2014 Wire Harp SFCC The Wire Harp Spokane Falls Community College – 2014 – Creative Arts Magazine 30th Anniversary Issue ii Wire Harp 2014 30th Anniversary Issue

Thirty years ago, in 1984, “Owner of a Lonely Heart” filled the Starting in the year 1984, then, and each year for the next 30 years American radio airwaves, Ghostbusters played in movie theaters, leading to the anniversary issue you now hold in your hands, and friends and family gathered around TV sets the size of kitchen the Wire Harp moniker has graced the cover. When the Harp ovens to watch Dynasty and Dallas. Tina Turner’s album debuted, it was primarily a literary review. Over the course of What’s Love Got to Do with It? won the Grammy, and William Ken- those early years, other creative programs, such as fine arts, nedy’s novel Ironweed won the Pulitzer. No one downloaded those graphic arts, and photography, were flourishing at SFCC, and so songs, movies, TV shows, and books onto digital devices to enjoy fifteen years into its run, the magazine became a showcase for all of later, nor did friends IM each other or Tweet about these popular our students’ talents. And in that sense, the Wire Harp is one of the cultural icons. finest collaborative efforts we have on our campus.

Something else big happened in 1984, at least to the world we Our magazine is a result of the combined work of two student share at Spokane Falls Community College. That was the year the staffs, the literary and the artistic, and of all the students who Wire Harp made its debut. Our school’s creative arts magazine was create art and submit it to the Harp. Every year, we receive many the brainchild of Almut McAuley, SFCC’s much respected and more pieces of art and writing than we can publish, and anybody long-time creative writing instructor. Prior to the Harp, SFCC pub- involved in the process of preparing a creative piece, polishing it, lished other literary magazines with a host of names that changed submitting it, and waiting for the results, is a winner in our eyes. often, including Realms, Nuances, Images, and Campus Carousel. Our staffs greatly enjoy reading and viewing all the work submit- When Almut came on board as the advisor, three decades ago, she ted to us for review as we have so many talented writers and art- wanted a name that would stick, a name that would be worthy of ists in our midst. Sorting through all the submissions also serves as the publication that celebrates the creative talents of our current training ground as we are an instruction-related students, alumni, staff, and faculty. student-funded club.

Almut landed on the Wire Harp for a title, a name she found inspir- We hope you’ll enjoy the creative work we’ve selected for this an- ing and worthy for two reasons. One is that a “wire harp” is a niversary edition as much as we do. We’re proud of this issue, all stringed instrument, favored by minstrels for its portability, much the issues that have preceded it, and all the issues still to come. like a book of art is portable. Secondly, when Almut researched the title, she found a collection of ballads with the same name, ~The Wire Harp Staff published in 1965 by the East German writer Wolf Biermann. The phrase “wire harp” appears in Biermann’s poem “Ballad on the Poet Francois Villon” and refers to the barbed wire on the Berlin wall that becomes like a harp when the wind passes through it, making music. The “wire harp” is a celebratory symbol for the creative voice that cannot, and should not, be repressed, no matter the oppressive context that may surround it.

2014 Wire Harp iii iv Wire Harp 2014 2014 Wire Harp Staff Richard Baldasty Awards

Literary Editor Bella York Richard Baldasty taught philosophy and history at SFCC from 1984-2007, and during his tenure, he was regularly Designer Mickenzie Burns published in this journal and contributed significantly to the arts on our campus. Upon his retirement, The Wire Graphic Advisor Doug Crabtree Harp honored the spotlight he shone on art by naming our poetry award for him. Each year, The Wire Harp Literary Advisors Laura Read staff selects what we consider the most artistic poem Connie Wasem Scott as the recipient of this award. We also honor a work of prose, a photograph, and a work of fine art. Each of these Social Media Director Mikayla Davis four student artists receives a $100 prize, as a result of a generous gift from Richard. We appreciate Richard for Literary Staff Mikayla Davis supporting students in their creative arts. Sarah Dyer Lauren Gilmore Sharon Goff Hannah Michaelis Jason Oestreicher Jeremia Wilks-McGinnis

Special Thanks Richard Baldasty Bonnie Brunt Shelli Cockle Glen Cosby Heather McKenzie Carl Richardson Kim Taylor Becky Turner

2014 Wire Harp v Contents

Poetry Fiction The Doe...... 2 Jazz on a Wednesday ...... 65 Ding Dong...... 9 Carol Harrington Andreas Andersson Jocelyn Peguero The Pretty White Dress ...... 5 What It Was...... 68 C-Section...... 17 Marc Harvey Jocelyn Peguero Andreas Andersson Brief Look at a Charity Gala. . . . . 6 The Coldest Part of the Kitchen . . . 72 Trapped In Her Web ...... 29 Alec Reynolds Bella York Kristina Carpenter Caramel Apples...... 10 A Soldier’s Lament ...... 75 The Letter...... 34 Lauren Gilmore Sarah Johnson Kevin Fletcher September...... 14 Sky Man ...... 84 The Cube...... 45 Ruth Henrickson Jeremia Wilks-McGinnis Connor Buckingham Run...... 20 Wind of Change...... 87 Time Off ...... 71 Belen Correa Sharon Ann Goff Alec Reynolds My Father’s Father ...... 23 Before My Dad Left...... 88 Rough Magic ...... 78 Rachel Goodner Jason Oestreicher Richard Baldasty Reflections on Watching your Best Friend Along the Ground ...... 91 The Birds and the Bombs...... 92 Have a Seizure ...... 24 Tom Versteeg Alaric Goodman Danielle Estelle Doing Rails...... 98 Clockwork Inside...... 30 Derek Annis NonFiction Alaric Goodman Wake Up...... 58 One Night at the Holiday Inn. . . . 33 Abigail Osborne Scott Brewster It Goes...... 80 Twelve...... 41 Robin Golke Lyssa Davis Sometimes When You’re a Kid. . . . 42 Ruth Henrickson Eruption of the Muse...... 46 Mikayla Davis The Unskilled Poems, Number two . .48 Blu Andrews Big Toy ...... 53 Bella York The Past Twelve Minutes...... 54 Lauren Gilmore Quarter Life Crisis...... 61 Sarah Dyer All Because of That Woman . . . . .62 Melodie Aff Baldasty Award Winner

vi Wire Harp 2014 Contents Photography Studious ...... 1 Scary ...... 64 Cassie Grauert Cassie Grauert 4O9A3284...... 3 Cupcake Cutie ...... 66 Lisa Zamora Nicholas Grauert Coke Oven...... 4 Starry Spokane...... 69 Fay Hulihan Mike Busby Unsure...... 7 Untitled...... 70 Steven Tinnell Jessica Mumm Out There ...... 8 Splash ...... 73 Mike Busby Makenna Haeder Grazing Bison ...... 12 Dew and Web...... 77 Shaun Schlager Rachel Elmore Untitled...... 13 Beach...... 82 Fay Hulihan Cassie Grauert Devine Tree...... 15 A Splash of Color...... 83 Mike Busby Unknown Tunnel Bridge...... 21 Untitled...... 89 Nicholas Grauert Patrick Ashcroft Untitled...... 22 Enchanted...... 90 James Cronrath Makenna Haeder Untitled 1...... 26 Black & White Tree...... 95 Clara Wilson James Cronrath Untitled 2...... 27 Wakena Falls...... 97 Clara Wilson Alicia Dunavan Untitled...... 37 Alberta Tracks...... 99 Jessica Mumm Fay Hulihan Phone163...... 38 Shaun Schlager Immersion...... 39 Shaun Schlager Face #2...... 47 Kenia Uribe Over Grown...... 56 Makenna Haeder Untitled...... 57 Jessica Mumm

Baldasty Award Winner

2014 Wire Harp vii Contents

Fine Art Angelic...... 16 Power...... 76 Milinda Smith Lavonne West Building Blocks...... 18 Ovum...... 79 Lyle Wright Seng Olsen Lion’s Paw...... 19 Spinning Wheel ...... 85 Christina St.Pierre Constance Brockett Murray Animate...... 28 Impress Forest & Flowing Flower Pods.86 R Maier Jennifer Hill Worth Every Second...... 31 Broom ...... 96 Travis Floyd Dakota Ross The Sea Watcher ...... 32 Laura Novak Lenore ...... 40 Laura Norak Hugs & Kisses ...... 43 Emily Flynn Urban Sunset ...... 44 Constance Brockett Murray Depths...... 50 Ashley Peterson Higher Learning...... 51 Travis Knickerbocker Finey Disposition ...... 52 Emily Flynn Still Searching...... 59 Travis Knickerbocker Yellow Goddess...... 60 Laura Novak Under the Sea...... 63 Jennifer Hill Katayotta...... 67 Brandt Wurzer At Ease ...... 74 Ashley Peterson

Baldasty Award Winner

viii Wire Harp 2014 Studious Cassie Grauert

2014 Wire Harp 1 The Doe Carol Harrington

Just yesterday, I waded through the snow At dusk, standing in the amber to the marble edge of the lake. light through the window… Wisps of white texture swirled like I hear the howling. The shadows frozen feathers, intricate and lacelike. of three coyotes on the ice The sun framed behind bare trees, snarl and fight to tear the archetypal stained glass window. something from within. Black hawks dive about the dogs, desperate— This morning, the cabin window frames crying for us all. a fighting figure. Not sure, I grab the binoculars and wince when across the silver surface I see a deer, caught in the icy trap. Ears fluttering, neck straining, steam rolling from nostrils wide with fright like the eyes. She lurches forward again and again and I imagine the dull useless thud, front hooves on the shelf of surrounding ice, swimming her ragged breath back and forth from one end of the dark icy pool to the other, the heaving, straining – long slender neck. In the isolation of this cabin, this wood, I can do nothing. I am unable to turn away, and watch her grave widen and yawn black.

