back and forth.
“Damn!”, Jim swore.
“What?”, I asked slightly confused.
“Oh, nothing, Just these Freaking Mosquitoes..’’ he grumbled, “ they ’re eating me alive.”
“ I’m sorry,” I said. “ really, I am.”
“Don’t get cute with me, missy.”, he warned.
“ Or what?”, I asked returning the ball.
He looked at me for a moment, and thought better about what he was going to say.
“Nothing, forget it.” We slipped back in to silence, and my stomach was beginning to shrink again. A few minutes later, he spoke up,
“You know, If something is going to happen it better happen soon.”
I pulled back slightly and looked at him. He stared out over the town at the surrounding hills for a moment and then met my gaze. I only gave it a moments thought before I leaned in. slowly, and then planted a huge, wet, sloppy, kiss on his right cheek! Satisfied with myself, I sat back and smiled. He sat there, shocked, for a few seconds before saying,
“That, wasn’t quite what I had in mind. ” I looked at him again and sincerely apologized,
“I’m sorry Jim. It’s a bad habit I have, breaking the mood and all .” He turned to look at me,
“Don’t, apologize.” he said staring in my eyes, “It’s ok.”
We both leaned in that time and. for the first time, we kissed. It had been ycrirs since I had kissed anybody but Rob. and it felt good not to be with him but with somebody else. I was comfortable, and relaxed. 1 w asn’t scared or nervous, w ell maybe not nervous, but it was the good kind of nervousness, the kind I liked, and the kind I had missed.
Later, after he had driven me home, we sat in my driveway, and kissed good-bye. He them got out of the car came around, and opened my door for me. He walked me to my porch and standing on the sidewalk I stood on tip-toe to kiss him, and lost my balance. We both laughed and then he met my eyes. Slowly, he reached down, brought my right hand to his lips, kissed it gently, and backed away saying,
‘ Good night M'lady.”
A Kiss
1 came to you one summer, night Snuck in through your back door,
Down the stairs to your room.
Your smell was everywhere.
I only came on a feeling,
A feeling of emptiness that needed to be filled.
You moved over, made room.
I lav beside you and stared at the ceiling.
You placed your arm across me,
And 1 looked into your eyes.
In one look
You asked, and immediately answ ered
The hundreds of questions that flew betw een our silences
1 drew a shaky breath As you turned towards me.
Cradling me in vour arms.
1 relaxed, just enough to know I w ould be all right.
And then, that night
That beautiful, rainless, summer night
Our lips met.
Kim Adams
Catholic Wedding
Matt Sweet
Crackle thunder. Geez!
Cats racing around the unused bassinet Stop!
Arched back, arched back. Spit!
Mother Sardis, greeting Guests.
Lip-stick smudged smile.
Sweating.
Today is a day of celebration.
Crackle thunder. Geez!
Daughter in bedroom With maids of honor Slowly slipping on her mother's White wedding dress.
Had to be let out Even more in the belly.
Grandpa sitting in his chair smiling and singing “Gloria in excelsis Deo"
While sipping on a flask of watered-down Whisky His grand-daughter is getting married!
Gramma comes early And helps her daughter Greet the guests.
With disdainful sentiment.
“No daughter of hers would have ever Gotten pregnant out of wed-lock!”
Brother is in his glory .
Laughing, pretending to have a good time Enjoys watching the tension That mounts as the day progresses.
The father of the bride Waits in anticipation For his little girl
To walk down the Aisle at last!
But, he wonders what kind of a boy
His daughter is going to marry He never approved of him.
But, bringing him into the family Is the right thing to do.
The groom's parents arrive.
The mother, with the same Ov er-drawn, Make up on.
Smudged lipstick.
And weighted smile.
The father.
With the same weighted smile
Not knowing why
His boy has to marry the girl.
Fidgets next to his wife To the front row of chairs
The organist arrives
No know ing exactly what house
The ceremony was.
So. she asked ev ery house on the street Where the wedding was taken place.
Almost late, she finally found the house
Half-drunken.
Father Nightly arrives
In his long robe of purple and red.
Smiling, singing.
Secretly sipping from the Sacrificial wine.
He prepares for Mass to begin.
The Mass lasts a full hour.
Father Nightly sings the Mass In a tiny Alter in the living room Of the Sardis Family Still feeling the effects of the wine.
Tries ever so gracefully to maneuver the Alter
A pause after the mass Every one is getting ready Mothers Gulping
Father of the Bride
Runs back to the dressing room.
Grabs the arm of the reluctant bride Grabs the arm of the reluctant bride And motions her forward to the Alter.
The music from the organ sings Mendelsson Everyone turns their heads to look At the Bride walking down the Aisle She is dressed in Victorian White In the dress her mother and grand-mother Wore to their w eddings.
The further she w alks down the Aisle,
The better view everyone has of her The organ drowned by the murmurs, giggles. And laughter that filled the room.
Grandfather shouts. '‘It is such a Wonderful day And then falls to sleep
The girl's face runs pale.
And slows the pace of the walk.
She tells her daddy that the baby is kicking And kneels to the floor.
She is having a baby her father shouts!
The room falls into a panic!
