2016

2016 THE WIRE HARP SFCC 2016 Wire Harp Staff

Graphic Arts Editor: Jeremy King

Graphic Arts Advisor: Doug Crabtree

Literary Editor: Zach Bartmess

Literary Staff: Ryan Hatten Lindsy Kay Venessa Rowley Laura Stephenson

Literary Advisors: Laura Read and Connie Wasem Scott

Special Thanks: Richard Baldasty, Heather McKenzie, Shelli Cockle, Bonnie Brunt, Carl Richardson, Erik Sohner, Craig Rickett, Lloydeen Jensen, and Becky Turner.

Cover Illustration: Christian Davenny

ii Wire Harp 2016 Richard Baldasty Awards

Wire Harp Awards

Richard Baldasty taught philosophy and history at SFCC from 1984-2007, and during his tenure, he was regularly published in this journal and contributed significantly to the arts on our campus. Upon his retirement, the Wire Harp honored the spotlight he shone on art by naming our poetry award for him. Each year, Wire Harp staff selects what we consider the most artistic poem as the recipient of this award. We also honor a work of prose, a photograph, and a work of fine art. Each of these four student artists receives a $100 prize, as a result of a generous gift from Richard. We appreciate Richard for supporting students in their creative arts.

2016 Wire Harp iii Contents

Poetry Come Downstairs ...... 3. The Absent Table...... 88 Luke Roe K.G. Brown 1991...... 6 Hangman Golf Course...... 92 Tim Greenup Jonni Deakins Gotta Quick Second? Because the Ice Still Haunts Your Ten Haikus for your Pleasure Dreams...... 95 From Tyler to You...... 11 Nyirenda Ross Tyler Pursch Peach Wine and Fireworks...... 96 It Must Be Like This...... 14 Ryan Hatten Carol Harrington Supernova...... 100 You Are Still By My Side...... 19 Haley Wiles Translated by Zian Chen (Chinese Version) ...... 19. by Chang Dai Fiction An Island in the Sky ...... 24 Clouds...... 33 Heather Johnson * Richard Baldasty Blood Red Ruby...... 28 Self-Reflection...... 34 Stacie Gray Taegan Louden Montana Quartz ...... 29. All the Way to His Ears...... 43 Jan Henrickson * Lindsy Kay Chernobyl...... 36 A Knight Most Valiant ...... 74 Haley Wiles Laura Stephenson Old Lady...... 38 The Ballad of Big Dog Zach Bartmess and Jason Starr...... 87 Housewife...... 41 David St.Clair Ashley Morgan Sprague Braless Wonder...... 60 Taegan Louden Non-Fiction Positive...... 62 Hey Dude ...... 21 Colleen Tinch Zach Bartmess 21 Blades...... 63 White Tiger on the Beams...... 66 Samantha Anderson David Kennedy 66 Kingdom Carrot ...... 71 Heather Johnson Piñata-Related Injuries...... 78 Tyler Pursch You Didn’t Answer...... 83. Kyle Burgi

* Baldasty Award Winner iv Wire Harp 2016 Contents

Photography Glacier ...... 2 Pull...... 91 Jeff Gregory Nathan Gale Dream Tree...... 7 Manito. . . 93 Mike Busby Jeff Gregory Falls ...... 9. Oregon Coast. . . . . 97 Sharaya Peterson Jeff Gregory Gentle Water...... 18 Mission Mountain ...... 99. Diane Pippin Alicia Dunavan The letter...... 20 Untitled...... 101 Marc Harvey * Christina Marie Pull...... 23 Nathan Gale Up Town Funk...... 30 Cody Koscheny Dream Tree...... 32 Mike Busby Life’s Shapes...... 39 Tyler Bolen Untitled...... 40 Grace Blanchard Bison Range ...... 54 Jeff Gregory Bloody Mary ...... 61 Marc Harvey Steam Plant 2015...... 72 Rhiana Whitehead Delicate Arch...... 79 Jeff Gregory Nightlife ...... 82 Tyler Bolen Reflection Tires...... 85 penny morrison Dogs Rule...... 86 Trina M Butler Winter 2016 ...... 89. Rhiana Whitehead Untitled...... 90 Trina Butler

* Baldasty Award Winner

2016 Wire Harp v Contents

Fine Art Ram Skull...... 1 Contemplation...... 48 * Laura Narak Chris Powers MagPie...... 4 Now Hold ...... 50 Deanna DeYoung Katy Welte Colored Sails...... 5 Untitled...... 52 Desirae Knight Brielle Bishop Searching for hope ...... 8 Indestructible ...... 56 Deanna DeYoung Chris Powers Untitled...... 10 Untitled...... 58 Cody Murphy Brielle Bishop Combustion...... 12 Gazelles and Calla Lily...... 59 Desirae Knight Laura Narak Untitled...... 13 Grasping at pipe dreams...... 64 Chris Powers Leah Roper Danger ...... 15 Fog on the River...... 65 Brittany Vans Josh Hansen Untitled...... 16 Half & Half ...... 68 Nathan Gale Jesus Martinez Drought and Smoke...... 17 Foo Dog Mug...... 69 Jacob Hansen Cassidy Adams Crush ...... 22 Hanging Fruit. . . . . 70 Katy Welte Brittany Vens Peacock. . . . . 25 Untitled...... 73 Brittany Vens Brielle Bishop Serial Squirrel Stalker...... 26 We go forward...... 76 Deanna DeYoung Katy Welte Tempest in a Teapot...... 27 Blue ...... 77 Deanna DeYoung Jesus Martinez Untitled...... 31 Untitled...... 80 Deanna DeYoung Nathan Gale Deer skull...... 35 Butterfly...... 81 Laura Narak Jesus Martinez Untitled...... 37 The Journey...... 84 Nathan Gale Desirae Knight Mental Strain. . . 42 Deceptive Illumination...... 94 Brittany Vens Leah Roper Cityscape ...... 44 Little White Fish. 98 Desirae Knight Cassidy Adams Hidden Paradise ...... 46 Chris Powers

* Baldasty Award Winner vi Wire Harp 2016 Ram Skull Baldasty Fine Art Award Winner Laura Narak

2016 Wire Harp 1 Glacier Jeff Gregory

2 Wire Harp 2016 Come Downstairs Luke Roe

to where the matchstick ignites (smokes and smells of sulfur) to where the mycelium glows beneath the fog-tangled maples where the body stretches its roots through topsoil and into Aura do not possess the facts you find here the hidden truths buried in the asbestos behind the walls are not to be made into capital come on down into the cellar where the moon ignites and everything is lined with wet foliage (glistening) with the silvery tinsel of a trumpet trilling its Harlem tongue your mouth is a Kalashnikov Rifle use it accordingly

2016 Wire Harp 3 MagPie Deanna DeYoung

4 Wire Harp 2016 Colored Sails Desirae Knight

2016 Wire Harp 5 1991 Tim Greenup

Inside the family house it was Christmas. Mother was shredding meat. Father and sister were asleep somewhere. I opened the Yellow Pages to locally owned toxic waste distributors. The vat arrived quickly and by helicopter. Using a garden hose, I filled the attic, thinking, ooze would run down the walls and make everything dangerous and more interesting. How surprising. Father had caulked every crack, sealed all windows and doors. From the kitchen, he screamed,

For years I have yearned to melt my son. Here! In my own house! Let’s celebrate!

6 Wire Harp 2016 Dream Tree Mike Busby

2016 Wire Harp 7 Searching for hope Deanna DeYoung

8 Wire Harp 2016 Falls Sharaya Peterson

2016 Wire Harp 9 Untitled Cody Murphy

10 Wire Harp 2016 Gotta Quick Second? Ten Haikus for your Pleasure From Tyler to You Tyler Pursch

Mad men make me write, Balancing atop they holler for cigarettes, Earth’s top hat, but the Earth’s a and I’m huffing words. shitty magician.