I think of the deer all day at work. Did she go into shock after the first numbing, then stiffen in death? Or did exhaustion let her sink, lungs filling with scalding cold water?

2 Wire Harp 2014 4O9A3284 Lisa Zamora

2014 Wire Harp 3 Coke Oven Fay Hulihan

4 Wire Harp 2014 The Pretty White Dress Marc Harvey

I remember the day we bought it, we were at Nordstrom’s at their half yearly sale. We had just eaten lunch at Chili’s and after a few beers we were almost drunk and we were so in love and when you saw it in the window, you said, “Rose, you’d look great in that.” I tried it on and you said I was beautiful, and I believed you. We bought it and went home and made love, then fell asleep on the couch.

So much has happened since that day. All the pushes and shoves; starts and stops. All that we’ve said and wished we could take back or maybe forget.

And now all I hear you say, as they take you, “I can’t believe this—I barely hit the bitch.”

2014 Wire Harp 5 Brief Look at a Charity Gala Alec Reynolds

He was the white powder she inhaled crouched over a counter in the dark bathroom.

He was the flowers outside her window she planted in the spring and by fall clotted her nostrils with their fleshy aroma.

He was her first boyfriend a high school sweetheart that gave her a promise ring and contusions.

He was the graffiti across from her loft so cool and artistic until you realize it says “fuck you” in bubble letters.

He was a brand new dress so recent with the price tags still embroidered worn to a funeral.

He was the professor she had who convinced her that art was dead and caused her to drop out.

He was the hospital band that cradled her wrist after her “accident.”

He was the job she got at Wendy’s after she forgot about art and just made hamburgers.

He was the residue that remained in the bathroom after she rejoined the party to sit with him and smile.

6 Wire Harp 2014 Unsure Steven Tinnell

2014 Wire Harp 7 Out There Mike Busby

8 Wire Harp 2014 Ding Dong Jocelyn Peguero

Ding ding, ding ding ding, da ding ding. She’s pushing the doorbell repeatedly with delight, chirping every time its bing! echoes through our empty house. She jumps like a small child and kisses my cheek. She’s dancing in place to the music of dings she’s forcing through her fingertips.

Our dogs join her in a happy dance, and I simply stare at the three of them like they’ve gone absolutely bonkers. It makes me smile nonetheless, even with our first neighbors now staring at our unorthodox behavior. She sees them, knows they’re watching her, but does not care. She cannot be pushed off her ninth cloud.

Kicking off her shoes, she glides across the hardwood floors in her tattered socks, still dancing. “Ring it! Ring it again!” she cries. I press the doorbell, making up a playful tune. She spins in circles until she falls to the ground, laughing all the while.

I try to help her up, but she pulls me right down to the ground, to her level. She softly kisses me and whispers in my ear, “We’ll never be homeless again.”

2014 Wire Harp 9 Caramel Apples for Jenn Joralemon Baldasty Poetry Award Winner Lauren Gilmore

Before I got braces Every inhale became an act of theft a rich man in a Hawaiian t-shirt from his lungs to mine. handed me a refrigerator magnet listing everything I couldn’t eat. Each one turned me to a walking picture frame: Number seven: caramel apples. a frozen smile, with recycled captions Here, my eleven-year-old everyone mistook for healing. pre-orthodontic-ridden-self drew the line. Here I was devastated. Sleep fled swiftly as innocence from a crime scene. In the darkness, ceiling tiles began to resemble My mother, from her financial wit’s end, the inside of a coffin. had no sympathy. Instead, asked me when I last remembered I tried convincing myself having a caramel apple anyway. these holes in my chest had always been there. See, she said to my silence I had not seen his face in over five months and you can’t miss you just can’t miss what you barely had what you barely had to begin with. to begin with, right?

The two years would pass Death is just a mind game. with or without the braces Mind over matter. caramel-apple-less. Try harder. Things would be no different. My disbelief has been suspended for far too long. After my father’s death, it took three days I have carried grief for the past nine months, for the news to pass through our door. feeling it kick and scratch. As it did, the house became heavier. I long for its birth into something enlightened. Furniture that hadn’t supported his weight in over a decade His best friend planted him a grief garden. suddenly creaked in his absence. Perhaps I have done the same. With eyes for watering cans. Any day now Every ring of our phone the sprouts will come up from my fingertips. pierced the quiet Flowers will braid themselves through my hair. with an absolute certainty Every smile in my direction it was not him on the other end. will be received as sunlight, warming the soil.

10 Wire Harp 2014 After two years a very rich man in a Hawaiian t-shirt handed me a maintenance retainer.

After nine months fate snatches the progress from my womb and spits it back without a heartbeat—hey let’s take a look at those teeth, shall we? Ah, what a beautiful smile. Four thousand dollars later it’s the only sort of beauty I have left.

2014 Wire Harp 11 Grazing Bison Shaun Schlager

12 Wire Harp 2014 Untitled Fay Hulihan

2014 Wire Harp 13 September Ruth Henrickson

In September and shut, opened and shut we trimmed my grandmother’s roses in disbelief. and mowed her lawn. A mother crying on the phone is sickening The carpets were stained and ragged, and they gave us chemicals and unreal. to clean them. That night we watched a machine extract the carcass Our knuckles split and turned red; once wasn’t enough of a plane from the river. so we did it again, and again I strained to see more, wanting to see we bled. but also not wanting Soon we would receive news to. I read to my grandmother, it comforted her but I that would make us want to clean the carpets again was not comforted as she cried just to focus our heads. this isn’t the way it should happen.

An adult’s grief is a strange thing Sweet sleeps on the surface of bitter for a child to see, like oil on water; measuring her breath, like a child so weighted with understanding and learning to float severe, hollow on her back; wavering there, unstable. without softness. We listened to the sound, Threatening at any moment to sink the low-pitched groans of an iron gate and leave us heavy and metallic altogether bitter. like a machine. Grief. The horrible gaping shape of their mouths When we drink you, frightened us, and we watched we are stained forever. as spines folded all around the room while the truth sunk into their bodies like teeth and they couldn’t hold it. They slumped into chairs suddenly years older.

As children we could only watch and wait to feel. The dust we swept up in the attic that day burned in our throats, and we wanted so badly to show that we were folding too. Finally the mud and tears manifested, lapping at our roll-top bread-box eyelids as they opened

14 Wire Harp 2014 Devine Tree Mike Busby

2014 Wire Harp 15 Angelic Milinda Smith

16 Wire Harp 2014 C-Section Andreas Andersson

The morning begins pitch black as she rises slowly to turn We are twenty-four now. A year ago, we lived in her house her alarm clock off, which she placed in the bathroom last night. and made eggs with toast every morning. I placed my alarm in the She has forty-five minutes to shower, eat, brush her hair and teeth, bathroom, then. She always rose first and allowed me to sleep for leave, and arrive at work to open the Rockwood Bakery. She lets ten extra minutes. Our first visit to Dr. Osallo’s office was promis- her hair dry during the drive and applies her eyeliner when she ing. He told us what to expect from November to August and the reaches Grand from 37th. She has an hour to herself to ready the likelihood of a miracle. We tossed around names like Glen, Forest, drip coffee, unwrap the pastries, flip chairs, and make the bakery Serenity, Hope. It was eight months later he told us he needed to feel like home for others today. When finished, she leans on the operate immediately. counter sipping her Moroccan mint tea with honey and waits We split a month after that. She wanted to be alone, so for sunrise. I moved in with my high school bandmate, Stephen. But now, I I stumble out of bed cursing for putting my phone’s alarm watch her leave. I watch her as she closes the door and imagine all on vibrate. I trip over jeans used four days in a row, decide to wear the things she does with her day. Where she may go or who she them one last day, and sprint to the bathroom I share with my may see. I think of all the little things she distracts herself with in roommate. I wash only my upper body before jumping back into her life. I think how my life begins at 6:30 a.m. and ends at 1:00 my room, searching for any wrinkled flannel I can find. As I open p.m. every Thursday. the apartment’s front door, the crisp morning air reaches under the layer of clothing. Cursing, I fumble for my keys before speed- ing towards work. I unlock the bakery’s back door and rush to the counter to see Sarah open the front door as a line of regulars enter. “It’s all done, Scotty. Don’t worry,” she says quietly. We never have much to say to each other, due to the fact that we are bombarded with thirsty bloodshot-eyed customers mumbling their orders at us. Our work is like that. Hours can go by in what feels like minutes, and before you know it, the others arrive, replacing us for the afternoon shift. Before, though, I try to ask her how she is when we are both working the espresso stand. “Yeah, it’s good. Thanks. Hand me the Vanilla. What’s the next order?” I smile before beginning a conversation with a customer while glancing at the clock, sporadically. She gets off at one, while I stay an hour later to help the afternoon shift transition to closing. That’s all I have to say. Instead, I watch her walk out the backdoor to November’s weather, wearing her black pea coat.

