A poem by alumnus Matthew Olzmann (poetry, ’09) appears at The Ampersand Review:

 

Realizing the possibility that my wife and I might never have children,

I write a brief note to that which does not exist

 

I’m glad I’ll never have to bail you out of jail.

I’ll never have to carry you into an emergency room.

I’ll never have to explain politics,

or what they’re thinking in Wisconsin, or Arizona,

or even next door where one man is shouting holes

into his children and you can almost hear the fear

inside their bodies. So many things are being broken.

 

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A new piece by alumna Lenore Myka (fiction, ’09) appears at the New England Review:

We came from many corners of the globe, though in truth they were corners found primarily in North America and the European Union, which is to say, the corners of the globe that mattered. We were employed by our governments or the big acronyms—IRC, UNESCO, USAID, ICRC, WHO—and like twins who create a language only they can understand, we discussed IFBs and RFPs, the OAU and OAS; the newest IO partnering with a local NGO.

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A story by alumna Amy Minton (fiction, ’09) appears at Waxwing:

   [brought to you with limited commercial interruptions]

A waspish woman inside a cubicle hears gunfire coming from the offices one floor below. The unceasing barrage requires no human thought per bullet fired — no pause for human intent to squeeze, retract, and reload. These are automatic guns, perfect cycles of combustion, momentum, inertia, and ignition encased in lightweight steel

         [convenient for the soldier on-the-go]

and carried by Asians.

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A poem by alumnus Michael Collins (poetry, ’03) appears at Lime Hawk:

 

Hazes of tiny bugs       nebula around            me.  Alone by the water

so early.  Still              as I have seen it. Small        birds skittering around

the marsh land only               on the small islands                abandoned

by low tide                  for fear of                   disturbing this picture

 

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A personal essay entitled “The Dark Face in the Window” by alumna Leslie Contreras Schwartz (poetry, ’11) appears at the Houston Chronicle:

For the three months I lay in a hospital bed, I was surrounded by hands. I was at the Women’s Hospital of Texas for a pregnancy that involved preterm contractions and a baby’s faltering heartbeat. There was my hand under my head, growing numb and uncomfortable. There were hands of nurses, plunging needles of hormones into my arms, pricking my fingers for blood, moving my legs and arms, strapping my pregnant stomach with monitors. Doctors’ hands, searching for the baby’s heartbeat with a stethoscope. Hands quickly and with efficiency examining the tenderness of my cervix to determine my readiness to deliver.

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