California State University (CSU): Open Journal Systems

Miele, Ilene

English

Gynesis or A Matter of Form

Vogl Saenz, Alicia

42 
She Tried 
Alicia Vogl Saenz 
She tried 
to leave 
her last 
lover 
in a small 
carved teak 
box. 
(Wood 
smooth 
as his 
skin.) 
Did a 
ritual 
when it 
was over, 
when he 
had said: 
"I care for you, 
but ... " 
She put 
a full moon, 
a few hummingbird feathers, 
a ring 
Northridge Review 
in the 
box. 
Thought: 
"Now 
it is 
over." 
Somehow 
at night 
he lifts 
Alicia Vag/ Saenz 
the lid, 
invades her 
dreams. 
His arms, smell 
float to her 
like his breath, 
transparent. 
His weight 
capsizes 
her bed. 
She awakes, 
dawn poking 
through blinds. 
She reaches, 
pillow next to 
her, 
spoons around 
it. 


She Tried

Duke, Lee

Flaws

Costello, Matthew

The Mexicans Lived Behind our Field

Beronio, Bianca

Bianca Beronio
MAKANI HO’OKELE
We return to where the land !reets the sk",
on these !entle slo#es where the ohi’a blossoms wee#,
and the winds carr" whis#ered chants of old,
sin!in! our ancestors’ home.
We come to!ether, hands like kalo roots,
firm in the soil of this sacred #lace —
this ‘aina remembers him still.
in its breath, in its waves, in its #ule.
Ku’u ku#una, "ou sail now,
like a wa’a on the ocean’s embrace
the moon li!htin! "our #ath be"ond
as we stand, feet in the sand,
o$erin! our tears to the sea.
Pohaku hold the stories we tell,
of "ou, of us, of da"s "et to come —
and here, where Pele’s fire once rose,
we la" to rest all that "ou were,
all that "ou !ave,
trustin! the winds to carr" "ou home. 
We chant "our name in the lea#in! li!ht,
in the swa" of coconut #alms,
and somewhere, be"ond the mountains,
the ancestors !ather to !reet "ou,
with love that will never leave us. 
To!ether we sa" !oodb"e,
but "ou remain in the breath of these islands,
and in the stars that watch us toni!ht.


Makani Ho’okele

Laughlin, Dom

25
Divine Instructions
Dom Laughlin
Want to construct a god in your own image?
Step	one:	Set	your	goals
Determine the purpose of constructing your 
god. Each one requires a mythology to back up its 
existence. What is/are your intention(s)? 
Do you have a gospel you want to share? Do 
you want justification for your actions? Do you 
wonder about your place in the universe? Do you 
wish for meaning in this cold, damp space? Do 
you need to feel special? Is the crushing weight of 
oblivion bringing you down? Would you like a quick 
and convenient explanation for everything? Do you 
need an explanation for the existence of evil? Do 
you have an enemy you want to slay? Do you need a 
reason to be good? Are you just afraid of death? Do 
you need a reason not to just end it all?
Remember, the minimum amount of 
intention(s) is one. 
Step	Two:	Backstory
Now, it’s time to get creative! Stories are 
testimonies between nature and the soul. So make 
26
it a good one! For example, explain that your god 
appoints the right leader through a test of trials that 
you can, oh so, conveniently complete. Or make 
it appear that you have. (We don’t tattle.) Or, if 
everyone is unsure why the sun and moon exist in 
the first place, create their personas. Add aesthetics. 
Add relationships! Create tension, angst, tragedy, 
love! 
Make this god kind, or seek justice. Make 
them slow to anger, but bite back with a terrible 
wrath. Make them unbearable. Make them flawed. 
Or absolutely perfect. And everything else is sin. 
Make them creepy, or just plain awful. Make them 
the image of peace and salvation. You can have them 
do nothing. Make them blonde or made of shadows. 
Accessorize them! Give them a pet, or two. Make 
them out of two or three people, if you’d like. Create 
a whole pantheon! Want to clear away that guilty 
conscience? Sacrifices, sacrifices, sacrifices! Whether 
you, the people, or you’re god does it, the pen and 
paper is at your disposal! (Warn your followers to 
not look deeper into its meaning.) 
Step	Three:	Get	Them	to	Believe
Take the obvious, and rebrand it into 
something profound. People just want safety, 
security and peace of mind. So give that to them. 
Show them how your god is the answer, how good 
things are when they listen and worship your god. 
Remember that unhappy people are the easiest 
to convince. Make the Truth clear-cut. Paint the 
world as black and white. Complexity is the death 
of conformity. (And, if all else fails, conversion is 
conversion. You have a sword, don’t you?) In fact, 
you can be your god. (Terms and conditions apply.)
Once you’re done…Congratulations! You’ve 
constructed a god. Now go out and spread your 
Truth! We hope you found exactly what you were 
looking for. Though, if you do have any questions, 
comments or concerns, we don’t want them. We’re 
not the ones playing god. 
Do	not	contact	us	again.	
Thank you, and have a great day!