2014 Wire Harp 17 Building Blocks Lyle Wright

18 Wire Harp 2014 Lion’s Paw Christina St.Pierre

2014 Wire Harp 19 Run Belen Correa

hitting the edge of the table bending hips over the couch breaking fingers with a board falling face first on the floor violating all the kitchen plates with your head bleeding on the dirty bathroom tiles the walls are crying, painted red, I watch as you start ejaculating to a picture of yourself searching for an open window, I scream for help the door is opening the house comes to life yelling run

20 Wire Harp 2014 Tunnel Bridge Nicholas Grauert

2014 Wire Harp 21 Untitled James Cronrath

22 Wire Harp 2014 My Father’s Father for Grandpa Ken Rachel Goodner

Your pointer finger I sprung up and thumb grabbed off the couch, frightened, my pinky toe and ran to my grandmother as I sat next seeking refuge for to you while you laced up my toes. your work boots. Hidden in my grandmother’s warm Your thumb nail was half arms as she laughed, I looked the size of a dead over at your face, never noticing fly, and about the same color until now too, from smashing the subtle redness it so many times as you built in your tear-covered your house, grey eyes, the slant and decades later, mine. of your dark and thinning brows, my favorite crease Hands, stained black between them and how it seemed by something you had tried just a little bit deeper, hard to wash off and your quivering smile every night after work, grabbed at me as I hid, and you finished all my little toes lacing up your boots at once and shook around your feet my foot around. and our toes.

You told me I had your toes and you wanted them back. Grabbing the grime covered pliers always kept on the glass coffee table in front of us, you plunged in to take back your toes.

2014 Wire Harp 23 Reflections on Watching your Best Friend Have a Seizure Danielle Estelle

I see ambulances outside-in we are a coin toss this is probably because I have never ridden one with the same outcome what I mean is her eyes roll back when she tells me like they are trying to escape this world she didn’t wake up until the ambulance and, believe me, there are things out here worth escaping I imagine that she opened her eyes to blues and reds like fireworks my heart accelerates her eardrums assaulted by sirens encased like a failed prison break in IV bags trying to escape my skin I imagine chaos like a hurricane and, believe me, there are things in here worth escaping when she tells me she didn’t wake up until the ambulance lose control: verb what she means is to come to be without restraint or direction the chaos has been dispelled to fail to command demons have been exorcised to dominate deprivation hurricanes have subsided by the time I arrived elise forgets to take her medication, sometimes you were almost done seizing control: verb but not quite to exercise restraint or direction over to command elise, do you know your name? to dominate I asked the way I am always grasping control I forget to take my medication, sometimes like trying to chain down a ghost lose: verb she is unconscious and moving to come to be without I am conscious and unmoving to fail to keep to suffer the deprivation of elise, do you know where you are? they mistake me for the medic mistake my love for expertise but I am not enough divinity to quell a natural disaster

24 Wire Harp 2014 all the coin toss determines is what our hurricanes are named and right now, I do not know your name elise, do you know where you are? the fireworks and sirens are eating me inside out elise, do you know your name?

I forget to take my medication, sometimes lose control: verb outside in inside out she hit the floor, shaking I hit the wall, paralyzed

2014 Wire Harp 25 Untitled 1 Clara Wilson

26 Wire Harp 2014 Untitled 2 Clara Wilson

2014 Wire Harp 27 Animate R Maier

28 Wire Harp 2014 Trapped In Her Web Kristina Carpenter

All is calm, all is bright… Shepherds quake at the sight…

The Christmas carol played quietly throughout their He glared at her, as she traced the final legs of the spi- shared loft. The vinyl spun while Aretha’s voice echoed. A silent der tattoo with a sharpie onto her right shin. The milk crates lay, tension filled their distance. The roommates sat at opposite cor- separated, and tilted against the wall and under the desk. Note- ners of the office, occupied by thoughts of black ink and colorful book pages torn across, unbound and crumpled, now occupy the graphics. The tension, as powerful as the music’s lyrics, competed cluttered floor. Strings dangled from different points on the ceiling for the atmosphere’s stage. Three milk crates wedged together and and one lampshade remains untouched. Light bulbs, aimed for upside down were cluttered with bound notebooks of unfinished his head, shattered beside the garbage can. He covered his eyes brainstorming. Sketches and scribbles of African lions and deserted with his hat, unable to further face the tension of her thoughts. She barns in Oregon lay ejected by improved drawings of anchors and threw his gift from the balcony into the raging river below. typography. Bordering the perimeter of the dimly lit room hung their personal designs, held by clothespins and string. Underneath Radiant beams from thy holy face… the velvet loveseat, housed in a box, was a tattoo gun – a present he anticipated gifting to his roommate in a couple weeks. Hard cider coursed fast though their veins, blurring their senses to feel the brewing of strong winds.

Silent night, holy night…

Their argument was one charged current, now unavoid- able. Thunderstorms can wake children from peaceful sleeps. Thunderstorms can break the stillness, despite blue-colored skies, as families meet for lunches in a park. The Greeks believed thunder was a lightning bolt hurled by Zeus. Their booms sound rapidly. Strong winds and heavy rain often result. He imagined the of- fice scene before the heavy rains and a magnitude that could not silence the booms. His voice boomed louder than her unvoiced opinions.

2014 Wire Harp 29 Clockwork Inside Alaric Goodman

We sat on the porch in the evening – your hand around mine – as we watched an electrical storm light up the sky.

You turned to me and poked at my torso, asking whether I had clockwork insides.

I long suspected my blood never ran red, opening my chest to see the contents within.

We found gears and wires, stationary and dusty, connected to a clock three minutes from midnight.

Doomsday, we said eyes so wide, trying to turn the hands to a better time.

But we could turn neither gears nor hands, you suggesting I needed power.

I nodded, walked into the grass, holding out my arms to see if the sky could make my clock turn backwards again.

30 Wire Harp 2014 Worth Every Second Travis Floyd

2014 Wire Harp 31 The Sea Watcher Laura Novak

32 Wire Harp 2014 One Night at the Holiday Inn Scott Brewster

Under the lighted dome, a worker acted high when in fact he was on a placebo. All he did behind the desk was masticate. Suddenly he released a massive belch. A guest presented a cutlass and slashed the air. The disgruntled guest went up to his room. When he got there he found a hexagon which contained all of his dreams, but with no key to open it he wept.

2014 Wire Harp 33 The Letter Kevin Fletcher

John was trying to make a statement and he did. What it Guys like me are done. I’ve outlived my usefulness. Re- was exactly, was up for interpretation. Amanda could only guess. member that article about homeless veterans? Don’t worry. You John had mailed her a rambling letter on his last day. She hadn’t won’t ever have to see me like that. noticed it in her ever increasing stack of mail. Eventually John came across a police road block a few It took her another three days before she could bring her- miles from downtown. He lit another cigarette and got out self to open it. of the car. It was Saturday night after John’s funeral. Amanda was Pistol in hand. afraid to read it. She was attempting to focus on Strategic Market- A villainous smile on his face. ing Management, and for the first time in her life, school just didn’t That night we went to that party at your school. A bru- seem that fucking important. No matter what tragedy had befallen nette girl, wearing those fashionably thick glasses, was flirting with her, small or large, Amanda had always found comfort in hard me. When she asked me what I studied, I told her I was home on R work. The thought of a better tomorrow and the self-discipline & R from Iraq. She said “oh” and walked away from me. Just like required to achieve it was the only comfort she needed. that. That was when I knew I didn’t belong with these But not tonight, tonight she lacked focus and she knew people anymore. why. She could feel the letter’s presence, calling to her, laughing A fog descended off the mountains, slowly consuming the at her. This letter was his goodbye, and maybe if she never read it, town inch by inch. Moisture hung in the air and cooled the sweat then it wouldn’t have to be real. on John’s face. It was almost a perfect evening. Almost. On the last night of his life, John got to into his car and called the The police were screaming in unison: “Drop the fucking police. He told them they have a problem; there is a rabid animal gun!” “Get on the ground, now!” John wasn’t paying attention. He on the loose. This thing is diseased and dangerous; it needs to be was in his own world, taking in his surroundings. put down. He told them the make, model and color of his car. He When the cops took a pause from berating him, John gave them his license plate number. He told them he’s a monster, looked over to a couple with two young children that stood capti- and if they don’t hurry up they were going to have a tragedy on vated by this aberration unfolding before them. He smiled at them their hands. and told them as sweetly as possible, “You’re not going to want Amanda winced when she picked up the letter, as if she your girls to see this.” expected it to be hot to the touch. She held her breath and dove in. Then John turned his attention to the cops and spit venom Amanda, I know you’re in pain, but this isn’t your fault. at them. “Are you guys retarded? Why would you stop here You did all you could, but I’ve drifted too far. of all places?” John drove around for a while, until a cop spotted his car That bitch Janet Napalitano put out that report labeling us and started to follow him. John didn’t make any attempt to evade as a security threat. She said returning veterans could potentially or stop. He drove the speed limit and lit a cigarette. He figured become “right wing terrorists”? How much indignity are we ex- the guy must be calling for backup. John blew smoke rings as he pected to endure? We fight their wars while they rape our country drove; this was the calmest he’d felt in years. and squander our treasure, and that is the thanks we get it. She No more sleepless nights, no more crippling anxiety, and thinks we’re monsters; I’m going to show her the monster. no more Tylenol PM.

