California State University (CSU): Open Journal Systems

Marshall , Sierra

English

Quarantine

Nicholson, Kerry

Two Poems: "Side Show Sestina" and "1975"

Lewis, Damon

Discharged

Myga, Jana

JANA MYGA 
/11oun 
He was whole, made of wounds, 
Wounds varied in depth and origin. 
s 
Some already covered with a delicate pink layer. 
A steady pulse, a watchman, patiently beating underneath. 
Others were cleaned and began to dry at the edges. 
Sometimes a transparent drop 
of lymphatic liquid would form in the comer and linger 
with the persistence of a solitary tear. 
And then, there were ones that were fresh and infected. 
He cringed at the thought of being touched. 
Still he went about, intentionally letting others 
infect them again and again. 
He knew he would have to be always freshly wounded 
just to remain alive. 


Wounds

Laurence, Helen

(to supply missing text for page 11) 
pernusswn 
granted I had never 
imagined so fine 
unless I could have 
(believed) experienced what I 
believed (thought) was not 
real then-- there in 
the bus jigging in 
to spring--one expanding 
rack of hooks hanging my self 
on thirteen years of knowing 
loss to capture 
just such green. 
no other word. not a synonym 
for, a substitute 
but GREEN the hills, GlmEN 
the trembling 
leaves the colored air 
above all flying slopes. 
had a painter trapped 
this moment, my heart 
had squeezed green 
fluid from (ex plosion) 
spring green tree green grass green 
chambers. 
actually this cavity pumped 
a pain more acquiescent 
to stone conversations 
Go 
Helen Laurence 
permission 
granted I had never 
imagined so fine 
unless i could have 
(believed) experienced what I 
believed (thought) was not 
real then- there in 
the bus jigging in 
to spring- one expanding 
actually this cavity pumped 
a pain more acquiescent 
to stone conversations 
(than Saturday fliltations and i) knew this 
then tiding 
the crowded bus to some where we 
junior high orchestra enroute sure 
to win our usual 
prizes and what difference did/ could this 
make to my grief (green raped) me 
almost unwilling to taste 
the curve of that hill 
against me /my own 
curv ling to craving hills-
all these years 
12 
later the festival, shrill 
violins tuning against my own 
battered cello (tuning 
pegs slipping again) my relative 
pitch against 
the indifference of the boy i thought 
i 
wanted (he had perfect pitch 
played sonatas refused my 
craving for 
pe1fection.) yes all those 
years and now what 
i recall is this: 
GREEN 
and rosin on the bow 
green and flowers some maybe under 
spreading oaks with a woman a woman 
awoman awomanawomanawoe 
manawomanawoman was all even then 
i wanted but 
i thought 
chairs scraping mr. maguire 
(without baton) drunk 
after concert bows hungry 
for my ungiving 
breast 
i thought 
yes, that too, that this 
was real and the nonexistent/woman 
lying 
(i in her arms she in mine) under oaks 
cradled 
in GREEN did not 
live, have our 
being not knowing then 
Northridge Review 
Helen Laurence 
that forty years of future 
did not exist either (now) 
(then) no matter 
how vivid the splendid/ 
terrible day sliced 
night (not yet) so 
GREEN remains 
(remained) until i saw 
signal 
light greening (permission 
granted to) go 


Quigley, Mark

Il.YIAGES 
MARK QUIGLEY 
A face 
strong 
and intense 
with eyes 
that accuse 
and know 
in their furious 
state 
that all this 
in deep rage 
cannot continue. 
The mouth posed 
sparks 
form 
jagged 
angry lines 
that cannot continue. 
about this 
Revolution. 
Truth. 
Change. 
Now only 
images 
on a blue 
flickering screen. 
16 