The father props the daughters head up.
The mother faints.
The grandmother catches her The brother catches her The brother sarcastically laughs.
The mother of the groom horrified,
The father of the groom sighs,
The groom himself is annoyed.
Everyone huddles around the bride And Father Nightly reads his scriptures.
For, Today is a holy day,
Where the Glory of God Throws himself upon the sanctity of the Altar Consecrate the families in the most blessed way. Crackle Thunder, Geez!
Bastard
Don Crawford
He saw her from the bottom of the stairs
Her left hand wrapped tightly around her right wrist
Blood seeping between her fingers
From a thin, deep cut
That the straight edge had given her
A pool of crimson formed at her feet The source of which was running Smoothly, swiftly downward From wrist to thigh to foot to floor
Collapsing silently at the top of the stairs She stared at him with wide, apologetic eyes Her son moments away from becoming What he had been labeled so long ago Bastard
A Midsummer’s Madness
Linda Kakretz
Fifteen dollars and three cents. That's all I had to work with, but I was a desperate and determined woman. With a little creativity I was certain I could win this w ar for his attention.
Oh, to be sure it was innocent enough. Many a night she’d caught my eye in those more than skimpy outfits as she paraded past the large bay window of her apartment, her movements over exaggerated to achieve her desired effect. How could he help but leer at her as she glided past in that see through black negligee, almost pirouetting as she reached the over-stuffed settee, as though expecting applause from all her audience across the terraces that separated the apartments. It wouldn’t have bothered me except he hadn’t answered the question I’d asked him for the third time, let alone the first. No doubt about it, she had become a major distraction and I was.. .jealous? No, just feeling rather competitive I decided.
I parked the van a few spaces down from Victoria’s Secret on Main Street. Sporting my new' dark shades and my most sophisticated suit, I quickly walked down the sidewalk, trying not to attract any attention to my self. Hesitating only at the door. I peered over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching. Safely inside. I began to survey this awkward situation. Most of these get-ups looked uncomfortable at best. The majority of these delightful ditties were teddies and were either missing their most functional portions all together or definitely destined to incur a mean wedgie on the wearer. How on earth could something the size of a hank}', with less function yet, cost twenty-five dollars, I mused? Just as I was considering bolting out the front door, my eyes caught a fifty-per-cent-off sign two racks over. My feet were propelled to the rack like steel particles to a huge magnet. I began to paw my way through the layers of lace, silk, and mesh when my heart settled on a long, teal blue, film gown. I’d look like an ice queen in that one. The inevitable happened and the original tag said forty dollars. My quick math said forget it but I saw that another price was crossed out as well and a red fifteen dollars in its place. The situation was too strange for coincidence, so glancing over my shoulder I made my way to the sales counter. The sales clerk double checked the price, all the while exclaiming how the gown had been made for me—a perfect match with my eyes and a complement to my hair. I flushed crimson, hoping no one else was eavesdropping and mumbled that it was for my niece. She smiled back with a knowing look and assured me that she’d love it.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be seen leaving Victoria's Secret with my purchase in hand. However, I resisted the temptation to ditch the bag and turn the gown into a scrunchy that could easily be crammed into my jacket pocket.
It wouldn’t have been much of a challenge on my part. Victoria's secret
las
seemed to be the inane ability to create something that even in full length couldn’t adequately cover a flea.
My decision to settle into a candle light bath in aromatherapy luxury paid off—not an up-tight muscle in this body. I could slink and slither with the best of them after that. 1 had already set the mood with scented candles and a chilled bottle of wine. Donning the puff of teal transparency, I began rummaging around the closet for those six inch Brazilian heels and caught a glimpse of this strange siren of a woman slinking past the mirrored wall. Oh my God, that’s me! Caught totally off guard, I instantly recalled how I had broken into hilarious laughter at a woman on Oprah’s show the previous day In a desperate attempt to bring spice back into their relationship, the woman had greeted her husband w earing only six inch black pumps and wrapped in saran wrap. “It should have been heat shrink,” I guffawed to my best friend, Leisa. The effect was similar as I beheld the woman before me draped in teal blue splendor. As I rolled convulsively on the bed, I quickly stuffed the nearest pair of pantyhose in my mouth when I heard his key turn in the front door.
Scrambling into the walk-in closet, I quickly reached for “old faithful’’ there on the hanger. A familiar warmth enveloped me as I slipped the soft flannel over my head. The ageless, pink roses whispered of springtime and as I tied the ribbons into a bow at my neck, I remembered the words of Miss Dilly. "Oh no child!” she chided in typical southern belle horror, as I sauntered out in my bikini to wait for my Prince Charming to arrive and drive me to the shore in his chariot. “You need to cover up. You see you’re like a gift to that man. You wouldn't want someone to just hand you a store bought gift that they just pulled out of the bag. No, Honey... You want it all wrapped up in pretty paper with ribbons and bows. The surprise is where all the fun comes in. Now you go and put on something pretty over that and let him unwrap you and don’t make it easy for him either.” I smiled to myself in memory of the wisdom that that dear sweet woman possessed.