34 Wire Harp 2014 John stood his ground, in defiance of a society he had been If I had died in Iraq, I’d be a hero. Dying here, I’m just a ready to die for. It was his turn to speak. He wouldn’t be marginal- statistic. A cautionary tale for aspiring patriots. ized any longer. This was going to be his fifteen minutes of fame, The cops patted each other on the back for a job well done. and he was determined to make the most of it. The cops were They moved people back and waited for the coroner to arrive and pointing their weapons, but had ceased issuing commands. clean up the mess John left. The local news was on the scene in John shifted his weight on his left foot, trying to come up under ten minutes. The police refused to comment on the situation. with the words. What will make them remember me? Finally he Across town Amanda’s phone started to ring. She ignored had it. He almost giggled when it came to him. it. Then it rang again. And again. So she finally answered it: there John stared down the group of men pointing weapons on was a rumor going around and did she have the news on? them and told them, “I can see your fear. You can still save your- The officers involved were placed on paid leave after the selves. Just get back in your cars and leave, call the SWAT team shooting, a standard procedure in a situation like this. Someone down here. This is a job for men.” leaked info to an investigative journalist that John’s gun wasn’t The Boston bomber is on the cover of Rolling Stone and no loaded. He was bluffing. Another witness came forward and said one knows who the fuck Michael Monsoor is. What a disgrace. that the police lied about John pointing his weapon at them. Some John looked the youngest cop right in the eye and said, came forward to defend the police; they saw John’s crazy eyes. “Hey, frat house pussy! You’re going to die first. Nothing personal. Still, a rumor persisted that John was unarmed and the I want to leave as few orphans as possible.” phone call never happened. I read that two dozen veterans commit suicide a day. No He was Saint John. The patron saint of excessive one wants to think about it; I’m going to make them think about it. force victims. One of the cops told John that if he put down his weapon The department of Veterans Affairs immediately put out they could help him. No one had to die, just tell us what you want. a statement reiterating their commitment to the mental health of John couldn’t help but laugh. “You think this is a hostage negotia- veterans. They expressed their regret at such a senseless loss of life. tion? You ARE my hostages. Here is my one and only demand: They refused to comment about any treatment John had received. stop patronizing me before it’s too late.” They weren’t at liberty to say. I did the math. My disability payments would be roughly People will look at me with pity, like a heroin addict. 500K over 40 years. I’m going to save you some money. My final They’ll say -- It’s sad that he’s dead, but it’s his own fault, right? gift to our great nation. He volunteered. Another misguided youth. John started to count down. Ten…nine…eight. When People raged about war, gun control, police brutality, the he got to seven he quickly flicked his cigarette butt at the cops; a incompetence of the VA, Congress, Obama, Bush, the military. So- second later a bullet ripped through his right eye socket and bone cial media activism did what it did best, made people feel like they fragments from the back of his skull ricocheted off the windshield. were doing their part for a noble cause, without actually having to The sound of the first shot caused every cop to panic and start do anything. shooting. John was dead before he hit the ground. Onlookers screamed and covered their eyes. Some of them fled.

2014 Wire Harp 35 The major media outlets ran with John’s story. Fox News blamed Obama. CNN blamed poor background checks for gun owners. Democrats blamed Republicans for the war. Republicans blamed Democrats for dithering on the VA healthcare backlog. College kids used to channel their inner hippy and rail against the war. They had cute slogans like “No blood for oil” and “fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity.” When Obama took the White House, that movement died, yet the war is still going. What a bunch of fucking hypocrites. Then it was over. A couple of weeks and John was all but forgotten. That July after we graduated high school, we took that trip to Cozumel, and I followed you around the Island in a drunk- en stupor. We visited that Mayan museum, and the water there was sky blue. I didn’t appreciate any of it, because the drinking age was 18, and I tried to drink every ounce of cheap beer on the Island. We discovered Senor Frogs, and I was bright red from sunburn but too drunk to care. I was wearing that ridiculous blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt and those aviators at night. Everyone thought we were on our honeymoon, so I kept telling you we had to consummate our marriage and you laughed, but I was only half kidding. It was our last hurrah as infallible kids and no matter how embarrassing I was, you could always find a way to forgive me. That is how I want you to remember me. That is the real me, and he is already dead.

– Dedicated to Jed Zillmer. I didn’t know you that well personally. But our shared experience being combat veterans is so unique that I knew you all too well. I’m sorry I didn’t see past the forced smile before it was too late. RIP brother.

36 Wire Harp 2014 Untitled Jessica Mumm

2014 Wire Harp 37 Phone163 Shaun Schlager

38 Wire Harp 2014 Immersion Shaun Schlager

2014 Wire Harp 39 Lenore Laura Norak

40 Wire Harp 2014 Twelve Lyssa Davis

He slammed her against the wall, paws on her shoulders, teeth gnashing, spittle and hot breath on her face. Instinct screamed Run Run Run

Why are you crying, it demanded, icy gaze unforgiving, unfeeling. You’re scaring me is what she would say. Then her head hit the wall as the beast grasped her in its jaws.

Shaking, the words that bubbled from her lips with tears falling were I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, heart beating a tattoo of Run Run Run

She listened, gathered her backpack with Spiderman cavorting on the sides, but she knew, tender as she was like a young shoot: there are no heroes.

Only the crow cawing in time with her pounding feet on the pavement Run Run Run

2014 Wire Harp 41 Sometimes When You’re a Kid Ruth Henrickson

I broke the bindings of many different worlds Frequently, when I want to forget but it wasn’t the kind of broken I remember. like when you lay books on the living-room floor to play land-crab The pages turned me pale and new and you jump from Encyclopedia H green and see-through to We Interrupt This Broadcast like a leaf held up to the sun, the map of my veins and you hear a dull crack as the threads in the binding separate. exposed. Someone says Stupid and the weight I suddenly realize I know nothing is an anvil on your pride as your crab shell caves and I ask that I always be wrong and you learn to crawl like the second S in dessert when we meant the climate. more quietly. Sometimes you ruin things Keep me a little bit wrong when you’re a kid. like when an object is lighter than it looks and the effort you invest in lifting it is exaggerated Like when you spill a cup of soda and fleeting, like the strength in your morning hands. and heads turn in disapproval. It’s not like you get to drink it all It’s good to know that I don’t know and I will never the time know. It’s a relief to always and you spilled it. be wrong. Unbelievable! You know they’re thinking it. Keep me always guessing, There’s a crack like lightning. It’s his fist like when I was a kid. on the wood. Sorry pools in your throat like gravy thick and warm. You’d punish your elbow if you could. But you know it’s unfair. Sometimes you ruin things when you’re a kid.

There’s another kind of broken and in this area I’m convinced it’s okay to shatter. I broke the bindings and tore the pages and ever since words have read me and written me saved me and broken me. Sometimes you’re broken when you’re a kid.

