“Quoth the Raven…”
Issue: March 2013
by Alex Vidiani ’15, Staff Writer
(Volk: German – “people/nation.” Gag: English – “restraint”)
Escape to, no, through this hum and buzz
of gorged cash registers, leather bound Jesus,
Mary, and Joseph V. Stalin. You can’t run
from what you can afford, can’t hide from
another easy shot, trick thrill, shit –
drilled by Anti-Marxism again, again. That flutter
of bills, that sputter of the drawer as it SLAMS open,
leaving you to feed from under the wing of Mama’s
home-made, finger-sucking feast through a straw.
Tired and hot, you bathe in that wasteland dubbed
SUPERFAST and politically sound, massaging
soot into the folds of your neck and chin.
Now there are no graffiti’d walls to topple, no
conscripted guards to disarm and tie-down or
Everclear molotovs to hurl at whirring sirens. Now
you only hear DING DING as you PUNCH the buttons.
Ding ding, baby: the microwave-minute meals are ready,
but nobody can pass up the red ball and leather straps.
Over the Counter, Under the Sheets
Go ahead and grab the rubber
ducky, he can be your third mate.
Slip the empty bottle upside down
underwater and rocket it through
the roof, riding it to the moon, but soon
B6 – you’re sunk beneath the waves.
Don’t worry about making noise,
your roommate isn’t sober enough
to come in to check on your state
of mind, or body; mind your knobby
knees in climbing from the powder-white
tub. I think the dramatist is at the door.
by Kristen Field
Are you speaking about me
Did you see the X
(Or was it infinity?)
Lying across the moon?
And is everything
Making sense to you
Like it is to me?
Is the static electricity of it all
Or is it something exciting
Jolting you into life
In a way that makes you realise
You haven’t been a part of it
Are you scared?
I just wanted you to know
Because I have a feeling –
A gut instinct –
That this might be the first step:
Now that we’re both on the same page
Maybe we can get somewhere.
To the moon.
X does mark the spot, after all.
And if it was infinity
I’ll take that as a sign
That we have an eternity to figure out the universe
And all its clouds
by Alex Stinton ’14
“A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.” Franz Kafka
It is no matter that the Bay isn’t the sea:
winter falls a cold shadow, freezes
all just the same. Kafka would agree.
He might even say (between you and he)
that yours is the graver undertaking: “Waterman,
tonging in the darker months, trading dip–net
and roller for rakes, crustacean for bivalve,
stubble for swaying beard . . . Yes, out there,
on that ice–pocked Bay, you breach
the cold skin of existence, reaching, solitary,
blind with rain and wind and fear, into
the depths of the unknown. The ultimate
test of faith, informed by instinct. And in that
black, prehistoric mud, you find oysters.”