Clippings by Karri A. Dieken
Clippings by Karri A. Dieken

Multimedia Installation

Karri A. Dieken | from “I Don’t Remember”

Yellow Dress by Karri Dieken

Keep It Clean by Karri Dieken


Marcia Trahan | bio


I suck down my last breath of cold April air and plunge
through the clinic’s main entrance, clutching my leather
bag against my side as if it were made of my own skin.
At the end of the brown buffed-linoleum hallway, the lab
waiting room sits empty. It’s four-fifteen on a Wednesday
afternoon; I’ve never been here at this hour. I am used
to weary throngs, clinicians in scrubs pushing their way
through.... [more]


Jeannie Galeazzi | bio

Raqs Sharqi

Upon arrival at Café Casbah in Berkeley on the occasion
of her dozen students’ annual recital-cum-banquet, Rayna
(age “50,” real name Lorraine) hadn’t yet decided whether
she herself tonight would deign to perform the “dance
of the orient” (raqs sharqi, for those in the know) ... [more]


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Kimberly Burwick | bio

Like Cold Water

the mechanism is gentle
and unforgiving—
field-births and lemons
in the factory air ... [more]

These Nails, They Point Upwards

You have come here
from the winetree,
the rowantree, the witchwood.
Cherry and apple caskets go
with a soft song to the dead ... [more]

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Volume 5.1 | Spring 2010

Editor’s Notes

Outside, the leaf buds begin to appear in the shrubs at the edge of our yard, and flocks of quail come down to feed off the winter seed. My dog, a large Lab Collie mix, sits at the window—the sun pouring in—and whines uncontrollably at the fresh energy of life. I’m experiencing the same anxiousness as the clock winds down and I prepare my last few lectures before finals week, and then summer ... [more]


Amy Ash | bio

Still, Life

All we are left with is ruined,
bruised fruit. The orange,

sunken and separated, soft
like the head of a newborn ... [more]

Ilse Bendorf | bio

Catch a Body

Salinger, I’m sorry, but “Don’t ever tell
anybody anything” is a string of words
I would like to wrap up in canvas and sink
to the bottom of the Hudson, or extract
by laser from the ribcage of all of us ... [more]

Rosalyn Cowart | bio

At Breakfast I Asked About the Burning of Bones

I imagined them starting at the top
lighting the end of each tight curl
like a birthday candle
until the flame hit their fingers
and the matches fell ... [more]

These are Please God Days

When she says sacrifice is something she understands,
she means there is no God of courage. He tells her he is crumbling.
He keeps his broken self in his front pocket, fingering it
like a buckeye ... [more]

Allan Peterson | bio

A Reflex Happens

A small boy approaches the edge of a lake
and a reflex happens:
a wide selection of stones gathers.
He throws one because he’s supposed to ... [more]

Tania Pryputniewicz | bio

Bohemian Rhapsody, Illinois

They left for the formal, devilled eggs
on a silver tray, father minus beard,

our mother in white chiffon, yolk
yellow sleeves, ringlets down her neck ... [more]

Crows bordered the seams of your leaving

the timed spigots of the sprinklers
spattering the collards of the student gardens.

Crossing campus on a bicycle that night
in the mist without a light, I knew it futile ... [more]


Yellow Dress by Karri A. Dieken
Yellow Dress by Karri A. Dieken

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