42 Wire Harp 2014 Hugs & Kisses Emily Flynn

2014 Wire Harp 43 Urban Sunset Constance Brockett Murray

44 Wire Harp 2014 The Cube Connor Buckingham

Alright. Time to reel in some suckers, I thought to my- A young boy was running down the street one time. He self while staring down the street looking at the people pass by. was going quite fast. Once he saw my cube blocking his path, I used to be an accountant. Smart, hardworking, but never ap- he slowed down to avoid colliding with it. He saw me manning preciated. Finally one day a lamp turned on in my head and I the trailer and proceeded to throw curses at me like a pitcher at decided enough is enough. And so I quit. That’s when I got the baseball practice. I was patient and stood there respectfully as he cube. What’s the cube you might ask? The Cube is only everything tried “tearing me a new one.” Once he reached the point to where dear to me. In my cube I keep everything anyone could ever need. he calmed down, he began walking around the cube and carrying Lottery tickets, spare keys, deodorant. You name it, I’ve got it. All on his way. As he was walking away, I beckoned to him. I thought in the cube. It’s a good little trailer. It holds a lot of items, and it’s he could use some new shoes. He gave me the strangest look when small enough for me to drag along by its little chain down the side- I offered them to him. After a moment’s hesitation, however, he walk of downtown for all to see. What mom running late wouldn’t accepted. I think he was quite surprised when he discovered the mind paying six bucks for a Lunchables for her kids to eat at shoes I was giving him were quality DC skate shoes. He thanked school? And what man on his way to a job interview wouldn’t me, and even apologized for his harsh words. In turn I accepted mind paying 8.95 for a pocket comb? You see, it’s not about having his apology, and I inquired as to why he was wearing a t-shirt in the best prices. It’s about catching people when they don’t have this cold weather. He explained how he had forgotten his jacket time to argue your prices. Try this out and you’ll be able to make a at home which is why he was rushing in the first place. He was sale off of any basket case to cross your path. trying to reach his car before he froze to death. I told him to wait a One time a policeman came up to me and asked me to take minute as I rummaged through my cube. Sure enough. I brought my cube trailer full of goodies and leave. I guess I was “impeding“ out a jacket that seemed to fit him. It even matched the DCs! I told the path of foot traffic. I told the officer I was willing to move, and him he could have the jacket for a mere 40 dollars. He accepted it seemed to please him. I used this moment to dive into chit-chat and went on his way with his day. Little did the sap know that the with the man. I asked about his family life. He was a younger fella. jacket was worth only 25 dollars when purchased off the shelf No children, just a wife that he had been married to for two years. at Zumies. Or so he thought. As I talked with him more and more, it dawned My brother is quite nice to me. When I was between jobs, on him that their anniversary was coming up. In fact it was tomor- he took me in. He gave me a room to stay in, food to eat, and a row. I began to congratulate him, but judging by the pale white ride to multiple job interviews. I told him I was hired by that law coloring of his face I could tell something was wrong. I asked firm. He believed me. Dan never was one to question someone’s him, and he began to explain how he was working a 24-hour shift abilities. I always loved that about him too. His kids are sweet too. tonight and there’s no way he’d have a chance to get her any- They play with me when I’m awake, but let me be when I’m tired. thing. How lucky for him I had the cube. I proceeded to pull out Nothing is better than a child who knows when enough is enough. a vase full of red roses. I managed to snag 20 bucks off the man. Rita is great too. Much like Dan, she never questions why I quit my He seemed relieved to have something for his lover to receive. He old position. In fact, she usually makes me some great pancakes in shook my hand and went on his way down the street. And there I the morning before I go off to work at my “law firm.” I do wonder, remained with my cube. however, whether or not Dan will miss his shoes and jacket. Or whether Rita would notice the flowers missing from her window pane. Hey, if they hadn’t noticed so far, I’m in the clear, right?

2014 Wire Harp 45 Eruption of the Muse Mikayla Davis

It starts with a spark tentative branching fingers pulse into the dark a puff of air and it flares bursts forward through blood rips into tendrils of nerves pervades the hard marrow of bone and petrifies logical thought an ache

forces the fingers to scorch across the page extracting the flames words cascading as molten ink to form rivers of luminescence in lines and phrases ceasing

only when the palm stings blisters break on the knuckles black smudges dry and harden and the glow is hidden only to burst forth when read

46 Wire Harp 2014 Face #2 Kenia Uribe

2014 Wire Harp 47 The Unskilled Poems, Number two Blu Andrews

About a month ago I wanted to tell you you in January shouldn’t believe in God because you’re afraid to die but you asked me if I thought you I love you so should believe in God and I wanna tell you I said No because I was afraid to answer. that I believe in God for bad reasons. Because I have a feeling in my gut, And I know that you think because I owe something. it’s because you’re an atheist but I kept believing in God because really it’s all about all those Christians God is about self-perception self- yelling and shouting they are not ashamed perfection self- but I am. exploration. It’s about maturing. I Some things are very personal and I won’t apologize for that. So I’m sorry. What believed in God because I wanted to tell you was that the dogs got out when I I love you No masturbated in my That’s just fear again. parent’s tub and because Paul told me some boys beat up a retarded kid with a baseball bat because he I wanted to tell you that let them and they I love you No asked him and he That’s pedantic. died and because when I walked home people honked I wanted to tell you that at me and I love you No stranger danger was spawning in every That’s condescending shadow of every branch of every bush and cab of every red pick-up truck on every street of America. condescension. Because dad was in jail and Paul was no different and I wanted to tell you that Mom was I’m condescending because

48 Wire Harp 2014 a saint who’s been overworked and tired and over-asked and alone and terrified and she needed a rest in the sweet-water cool-ty of my own bemusement.

I mean if you really wanted to know about it.

********************************

I’m sorry, this should have been explained:

I know you think that it’s because you’re an atheist, that I’m submissive and I talk like an atheist but leave to Jesus what is Jesus’.

I am multitudes, as the scripture- I think- says and when I contradict myself, so be it.

If there is God it is nothing at all. It is blood running down the page of a student’s diary, too dumb to speak its mind.

2014 Wire Harp 49 Depths Ashley Peterson

50 Wire Harp 2014 Higher Learning Travis Knickerbocker

2014 Wire Harp 51 Finey Disposition Emily Flynn

52 Wire Harp 2014 Big Toy Bella York

I hear you tell me: I think of my hands reaching out to grab life will get better. the next monkey bar, The phrase glides softly my body singing momentum through one ear to its arm: and exits just as swing sing straight. quickly as it came. Instead I’m using all my weight to swing I can almost feel to bars in all directions. the echo from your words – I strain, head cocked Back then my arms were strong to the left, right ear facing enough to lift off and touch the sky – the sky. trying to remember Now, what hearing those words felt like. neither one can find the strength to lift me off the ground. I almost catch it: Face forever life will get better pressed against this cold when the swing creaks – heart of dirt. slow moans amplified by the wind. It’s freezing and I’m playing I hear myself cry out with hot or cold the swing. and as the days go by I’m getting coldcoldercoldest We have farther away from memories of light, no one dark, to grip our chains trying to find my way back to them, so they won’t fall. cold.

It’s getting cold This Big Toy so I imagine was just a big ploy – the bark is rippling planting dreams that see no limits hot lava when you haven’t seen the years to know and I’m in the 6th grade there are any. again, But it’s only 20 mph running from the monsters in a school zone: so my feet won’t melt. at this rate we’ll never get back.

2014 Wire Harp 53 The Past Twelve Minutes Lauren Gilmore

12. 8. December. When infinity is tipped on its side, The midnight chime of a clock tower. we can be certain Everything starts and ends with the same sound. nothing lasts forever.

11. 7. When the blanket of death We want gift-wrapped swans covers you like topsoil, there will be from a Christmas-song lover. twelve minutes between the collapse of your prison cell body Like waterfowl, we must maintain and the shutting down of your mind. surface level elegance while paddling for our lives. Like phantom pains twitching across a severed limb 6. circuit board panic And on that day God created man. denial a slow motion dream sequence uncertainty 5. fear. Children are born instinctively gripping our thumbs 10. as guidance out of a fog, recognized again Welcome to the human race. by the elderly. From morphine bed sheets The only species masochistic enough their wrinkled palms grasp in vain. to keep track of time. Wire red alarm clock digits Everything starts and ends with the same sound. carve an unblinking tally into our retinas. 4. 9. And on that day East coast time zone discrepancies God created the sun a prematurely televised new year moon and stars. the release of confetti doves What would life mean champagne crystal if it could not be measured? engagement rings

54 Wire Harp 2014 3. 0. Galileo spent his final years under house arrest History books holding a fistful of truth credit the Mayans his church could not pry open. Even today with the first mathematical his severed middle finger interpretation of nothingness preserved and scrutinized but often overlook from behind display case glass like a souvenir of defiance they chose to depict it points at something with the shape of our eyes. the tourists are unable to find.

2. According to the Chinese creation story heaven and earth were once united but gradually drifted apart. If our hands should ever interlock again out-of-sight-proximity will be my excuse for so much doubt.

1. “And yet—it moves.”

Famous last words are always debated and invariably disappointing. Even the noblest faiths flinch under the hand of mortality.