I dabbed some of my "Come Summer” behind my ears and thought of how’ content I’d become with this time of my life. Entering the doorway he asked why I’d lit all the candles. I smiled and replied. “Oh, the lights flickered and I thought they might go out and wanted to be prepared.” He smiled and pulling me closer, kissed me as though to reassure me that the light would never go out.
CHAPTER 2
It was great to be able to break free from the office early on a Thursday. Elizabeth’s romantic mood of the previous night left me feeling content if not somewhat subdued. Actually, spent was a much better word.
I’m not as young as I used to be, but we won’t let her know that.
I began to move around the apartment picking up a little before she came home. Talk about the morning after—what a mess! Then the telephone
rang. It was Jared, our next door neighbor. Jared and I were friends but we were not as close as he liked to think we were. Sometimes he just got on my nerv es with that compulsive, competitive nature of his. I outgrew that crap in college. Some guys never do, and Jared was one of them.
"Hey. Aaron. Have you seen our new neighbor across the way?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer the way I would have liked to; “Yes, and a lot more of her than I cared to.” “What do you make of her?” He continued without giving me a chance to reply. I didn't and he probably wanted to . make her that is. "Isn’t she gorgeous? Come on Aaron Don’t tell me you didn’t notice her?”
"How could 1 not notice her, Jared? She doesn’t really give anyone a chance to not notice her.” I replied disinterestedly.
"What is wrong with you, Aaron?” He asked accusingly. “You got iron poor blood or something? She’s one of the most seductively gorgeous beauties you’ve ever seen and you know it!”
“So what are you, her pimp? She’s probably also one of the least selective, seductively gorgeous beauties you’ve ever seen. And anyway, have you forgotten your wife of twenty-five years?” I countered.
"Oooh, a man with a conscience! It doesn’t hurt to look and anyway some things were just put on this earth for a man to enjoy. She’s given us some enjoyment these last few nights, wouldn’t you say?” Jared guffawed in my ear.
“Yeah, well, before you get too carried away, Jared, just remember how hard it was to get out of the dog house the last time. It took both Elizabeth and me to convince Janet tliat nothing was going on. You're in alone next time Buddy.”
“Hey, man. what’s wrong with you? Is Elizabeth cold or out of commission? That gorgeous thing across the verandah's frustrating you, right?” Jared chided.
Come on Jar, you don’t know what you're talking about. Elizabeth is more woman than most men could handle. She’s all the woman this guy will ever need,” I said, meaning every word.
"Really? Well, you guys have been married as long as the "Old Ball And Chain” and I have, so you can’t fool me. After that long, every guy wonders if there isn’t something more exciting out there.” Jared said in that pouting, know-it-all tone he liked to use.
"Speak for yourself, Jared. I’m very content with what I have at home. I don’t need to look anywhere else.” I countered.
"Okay. Well, I’ll check back with you on that after a few more "night shows.” No man could turn his head away from that delectable creature. Not even you Aaron.”
“Whatever.” I conceded, weary from the banter. “We’ll see you and Janet Saturday night for our pinnacle game, right?” I asked.
“As far as I know we’re still on. Want us to bring anything?”
“No. I think Elizabeth has everything under control.”
“Yeah! I’ll just bet she does! Haw! Haw! Haw!” Jared implied.
“See you Saturday then.” I said, ignoring his crudeness. “How did a nice woman like Janet end up with such a jerk?” 1 thought to myself.
I crossed the living room to pick up my other sock. Elizabeth can be such a puzzle sometimes. She’s so practical and down to earth on the surface that she almost seems prudish. But then she can turn around and take me totally off guard like the previous night. She was more sexy dressed in that flannel gown than she would have been wTapped in Saran wrap. She knows me inside and out. that woman! I don’t think any woman could push my buttons like she can. A few have tried but none came even close. No, Jared doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He doesn’t know Elizabeth I thought to myself, as I tinned to pick up my tie.
Just then, I caught sight of a movement out of the comer of my eye. Oh brother! Jar wouldn’t have to wait for the night show. His "delectable beauty” was standing in front of the window wearing one of those black thong style leotards, bent over, mooning the world, while doing her aerobics. Jared might appreciate that sort of thing, but my impulse would be to toss her a pair of sweats.
Elizabeth would have too much pride to expose her wares to the world like that. Only one time do I remember her ev en w earing a bikini when swimming. It was back when we were dating and I had come to pick her up for a day at Lake Lowndes. Any other girl would have met me wearing a bathing suit. Not Elizabeth. She had this kind of dress type affair on, with a pair of sandals, and her hair all done up with pink ribbons. I said, "You do know we’re going to the lake?” She said, "Mmm. Hmm. I have my stuff in my tote.” She said good-bye to her Mom and Miss Dilly, and off we went.
We spent most of that day w alking the nature trails and talking over a picnic lunch that Miss Dilly helped her prepare. We decided to take a swim before we left just after sunset. I though I would die when she peeled that dress thing off, pulled the ribbons out of her hair, and dove off the dock. I was spell bound by her natural ease as she swam out through the rosy, sun bathed waves toward the sunset 1 can still see her. She had no idea that I made my decision to mam1 her right then. She had an inner beauty that had rev ealed itself throughout the day. Most guys go for the way it’s packaged but there was far more to Elizabeth than the packaging. With her, it was just the icing on the cake.