He claims to be an Underneath your hot open book, but any good heels the Earth’s engorged throbbing book will leave questions. beauty begs you on.

I’ve found a new way The silent lines of to kiss you under those stars, Uncle Walt’s lips are swelling and that way is mine. in cavernous souls.

He covered her lips I’m strutting my stuff with his rusted father palms, in khakis sewn from foreign broke her like daylight. fingers and needles.

She tugged a loose string Hush, President Trump, on a Millennial’s scarf. we’re trying to sleep, and the “Hey, stop, that’s my beard.” end of days is loud.

2016 Wire Harp 11 Combustion Desirae Knight

12 Wire Harp 2016 Untitled Chris Powers

2016 Wire Harp 13 It Must Be Like This Carol Harrington

She leans on the open refrigerator door debating whether to buy food, heat or meds. Campaign signs pierce the gold flesh of fall like needless acupuncture. The guy on the corner holds a cardboard sign “Will work for food.” The sudden crack of the old neighbor’s hip bone and the fall no one will hear. Long after the layoff, his hands still work the machinery in his sleep, Sunday’s job ads smeared on his fingers. Two fingers mean peace, one middle finger anger, five curled together fear and then there’s one on the safety. We do our best to appear shocked at the morning’s news, our eggs over easy.

14 Wire Harp 2016 Danger Brittany Vans

2016 Wire Harp 15 Untitled Nathan Gale

16 Wire Harp 2016 Drought and Smoke Jacob Hansen

2016 Wire Harp 17 Gentle Water Diane Pippin

18 Wire Harp 2016 You Are Still By My Side Translated by Zian Chen

Water falls upstream to the cliff, dandelion seeds drift back from a distance gathering like an umbrella, the sun rises from the west, goes down in the east.

Bullets return to the gun bore, athletes race to the starting line, I hand back the college acceptance letter, and forget my hard-work.

Tasty incense floats from the meals in the kitchen, you sign your name on my test paper, turn off the television, help me put on my heavy book bag.

You are still by my side.

(Chinese Version) by Chang Dai

瀑布的水逆流而上 蒲 公 英 的 种 子 从 远 处 飘 回 ，聚 成 伞 的 模 样 太阳从西边升起 落向东方

子弹退回枪膛 运动员回到起跑线上 我交回录取通知书 忘了十年寒窗

厨房里飘来饭菜的香 你把我的卷子签好名字 关掉电视 帮我把书包背上

你还在我身旁

2016 Wire Harp 19 The letter Marc Harvey

20 Wire Harp 2016 Hey Dude Zach Bartmess

Sometimes I stop and remember that day we had together. For some reason, the memory is brown, and hot as the inside of a broiler. Maybe it was something to do with the fine, brown sand we were walking on top of in the woods. You told me it wasn’t actually sand; it was just silt. Whatever. Looks like sand, feels like sand. It’s sand. You just smile, keep walking, and then proceed to argue with me for the better part of an hour.

Maybe the brown had to do with the massive four-headed pine tree we found out there. I had never seen anything quite like it. It was dying, but it was so impressive that we just sat and looked at the long, sun-cured needles and gnarled knots and branches. You suddenly stood and gave me a crooked grin. You ran over and started climbing as quickly as you could. I decided that you wanted me to race you to the top.

Once we had jumped back down to the ground, you told me never to climb underneath someone. I had sap and splinters of wood in my hair and eyes, and one of my fingers had been cut almost to the bone from the razor blade chunks of bark clinging to the old husk of a tree. You helped me brush some of the gunk off the top of my head and then proceeded to tell me why the tree had four heads. Something to do with moths, I think. You were so engaged in your trivia you were sharing with me that you didn’t seem to notice your hand was still on my head.

Well, now you’ve gone and climbed so high that I can’t even see you anymore. You covered me with sap and needles at first. I’ve brushed most of it off, but there’s still a place right in the middle of my back that only you can reach. Every now and then, I’ll feel some more sap and grit hit the top of my head that you knocked down. No matter how much I yell up to you, it seems like you can never hear me.

2016 Wire Harp 21 Crush Katy Welte

22 Wire Harp 2016 Pull Nathan Gale

2016 Wire Harp 23 An Island in the Sky Baldasty Poetry Award Winner Heather Johnson

Rocks cut tiny feet as I tread through waist-high water. My tummy slices the surface like a butcher etching his mark on tables made of pewter and that’s okay with me.

My breath comes shallow like clementine-cut diamonds piercing foggy pine tree forests. The island in the sky moves farther away but that’s okay with me.

My hair is longer now, trailing sunlight behind a train filled with fool’s gold. My feet are bigger than before, more room for cuts to bleed and I guess that’s okay with me.

Utopia is out of reach. Its fireworks waltz along my eyelashes like goblins of lore that keel over on resolute tears wading in a bowl of salt. Whatever the sky people do is okay with me.

24 Wire Harp 2016 Peacock Brittany Vens

2016 Wire Harp 25 Serial Squirrel Stalker Deanna DeYoung

26 Wire Harp 2016 Tempest in a Teapot Deanna DeYoung

2016 Wire Harp 27 Blood Red Ruby Stacie Gray

I wandered slowly behind him past the old broken down barn where my grandfather with the mind of a child would keep the gems he carved for those he deemed worthy for those mature enough to understand as if it were a game.

I was too young to notice the stumble in his step, the cologne he wore to mask the beer he drank. I felt the soft, unstable touch of his hand on my shoulder, innocence looking up, his blood shot eyes gazing down, the weight of the .22 placed in my grasp. The flame of my new red ruby burned a hole in my pocket. His deep, sharp tone stuttered, “Stand tall and shoot straight.” And I did.

Ten years down the road, there was no stumble, for there was no step. There was no cologne to mask the absence of beer on his breath. My eyes looking down, the absence of bloodshot gazing back up until they finally close.

The little red ruby he gave me is now perched in a little glass case above my window sill in the wooden box he carved by hand. I think to myself, “I understand.”

Grasping the little red ruby in my hand, I see the color my eyes will never be. The lessons were clear in the words he rarely spoke, “Don’t follow me.”

28 Wire Harp 2016 Montana Quartz Jan Henrickson

We climbed up through the back door of a mountain, steep, shaded, icy. There in the shadow of a billion tons of rock I could smell the moist earth already, and the gravel, and the sand that would in a moment slip beneath my boots like a grocery store conveyer belt.

I climbed until my breaking point, until I was hanging on to a ledge, feeling the strain in my forearms, until the two hard straps that held the pack to my shoulders began to feel like piano wire, with the piano still attached.

In that moment of difficulty, I saw something, a chunk of mountain, a bright gleam of forest gem, high, Montana quartz, shining, sparkling, like a wolf’s teeth, or a miniature snowy peak. Behind my hand it sat, and behind it, the highest point of the Bitterroot Mountains.

I reached for it, and I took it. And then eyes to the peak, I reached for it, and I took it.

2016 Wire Harp 29 Up Town Funk Cody Koscheny

30 Wire Harp 2016 Untitled Deanna DeYoung

2016 Wire Harp 31 Dream Tree Mike Busby

32 Wire Harp 2016 Clouds Richard Baldasty

My name is Corlissa Norris. Corli to family and friends, Missy Lissie to readers of my online advice column.

A badass big city woman with the tender heart of a small town girl. From my mother, I inherited expressive eyes. From Black Kat, my dad the famous wrangler, love of big hats.