2014 Wire Harp 55 Over Grown Makenna Haeder

56 Wire Harp 2014 Untitled Jessica Mumm

2014 Wire Harp 57 Wake Up Abigail Osborne

Your eyes are itching and you want to rub them but you You want to do things and not regret them. You want to have know that’ll smear your make-up so you don’t. Your feet hurt an excuse for making bad decisions. But you’re a church kid; nobody because your heels are too high and you stand in the corner will believe you if you say you didn’t know it was wrong. It was a nervously pulling your dress down because it’s too short. You mistake. Everyone knows you don’t make mistakes. You want to be want to dance but you’re not drunk enough for that. God you want numb but you can’t because you know too much now. You under- to dance. stand guilt and shame. It’s so hot and you have a headache from the raw light- You know heartbreak feels like every bone in your body ing and smell of cigarettes. And there’s this guy who’s talking to is aching and your mind is blurry and you can’t think straight and you. You can’t understand what he’s saying because the music is your hands get clammy and your stomach is churning and you want too loud but he gets closer and you can feel his warm breath on to destroy something and your hurt turns to anger and you get angry your ear. He’s grabbing you and you can feel his racing heartbeat at yourself and no matter how many showers you take, you can’t pressed against your chest. His lips lean toward yours but you turn wash the stains away and when you sleep, you don’t want to wake your head. You wish he’d stop. up and when you do wake up, you’re crying and you can’t stop cry- Shit. Where’d your friends go? Where are you? You must ing because you know you’ve been used and you hate who you’ve be drunker than you thought. You try to retrace the events of the become and you wish this nightmare would stop. Maybe if you try evening but can’t remember how you got here. You had some really hard to open your eyes, you’ll wake up. You just have tequila and a few beers. Did you take anything else? to wake up. You can’t remember. I just have to wake up. You’re in an empty room now. Stop. You’re going to vomit. I get dressed and step outside. I can breathe again. I need a You close your eyes and take your mind to a different place. You smoke but I can’t find my lighter. I’m hungry, too. I wonder if there create stories to distract yourself. Is this what porn stars do? Do are any fast food places open. God, I can’t wait to get back home. they make their minds go blank, or do they do this so much they Tomorrow is Sunday and I don’t have to work. Maybe I’ll drink reach a point where they don’t care anymore? Just another day on some tea then take a nap. Or maybe I’ll read a book then go for a the job, just another Jane Doe. walk through the park. I should call my mom and ask how she’s You don’t recognize the hands searching your body. Your doing. It’s been a while since I’ve done that. lips brush the nape of his neck but the scent isn’t the same. You run your fingers through his hair but it doesn’t feel the same. The sound of his breathing is unfamiliar. He doesn’t know you. You want to tell him how insecure you are about your body but what’s his name? He never told you his name. He didn’t ask you yours either. Why are you doing this? Why don’t you tell him to stop? You’re scared. People do this all the time, why are you scared? What’s wrong with you? This is natural. This is normal. You keep telling yourself this over and over again.

58 Wire Harp 2014 Still Searching Fine Art Award Winner Travis Knickerbocker

2014 Wire Harp 59 Yellow Goddess Laura Novak

60 Wire Harp 2014 Quarter Life Crisis Sarah Dyer

At fifteen I don’t see thirty on the horizon, a faint glow veiled by the haze of years. Blind, I wander open-mouthed in awe and catch dust in my teeth more often than not.

By twenty-two I begin to harden the nacre walls around my troubles. Rising higher, the dead white sun is caught in the water; I grasp for the reflection and come up empty.

Around twenty-five I drown in questions that rush over me like rip tides. I surge forward and then back. Treading water until the weighted whys pull me below the surface, so far away even the light can’t reach me.

Twenty-nine: I slip my knife between shell and flesh, and wonder, lifting a briny shuck to my lips, if thirty years isn’t a little too long to wait for pearls, each lustrous orb a hardship lodged in the throat of an oyster.

2014 Wire Harp 61 All Because of That Woman Melodie Aff

The woman was as cold as a freezer. She sounded like a cow when she sneezed. The restaurant we were in was filled with flies. When she walked by me I could smell the smoke from her cheap cigarettes and it ruined my appetite for the crispy chicken I was eating. After I accidentally bit my tongue I screamed, and she laughed. I felt rage like thunder’s boom. There were no flies in here. Everyone in the neighborhood liked to sing and steal money. I was trapped like the sky. She was so memorable that I forgot her. My blanket hugged me as I finished my chicken.

62 Wire Harp 2014 Under the Sea Jennifer Hill

2014 Wire Harp 63 Scary Cassie Grauert

64 Wire Harp 2014 Jazz on a Wednesday Andreas Andersson

His hands are smooth but tough hide covers the tips. He makes Jazz with them. I wonder of New Zealand and the Shire we love.

Will you leave the Sinatra smoke, the snaps, and escape today? His music has a way of lingering, like your cigar’s ash on my tongue. He kisses me and continues to play.

2014 Wire Harp 65 Cupcake Cutie Nicholas Grauert

66 Wire Harp 2014 Katayotta Brandt Wurzer

2014 Wire Harp 67 What It Was Jocelyn Peguero

Our pair of silhouettes flames flicker dance through the dark and command hints of light late night downtown district along her hips only distant headlights forcing us to see lead the way omitting us we appear so happy from the pleasure of hiding we are from ourselves so happy Passively and deeply we always stay I’m falling into her in an upscale five star suite watching the mirrors that kind of hotel room the ceiling playing with mirrors lining the ceiling my own seductive film and a breathtaking city view with reflections composing we truly can’t afford our story to stay in telling such truth we stay while moaning a lie but we never stay publicly displaying my nails overnight driving their way down her back She takes off her ring like it’s our first kiss for me, this time she kisses me, and before I ask like she’s in love the warm air flows from she kisses me, and her lips when she says goodbye tickling my naked skin she kisses me, along the back of my neck then goes home to her wife pulling my trigger at least we have The Davenport firing her gun deep within me, I am overwhelmed, I am weak, I crumble to her touch her deep breath in and out it consumes and releases me feeding a tantalizing fire illuminating our sin

68 Wire Harp 2014 Starry Spokane Mike Busby

2014 Wire Harp 69 Untitled Jessica Mumm

70 Wire Harp 2014 Time Off Alec Reynolds

The air tasted fresh and lively, like an altoid, nothing like course but that wasn’t the issue; the issue was that I was stuck be- far down below with all the people and cars moving back and hind a family of seven from Birmingham that didn’t seem to grasp forth polluting it with unnatural flavors and fragrances. At the top the concept of inside voices. They all spoke as if they were each in- it was new and untouched, pure and delicious in all its glory. dividually reporters standing in front of a tornado raging through When we touched down here everyone had told me I their town, each trying to speak over the other. The children cried absolutely had to go see the Eiffel Tower, that it’s definitely worth out from boredom but the mother would not hear of it. They had all the standing in line and money spent. I brushed off their advice come to France to see the stupid French Eiffel Tower and god dam- easily; I had seen the Eiffel tower before and would again, isn’t that mit they were going to see it. Typically I would have just walked enough? So I continued on through my trip, wafting through street away, but on a day like today I was actually okay with the family. after street, consumed with the trinkets and articles of clothing sold Sure they bothered me and detracted from my tranquility, but they by vendors, captivated by the delicious Parisian food and tastes weren’t hurting me specifically and I had already left that were so abundant. This was food as it should be, I thought, my hotel room. food as it belonged to be, rich and heavenly, the closest thing to After an interaction with some friendly Canadian tour- god my mortal palate could ever achieve. I tasted bread that had ists who had a slight French accent, I finally arrived at the ticket just been made, plunged my hands into the still steaming loaf booth. Buying a single ticket, I made my way past the metallic and lifted from it the warm and tender intestines that sang in my arms of the kiosk and began my journey towards the top, opting mouth. Still, it all seemed so hollow. for the stairs since A). It was such a nice day out and B). I might After the first week I had grown tired of the food, and I as well make this into a whole day kind of experience since there had become disillusioned with the (expensive) cuisine that Paris was nothing left for me after it, drag it out as long as possible. As I had been famous for. After the second week, I realized there was began my ascension, I realized the air had changed. No longer was nothing left that I wanted to buy. I still had $1,300 but I had no it weighed down with the stench of the Paris Street. It was lighter, desire to purchase anything anymore; the clothes that were once freer in a way. I had finally made it to the highest possible point a hung in such wonder now clung to a line desperately in the hopes tourist can go. of being sold to some ignorant tourist that could get haggled out The city lay in front of me like a vanquished lion in the of more Euros than needed. At some point in the third week, I gladiatorial games, relinquishing itself to me. I’m finally free, I resolved to stay in my hotel room for the remainder of my trip, thought, as I stepped out past the railing and into the emptiness of watching American movies dubbed over in French, but a man sky outstretched in front of me. can only watch Must Love Dogs in French so many times before he wants to drag a razor from his wrist to elbow and call it a night. So today I decided it: I would go see the Eiffel tower and all its “wonder.” I stepped out from the hotel and was confronted with the dense taste of the Parisian air, clogging my throat and nostrils as I trekked past a friendly vendor trying to sell me an “I <3 Paris” shirt for 5 Euros more than it was worth. The line was long of

2014 Wire Harp 71 The Coldest Part of the Kitchen Bella York

Today the NHL played rage against the machine during red wings vs. black hawks It was right after you called to say I’m sorry I called so I didn’t have the chance to tell you that your favorite band was playing during a hockey game on national television before I heard the click

Before: you loved me with burning flames and now two years later we are frozen – two ice cubes across from each other in the ice tray

One day we’ll get out of the freezer and thaw spilling together once again

Or we’ll be plunked into separate glasses

Yours a rum&coke mine virgin and we’ll water down these drinks with our tears separate all along

72 Wire Harp 2014 Splash Makenna Haeder

2014 Wire Harp 73 At Ease Ashley Peterson

74 Wire Harp 2014 A Soldier’s Lament Sarah Johnson

Heavily calloused hands grab at the quickly emptying bottles and a well-used glass. With each shot he whisks himself away to a place in his mind where nothing can touch him and nothing can hurt. Where sun drips down And warms his aching heart. What will you do when the bottle runs out? Will you crumble from the weight of your past? With tired, bloodshot eyes he stares into a void.