I smiled to myself as I thought of that long ago day that lasted w ell past the sunset. Crossing the room, I closed the vertical blinds on the expose across the verandah. I decided to surprise Elizabeth with a quiet dinner at home of Chinese take-out and a good bottle of wine. I didn’t feel quite as spent as I had earlier in the day and looked thoughtfully forward to a quiet evening alone, with my wife.
I was suddenly jarred out of my thoughts by the door buzzer. Shock followed by some intrigue flowed through me, only to be replaced by cautious awareness. There she stood, that "siren” from across the verandah! “I hoped
l ol~j
you hadn’t gone back out. I saw you earlier from my window, across the verandah. I have a slight problem. I went to get my mail from the box downstairs and locked myself out. Would you mind if I used your phone to call the landlord to let me in?” She asked in a sultry, Lauren Bacall tone of voice.
“No problem." I replied, and handed her the portable. She smiled and asked for the phone book as she didn’t know the landlord's number. As I walked toward the desk, she turned and sat on the sofa. Then, as I turned to make my way across the room, there in the doorway I saw Elizabeth with this horrified, accusing look on her face. She stared first at me and then at the
Primal Song
gerry carpenter
Lying on my bed alone
with my thoughts
while staring out my frosted windows as the wind thrashes against the glass.
I listened to the wind’s stuttering chatter.
Then my ears catch a faint sound, an echo
that interrupts my restless
stare and I look out my frosted window to try to find it.
I can see shadows tearing along blanketed trees and through the white grass with a glacial wind guiding them through die frozen blue tinted tundra
They follow the moan that
holds
diem by leashes woven
by the stars wrapped around their lonely and chilled faces that screams out
Their icy dreams shuffling in the broken wind.
Their sweet melody
seduces
my spirit to fly
through the Arctic Valley where they lay rest
It lulls me to sleep and I
dreams of my wolves who
run along the edge of a frozen wilderness
howling their primal song
smgrng in me.
Bobby’s Hat
Dion Clark
There’s a kid who sits next to me In class - name’s Bobby.
He has a great fashion sense, this guy Tommy Hiifiger. East Bay, white tennies.
He’s a walking brand name.
He’s the type of guy you just know Spends several hours each morning Combing his hair, plucking Ms nose,
Deftly applying just the right amount Of expensive, rustic cologne.
I’m not jealous of this guy.
I have my own life, my own problems,
And in truth do not care at all about His misplaced values system.
And I didn’t pay much attention to Mm Until one day I glanced in his direction And saw that he was wearing a hat.
It was a folded newspaper cap
Shaped kmd of like a triangle or a little boat.
There were wild streaks of neon stoplight green Scarring the print in permanent marker Like some bizarre kind of new age art That was bom in an epileptic seizure.
And, just as everyone else in the class Must have been.
(As they were all staring and pointing And laughing at him)
I was a little surprised to see This straight laced conformist With every hair on his head in place Wearing this stupid thing.
I looked at him, and said:
“So, why the hat, Bob?”
He looked at me, and shrugged A little smile,
Like he didn’t really have an answer.
And I understood.
130
Kristina Kuhn
It’s a typical American scene —
Laughing Immortal Love Perfect Teeth Are Sparkling Beautiful Woman Eats Frog Leg Sun Is Shining On A Caribbean Island High Heels Dancing With Grace Through The Ballroom A Porsche Is Pursumg A Jaguar Party Small Talk About The Newest Clothes From France.
Why Is The South Afrikan Boy Spending All His Money At The Cinema? Police Are Planning How They Could Shoot A Spy Best Friend Owns The Only Bike M The Village Marching Soldiers Stamp Through The Street Rain Is Coming Through The Leaking Roof Little Brother Is Hungry Decayed Teeth Are Aching Despairing Hate Cryrng
—It’s A Typical Afrikan Scene.
I 3 \
The River Of Dreams

Virginia J. Sepelak
Song lyrics by Billy Joel
In the middle of the night I go walking in my sleep From the mountain of faith To a river so deep I must be looking for something Something sacred I lost But the river is wide And it’s too hard to cross
And even though I know the river is wide I walk down every evening and I stand on the shore And try to cross to the opposite side So I finally can find out what I've been looking for
In the middle of the night I go walking in my sleep Through the valley of fear To a river so deep
And I’ve been searching for something Taken out of my soul Something I would never lose Something somebody stole
I don’t know why I go walking at night But now I'm tired and I don’t want to walk anymore I hope it doesn’t take the rest of my life Until I find what it is that I’ve been looking for
In the middle of the night I go walking in my sleep Through the jungle of doubt To a river so deep I know I’m searching for something Something so undefined That it can only be seen By the eyes of the blind In the middle of the night
I’m not sure about a life after this
I S3
God knows I’ve never been a spiritual man Baptized by the fire, I wade into the river That runs to the promised land
In the middle of the night I go walking in my sleep Through the desert of truth To the river so deep We all end in the ocean We all start in the streams We’re all carried along By the river of dreams In the middle of the night
This is a song with strong rhythm and rhyme, imagery, and symbolism. Every second and fourth line rhymes throughout the song regardless of whether it is verse or chorus. This song gives the listener the image of a man having a dream over and over, night after night. The man seems to be struggling with his own spirituality1 and a desire to walk with the Holy Spirit.