My usually hidden, never banished, capacity for fury is something all my own. Though I’ve sampled many lovers, no one compares to my imaginary beau V.Q. Botinsky, Jr. He’s heads above—clouds above—the rest. Sometimes I wish he were real, but why spoil a good thing?

It’s that streak of practicality that makes me so adept at my job. Missy Lissie never flubs. I remember the time I got a desperate plea from a cupcake baker. He felt his job made women consider him unmanly. I advised him to get tiger tattoos. Frost some of his cupcakes bright red. Bingo! Had to hire a social scheduler just to sequence his hot dates.

Now and then I get asked if I would ever take my own advice, if Lissie’s values, or dearth of, are really mine. Fair Warning: that is precisely the sort of churlish inquiry likely to unsheathe my secret dagger. As the wolf said to the unkempt goat, “Throat slit, even you’ll look cute.”

Like I said, badass. Ditto, tender heart. But of a small town girl. We who hail from poky little places haven’t got time, on our climb to wealth and fame, for careless sentiment. It’s struggle all the way, and when we give, we give 125% or nothing.

I gave everything to V.Q. Botinsky, Jr. What a guy! More or less a sky god, that’s how I see him. See him in the clouds, watch him in their alterations and progressions. Sometimes see myself with him rolling on the cumulonimbus, streaking naked through the cirrus, in flagrante on an altostratus chaise.

My big hat shielding me from the ultraviolet best as it can. Not that I worry. You can’t miss the absolute, unyielding confidence in my expressive eyes. The eyes of a woman with her own special lethality in reserve.

When you see me coming, do yourself a favor: get out of my way.

2016 Wire Harp 33 Self-Reflection Taegan Louden

This isn’t her usual M.O., but here she is, lying on the bed. Her dress is shoved up to her belly button and her panties crumpled around her ankles. A fair-haired boy pumps away between her legs, only taking momentary breaks to sip his PBR. She doesn’t feel bad that she can’t remember his name. She isn’t into this, and it isn’t his fault. With every grunt and gasp, she finds she is falling further and further into herself.

Self-exploration is more than she can handle at this moment, so it is a relief when the boy rolls off and lights a cigarette. He holds it out to her in a sharing gesture. Although she doesn’t smoke, she accepts and proceeds to draw long on the sickly, sweet vapor. Her lungs protest and warn her no more by sending her into a coughing fit. Her inability to maintain her composure is funny to fair-haired boy, and he guffaws loudly, waggling his pale, almost non-existent eyebrows. His laughter hurts her ears.

She can’t stand it, and she can’t stand him. She gets up from the bed and tugs her underwear up around her hips. It snaps into her flesh with a satisfyingthwump . Blondie looks stunned when she flicks the cigarette back in his direction, and she makes her exit. She closes the door to the sound of expletives she’s sure are aimed at her.

Outside the room, a large crowd of teenagers is illuminated by flashing strobe lights. The group writhes and pulsates in a bass- and substance-induced haze. She carefully picks her way through the throng of screaming children and feels pity. She fumbles her way to the back door and launches into the cold autumn night.

She shivers delightedly against the chill. With fingers already frozen, she fishes her keys out of her pocket. When she approaches her vehicle, she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the driver’s side window. A young girl with matted hair and smeared eyeliner grins devilishly back at her. She touches the corners of her upturned mouth, somewhat surprised by the expression.

A sense of panic rises in her, and she opens the door wide and positions herself at the wheel of the car. She turns the keys in the ignition and peels out of the driveway, dirt and gravel crunching beneath her tires. The headlights illuminate the yellow-dashed line of the road as she passes them by. She begins to count them, but is prone to swerving out of her lane when she tries.

Somewhere in between the sixtieth and seventieth dash count, her strange smile fades. She studies herself in the rearview mirror. She sighs and throws her right blinker on. Her car careens to a small dirt patch on the side of the road. Here she adjusts her bra strap and plucks some stray lint from her dress. She gently lays her head on the steering wheel. Her body begins to shake violently as she begins to cry.

34 Wire Harp 2016 Deer skull Laura Narak

2016 Wire Harp 35 Chernobyl Haley Wiles

Vines are growing into the halls and stairs, over the railings and into the doors. The building lies untouched, slowly rotting. The rooms are coated in dust, forgotten belongings and coffee mugs, and even little girls’ dolls that they forgot to pack. The beds are stripped and the coiled springs out and exposed. Clothes that never made it into bags, that shouldn’t have been in bags, lie strewn over the floor in grimy piles, next to the windows looking over the city, the empty city, that’s dark. The nuclear leak pushed the life from the town, while it, and the people never returned.

36 Wire Harp 2016 Untitled Nathan Gale

2016 Wire Harp 37 Old Lady Zach Bartmess

Grey room, grey sheets, brown humors and black stains, my splayed-out hair on the pillow, binding me to my lonely thoughts.

Wake up, put on the two-tone uniform and pin the cheery, pastel name tag to your flesh. Listen to the whispers in the endless cavities of human life before you. Intricate and beautiful, yet showing only one of their more ugly sides. The cavern that has no jewels, only dull, useless rock. One of the most unlikely among us reached out to him, a dumpy, diabetes-stricken, old woman, her face was the kindest he had seen that day. She took one look at the “strapping young man” and asked him to take out her groceries. He glanced at his withered arms, hollow chest, and bird-bone legs and obliged her request. After he finished the chore, she gave him a sagging, unexpected, yet fully welcome hug. A shaking red hand, crippled with arthritis, reached up and stroked the back of a curly brown head. The pain was apparent and ugly, the wound was not stapled shut. He had almost reached his breaking point, all that grey, clammy sorrow shot through with black and red slamming against its barrier.

The sun glanced through for only a moment before winking back into non-existence. I was finally falling back into myself I leaned into the hug, feeling the hot, prickly grief building at the corners of my eyes.

38 Wire Harp 2016 Life's Shapes Tyler Bolen

2016 Wire Harp 39 Untitled Grace Blanchard

40 Wire Harp 2016 Housewife Ashley Morgan Sprague

Sweep up the glass shards from the vase your sister gave you as a wedding gift. Clean the cuts on your arms and hands with the leftover vodka from last night. Pin your wavy blonde hair neatly off your neck. Poke in the small pearl earrings he gave you as a birthday present. Apply your makeup, taking special care to cover the red scratches. Slip into the soft blue dress he likes. Trade your worn brown slippers for tall black pinching heels. Begin cooking dinner and drink enough red wine to numb the pain when you move. Greet him at the door with a gentle kiss. Notice if you smell perfume on his starched white collar. Sit down to eat rare steak and mashed potatoes with remnants of skin. Ask obligatory questions about his day at work. Smile sweetly during the anecdotes and refrain from probing further. Refill your wine glass one too many times. Clear the china dishes and run the warm sink water. Try not to flinch as the soap and bloody steak sting your cut fingers. Try to relax when you feel him behind you handling your zipper. Quietly reach in front of you for something cold and breakable. Make a mental note to purchase another vase.