2014 Wire Harp 75 Power Lavonne West

76 Wire Harp 2014 Dew and Web Rachel Elmore

2014 Wire Harp 77 Rough Magic Richard Baldasty

you demi-puppets that / by moonshine do the green sour ringlets make The Tempest

Lucette Quamash, formerly backup singer for Scar Hollow, has After retirement, happened to find myself one evening at a club formed her own band, the Demi-Puppets. “Alt-country neo-punk,” show, little no-frills place in the East Village, Scar Hollow opening she describes her genre and sensibility. “Rough Magic,” their first for the Celtic group Dingle. Became a Lucette fan right off, fol- single, will release Monday as a free download. lowed her since into this new opportunity with her Demi-Puppets. If they get big, maybe offer my services free as bodyguard or for Lucette takes lyrics direct from Shakespeare, though with her own crowd control. Haven’t rusticated, not forgotten how to do a com- discordant mix of lines from different plays. To wit: pletely silent finish on some loud lout. (Digital pressure, intense, sustained; fracture of thyroid cartilage; death within two minutes.) rough magic I here abjure Even in the middle of a crowd, never noticed. ’tis not so sweet now as it was before which to the tune of flutes kept stroke Rough magic, I don’t abjure.

Lucette considers that making sense no longer appeals, but lan- guage keeps a certain je ne sais quoi simply as sound.

I put the question to Will Tellis, editor at the music zine Pop Rocks: “Will that find and hold an audience?”

Will, no gabfest. Two liters Pepsi, four marijuana cookies later, he answers, “Maybe.”

I myself like the Demi-Puppets a lot. Although, admittedly, I’m atypical in some respects. Raised—ghee, tea, meditation, nonsense about nonviolence—in a Tibetan monastery. Recruited at 19 into a spy agency (still not permitted to name which—but wasn’t one of the biggies: not MI6, Mossad, FSB, etc.). Never spent much time in the company of ordinary people. Did a fair amount of necessary killing on the job. Nothing exciting, no Bond stuff, but still, you get the idea. A taste for Shakespeare, of course, anything stormy. Jacobean darkness, even better.

78 Wire Harp 2014 Ovum Seng Olsen

2014 Wire Harp 79 It Goes Robin Golke

It is three days after what would have been my mother’s All my father talked about as he died in a hospital bed was 66th birthday. There are certain days on the calendar that gnaw at taking care of our mother. We needed to sell their second house me internally. March 3 is one of them. I have just woken out of a and possibly his boat. What I wanted was to save them both from dead sleep with the thought that I need to find a universal sign for the obvious. I felt stripped bare of any power. My younger brother fear, something I can cling to. was in prison, my older brother’s girlfriend was pregnant. This is We were all too young to believe or understand what was what it is like to be alone. I worked as much as I could, trying not happening to Mom. Alzheimer’s isn’t supposed to happen when to think. Thought is the enemy in these situations. There are no you’re not even 50. You’re not supposed to have to watch your good thoughts. father die of lung cancer at the same time you watch your mother When my father died, we had a funeral, because that is become ill with a disease that strikes the old. My two brothers, sick what you do. He was 60. The days, months and years after were father, and I were all at a loss as to what quicksand my mother’s like a slow bleed. I took a few weeks off of work. I painted mom’s mind had fallen into over the last six months or so. She seemed toenails. When I returned to work, I dreaded every phone call. My angry sometimes, others she was like a lost little child. mother’s mind was dropping further into some invisible rabbit I was 23 when my father’s cough turned into something hole. A phone call might mean she got into another car crash, since foreign and animal, when he began to cough up glasses full of stuff she had claimed my father’s set of keys and taken to driving the that smelled like old, forgotten death. They said he had pneumo- other car. She was giving away my father’s life insurance money to nia, then his toes turned black. When he told my mother and me he television ministries in large sums. I tried to beat her to the mailbox had cancer, she looked at me as if I were the parent. I said nothing. before another “charity” would send her a letter asking for money. He went into the hospital and never came out. All of this happened I hid her checkbook. She used mine instead. She went for walks in in a month, the time it takes me to revise a poem. the middle of the night; she was gone for hours. I waited up like a My mother was already showing signs that she wasn’t nervous parent on prom night. going to fare any better than my father. Both of my parents worked The police picked her up when she walked onto the at a factory making outboard motors for over 30 years. Dad had highway, and she couldn’t give them her name. She was put in the Mercury Marine clocks atop the television, hanging from the wall. mental hospital for a few weeks, given Thorazine which made her Mom was now going to the bathroom at work, forgetting what shuffle constantly for the rest of her life. She was too young for she was supposed to do when she got back to her machine, then Alzheimer’s; the doctors thought she was crazy. I cooked salmon sitting to read the bible. She wire-brushed her pinkie one day. The on the grill, invited friends over to eat. I called my mother, even if wound went down to the bone; she went to the bathroom and she could no longer form a complete sentence. We all said hello to wrapped it in toilet paper and kept working. When her foreman what remained of Rita Golke. My grandmother and aunts didn’t found this out, she was put on indefinite leave. She ran a stop sign call or visit. People stay away from sickness; it might make them and crashed my father’s Mustang on the way to visit him in the sad. I would have stayed away too, if I could. I promised my father hospital. Mom was now getting rides to visit my father. She would I would take care of her. I was bound by duty, not love. sit in the corner and read the bible out loud while others spoke; she My younger brother got out of prison. He came to live seemed unaware of anything around her. with my mother and me. He was always her favorite. When he was little, he would hold onto her legs with both his arms and legs

80 Wire Harp 2014 to keep her from going somewhere he couldn’t follow. I was her least favorite, daddy’s girl. My younger brother Marc and I had a bond, and I was no longer alone in caring for my mother. By then I was ready to get out, go somewhere new, and get away from the sadness. The doctors finally diagnosed her with early-onset Alzheimer’s. She was 54. I learned how to bake bread from scratch. My mom, who never smoked, was stealing my cigarettes. I was afraid she’d set herself on fire. I left my mother in Marc’s care, feeling helpless and whipped. I’d been in North Carolina about four years when he called to say she could no longer eat. He didn’t put her on a feed- ing tube, she wouldn’t have wanted that. She was 60. It was almost Christmas. I was at work, a foreman at a landscaping company. He put his cellphone on speaker and I spoke to my mother for the last time, even though she couldn’t speak back. I said that she should go tell my father I say hello, and that I was well. I asked her not to hang on. I got off the phone and grabbed a weed-eater, edged all the beds on the property. I didn’t go to her funeral. Marc sent me a program and an Easter lily. I raised an adopted son, then went back to college. Most people would say this is good. I don’t know much about what is or isn’t good. Early-onset Alzheimer’s is hereditary. Today I asked my girlfriend of three years if my memory is as good as it was when we met. She told me that it is. Every time I forget something, I worry that my mother’s illness is in my brain too. This is what fear is like. The doctor told me I need to stop smoking. My father’s lung cancer is hereditary. I never worry about coughing. It took ten years for the strength in my mother’s body to give in to a disease that I am just as likely to die from. When I tell the doctor this, he says nothing.

2014 Wire Harp 81 Beach Cassie Grauert

82 Wire Harp 2014 A Splash of Color Amber St. Pierre

2014 Wire Harp 83 Sky Man Jeremia Wilks-McGinnis

Where the sun remembers to droze, there is a darkness in your brain where a stolen memory should be.

A man lies on a cold stone floor. The hole in the wall the size of a bullet allows the sea to feel inelegant

The sky man feels a moment of serendipity, spots the city lights and the world outside. The blood red orange dances a cabaret

in front of a small bald man, sitting in a field of pink dandelions cutting off his fingers.

84 Wire Harp 2014 Spinning Wheel Constance Brockett Murray

2014 Wire Harp 85 Impress Forest & Flowing Flower Pods Jennifer Hill

86 Wire Harp 2014 Wind of Change Sharon Ann Goff

Change is a storm that blows in threatening to destroy. It’s demanding; gale forces blow in without warning. It’s something we have to fight when it gets too strong. If we don’t fight, we die.

The dark, swirling clouds of a ravenous tornado unwelcoming at first. Our lives spin out of control. It’s dark and unpredictable. Change screams newness of life, leaving you breathless, in the making.

We shout because we love that we now have a voice in this fight for survival, this newfound self- love. We leave behind the old silenced voices and not fighting for our own damn lives.

I too can be just as bold. Come, wind. I am ready.

2014 Wire Harp 87 Before My Dad Left Jason Oestreicher

I don’t remember, it could have been any day of the week—my hand,

small, nestled in his, the hand of a giant. The jingle of the bell each time we walked through the door echoes in the canyons of my memories. I remember the smell: a combination of just-dry ink on pulp, screaming the day’s news and

tragic deaths, mixed with the rich nutty tang of unsmoked cigars, lying in their boxes like good children at bedtime. Our missions to the newsstand were to infiltrate, gather intelligence and take home prisoners: Spiderman, Superman and Doc Savage stood no chance, packages of Topps baseball cards had to surrender.