In the first and second stanza, he speaks of the mountains of faith. In the scriptures, such as when Moses went to the mountain, they went to the mountains to be close to or to meet with God. The river has represented the spiritual side of God and man In baptism in the Holy Spirit, one is brought into a higher spiritual being powered by God. By finding one's spirituality , one dies to one’s self and the spirit comes alive. He’s searching for something he lost, but he doesn’t know how to find what he’s lost. In this case it’s his own spirituality , which man is continually looking for from the day he is bom. From a Christian stand point a man is spiritually dead from the fall of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, which caused a separation from God who is a spirit and man who was created a spiritually supreme being.
In the second stanza, he walks through the valley of fear which represents his own fear of spirituality and the depth of the river is his own inability to achieve the spiritual re-lationship he is looking for. At one time he felt he had found what he was looking for, but he feels his faith has been shaken by an experience involving someone else or life’s circumstances.
The third stanza tells you he is becoming weary. At this point one has to wonder whether he is describing dreams, walks in the middle of the night or experiencing deep inward searches about his own spirituality.
In the fourth stanza, he tells you it does occur when he is sleeping. Even while he is sleeping, his inward man is still searching. So now, even while sleeping, he’s still searching and dreaming of the state of his own spirituality. He states it’s not something you can see, you can’t depend on your physical senses to discern it God is a spirit, you cannot figure God out
with your physical senses, this is why it is undefined and only the eyes of the blind can see it.
In the fifth stanza, he’s now saying he never has been a spiritual man. Baptized with fire of desire for spirituality he wades into the river, at least leaving the doubt and unbelief behind and seek what he is looking for. . . the promised land mean-ing the spiritual relationship with the creator.
The sixth and final stanza talks of the desert of truth. Truth makes you or breaks you. it's cut and dry. He meets himself and he meets his creator. You have to die to yourself to be renew ed in the spirit. We all begin with a spiritual drawing in us (start in the streams) drawing us to a deeper knowledge of our own spirituality and a relationship with our creator which would be ending in the ocean River of Dreams represents the spiritual man and we are all carried along on the river of dreams, which is our desire to reach that oneness with the Lord.
Sunday Worship
gerry carpenter
Ever, one of us was sitting in the
chapel. Bowed our heads and prayed for the light to shine on OUR heads while in our heads
we called those who didn’t join us the cursed and poor examples of our so-called Christianity.
The preacher stood at the pulpit and gave a sermon that he pretended all of us
listened to as we
couldn't wait to get out of there to go to
get an ice cold beer. I personally wanted on and
maybe a cigarette too.
I think the preacher w as talking about something, 1 assume it was about Christ
and sin and stuff,
as usual.
Then he asked all to bow our heads again and pray while the ushers
(preacher’s pets) passed out
the communion platter to snack on. So we bow ed our heads
and asked "God’s forgiveness” for the sins we know we’re going to commit the second the
happy hour is over.
So I hung my head and thought to myself.
"like a piece of bread and a shot of juice is going to help my soul.”
Then I prayed. "God, I think I’ll open my bottle of tequila and light up right
here.
no one would really notice anyways.”
Love Affair
Cherie Stull
Scene
Hubert and Jane sit down at a booth in a dimly-lit, smoky bar on the same side of the booth. They sit very close. They've spent the last twenty minutes staring into one another’s eyes. Finally, they begin to speak.
(at once)
Hubert: So how was... I’m sony...no you go first.
Jane: What did you... no go ahead (laughing softly). I was just going to ask what you did today.
Hubert: Well I worked from noon to seven and I went shopping this morning. How about you?(speaks softly leaning forward)
Jane: (Also leans forward) I slept in. We were out so late last night. I spent the afternoon at the auto repair shop getting my bicycle fixed (these spoken with great intensity)
Hubert: (very concerned) It was pretty late. Are you tired?
Jane: (on verge of tears because he cares) No. I slept in. Are you tired? Hubert: I’m fine. I had a lot of coffee today, (shows her his shaking hands) Jane: (stricken) You’re going to give yourself a heart attack! Order another drink so you can calm down, (clucks her tongue disapprovingly)
Hubert: That is so thoughtful, (to waitress) Another brewskky please, (to Jane) You know I think I like you , really like you.
Jane: (very excited) Are you saying what I think you’re saying?
Hubert: What do you mean? I’m not saying anything What are you accusing me of already ?
Jane: I mean your saying you are interested in pursuing a non-platonic extracurricular emotional relationship.
Hubert: You're an unbelievable Jane! How did you know exactly what I had in mind?
Jane: (very logically) Well you’ve got your hand on my...
Hubert: (flustered) Oh, well that’s what the book said was subtle flirting, (removes had)
Jane: (laughs hysterically) What a funny joke.
Hubert: (looks confused at first, then snorts and laughs, adjusts himself) Well ya know I’m just a funny guy.
