An excerpt from “Ferries: A Love Story” by Mary Jean Babic (fiction ’02), published by Medium.

Ferries: A Love Story

The ferry Seastreak glides across New York Harbor, bringing our sleepy family home after a July 4 outing to Sandy Hook beach in New Jersey. Off to the left, a seagull skims the water, its speed momentarily matching ours. To my right, the towering Parachute Jump at Coney Island glows red in the late afternoon sun. Moments later, the Statue of Liberty fills our windows, so close we could practically tug on Lady Liberty’s robes.

It’s a busy day on the harbor: jet skis, sailboats, shipping tankers, a massive Royal Caribbean cruise ship. I went on a cruise once. Once was enough. I jet skied once, many summers ago. It was fun until the thing ran out of gas and left me bobbing helplessly in the middle of Michigan’s Grand Traverse Bay. Another long-ago summer, I took sailing lessons in the deep harbor of Baltimore. Harnessing nature’s force to navigate brought me, briefly, into spiritual communion with our seafaring ancestors, but after my two free lessons I didn’t join the pricey sailing club. No, the vessel for me is the one I’m on — not too big, not too small, humble and utilitarian. A ferry.

[… continue reading “Ferries: A Love Story” at Medium.]

headshot of Candace Walsh (fiction '19) gazing at the camera wearing a blue cardigan.

A craft essay by Candace Walsh (fiction ’19), published by Craft.

Self-Salvation, Structure, and Sex Part I

In Jess Walter’s “Famous Actor” and Carmen Maria Machado’s “The Husband Stitch,” the authors use intertextuality as a structural element: a rhythmic, outside-of-time interruption of the chronological main story. Simultaneously, each of the female narrators employ intertextuality to grapple with and subvert male expectations in romantic contexts. Intertextuality, in this context, alludes to the referencing, retelling, or summarizing by narrators, within the short stories, of external narratives. In “Famous Actor,” café-server and narrator Katherine summarizes and capsule-reviews films. She brings a famous actor home from a party, and nonchalantly has sex with him, yet he wants more: her deepest thoughts. Carmen Maria Machado folds urban myths into her narrator’s coming of age story: the narrator falls in love with a man and gives him everything, except permission to touch or untie the green ribbon encircling her neck. Each of these women keep secrets to protect themselves, in direct opposition to their lovers’ expectations. In these stories, intertextuality serves as a fortress. And not all fortresses withstand protracted sieges.

[… continue reading “Self-Salvation, Structure, and Sex Part I” at Craft.]

“In Praise of Lucille Clifton” by Reginald Dwayne Betts (poetry ’10), published by The New York Times.

In Praise of Lucille Clifton

The poet Reginald Dwayne Betts, whose new collection is “Felon,” on the writer who helped him come to terms with himself.

A decade after Lucille Clifton’s “Good Woman: Poems and a Memoir, 1969-1980” and “Next: New Poems” were both finalists for the 1988 Pulitzer Prize in poetry, I was a prisoner at Red Onion State Prison in Virginia, befriended by a brother with long locs, a knife stashed in the dirt on the rec yard and a copy of Michael Harper’s anthology “Every Shut Eye Ain’t Sleep.” The man’s name I’ve long forgotten, but Clifton’s poems in that book — all of them taken from her first four collections, also found in “Good Woman” — would follow me in a way rivaled only by those years in a cell.

This is the thing. Back then every day teemed with violence, and the poems, like all of Clifton’s poems, let me imagine even the wildest dudes around me as my brother. I read “cutting greens” as a way to understand my bid and all its contradictions. Prisons held our “bodies in an obscene embrace” and we were left, often, “thinking of everything but kinship.” But at some point, you realized that “the pot is black, / the cutting board is black, / my hand, / and just for a minute / the greens roll black under the knife / and the kitchen twists dark on its spine / and i taste in my natural appetite / the bond of living things everywhere.”

During those days, no one called me by my father’s name. Instead, for a few years I’d been going by Shahid, christening myself with the Arabic word for witness. Everyone around me was changing his name, the chosen nom de plumes all abstract and aspirational: Divine God Allah, Wisdom Self, Double-barrel, Icepick. Then I read Clifton’s “my poem.” The poem was an announcement, this is who I am: “mine is already / an afrikan name.”

[… continue reading “In Praise of Lucille Clifton” at The New York Times.]

“Comorbid” and “Frankenstein’s Monster” by Timothy Cook (poetry ’08), published by [PANK].

Comorbid

Among the living & the dying,
IV bags filled with blood
or chemo meds, air disinfected, floor

& walls antiseptic & machines
humming. The narrative
less important than

the documentation, lost
on a crashed hard drive,
red marker circles around

all the puncture wounds in my
forearms from blood
tests & MRI contrast injected

while my body lay prone
on a plastic slab. 

[… continue reading “Comorbid” and find “Frankenstein’s Monster” at [PANK].]

“Living” by Kimberly Kruge (poetry ’15), published by The Missouri Review.

Living

All I have ever wanted in this life is to live,
but our ghosts all day climb and descend the stairs.

When you sleep, I must shake you awake at least
three times, monitor the rise and fall of your abdomen.

When the dog sleeps I must do the same.
Every morning I wonder why we planted

a tree with ephemeral blooms, and I mourn
what has been devoured by our industrious ants.

[… continue reading “Living” by at The Missouri Review.]

“The End of the War” by Shadab Zeest Hashmi (poetry ’09), published by ink node.

The End of the War

I entered the city gates in a blind-fold
led by nothing but the summer drift 
of fairy-roses
the secret musk of books

How the market puffed up
with flags and shrouds
For a few drachmas
I bought a shroud for my sword
and buried it
under the Bitter-Almond tree

[… continue reading “The End of the War” at ink node.]