2016 Wire Harp 41 Mental Strain Brittany Vens

42 Wire Harp 2016 All the Way to His Ears Baldasty Prose Award Winner Lindsy Kay

I’m half way to New Mexico when from a gas station. my stomach starts to earnestly demand I find the sandwiches, cut into triangles something, anything, other than gas station and stacked in an open faced cooler, and pick cashews and cans of diet root beer. I pull the one that’s labeled “Turkey and White into a tiny drive-through town made up of American,” delighting in a couple of packets of combination fast-food restaurant convenience mustard that sit in a glass bowl next to them. stores and Motel 6s, whose parking lots are I toss my breakfast onto the counter with a composed less of asphalt and more of dirt. bottle of orange juice and a grumpy-looking Bart pulls to a cringe-worthy stop, his lady with band aids on her fingers greets me sad little engine stuttering on the break. I with a nod. give his steering wheel a solidary pat and “How long you been drivin’?” she asks. make a promise to never take him on a road “Six hours,” I say, “can’t believe it’s only trip again. I should probably get a new car n o on .” altogether, since I can kind of afford it now, “How far you goin’?” but Bart is family, ya know? Full of character “New Mexico. Not too much longer.” with his mismatched doors and lack of “Tha’s not too bad, not too bad at all,” she anything but a cassette player and all that. nods in agreement, and totals me for, “five I slide out of the driver’s seat and stretch whole dollars and thirteen cents.” myself as vertical as I can go, my stiff and All I have are twenties from the ATM neglected joints giving odd-sounding pops. yesterday, so I hand one over sheepishly. She Even my sternum protests pop pop pop at checks it in the light with a constipated squint. the last six hours I’ve spent hunched over “You dropped this,” says a voice behind me, the wheel. I want to tell my bones to shut up, and I jump, because I didn’t hear anyone else because I’m not enjoying this trip any more come in. than my body is, but I’m in public and talking When I spin around, a man, about as young to yourself in public is a no-no. as me, is holding out a receipt that must have Instead I make my way past a cigarette- fallen out when I took out my wallet with an littered walkway and into the gas station apologetic smile. I’m hoping sells those suspicious cellophane He’s kind of muscly and has a pack of wrapped sandwiches. You know the ones, unsalted almonds and one of those “fresh” where the turkey should be fine if it’s the right pressed bottled juices in his other hand, and color, but you’ve got to have a death wish if I judge him silently. I take the receipt, which you’re buying the tuna salad. Or the egg salad turns out to be for a double cheeseburger and for that matter. Really, you just shouldn’t be a strawberry milkshake from Zip’s, and cough buying anything with the word “salad” in it up a “thanks.”

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2016 Wire Harp 43 Cityscape Desirae Knight

44 Wire Harp 2016 –continued from page 43 –

He just smiles a little more and nods, and I years. Eventually, I get fed up with her, and I end up staring at him until the lady behind the say, “What should we have done then? Gone counter clears her throat. to the doctor and asked them to reverse your I turn around again to find her patiently abortion and shock my gay away? It wouldn’t holding my change out. have mattered. We’d still be disowned, and I offer up my hand to take it, shove all of she’d still be dead.” it into my wallet, and quickly leave so that When I leave, I leave with her mad at me. I Muscles can buy his almonds. Not before, of was never a very good brother. course, tripping on the threshold on my way ~ out. Phoenix feels like it’s much farther away When I get back into my car, I groan at my now that I’m driving back. I’m five hours into in-public self for staring at a stranger long my drive, and apparently Bart feels the same, enough to make the cashier uncomfortable. because he starts smoking up a storm. I hate in-public me. I pull into another one of those drive- I drop my head into the middle of Bart’s through towns that I’m lucky enough to be steering wheel, and the horn that almost never passing, and settle in the parking lot of the works gives a defiantbeep and I jump in my closest diner. seat, just fast enough to see Muscles chuckling When I open him up, a cloud of dark, at me next to his arguably much nicer car. emphysema-inducing smoke pillows around I drive away as fast as I can, and devour my face, and I have to wave my arms around my sandwich dry on the highway, mustard frantically for a good thirty seconds before I packets forgotten somewhere on the floor can even see. of my car. I’m sure they’ve joined the army The engine looks. . .like it’s there? I know of condiments collected there from the past nothing about cars. couple of years. I groan because I wanted to be home by at ~ least one a.m. so I can sleep, and getting Bart The funeral’s okay. The preacher makes us fixed, if that’s even possible at this point in say, like, three prayers in her honor, and plays the night, kind of nixes my chances of that her favorite hymn (not that she had one), and happening. after she’s nice and buried, there’s food. Lydia, My cellphone tells me in a robotic English my crying sister, goes on and on about things accent that the closest car repair shop is a we should have done, and how we should have good hour and a half away, and that there are been better children, and all of the stuff that no open towing companies nearby. you’re supposed to regret at your mother’s I kick Bart’s tire, for stranding me at a diner. funeral when you haven’t talked to her in three “Bad Car,” I say. “Really, really bad car,” I say.

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2016 Wire Harp 45 Hidden Paradise Chris Powers

46 Wire Harp 2016 –continued from page 45 –

“Do you need a jump?” a voice from behind around with things, and directing me to shine me asks, and I spin around really fast because the light in certain places so that he can get a I didn’t notice anyone come out of the diner. better look. After several minutes of this, he Low and behold, Muscles stands behind me gets this half-frustrated, half-amused look on with his hands shoved into his pockets, his car his face and turns to me. “What even is your parked behind him. “Woah, hi,” I say dumbly. car?” He grins. He has straight white teeth. He I wince. “A Toyota Corolla? From, like, looks like he probably flosses every day instead 1991.” of two days before his dentist appointment like “Jesus Christ, that’s the year I was born. How everyone else. are you still driving this thing?” “Hi,” he says, “sorry to startle you twice in I want to laugh, because if he thinks being on e d ay.” born the same year as Bart is bad. I wasn’t even “No it’s cool, everyone startles me. Sorry for, a fertilized egg until two years after my car was um, who I am as a person.” made. He laughs. I hope he doesn’t know I stole “I have no idea,” I say. that line from the internet. “I don’t even know if all of the things in “I have jumper cables in my car, if you here are actually meant to be in a car,” he says, want,” he offers again. and points to the various car parts he’s been “Oh yeah,” I look back at Bart, “um, but the looking at. engine was smoking, are you supposed to- I “Well shit,” I say. mean is that safe?” “Well shit,” he affirms. He purses his lips and thinks for a minute, He looks back at Bart and regains his focus, his eyes squinting. “You know, I don’t know? I seemingly determined to find a solution to my have a feeling it’s not safe though.” mess. I sigh, moderately disappointed. His face is darkened with stubble that’s “Why don’t I take a look under the hood probably only a day old. I can grow like, maybe though? I’m not a mechanic, but I’ve worked two decent-sized hairs on my whole face, so I with cars a little bit, maybe I can help?” find myself enamored with the idea of what a “That would be very awesome and cool,” I full jaw of stubble feels like. I realize I’ve never say, resisting the urge to tack on a “totally rad” had a boyfriend with any kind of facial hair or “sick.” either. I want to reach out and touch it. I bring him over to Bart’s propped-open I think that maybe I’m imagining my fingers hood, and turn the flashlight on my phone on ghosting over his cheeks, but he flinches away so that he can see, because it’s already kind of from me, his eyebrows threatening to breach dark out. He looks and looks at it, tinkering his hairline, and I realize that it was not my

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2016 Wire Harp 47 Contemplation Chris Powers