Divine Instructions

Koenig, Brenna

73
Sometimes I Feel Like a Bruised Piece of Fruit
Brenna Koenig
sometimes i feel like
a bruised piece of fruit.
bursting with outward vibrancy
yet tainted by inward decay.
sometimes i feel like
a bruised piece of fruit.
those who touch me
recoil their fingers,
the moment a flaw is perceived.
sometimes i feel like
a bruised piece of fruit.
an unwanted,
discarded,
remnant of life’s tenderness
that will never cease
to be seen.
sometimes i feel like
a bruised piece of fruit.
when will someone
choose me?


Sometimes I Feel Like a Bruised Piece of Fruit

76
Relationship Surgery
Brenna Koenig
Patients usually ask why we begin the operation on 
the hands,
so I tell them: “well, that’s where the disease usually 
starts”.
Most people think it dawns in the atriums of the 
heart,
the wrinklings of the brain,
or the lobes of the liver;
but really, the hands are the first to go.
Too often, people forget that their hands
hold much more than car keys and cell phones;
they hold memories.
Like the way he massaged my shoulder blades during 
candlelit baths.
They hold more than vanilla-scented ChapSticks 
and crumpled up receipts.
Like the time we stayed up all night tracing freckles 
until we found our favorite.
They hold more than dinner utensils and door 
handles.
Like my fingertips caressing the small of his back when 
we made love on the floor.
They hold memories composed of everything (and 
everyone)
that you’ve ever touched;
ones that seep into the skin,
filling the crevices of every cuticle,
finding a home underneath the innermost recesses of 
77
your fingernail beds.
This is where they live.
It’s only when a healthy heart suddenly becomes a 
broken one,
that they start their inevitable decay.
They start their dissolution, a corruption of the soul 
at the cellular level.
Once cherished, now discarded memories start to 
ooze and bleed, they instigate infection–
An infection of the spirit, one that remains unlinked 
to bodily funguses or disease.
But when either affliction is left untreated,
they fester all the same.
I tell patients about these tangible records, these 
lingering moments that
have become trapped beneath the fingernails
of every person who has touched,
or been touched,
by another human’s existence in this world.
“This is why we start with the hands”, I say.
They hold more than car keys.


Relationship Surgery

Free, Quinnette

80
Scratching	the	Surface
Quinnette Free
I am Black  but at the same time 
I am Boricua, from the islands of Puerto Rico and 
Cuba
I am Mexican with Mayan blood that runs deep in 
my veins
I am a Filipina with roots deep in Mindanao and 
Luzon 
I am also a Pacific Islander, where I have Ohana in 
Hawai’i and Aiga in Samoa 
I am Australian, both Aboriginal and True Blue 
I come from the noble blood of the native tribes of 
Africa and North America. 
My people come from many parts of Asia, South 
America, and Europe 
I am a Scot proudly wearing the tartan of the Fraser 
clan 
I am Jewish I am Muslim, I am Christian, I 
am Buddhist, I am a member of the Armenian 
Apostolic Church. 
Covering all four corners of the globe, which extends 
into the heavens
I am the world of people, ethnicities, races, and 
religions of those who have touched my soul and 
enriched my spirit 
So, to call me Black 
You are just scratching the surface.


Scratching the Surface

Urbina, Caroline

83
Lady in the Mirror
Caroline Urbina
If you listen to her
you can hear pain and
unsatisfied hunger.
Look at her
soulless eyes and
dried lips.
Feel
her sunken heart.
Hundreds of voices
coming from her 
reflective prison
The many scream for food, some
wish for an empty house
and a few slipped whispers of praise.
If only this reflecting light 
would let my hand through.
To hold, hug and kiss 
the one trapped inside
these borders of failed fantasies.
I know her ears are muted
because she can’t hear the
screams of love from others.
Half of her mouth is sewed shut
so, she can’t question
her real beauty.
84
Eyelids pinned open
forced to see every single 
flaw I let slip out.
Being on this side of the mirror
I’m the one in pain but
her appearance is a match
to how I feel.
I wonder when this lady will die
She’s suffered long enough.


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