Jane: (wipes tears away, looks sentimentally at radio above bar) That’s my favorite song. It reminds me of you, you know? (Dr. Dimento’s “They’re coming to take me away”)
Hubert: (looks deep into her red eye-sockets) Its our song. May I have this dance? (takes her hand leads her to the middle of the bar)
Jane: (sincere) You’re so romantic you make me sick. I think I love you.
(The happy couple slam dance to their song, knocking over chairs and a couple of people as well. Then they plunk themselves back into their booth, sweating
and panting.)
I’ve left a shoe print on your face. I feel very close to you now.
Hubert: I’ve left one on vour back. We truly are connected in a cosmic way.
Do you really love me?
Jane: (pondering ) Yes I think 1 do. The only other thing I have loved was my pet skunk, Skunky. He’s dead now but I care much more for you than I ever
did for old Skunky. (sadly)
Hubert: (eyes flashing ) You never told me you loved another!
Jane: (rolls her eyes in disgust) Relax he’s dead !
Hubert: Well its a good thing! I won’t stand for competition, (puffs up his chest)
Jane: Your such a magnificent specimen of manhood. Let me get you another beer, (to waitress) Hey old bat get my Hubert another Pabst and knock of the googly eyeing him! (to the Hubert) Only the best for you baby!
Hubert: Does this mean we re a couple, an item, a twosome, Bonnie and
Clyde, Micky and Mallory?
Jane: Yes baby, just you and me all the way.
Hubert: I’ve loved a lot of women in my day. I’ve got high standards.
(Jane looks confused)
Hubert: I’ll want to see your teeth, (said matter of fact)
Jane: (opens her mouth showing 18 silver fillings) Ows at ?
Hubert: What? I can’t understand you.
Jane: Ows at ?! Ows at?!
Hubert: Oh “How’s that?” Fine fine you’ve got wonderful fillings Shall we go to your place or mine? (attempts to sound seductive)
Jane: That depends. Is your mother going to be home?
Hubert: Nah, she's in jail this weekend. Got busted at a strip joint.
Jane: all right! Party at grannies!
Hubert: Your drunk!
Jane: Avsolutely ociffer
The couple exits the bar through the open windows.
I 3~1
Jfi+
Feats
Feet first.
bloodied, bruised, screaming, I came into the world alone,
though not yet lonely.
A year later,
a sister bom.
Now. no longer alone, and in more time, many, many more sisters and some brothers as well.
I, never alone, yet lonely.
In my 19th year.
head first, pink and gurgling, my son w as bom.
Mine
alone, but not lonely.
Within one more year, a daughter
Now no time for alone.
More time, more sons, more daughters Never alone, but not lonely
Yet.
Catherine Mullen
Temp us fugit.
Children growing.
Filling out.
But I, wean and wary Of emptiness.
Alone and lonely.
Now, in my 57th year.
Thirteen grand
I3S
sons and daughters.
Matriarch, yet finding myself a child again as I enter college.
Not alone and not lonely.
Feet first
Unbowed, in my 90th year.
I will have my death.
It will be mine alone.
but not lonely and
not yet.
\Z<\
In Justice For AH
Sarah Van Skiver
He just plain hadn't had a companion in a long time, and that was all there was to it. It was his only justification for why he was picking up the phone right now and dialing the local newspaper. “Hello, may I help you?” the voice of the receptionist said, automatically, as though she'd said that same phrase a thousand times that day, and she probably had. “Yes, ma’am, could you run the following ad in tomorrow's personals section? Slowly, he read the ad that he'd prepared earlier that day. “Just for fun, bold lettering in caps on top. Straight clean white male comma mid-thirties comma seeking females any race or age comma for fun times period No relationship period Discretion assured period " He finished. “Did you get all that, ma'am?” he asked, just to make sure “Yes. sir.” she said, repeating the ad back word for word, “it should be in the paper tomorrow, and your box number will be 78765.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He hung the phone in its cradle and leaned against the wall. Faith would never understand what he had just done, but she would never have to find out, either.
Of course he'd had to put no relationship' in his ad. after all, you couldn't very well hav e a relationship with somebody when you were a married man. It's just that Faith was incapacitated for right now, yeah, and he needed someone to help him out over the rough times. Oh, come off it! ’ his conscience flared up in his head for at least the twentieth time since he’d made that phone call yesterday. She's in the hospital dying of a tumor the size oja basketball in her and you've gotten an itch that she can't quite help you with adequately anymore! ’ He looked at the row of ‘mail’ boxes, which were nothing more than answ ering machines, and located his, the number 78765 taped to the speaker Oh. the damned thing probably doesn't even have a message on it yet. he thought, but then noticed that the red light was blinking.
One message' his conscience crooned. Are you actually going to do this to Faith, your dying wife? Can you? Dyyyyyiiiiiinnnnng wiiiiiffffffffe.' Shut up. his mind spat back viciously, of course I’m going to do this. It’s my God-given right and biological duty7 to do this! He reached out one trembling hand and pressed the “Play” button to appease the angry and insistent flashing of that evil red pinpoint of light. “Hello.” a luxuriant-sounding voice said. “I’m calling in response to your ad. and I’d like to fulfill your desires. I can be
contacted at....” Writing the number down hastily, already knowing by the
sound of her voice that this was the one, he wanted her. He went back home and. once again, his conscience kicked in as he stared at the phone. How could you consider giving up on her now, right when she needs you the most? ’
The animal lust in him demanded that he pick the damned phone up and dial her number right this very second, but his true love for Faith, what he had always taken for true love, anyway, forced him to think.