48 Wire Harp 2016 –continued from page 47 –

imagination at all that I touched his face. my nice car, trying very hard to forget about He looks incredulous. Like he can’t wrap the weirdo who just touched my face for no his brain around the idea that a stranger he’s reason. known all of seven minutes just decided to, “I mean why would you touch a stranger’s you know, touch his face without asking. That face?” He shakes his head again, but he still an actual person, a human being, did that. I looks incredibly amused by it, if not also also cannot believe that I, an actual person and bewildered. human being, just did that. “Holy shit. I hate I feel like I am obligated to answer, but I myself,” I blurt. I am the worst human being. can’t look at him when I do it, so I hide my He stays still for a couple seconds after I face in my hands. “I dunno, ok, I just kinda say it, and in those seconds, I both decide imagined myself doing it and then I was doing to hop in my car and drive away like at the it I didn’t mean to actually do it I just thought convenience store, and remember that my car hey must be nice to have facial hair wonder is not drive-awayable. what that’s like and—“ And then he laughs, full and hearty, and He’s laughing again. I wanna die. with what appears to be sincere amusement. “I’m really sorry,” I manage, despite how It takes him a good minute to calm down, and mortified I am. I just stand there and stare at him, red in the He grins through his laughter, and reaches face. out his hand, and cups his palm around my “No no, sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I cheek. I nearly choke on my own spit. promise,” he says still trying to calm himself “There, we’re even,” he says once he’s down. dropped his hand, his laughter having settled The humiliation must be apparent on my into a smile. I think that if I smiled as much as face. he does, my cheeks would hurt. “It’s just,” he shakes his head, “I was just I am justifiably at a loss for words. thinking that I have to be creeping you out a “I think your car might have traveled into little, and that I should tell you I’m not a serial the afterlife, or if it hasn’t yet, it should. I can’t killer or something, and then you just….” imagine this is at all safe to drive.” He touches his face instead of finishing his I snap out of my stupor, and my face sentence. He laughs a little more. contorts into panic. “What! No!” I feel my face getting hotter and hotter. “I mean, like I said, I’m not a mechanic but,” “And then you said that, and I just couldn’t he wrinkles his nose at Bart, “this is a fucking help myself, you know?” mess.” I shake my head. I did not know. If I were “But Phoenix is still like three hours away!” him, I’d be high-tailing my ass out of here in His eyebrows shoot up. “You live in

–continued on page 51 –

2016 Wire Harp 49 Now Hold Katy Welte

50 Wire Harp 2016 –continued from page 49–

Phoenix? I live in Tucson!” and figure out if either of us are psychopath I stare at him. murderers?” “I could give you a ride.” I look up at the diner we’re in front of and “U h .” decide that all of this being a humiliating “I was heading there anyway, so it wouldn’t waste of a human being has made me hungry. even be out of the way.” I can’t help that I’m shy when I nod. This feels “U h .” like a date. “Or I could leave you here?” ~ “Uh!” The diner is almost completely empty, and I can’t just leave Bart here and jump into a we are seated at a booth next to the window. potential serial killer’s car, but I also definitely It reminds me of every diner I have ever can’t stay here, is what I’m trying to convey, been in. Plush-ish booth seats that are but I have a feeling my “Uhs” aren’t doing it. upholstered with that kind of leathery material Despite this, he waits with a patient smile on that sticks to your skin, but that must be his face. really easy to clean. A laminated wooden “I don’t really know you,” I mumble. tabletop decorated in little scratches and “That’s fair. I don’t really know you either.” crayon marks that mysteriously never come “Well yeah, but you’re all muscly and like out. A condiment caddy stocked with single a foot taller than me, I can’t imagine I’m a jellies, sugar and creamer packets, ketchup and threat.” Tabasco. Salt and pepper shakers that almost “You could be a psychopath who seduces don’t match. Yellowed menu’s separated by young men into giving him rides only to breakfast, lunch, and dinner, where nearly poison their coffee at the first pit stop. How everything on the lunch menu is a sandwich do I know you’re not on your way back from with soup or salad. killing someone right now?” I feel like I grew up here. “Actually I’m coming back from my mom’s A waitress who probably did grow up here funeral.” brings us ice water in brown plastic cups, and “Oh god I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” asks us if she can get us anything else to drink. “No it’s okay, I kind of hated her,” I assure “Coffee,” says Muscles. and give a non-committal wave of my hand. “Hot chocolate,” I say. “Okay, well you’re really not helping your It’s not even nearly cold enough to have hot case for not being a psychopath,” he deadpans. chocolate, but I can never help myself from “Never said I wasn’t.” ordering it at places like this. It’s probably He grins, and I grin back, and – this is the SwissMiss or Nesquik that they dissolve into weirdest conversation I’ve ever had. hot water and top with canned whipped “Do you want to eat with me at this diner cream, but it will be delicious all the same.

–continued on page 53 –

2016 Wire Harp 51 Untitled Brielle Bishop

52 Wire Harp 2016 –continued from page 51 –

“What the hell is your name?” I say as soon “Are you a serial killer?” as she is gone, because it is ridiculous that we “Nope, just a programmer.” are having dinner together when we’re not “A programmer?” even on a first name basis. “For video games.” “It’s Linden. Christ, what’s yours? I didn’t “You do not look like a video game even think to ask.” programmer.” “Conner,” I say, and a reach out my hand for “What does a video game programmer look a shake, because I’ve already touched his face I like?” might as well hold his hand too. “Like they’ve lived off an I.V. drip of He shakes my hand with a grin that’s Mountain Dew their whole life.” much more blinding here in the light of the He barks a laugh and wrinkles his nose. restaurant. “Gross.” “I can’t believe I offered to sit in a car with “You look more like a personal trainer or you for three hours without even knowing professional vegetarian.” your name, Conner.” “Is there such a thing as a professional “Yeah, you are kind of crazy, what’s wrong vegetarian?” with you?” “Probably.” “I was dropped on my head as a child.” “Well I’m definitely not a vegetarian. Very “That’s a little cliché.” fond of meat,” he gives me a wink and I almost “Then I was bitten by a radioactive spill my hot chocolate. “Anyway, what do you something-or-other.” do? Or should I guess?” “Also cliché.” “I kill people, serially,” I say with a grin, in “I’m a superhero and you’re calling me an attempt to regain my composure. cliché?” “Well, I think you look more like a--,” he “It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s something-or- pauses and thinks for a moment, “barista?” other m an .” “Nop e .” “That’s the spirit.” “Dental assistant?” The waitress comes back with his coffee “Nop e .” and my hot chocolate, and takes our orders. I “Preschool teacher.” get the cheeseburger and steak fries I’ve been “G o d n o.” decided on since the moment we sat down. He “It’d be really funny if you were a mechanic.” takes a couple extra seconds to decide to order I snort. “I’m a masseuse.” the vegetable club and soup of the day, which “Are you kidding?” happens to be tomato. “So,” I say. “Nope, I work in a spa and everything.” “So,” he repeats. “If only I lived in Phoenix, I’d love a

–continued on page 55 –

2016 Wire Harp 53 Bison Range Jeff Gregory

54 Wire Harp 2016 –continued from page 53 –

massage.” feel like I’ve just been robbed. “You could always drive two hours for your “Hey, this pickle is gross. Give me my fries next backrub.” back,” I say after I cheek the bite I took. “I could. Give me a chance to visit my “All deals are final. No give backs.” brot h e r.” “That’s not fair. You knew the fries would be “Is that why you’re going there now?” good no matter what. How was I supposed to “Yeah. Sort of. I picked up this bed frame know the pickle would be gross?” thing for him today, for our birthday, and I’m “I’ll totally give you half of this sandwich going to drop it off on my way back home.” and all of your fries back if you give me half of “Did you say ‘our’?” your burger.” “Yep. Twins.” “And what am I supposed to do with this?” I “That must be insanely cool. My sister’s six shake the pickle in my hand. years older than me and it’s like she’s an entire “Leave it on the plate uneaten so they know generation away.” what they did wrong.” “It is pretty cool. We’re not identical, but We trade food and spend the rest of the we’re practically the same person.” meal like that, talking about nothing and “Why would you drive all the way out here arguing over everything. He pays with a credit for a bed frame?” card before I can even get my wallet out of my “It was cheaper than having it shipped. And pocket, and ok, this is definitely a date. we always get each other weird furniture – it’s He helps me get all of the stuff that I don’t kind of a tradition – and this was the weirdest want to leave in Bart into his car, and I only thing I could find.” blush a little when he points out how many The waitress appears suddenly and gives packets of ketchup are on the floor of the us our food. It’s served on colorful ceramic backseat. dishware that’s so well worn I’m almost “I’ll miss you, buddy,” I say and tap Bart’s convinced it was purchased at a yard sale. It passenger seat rear view mirror. I cannot almost makes me hungrier than the food itself. fucking believe I am leaving my car in the Linden reaches over and steals a fry parking lot of this diner, but at least I got a before I can even get the ketchup out of the date out of it. caddy. I guffaw at him and take his pickle in “Two funerals in one day, that must suck.” retaliation. “At least I liked Bart.” He decides wordlessly that the pickle was ~ worth at least three more fries, and takes I sleep almost all the way to my house, them. It’s kind of a big pickle so I let it slide at passing out promptly after I entered my first, but then I bite into it and it’s sweet and I address into Linden’s GPS. I can’t help myself.