I tore open the smooth wax package with the same impatient fervor of a Christmas Day unwrapping, breathless, looking for that one card – Reggie Jackson, in mid-swing, smashing the ball into oblivion.

The small pink rectangle of gum crumbles apart, chalky sugar residue dissolves on my tongue and paints that moment sweetly in time.

88 Wire Harp 2014 Untitled Patrick Ashcroft

2014 Wire Harp 89 Enchanted Makenna Haeder

90 Wire Harp 2014 Along the Ground Tom Versteeg

Path of delight, they say, runs close along the ground—all that moist deep grit for just about anything to spread out into or come up out of and the feral perfumes unfurling all around. True enough, the sky always will be somewhere else than down here, but even so it makes arrangements for its lights to warm things up and help us find our way, and in any case, depending on where we start from the solid ground will raise us up toward heaven maybe many times before it leads us down the last slope to the immense shining of the sea.

2014 Wire Harp 91 The Birds and the Bombs Fiction Award Winner Alaric Goodman

There is a family of birds—finches, I think—that live in the dead behind the house and away from me? Or does she croon some- pear tree out back. I like to watch them in the morning, after I’ve thing softer? changed the filters in my gas mask and when the sky is still a putrid green. Up in the barren branches, the mother tries to teach I shake my head. The wine from the basement’s gone to my brain. her little ones to fly. Together, they hop along the branch, pausing, Her eyes narrow, then relax. What were you thinking? I don’t stopping, and chirping all the while. I have no idea how they’ve know. She is so bright, like the radioactive sky. survived, nor why they’ve chosen this particular tree out of all the tree-corpses poking out of the ground. But I am thankful for It’s been months since I last had a cigarette. If I had one I would whatever inclination or instinct drove them. The birds remind me tear the gas mask from my face and smoke. You should stop that, of what we made not so long ago. she says to me. Her toes cling to the grass, painted fingernails caressing the tree trunk. Why don’t you put that out? We can have I told her once that she reminded me of a phoenix—a mighty some pears and cheese. I keep puffing. We have too many pears, creature of otherness who wore long crimson dresses and danced not enough cheese. She vanishes and I question whether she was through the trees and grass. She used to glide through the back- ever real. yard, tendrils of red fabric flowing behind her. Always she tried to drag me out there, promising some languid afternoon filled in by a I wish the birds would come inside. I would welcome them. They picnic, champagne, and whatever else. I grumbled back. I needed could perch at the ends of rickety bookshelves and make beds in to paint. My gallery and agent were at my back, badgering me hole-filled furniture. I could sit and listen to them as I painted. Be- for more. At the time, I failed to notice the way her face fell, body fore bed I could share wine and rations with them, for their souls drooping as if she teetered at the edge of the branch. She said and mine. nothing back. “Why not?” I ask them. But they do not move, tilting their heads I breathe inward, air filtered by charcoal. Everyone said it would up and around. be too dangerous to live above ground after the bombs fell. Down beneath the earth we (some of us) burrowed. It turned out that In her gaze, I saw the explosion. Its inevitability all over the news, mostly amateur artists were not part of those plans. But I do not but more in her eyes. She touched my hand and my skin reddened. begrudge them and neither would she. The others are gone and my heart still pumps. Better to die in the nest than be plunged within Back inside, my fingernails bite into my palm. I try to smell her. the rock, so dark you can barely see. She chose where we lived, saying the doorways were wide enough to fly through. I laughed, hands on her shoulders. Back then she The birds chirp. Toxins drift in the air, but do not affect myself or wore a silvery necklace I gave her. It jingles in my pocket now. the animals. In my ear, she laughs. I am painting her forever. Paint underneath my fingernails, scraping knife at my belt. Oils, pastels, She stares from every wall. In individual canvases hung by rusty acrylics through charcoal filters. Her voice might strike violet or nails. Sometimes it’s just her face, staring from inside a window, turquoise. Does she sing? Arms extended behind her as she runs arching a slender brow at my questions, twisting in scarcely

92 Wire Harp 2014 concealed anguish. Other times it’s her whole body, entangled “We are out of the question.” She said to me once. with mine, seated alone upon autumn leaves, prancing from one place to another. Over and over again, there she is. Row by row. “No,” I stammer, scraping my knife against the red gash. My fingers graze over worthless paint. What would she look like bombarded by fear? How would the weight of her head rest on my “We can fix this,” I plead to her. chest as she sobbed? What if she felt the fire of the bombs? I know all these things and have given them to her. I cover my mistake with white paint. Waiting for it to dry once more, I redo her smile. No noise reverberates this far into the I am running out of room, my task nearly complete. In the studio, house. Yet I imagine her standing out there on the porch, calling I seat myself at my easel. My back aches, my skin sags around my my name as if I hadn’t already seen. In my vision, she wears a bones and organs. I wheeze. This time her expression hasn’t been gown of red feathers. determined. But her eyebrows tilt in such a way, though I can’t decipher what they mean. The fire of the explosion—she can’t be singed. I will rush to her, cover her body with mine and cradle her head in my palms. I can “Aren’t the birds pretty?” I ask her. save her, she can save me. She can fly away with her feather dress.

I feel her breath on my neck. She says: “Yes, they are. Give them Her smile is done and the paint’s still wet. I know there is space in some bread later?” the living room, over the fireplace mantle and between two other portraits. I lift myself from the stool, unhinging the canvas from “I don’t think we have any.” the easel. Stumbling, she arrives at my side. I lean on her, wait to go with her into the backyard and eat pears and cheese and wine. “It’s okay. We can get some.” She will dance and sing and I can’t follow. She could leap any- where and I would follow. “I don’t think that’s possible.” I curse for the bombs and the birds. She does not leave my side. A I heave a sigh. Behind me, she presses her nose and lips against my single spot, there it is, where we used to have a mirror and gather head—there and not there. around the fire during winter. I can hear the birds from here. Chirping, cleaning their feathers, asking their mother to take them I pick up my brush, its hairs stabbing into the jar of paint. away. A bent nail and the canvas slides in.

She is happy, we are happy; my rouge strokes forming her up- She is gone from me and I whimper her name. turned smile. However, my fingers falter and she wears a scowl instead.

2014 Wire Harp 93 The chirping grows louder and quicker, beckoning me to the door where I saw the sky charge with fire. The family of birds is there, to remind me of what remains. I unbuckle the gas mask from my face. Huge gulps of poisoned air, as if I had been underground the whole time. She looks back at me from every direction, while the birds hop along the branch. I wish for another explosion. Let the fires take us all.

Blood drips from my mouth and nose, soiling the dusty floor. I tear off my shirt, red sores cutting a map across my arms and torso. How long have I been like this? The pain is commonplace, air seiz- ing through my lungs. I ask where she is. Outside picking pears? We have too many pears, but we can make something from them. Come outside with me, she murmurs. I smile. She’s been there the whole time. I make it to the porch. The air is fresh and clean. She meanders about in her red dress, while I sit on a blanket and watch her. Finally, we share wine and pears and cheese, feeding each other with our fingers.

Then my back brushes the roots of the tree. Beside them is a ram- shackle wooden cross, staked together by the same rusty nails that hold her paintings. I flinch away. She is here; she is kissing me on the mouth. I sob. Above her head, the birds. No cross, no bombs, no fire, no marker. Just the tree, the birds, and her. The wings of the birds are fluttering. I wish them luck, I wish for her. The birds are calling, higher than before. She pulls away from me, her voice joining theirs, asking for me. Are the baby birds flying? I reach for them and her. Are they leaving this place? Away from the cross? Are they obscured by another bomb, the fires joining us all? I can’t say, but she is kissing me again and her face is all I can see.

94 Wire Harp 2014 Black & White Tree James Cronrath

2014 Wire Harp 95 Broom Dakota Ross

96 Wire Harp 2014 Wakena Falls Alicia Dunavan

2014 Wire Harp 97 Doing Rails Derek Annis

The rain is eight days thick. Rest your head Raw sewage is coming up on the rail next to mine. Can you feel into the bathtub. The vodka’s those vibrations been gone for over an hour, in your skull, the screeching steel, and we have already erased the thousand sparks and steam two hundred dollars cutting through black air? It may be worth of chalk miles off, but if you press your ear down white lines. I have four like this crusty old dollar bills you can hear it coming. in my pocket. I owe the bank eighty seven and change. We rise from our place on the cigarette specked sofa, head out the door and walk along the tracks into town—forty ounces of Old English in my hand, six inches of cold steel in my coat. You let the rain run down your bare arms. I let the rain fill my boots. We pry open a can of black beans, take turns dipping into it with my flame stained spoon. Conductors pull the cord when they pass, baritone whistle wails. From here the houses on the hill are hundreds of blinking eyes—city soiled with light. Light holds back stars. Lie down.

98 Wire Harp 2014 Alberta Tracks Photography Award Winner Fay Hulihan

2014 Wire Harp 99 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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