He'd married Faith twenty years ago and they’d had a wonderful life together, just the two of them, up until last year. That was when Faith’d started to have her headaches. Batteries of tests and blood work done on her had revealed the brain tumor which was slowly taking her over, both mind, and what had really come to bother him most of all, body. Two months ago, it had finally come down to Faith being forced to spend the rest of her days in the hospital because nurses could no longer care for her at their home. And, because the rest of her days could probably be counted on one hand at this point, you feel that you can just go fuck some slut just because she’s willing?' YES! his mind answered shrilly, and he picked up the phone, dialing the number the woman had left. “Hello?” the same luxuriant voice answered.
“Uh, hi, you answered my ad in the personals.” he said stupidly. “Oh, yeah, hi, my name’s Justice. When and where did you want to meet?” her voice didn’t sound at all nervous, sounded, in fact, experienced at this. “Well,” he said, “if you want to start things right off like that, why don’t we meet at your place? Just give me your address, and I’ll come right over tonight, but first I have an errand to run.” he hoped he didn't sound as inexperienced at this sort of thing as he was. “OK,” she said, “but first I need to know' two things, what is your name and why do you need discretion?” “My name is Roger Black and I need discretion because I am a married man and the last thing I want is for this to get out.” Right ’ his conscience piped up. the last thing you want, the last thing you need. ’ And so he drove to her house that night after his daily visit to the hospital with Faith. She hadn’t remembered who he was, it w as one of her bad days, and Roger wondered if that was actually a good thing today. Afraid of facing her before you betray her, huh, Roger?' Shirt up,
buddy.
His guilty conscience had been, rather suspiciously, Roger thought, relatively quiet so far. Justice had prepared a beautiful candlelight dinner She was a knockout too. Tall, slender, long black hair almost to her waist. She w as wearing a tight red dress that clung to her curvy body in all the right places. He’d been fairly drooling over her since before dinner. “Now it’s time
to see if we’re......compatible.” she purred, standing and walking over to
him. She pulled Roger to his feet by his tie and led him to her bedroom They
undressed each other slowly and crawled into bed.
YOU BASTARD!’ his conscience exploded suddenly. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO YOUR WIFE OF TIVENTY YEARS?!' He’jerked up into a sitting position, disturbing Justice momentarily. She hadn’t had much success in getting him into the mood so far but got back to work on him as though
unsurprised. Just then. Roger made a decision.
He bit down on his tongue until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Swallow, swallow, swallow. He said nothing more to Justice. And, although she went on with her work, for it had finally started to yield some results, Justice noticed that Roger’s body was becoming steadily colder. When she was done, she went to kiss him, and, there, in his mouth, was the ragged stump of tongue that he’d bitten off.
JK.
Runaway
Michelle Flynn
I came to you one rainless night And when I saw you I trembled so hard That thunder began to roll.
Then lightning struck and made your face shine. I looked at you as I made my way up the driveway.
The lightning silhouetted your face on this August night.
I hadn’t seen you in a while It was like a tree branch falling and crashing right on top of me.
I was afraid.
I let you talk and I listened Since I didn’t know what I should do anyway.
You said you "wanted to start over.”
Which w as accompanied by the roll of constant thunder and the flash of lighting piercing, inside my ears and eyes.
Your voice was faint, but still there.
Things would be different, this time I thought.
First the mind games come, then the lies.
and your inconsistent phone calls.
Why can't you just tell me What you w ant straight out?
I’m fed up with vour Bull Shit
I’ve had enough of this
You will run away from me soon,
Like you always do,
IS*
Just because you’re scared.
Don’t expect me to go along with you Because this time I’m not coming.
Then starts the calm of the storm This rain, thunder, and lighting I’ve been seeing, are beginning to
cease.
Yes, I miss you, but please don’t come back.
This heart, you know , it’s all tom and cracked.
Thank you (finally) for leaving me alone. This is how I’ll stay.
My Mother’s Freedom
Jessica Bonham
Outside an old, ruined white house Bloomed, in the shade, white lilies of the valley. This house once solid, sheltered a family.
I always wanted to walk inside the building Trespassing on the memories of days To which I was bom after, not before.
My mother would tell me stories of being a kid
When pop was five cents
And she used to go to the movies for a quarter.
Those flowers grew silently there then.
Beside the house, beneath a kitchen window Where the sun could not reach.
I wanted to convey my curiosity as a child To play and explore each floor of the house.
Yet my mother would hear none of it.
The doors were locked: the windows broken Yet there must have been a history When the house held a family.
I did not know so long ago My mother had memories of that house And she kept them all silently.
My mother, so fair skinned so young Played at that house with lilies of the valley Beneath the kitchen window shaded.