–continued on page 57 –

2016 Wire Harp 55 Indestructible Chris Powers

56 Wire Harp 2016 –continued from page 55 –

His arguably much nicer car, is also arguably walking back to my apartment before I can much more comfortable. regret it, but not before I see his face turn True to his word, Linden does not kill me in pink. my sleep and bury my body in the desert. I am He blushes all the way to his ears. I find very relieved to wake up alive, parked in front myself satisfied with that. of my house. “Let me give you my number,” he says, and I hand over my phone after I stretch. He punches in his name and number and then says, “I know I live two hours away, but would you want to go on a second date?” “Yes, holy shit, I can’t believe you’re asking some rando who touched your face out on a second date.” “But yes nonetheless?” “Yes yes,” I say enthusiastically, and he gives me an equally enthusiastic grin. He helps me get all of my stuff out of his car, and right before he gets back in to leave, I say, “Happy birthday, by the way.” “It’s not for another week, but thank you.” “Tell your brother I said happy birthday in a week then.” He laughs. “Okay.” “Bye Linden.” “Bye Conner.” I kiss his rough stubbly cheek and start

2016 Wire Harp 57 Untitled Brielle Bishop

58 Wire Harp 2016 Gazelles and Calla Lily Laura Narak

2016 Wire Harp 59 Braless Wonder Taegan Louden

My bra is a traitor. Earlier today it went completely AWOL, then full-on attack mode.

Underwire stabbed right into my left ta-ta. Entry point bled way more than you might expect, and the smell of iron— absolutely overpowering.

Dammit. That was my cute come-hither wear, too! Part of a matching set bought at Target. Guess I’m not wearing those anymore. The girls may be sad to see them go, but I certainly won’t miss the Benedict Arnold of lingerie.

Dishonorable discharge isn’t enough. I’m torching the fucker, suffragette style!

I’ll stand over the flames cackling, fist raised to the sky, tits defiantly swaying, joyously triumphant,

reunited at last with gravity. Take me now, oh sweet laws of science!

A sacrifice to god, Sir Isaac Newton, on high: protect us against snapped straps potentially fatal stabbings and unsightly tension lines. Amen.

60 Wire Harp 2016 Bloody Mary Marc Harvey

2016 Wire Harp 61 Positive Colleen Tinch

We were at Walmart late one evening, buying some vodka for shots. I told him I need to take a test first. He acted annoyed, assumed I was overthinking. We agreed

I’d drink with him if the test was negative. We bought the test. We bought the vodka. We went home, where I put our frozen poppers in the oven and told him to take them out when the timer goes off.

I took the test. Just as the second line began to appear, the smoke detector began to wail.

62 Wire Harp 2016 Blades Samantha Anderson

I look at the blades of grass littering the concrete. Why is it that, as children, we are compelled to tear these fleshy green blades from their nesting soil, to rip and shred the strands breaking in our tiny hands? And now, as an adult, I have the same compulsion, same desire for that tearing sensation, the final release of grass from its earthly hold. Is it that, at the hands of Fate, I feel I am the grass under its muddy boot, its spiked cleat, pulled up beneath its weight? Perhaps it is that I can hold in the palm of my tanned, sweaty hand, the power of those three withered crones snipping away at life-strings, merciless, emotionless, ending with a pinch of my fingertips and a slight tug of my wrist, controlling the grass the way I cannot control my life.

2016 Wire Harp 63 Grasping at pipe dreams Leah Roper

64 Wire Harp 2016 Fog on the River Josh Hansen

2016 Wire Harp 65 White Tiger on the Beams David Kennedy

How must I appear to the creature looking of her fine white silk as if she were a soccer at me through four eyes, and with a body coach with his bag, ready to begin practice, smaller than my fingernail? A spider, the the black smudges a hint of what’s inside. She lovely crisp white of mountain snow with has no need for practice though, this White black stripes as deep as the pits of the ocean, Tiger. She’s already in the throes of a game. like the rare white tiger of the insect realm. She defends this clump of silk, protecting the She returns my gaze as I peer into those gentle clutch of eggs hidden inside a suitcase beady black eyes that have coldly stared down of her own flesh. She has stroked this satchel countless insects in their dying moments. Her for days. How much longer until the fresh web, a flower in the style of noir, is a tender, spawn of this arachnid pour forth like a wispy murder scene floating between the waterfall of writhing limbs, cleaning away bugs coarse wood beams and the cold cement wall. as they go, like a river combs away last season’s Billowing in the slightest breeze like sheets on refuse once the snow melts? Does she wonder a clothesline, the silk hides a hidden strength, if this is the end, if I have come, looming in a resolute purpose, which is to trap and never the shadows with a face like death, to take her let go. Isolated in a concrete box of basement and her many children away from this world? territory, I wonder what her prey of choice is, Does she see my face in multiple, with her whether she prefers the sleek muscle tone of a kaleidoscope eyes, and question if it is the last cricket fresh from leaping, or the wiry grit of a thing she will ever ponder? fly caught in her trap directly after his foray to As she peers back, I imagine her praying. the cat box for a romantic evening on the piss For what else could I be to such a small and clumps with his missus. powerless creature but a god? With a whim I Maybe she can’t even tell the difference once could undo all her work, destroy the silk that she has liquefied her kill with her acid venom, is exceptionally strong, and yet would feel like swinging her executioner’s axes down into its a wisp of hair in my grip. What else is a god most tender, exposed areas. Though I can’t see but power in the presence of weakness? With the fangs now, I know how my Tiger likes to no hesitation or remorse, I could flatten her appear helpless until the opportune moment, prize, bursting the eggs inside like pimples. when it is too late to back out again. She ropes It would take nothing, a passing thought them in and binds them down, anesthetizing and a short gesture of destruction. With an the poor unfortunate she’s claimed with effort equivalent to cracking my knuckles, or her own special medicine, with her own maybe less, I could just as easily reward her distinctive syringe, like the extraordinary little perseverance with an eviction notice and a phlebotomist she is. new frontier to conquer, one filled with snow She sits in the middle of her palace, alone and ice, and which is hostile to insiders like except for her charge. She clutches a mass my White Tiger. Even then there would be no