“Detroit 1, Los Angeles 0” by A.C. Powell (fiction, ’10), published by Typishly.

Detroit 1, Los Angeles 0

Before dinner, the clothes were brought out. Tomorrow, Milly Marsten was going to a red carpet thing. The red carpet of the year. The nomination had shocked the family, but Milly’s cousin Ruth had been more shocked than the rest. Milly was without levels, thought Ruth, and no one without levels ought to be vastly rewarded for doing practically nothing. And now, dresses were required. It was absurd. The nomination had shocked the world too. Perhaps others noticed that Milly was without levels. Nonetheless, tomorrow there would be photographers, a globe’s worth of watchers, and what Milly wore would be noticed and documented. Because of the red carpet, her family was up from La Jolla, and before anyone could bear to eat, they begged to see the dress.

Milly, who knew how to hold out just long enough not to look too eager, skipped down the long, white hallway, from her powder puff of a living room to her bedroom, where her closet thronged with dresses delivered by Neiman Marcus on Wilshire. The stylist had been there all afternoon and left drained, without a firm decision.

Back to the living room skipped Milly, cradling a stack of silks in candy colors, as well as a strand of something clear and bright. Into the crook of one elbow, she had locked a pair of silver shoes so potently metallic the vamps reflected her pink chin and open mouth, which hung open, panting decorously.

[… continue reading “Detroit 1, Los Angeles 0” at Typishly.]

gloss . a . ry |ˈgläs-ə-rē|

noun 

plural glossaries

an alphabetical list of terms or words found in or relating to a specific subject, text, or dialect, with explanations; a brief dictionary.

  1. The daughter makes a glossary of the peculiar things the mother and father say.

gosh |gäSH| dag . nab . it |dagnabit|

exclamation

a euphemism for a widely-used phrase in which a deity is invoked to curse someone to heck, which is another euphemism for a widely-used word representing the devil’s fiery realm. This substitution is most often made by those averse to swearing and those strictly observing the Third Commandment. This aversion to curse words may be imposed by one’s self, one’s religious institution, or one’s spouse.   

  1. When the father misses a serve during a tennis match, he slaps his palm to his forehead and screams, “Gosh dagnabit, Bob, you flipping idiot!”

guy . sies |gīzēz|

noun 

plural of the plural form of guy

typically used as a term of endearment to identify or address a group of people with whom the speaker feels particularly close, usually members of one’s own family. 

  1. The family is playing a card game. The mother, out of nowhere, says, “Guysies, I like books about little mice.”

singular form (rare): guysie 

  1. When all the children have left the nest, the mother turns to the father and says, “Guess it’s just you and me, guysie.”

heav . ens |ˈhevəns| to |toō| Bet . sy |betsē|

noun, preposition, proper noun

an exclamation of disapproval or disgust, having nothing to do with an angelic abode or a woman named Betsy.

  1. The mother takes the daughter to a movie. When they return to the car after the movie has ended, they discover that they have left the lights on and the engine is dead. The mother nervously calls the father from the payphone in the movie theater to tell him what has happened. He yells, “Heavens to Betsy, Ellen! Can’t you do anything right?” and then promptly grabs the keys and rushes to the car to rescue them.

woo . ey |woōē|

exclamation

used to express delight, surprise, or disapproval

  1. The mother’s parents call to invite the father and the mother to join them on a trip to Egypt. The mother hangs up and remains sitting in the chair saying, “Wooey! Wooey! Wooey!” over and over again before she finally gets up to fold the laundry.
  2. The mother is in the kitchen doing dishes late at night after the children have been tucked into bed. The father goes around to the backside of the house and lights his face up with a flashlight outside the window where the mother is washing the dishes. The mother screams, calms down a bit and, resuming her scrubbing, says, “Wooey!”
  3. The mother is watching a movie with her family. The couple on the screen begins to kiss passionately. The mother squirms in her chair and says, “Wooey! They sure don’t kiss like they used to. It looks like they’re eating each other!”

woo . ey |woōē| guy . sies |gīzēz|

exclamation followed by the plural of a plural noun

used to express extreme delight, surprise, or disapproval to a group of people with whom the speaker feels extremely close, almost always members of one’s own family. 

  1. The mother comes home, all lit up from a church activity she has just attended. 

She exclaims, “Wooey guysies, women love crafts!”

The daughter challenges her on this, saying, “Mom, you don’t even like crafts.”

The mother, modifying her statement, says, “Wooey guysies, most women love crafts!”The daughter often says “Wooey guysies!” in mimicry of the mother. She uses it at first to poke fun at the mother and then, later, because she finds it endearing.

“The Magpie: A Key” by Kerrin McCadden (poetry ’14), published by New England Review.

The Magpie: A Key

One magpie always means watch out.
One magpie in the yard means stay in the house.
Two magpies in the lane mean don’t go farther than
the roadside. 
A magpie walking with its beak open, but quiet, 
means go out, but come home quickly.
A magpie calling means something will happen en route.
A magpie on the clothesline means watch your back.

[… continue reading “The Magpie: A Key” at New England Review.]

“When I Say Love I Mean El Greco’s The Assumption of the Virgin” by Sara Quinn Rivara (poetry ’02), published by Sweet: A Literary Confection.

When I Say Love I Mean El Greco’s The Assumption of the Virgin

where she rises from a crowd
of men into the sky, how she throws open

her arms and floats into a cloud of gold.
She’s the only woman in the room.

And isn’t that
what I’m supposed to want? to be the only woman

worth lifting into the clouds, bride
on her wedding day, mayflies buzzing

around all our heads.
Mayflies have no mouths.

[… continue reading “When I Say Love I Mean El Greco’s The Assumption of the Virgin” at Sweet: A Literary Confection.]