She never told me she used to live there In the days passed away And to which 1 did not belong.
And so one day when the house came down. Trucks taking away each weathered piece,
My mother dug up the lilies of the valley.
Careful to put each plant in the shade Of our house where 1 was free to explore And not long after that day, my mother passed away.
Hell
Jeshua L. Hamilton
Hell is remembering what my childhood was like.
Sitting here only six years old Being told “hell is eternal burning.” And I asked, how does it feel to be burned, as I smelled my burning flesh, on the hot stove.
I was scared of hell,
Thinking soon it wouldn’t be just a hand. Now I’m older, looking at my scars hearing many say hell is only a state of mind.
I guess only the damned would know what hell is all about.
Algebra
Mary anna Hartman
What possible good is Algebra......for the requirements of the majority of
people in this world? Other than using it to figure gas mileage or the square feet of a room, I can’t see any logical purpose for all those formulas. Who gives a damn about radical and variable expressions? What have they got to do with the real world? On checking occupations, the probability of most mere mortals rising the ‘A ‘ word, (except in the more simplified form) is negative.
Reality is that schools do know the stress levels h causes students or there’d be no reason to invest in math A = L x W	anxiety classes. That’s what I suffer
from...dreadful math anxiety. It’s a most traumatic disease. My ambition isn’t to be a physicist, a scientist a professor of mathematics, or even a carpenter. Solving complex fractions is not my goal in life. All I want... is to read, write and be a little creative. So... please, don’t take up all my time with letters from A to Z that stand for an unknown number & can be squared from here to infinity. I don’t
anticipate factoring 1st or 2nd degree polynomials, nor do I give an iota about integers and quadratic methods. My interest in legs has nothing to do with the hypotenuse, so that rales out any reason to use the Pythagorean Theorem. Why can’t textbooks use plain English that average people can understand? I don't plan on walking the number line and as far as evaluating or solving equations is concerned, forget it! My personal need in mathematical skills is
simple. All I require is an inexpensive calculator & my God given intellect to
IMU
balance
my checkbook, figure my budget
and find a positive solution in paying off my credit cards.
Spare me lectures . .on benefits of the
‘Big A\ We have an intense hate for each other. Give me a break, evaluate this poem, simplify next semester’s syllabus, subtract me from the mighty math schedule and divide me into three equal parts , creative writing, history
and journalism. Now, is that irrational? ....Please!!!!
Make an example of me and I figure I’ll equate to most people.. .algebra or not! And all you
math fanatics may solve the following:
4(@#8%$A&)<(#”) = 3*(A%$?*#2-3)>!#...!!
a=l/2 bh
/
V
/
(Z-8)(Z+4) = -42
^(ttah-18ab=b)
2
ax + b <- c
\*n
Freeze Frame

Sue Putney
The professor steps into his classroom,
Rubber-soled shoes chirping on vinyl floor.
Dumps blue composition books on the desk.
His back aches; his legs hurt; his feet are sore.
Every piece of clothing he owns smells like chalk dust.
His mind is on what’s for lunch; what’s for dinner’ Where he’s going for a drink after work,
What his wife meant by that crack this morning.
He’s said his morning mantra: Thank God I have tenure 1 can retire in a few years.
He’s read these same stories a thousand times.
(In his mind, mold grown on the pages.)
Read a million papers written about them.
Knows every nuance of every character.
Every slant to every plot; every shift in every tone.
His eyes scan the room, picking out fragmenters—
Those who can’t put nouns and verbs together.
He’s given up all hope of finding one Who even comes close to understanding.
By rote, he quizzes, "Who is the main character in...?”
Or 'How would you describe miasma’?”
Or “Do you think Emily killed her father?”
An answ er comes.
In a complete sentence.
It presents a new twist.
He stops, raises one eyebrow, and Says, “1 hadn't thought of it that way .”
If I could freeze one moment in time,
It would be the exact second That eyebrow begins to arch.
[This has nothing to do with one bright student.
Nothing to do with any role reversal.
But everything to do with the power Of a Classic to grab a reader ]
And, for a few seconds,
IMS
He remembers why he answered this call.
Home Town
Jessica Bonham
Midnight winds swept crinkled leaves across the streets Of her town. Of their town—whichever her ex-lover called it.
Perhaps he would even say it was his town.
She didn’t live there, she didn’t need to stake a claim.
But it would always be a part of her.
and he knew it was something he couldn’t take away.
There were arguments—more humorous than violent—
That even friends could make it through someday.
There would never be another time with his and hers Becoming theirs. Even though they shared their lives,
Some things were just not meant to be.
She could accept the crinkled leaves of fall.
And the wind scattered labored piles of light brown leaves Through the town, slapping lamp poles, flying on windshields.
She was laughing and crying at the windows of his house.
Falling to her knees to absorb the cold sunk in the ground.
There were her tears and she cried out in their town They were as plentiful as the leaves—those tears.
There were arguments—about the lies, about the truth, about everything—
Because they shared a town as lovers.
Now midnight winds blow to a cold love turned friendship.
She could accept that lover gone back to town, their town, her town.
She could accept much even though she looked in his window with tears
At him in his town with his new lover.