Tag Archives: Summer 2012

After the Magician by Stephanie Milner

Jessie had worked at Meyers Auditorium for six years, by then. When she had started during her fourth year in college (it took five to finish her social sciences degree), she hadn’t planned to stay that long. It had just been a good arrangement. The job paid better than others on campus. She controlled her own schedule because crew members picked which shows they worked. But in any case, she had stayed. She didn’t regret it. She liked how physical the work was. There was equipment to push, pull, and carry. Ladders to clamber up. … Continue reading After the Magician by Stephanie Milner

Chairs by Andy Bockhold

Andy’s first canoe trip down the Little Miami River was the same day his mother was set to come home from the hospital after a major bowel resection. A week earlier surgeons had opened her up from navel to groin to remove necrotic portions of her lower intestines that had shriveled up like rotten calamari and blocked her from passing anything thicker than water. Once they were finished inside, they cinched her open wounds together and stapled them shut. She now had a train track-like incision complete with railroad ties running down her stretched pink … Continue reading Chairs by Andy Bockhold

Why People Love Woody Allen by Joe Arton

In November of 2011, PBS aired the latest addition in their American Masters series; Woody Allen: A Documentary. Robert Weide’s celebrity profile of Allen was a thorough and nuanced examination of his life and work. Aside from Weide’s unprecedented access to the pathologically private star, the documentary’s combination of star study, textual analysis and cultural context makes it one of the most important works on Allen and a triumph of the celebrity documentary form. However, in the film’s almost two hour running time, divided over two consecutive nights, it failed to answer a central question … Continue reading Why People Love Woody Allen by Joe Arton

Art by Robert Bricker

  “The ceramic vase is 5 years young, a complete improvisation, based on the seed crystal of a female model saying that this session was her last, that she would be flying away. Thus I drew the flying female figure thema. This vase is from an exhibition called Deep In Shallow Thoughts.     “The Bucketus Ignobilus is from an exhibition last autumn called Long Winded Short Stories, and the drawing is to be a plate in an upcoming book of drawings. The image is a double self-portrait actually lifted from the back side of … Continue reading Art by Robert Bricker

Art by Chica Tenney

    “These drawings were done during an experimental period when I was drawing from reality and from my projected photographs (slides). I loved the idea that I could juxtapose images…like a location and geese in a pond with something floating above them. I think the images relate to poetry in that you can have a line in a poem saying one thing and then another saying something else that’s associative. It leaves a lot to your imagination.” Chica Tenney’s work explores themes of ritual, human connection, a sense of place and the evolution of … Continue reading Art by Chica Tenney

Two Poems by Charlotte Matthews

Self Check-out   Of course I have my doubts, but when no one’s looking I pretend I’m someone else: the tightrope walker, The Great Farini, crossing Niagara Falls with a man on my back. Or the veiled beekeeper squeezing the bellows of my smoker to calm the hive. I wish I could reverse time to meet the doctor who, so eager to rid my mother of scarlet fever, told her to cut her rocking horse’s mane, told her it would grow back. I’d explain how a lie rearranges the world, and in a very dangerous … Continue reading Two Poems by Charlotte Matthews

Teresa Lewis; Choosing the Nude by Lisa Ryan

Teresa Lewis   They are raising amnesty signs along the courthouse road portraits with her missing lateral incisor filled in perhaps to make her look more like themselves perhaps taking back the tooth-for-a-tooth. In their silence I recall her singing “I need a miracle” and her voice is not empty more like a bowl with overflowing reminders of how long it’s been since I sang for anything. I will be eating artichokes when her veins drink that final cocktail devouring the heart while the maple leaves shout with their loudest colored voices, falling quietly on … Continue reading Teresa Lewis; Choosing the Nude by Lisa Ryan

Sunday School; The Passion of Bursars by Michael Chitwood

Sunday School   Here’s what I’m thinking: Why does a duck need an ark? What’s a flood to a duck? The teacher says I ask too many questions. I raise my hand again, thinking if we didn’t have teachers would we ever have to raise our hands? I won’t eat tomatoes. The slices in a white bowl are like pieces of someone, Saint Somebody of the Better Boys. I might go out and play David and Goliath this afternoon. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be the giant. Everybody wants to be … Continue reading Sunday School; The Passion of Bursars by Michael Chitwood

Three Poems by Sharron Singleton

Rehearsal   The best thing about the house I grew up in was that it sat at the edge of a small weedy lake where my mother and I would row to a raft through a thick tangle of water lilies, their white cups floating above green saucers. She would tie a rope around my chest, hold it taut and walk the edge of the raft as I flailed in the water learning to swim. Now I walk the tight perimeter of loss, love’s ligaments stretching between us as she prepares to swim out of … Continue reading Three Poems by Sharron Singleton

Treeswing by Lee Bob Black

“Mommy, do trees grow up out of the ground,” Waffles says, “or do they grow from the top up?” “I don’t know,” Isabelle says to her daughter. Then Isabelle takes a stab in the dark and says, “From the top.” “Do you want to know what time it is?” Waffles says, smiling. “Sure.” “Sure yes?” “Yes,” her mother says. Waffles awkwardly brings her wrist up level with her eyes, like she’s blocking the sun. She squints and studies her watch. “It’s three thirty, and ten seconds, in the p.m.” “You mean it’s half past three.” … Continue reading Treeswing by Lee Bob Black