Online Issues
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“Morning Snow” by Cho Ji Hoon Translated from the Korean by Sekyo Nam Haines
photo by Gerard Franciosa
Wouldn’t you know
without opening a window,
the snow has fallen
on Chun Mountain
The delicate bulb of daffodil
would have
known it first.
In the deepening night
by the lamplight
worries swarmed densely like butterflies.
In my dream
as the snow fell on me
I walked alone on the snow blurring meadow. -
Misused
By Riley Anspaugh
photo by William Santos on Pexels
The word “albeit”
has been in my mouth all day,
rolling on my tongue
like a Gobstopper. The sun
is warm, albeit slowly self-destructing.
Hummingbirds are beautiful,
albeit too fast to see. I’m in love
with this girl, albeit
she never looks at me.
I’m stuck using albeit
in all my sentences,
albeit I don’t believe
I’m using it correctly.
I mean, when is the last
time you ate a good meal
off a dangling chandelier? -
A Love Supreme: Imagining my father’s madness
by Natasha Williams
photo collection of the author
The kitchen was thick with cigarette smoke and A Love Supreme, his favorite Coltrane. I danced with scarves wrapped around my undersized torso, one tied gypsy-like around my head. Dime-store clip earrings dangled at my neck. I twirled to his lap, where he slumped over his coffee cup at the dining room table, and pulled on his hand to join me. Anchored to his chair by something weightier than our life could contain, he chuckled, looking into his cup, waiting for the “holy” calling only he could hear.
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The Big Empty
By Philip Jason
photo by Adam Gonzales
Schrodinger said the cat exists in the space
between two states, but there is a third state
where you open the box and find only yourself
-PlatoThe butterfly in October was not supposed to be there.
In October, the butterflies
live in our dreams. Nonetheless, I saw it
where it was, and decided I’d lost the taste
for whining about the human condition. -
“Hehasnoname, 1-5, 7” by Sharron Hass Translated from the Hebrew by Marcela Sulak
photo by John Peter Apruzzese
Where are you going? Not far from here.
Further down the slope of the corridor.
There despair will be defeated.
I’ve nothing against it but father’s dead body.
Poetry (I still don’t know what it is exactly)
and the shadow that changes its names since my birth.
מּוזִיקַת הַּנָתִיב הָרָחָב
שרון אַס
לְאָן אַּתְ הֹולֶכֶת?
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LIT 35, Fall 2023
Featuring an interview with Hannah V. Sawyerr (’22), nonfiction by Clare Cannon (’22), fiction by Drew Anderla (’15), hybrid by Elinora Westfall, poetry by Philip Jason, and art by Juan José Clemente.