66 Wire Harp 2016 promise of her survival. So she prays, looking the only assurance I can give, which is that into the eyes of her new god. She pleads with she is still alive, for now. For even a god needs me to ignore her for one more day, for one subjects, and what better as a pawn than my more hour in which she can clutch her bundle beautiful Tiger of White, a perfect creation with a mother’s caress; one more day with with no power to overthrow whatsoever. which to hunt in her own lazy, patient way, I turn from my new subject, naming twisting up those too clumsy to avoid her in a the White Tiger high priestess, wondering satin sarcophagus, a butcher saran-wrapping what must be running through her efficient, his fresh cuts. streamlined little brain. Was she grateful I left Experimentally, I send a breath of air her her to herself for however long, or furious at way that must feel like a stormy gale, a humid the devastation of her favorite corner of web? wash of air not unlike what I imagine a The scratchy-itchy feeling of leaves digging tropical storm at the end of spring feels like, against my toes as they tumble in my shoe a muggy tempest that clings to whatever it distracts me from my train of thought as I touches. It vibrates her outstretched apartment retire into my own personal web of drywall on its foundations, flapping like a plastic and carpet, polyester blankets and cotton bag caught in the wind, but its mounts are sheets. I bare my flesh as the Tiger has always secure and sturdy. She does not stir, or even done, and mimic her unmoving resoluteness, fidget, sure of her handiwork even as it is relishing the stillness as the light fades out distorted and flung into shapes it was never of another day, and night closes in on my meant to hold. The Tiger continues to glower suburban savannah once again. at me, almost daring me to come just a little closer so she can take me on head-to-head. I extend my finger and with a quick swipe obliterate a corner of her home, the thread wrapping around my digit; again my Tiger is unflinching. What pride must she possess that she does not even look away from me as I toy with her? Maybe I am indeed a god, trifling with things that should have been left alone, mucking about with this creature’s existence for my own amusement. So I recede inside my godliness, and spare this sad little creature with no hope of anything other than eating and birthing, and possibly eating the birthed. I leave her with

2016 Wire Harp 67 Half & Half Jesus Martinez

68 Wire Harp 2016 Foo Dog Mug Cassidy Adams

2016 Wire Harp 69 Hanging Fruit Brittany Vens

70 Wire Harp 2016 Kingdom Carrot after Iain Haley Pollock Heather Johnson

Today a woman carried a screaming child down aisles full of things she hates. Cans of carrots, cans of peas filled with things we shouldn’t eat.

She was a frail thing, with arms that couldn’t support that fat baby. She’ll probably go home, take off her nice clothes and get something to eat. Maybe a can of peas but god she needs a steak.

I knock something over but don’t spare a glance. My eyes are glued to the woman who can’t carry a baby so fat.

2016 Wire Harp 71 Steam Plant 2015 Rhiana Whitehead

72 Wire Harp 2016 Untitled Brielle Bishop

2016 Wire Harp 73 A Knight Most Valiant Laura Stephenson

“Start with this,” the knight says: “‘He began been imprisoned? All that was known was her in his quest to rescue the princess by scaling presence, and the foretelling that someday, the unscalable wall.’ Do you have that?” someone who was worthy would waken her “Yes, Sir,” the squire says. “Shall I pull the with a kiss.’” rope up, now?” “The exact wording was ‘Someone who “Yes, very good. Follow that up with the deserves her,’ but I appreciate the touch of line, ‘The sun shone brilliantly off his armor, alliteration, Sir.” shining like a beacon for miles around.’” “That was pretty artful, wasn’t it? Ahem. “It better; I polished it an entire day.” Write, ‘The injustice of it had spurred him “What’s that?” thus far, lending him the strength he required “Nothing. My quill needs ink, Sir.” to right this great wrong. He approached her “Then ink it, Squire; we haven’t got all day. with the awe due a goddess, for truly that is Now this, ‘He then slayed the unslayable what she was. Surely Earth had never created dragon, his highly-polished armor reflecting a more lovely creature.’” the heat of its breath, giving him just enough “Isn’t that laying it on a bit thick, though, time to thrust up with his sword, in through Sir?” the lower jaw, thus scrambling its brain. He “Hush! Just write, ‘He knelt by her side, watched the fire in its eyes die.’” almost too reverent to bestow upon her the “Very good visual, Sir. Much better than needed kiss.’” what actually happened.” “It’s the mole, isn’t it?” “Write, ‘He solved the unsolvable riddle, “I said hush, damn you; you aren’t making opening the tower doors, then strode up the this any easier! Write, ‘But gazing on her lush endless stairs with nary a false step.’” lips, a need arose in him—was it Love?—and “Would you like a hand, Sir? I can carry he leaned forward; their lips met.’ Ugh, there. your sword up if you’re getting tired.” Now have it say, ‘She stirred beneath him, and “Yes, take it, and my helmet, too, but no he respectfully drew back.’” need to write that down. Instead say, ‘Once in The princess blinks her eyes open and says her room, his heart almost burst at the sight to the knight, “Alack, but you’re sweaty! Are of her—skin like porcelain, lips like wine, and you narrating yourself?” the most perfectly sculpted body.’” “I’m having my squire record my valiant “She’s really quite plain, isn’t she, Sir?” deeds.” “The important thing is that she is a “Then shouldn’t he just watch you?” princess. It’s not really her looks I’m after. “He can be quite...critical when left to his Now take down, ‘Little was known about the own devices. At any rate—here, can you write princess in her eternal slumber. Why had she this?— ‘My Lady, I have overcome all odds

74 Wire Harp 2016 to rescue you. My life, my heart, my soul I pledge to you.’” “Aren’t you rather large about the middle for an unwed prince?” “My Lady, you do me great honor! But I am no prince, only a knight.” “Oh, so you’re rescuing me for a prince. Good. You had me worried for a moment.” “I...that is... Squire, what are you writing? Stop it! Just end with this, ‘And they lived happily ever after.’” “You want me to live with you?!”

2016 Wire Harp 75 We go forward Katy Welte

76 Wire Harp 2016 Blue Jesus Martinez

2016 Wire Harp 77 Piñata-Related Injuries Tyler Pursch

-lights on- Oh, no thanks, I’m sure we’ve got a stick I was born without vocal chords. somewhere. So when the others told me after my birth I was born without vocal chords. that I’d be killed with a bat, crippled over He dangled my paralyzed and over, hide over a tree branch, splintered, swaying in the easy breeze my innards dripping into the frothing when they came, open mouths of toddlers, animal diseases with I could not scream in horror. their crippling sticks, I was born without vocal chords. tripping, hollering alpha executioner More of my comrades leading the procession. were purchased for their deaths. I slept in episodes, No English parlay came out. cried harder than hollow. No whimpers no please Nobody heard. no let’s talk about this no I was born without vocal chords. please stop no don’t it hurts And came the day when he hobbled in, The father’s greasy a man whale, Budweiser grin washed in patriotic apparel, over his blinded son. an American Constitution printed Higher. over his diabetic chest. Harder. Get it, Rusty, Had I been flesh and bone, when on the upswing traded a beating heart for at crayon miles per hour a body to beat, the home run was struck perhaps I’d be found against the fruit that spawned him. in an adoption clinic that day, rather than Party Animal To Go. I could not howl with delight. Braces rung me up I was born without vocal chords. by the tag on my toe. Would you like one of our bats as well?

78 Wire Harp 2016 Delicate Arch Jeff Gregory

2016 Wire Harp 79 Untitled Nathan Gale

80 Wire Harp 2016 Butterfly Jesus Martinez

2016 Wire Harp 81 Nightlife Tyler Bolen

82 Wire Harp 2016 You Didn’t Answer Kyle Burgi

And I’m sure you fell asleep on the couch, covered in chip crumbs, wearing that outfit you just bought at Walmart because you weren’t expecting anyone else to see you.

And if you saw yourself, you would probably wake up, put yourself back together into your own version of normalcy.

And that little snort you just did was the most beautiful thing in the world with your bed head that looks so much better than any hairdresser could ever do.

And your smudged makeup stained my pillows as you apologize for weeks about them but little do you know that the character they add is leagues above the curry stains I put there years ago.

And every flaw that you see now I see as a trait that shouldn’t be fixed. Every knocked-over cup as a story you can share later (if you remember).

And I will be there in the morning to help you pick up those pieces and regain what you seemingly lost in this dark room, with quiet sounds.

2016 Wire Harp 83 The Journey Desirae Knight

84 Wire Harp 2016 Reflection Tires penny morrison

2016 Wire Harp 85 Dogs Rule Trina M Butler

86 Wire Harp 2016 The Ballad of Big Dog and Jason Starr David St.Clair

Jason Starr. “Sure bro. Just get me a blowjob and a beer The sound of his name was generally and we’re even.” enough to get crowds of schoolgirl screaming Jason, who had a supermodel on each praises and, in his presence, offering their arm and was higher than a hot air balloon, undergarments to the famous stranger. Jason mistook Big Dog’s intent and merely wasn’t keen on accepting, because he was said,“Sure, dude.” secretly into men. Jason went on with his performance, He first discovered this about himself in the which netted him a standing ovation, an summer of ‘07, at the Clear Mountain Music encore performance, the aforementioned Festival in Colorado. Worried that his comedy undergarments of schoolgirls, and a bicycle rock act would go about as well as Bob Dylan’s that one severely drunk man threw on stage. 1965 Newport set, he called upon a friend of Jason was especially proud of this bicycle (red, his to be an audience plant. The conversation with a kickstand and no brakes), so he kept went as follows. it framed in the living room of his mansion, Jason dialed a number into his cellular next to his 70-inch flat-screen television. telephone. A deep voice on the other side Later that evening, however, Big Dog came answered quickly, yet casually. “’Sup bro?” to collect. Upon retiring to his room, Jason “Hey, Big Dog,” Jason started.“I’m worried found that Big Dog was already laying, half those guys won’t like my act.” nude, in his California King sized bed. “’Sup, “You thinking full Bob Dylan, bro?” Big bro?” Big Dog said in his usual suaveness. Dog always had a way of knowing what Jason Instantly, Jason fell for this large, black needed to hear. beauty of a man. After a glass of champagne, “Well, yeah.” they engaged in unspeakably sweet, non- “You see, bro, here’s the thing.” Big Dog sexual forms of intimacy, being sure to respect always said things simply and slowly, so that each other and their space. Jason could understand. “Bob Dylan got crazy Jason Starr and Big Dog are still together to backlash from that one time, yeah? But here’s this day. They share the occasional drink to the thing, he was doing what he really wanted commemorate that fateful festival where they to do. Nobody was gonna tell him no, you first discovered their feelings for each other. see. Sure his fans didn’t like it, but all sorts of They also chuckle about that guy who threw other fans took their place and accepted him the bicycle. That guy was a riot. for who he was. You know what I mean?” “I think so. Thank you.” “You gonna be cool to go on?” “Yeah, but do you think you could, like, go into the audience and, like, laugh at all my jokes?”

2016 Wire Harp 87 The Absent Table K.G. Brown

The coffee table was gone. Some time later, The first sign that something when I was found was amiss. Its vacancy and brought home, took up the whole room, it was back in our living room, spilling its secrets over tying together the room ever until the house shook so quietly as it had done with the weight. for generations, the memory of its absence I looked at the two of them, all but forgotten. sitting on the couch, neither one wanting to look in my eyes.

Their explanations washed over me, but all I could see was the hole where the coffee table, the beautiful blonde oak, hand-carved, should be, the table that had made its way to Washington, pulled by a team of oxen and a dream.

But it wasn’t.

I begged, pleaded, and ran away, vowing to never come back until they worked it out, for me, for us.

88 Wire Harp 2016 Winter 2016 Rhiana Whitehead

2016 Wire Harp 89 Untitled Trina Butler

90 Wire Harp 2016 Pull Nathan Gale

2016 Wire Harp 91 Hangman Golf Course Jonni Deakins

The creek cuts through You can feel the trapped memories the sea of bright green grass, tucked beneath that lumpy each strand perfectly groomed. blanket of plastic grass The waves go on for miles. that stays sewn down with the surrounding trees. We rolled down those hills, That creek is the only way out. lay at the bottom, trying to breathe again. Sometimes I think it’s beautiful, You were so close, your presence but then I stop and remember distracting me from seeing how those green blades the sharp plastic grass slit down the side of me. or that uneasy feeling deep in my gut that something wasn’t right. It seemed peaceful, but it’s always too bright. I couldn’t see the stains on my body, the scars that wouldn’t wash away.

Once called Latah Creek before the orders were given to hang the men of the Palouse, to kill their horses. That memory is all but forgotten, the balls and putters distracting from the horrors that made it Hangman. Peaceful to passersby, too busy to see it’s too bright. Its true colors only show covered in snow, leaves, or darkness.

92 Wire Harp 2016 Manito Jeff Gregory

2016 Wire Harp 93 Deceptive Illumination Leah Roper

94 Wire Harp 2016 Because the Ice Still Haunts Your Dreams Nyirenda Ross

Your mind is like Brooklyn, it never sleeps but shuts up when someone drops the “f” bomb. Fire sparks while being blown on, heat flushing numb cheeks, and crackles then pops before it roars. Plumes of cedar and sweet grass billow in your nose, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

Ice feels like death kissing your lips blue and dead, death in the form of your best friend James reaching from Arlington Cemetery to drag you down. And sometimes your head isn’t Brooklyn at all. Birds croak on a feather and spread their wings. And sometimes you miss being called a punk, better a punk than a twink, you think.

Because you’re a soldier and soldiers have hardened hearts. “I had ‘em on the ropes” is what you uttered, defeated. The sharp chisel of abyss and glacial home chip away at your beautiful blue eyes, as warm as a glacier would ever be. You bare your teeth and roar your challenge and the renegade would sit and watch it all, hoping that maybe tomorrow or every day, you would raise your head and fake resilience. Hoping that crosses would dull and weaken your heart, but your heart would need to shatter before it grows cold. On va voir. As winter beckons with her cold and cruel fingers, more alluring than summer’s cries.

Even Brooklyn would stand silent for your cruelty.

2016 Wire Harp 95 Peach Wine and Fireworks Ryan Hatten

Our summer was filled with the likes of peach wine and fireworks. We were happy to sit idly in each other’s company, knowing adventures were never out of the question. We’d take that old Chevy up and down these city streets, wandering every inch our little home had to offer. Though the greatest of times were those spent in an aging book store, pulling our idols off those dusty shelves, Steinbeck, Wolfe and certainly Kerouac. Our heads filled with dreams of the future, nothing would stop us from seeing this world. You cried when I left, said this wasn’t how things were meant to be. Now you’re walking these same city streets, your hand in another man’s grasp. As bright as you can smile, it now shines in his eyes. As you walk by, I see you’ve moved on. But I am still here in that Chevy, dreaming of a summer filled with fireworks and peach wine.

96 Wire Harp 2016 Oregon Coast Jeff Gregory

2016 Wire Harp 97 Little White Fish Cassidy Adams

98 Wire Harp 2016 Mission Mountain Alicia Dunavan

2016 Wire Harp 99 Supernova Haley Wiles

The car keeps driving down the road by the old barn, by the fence that the horses used to jump over in rebellion,

past the cows grazing quietly, as trucks blared by in their cross country travels, past the house where we used to live,

where we used to run through the fields out back, smiling as the stars began to rain down on our finite oblivion.

We gazed upon them from the scratchy Pendleton blanket where I would shiver, and you would force me back inside, back to the real world, away from the stars.

Away from the moon shining on the rotting panes of wood making up the barrier between us, between the world, rotting away, just like us.

The car feels heavy with the bag I packed, knowing I will never return. But then again, neither do falling stars.

100 Wire Harp 2016 Untitled Baldasty Photography Award Winner Christina Marie

2016 Wire Harp 101 The Wire Harp is a nonprofit annual publication of Spokane Falls Community College, presenting the creative works of students, alumni, faculty, and staff.

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102 Wire Harp 2016 2016

2016 THE WIRE HARP SFCC 2016

2016 THE WIRE HARP SFCC