Images

Bhogal, Esha

Daydreams

Barresi-Matero, Dante

Dante Barresi-Matero
PLAYER
When I !et to Jasmine’s house, I see her sittin! on the 
"orch smokin! a ci!arette. I ste" out of the car and o"en 
the !ate as she runs u" to me, throwin! her ci!arette in the 
dr# !rass. 
It’s 8 ".m. on m# first da# back for winter break, and 
I’ve $ust !otten into Sherman Oaks. 
“He# dude,” she sa#s and s%ueezes m# shoulder, lookin! 
directl# into m# e#es. Clearl# she’s hi!h because we’re not 
!ood enou!h friends to warrant that kind of look. But I 
mirror her excitement and hu! her, askin! her if she has 
an#thin! to drink. She sa#s #es and s"ins around to lead 
me throu!h the front door. Jasmine’s a bi! !irl—not fat but 
the kind of hulk# bi! that lets #ou know she has Nordic 
ancestors. She could "robabl# slin! me over her shoulder 
and carr# me to safet# if m# house were on fire and I had 
"assed out from smoke inhalation. Toni!ht she’s wearin! a 
"u&# $acket that sa#s Team USA over her heart.
Inside, she "ulls a few bottles out of the freezer and 
tells me to have whatever I want. Usuall# her bo#friend’s 
here—a tin# dude with a severe widow’s "eak who calls me 
!la"er and carries most of the conversation—but toni!ht 
it’s $ust her. The kitchen smells weird and Jasmine kee"s 
hoverin! close and tr#in! to stare into m# e#es nonsto", so 
I ask her where the bathroom is. She "oints me down the 
hall. 
Jasmine doesn’t think of herself as a dealer, or not like 
80 DANTE BARRESI-MATERO
a dealer’s dealer, because she onl# sells to "eo"le she knows. 
But since her "arents cut her o& last #ear, she’s been !ettin! 
more serious about it, like sellin! ketamine and ecstas# and 
“Quaaludes from the 80s” that she sa#s she bu#s on the 
“darkweb eBa#.” Like, oh-ka", Jasmine, those are "robabl# 
Xanax and Adderall and bab# "owder that some crackhead 
"resses in his basement in Lima, Ohio. But an#wa#, she 
doesn’t want to be thou!ht of as $ust a dealer, so I have 
to !o throu!h the motions of havin! a drink with her and 
askin! about her dad’s recent documentaries before she’ll 
!ive me m# coke. 
The bathroom’s walls are seafoam !reen and so !loss# 
that I can almost see m# reflection. While I’m "eein!, I hear 
the front door o"en and Jasmine starts #ellin!. There’s a 
second !irl’s voice echoin! back at her and the# kee" !ettin! 
louder and louder, ar!uin! about I can’t trust "ou an"more 
and You #ucked u! too and won’t even admit it. I turn the faucet 
on. M# "hone starts buzzin!, and I "ut it to m# ear. 
“Hi,” I murmur, and it’s Brett and he’s sa#in! somethin! 
about dinner in Pasadena but I’m too distracted to reall# 
hear him. 
I tell him I’m in and to text me the details. Wash m# 
hands and look in the mirror and s%ueeze a whitehead 
that I know I should leave alone but then I hear the front 
door slam shut so I come back out to the kitchen. It’s $ust 
Jasmine’s voice now. She’s talkin! to someone on the "hone 
in the livin! room, so I make a !in and tonic, searchin! for 
an# kind of citrus when she comes in. 
“Here,” she sa#s, reachin! into the frid!e and handin! 
me a near em"t# bottle of lime $uice. “Sorr# about that 
81PLAYER
bitch. She’s owed me a thousand dollars for like two #ears 
now.” Jasmine makes herself a drink, too, which means she 
"ours a lot of vodka in a !lass and to"s it o& with a cou"le 
ice cubes. “Said she needed it to "rosecute some !u# who 
sideswi"ed her on PCH and that she’d "a# me back when 
she was out of court.”
“Oh,” I sa#, takin! a si" and lookin! down at m# "hone. 
Brett’s sent me the info and told me to show u" in an hour. 
“Sa#s she onl# borrowed 500 from me, but that’s 
bullshit. L#in! as usual.”
Jasmine looks at me ex"ectantl# so I tell her that’s awful 
and what a shitt# friend and she looks "leased. Tells me to 
wait here and she’ll !et m# shit.
I !et to Pasadena earl#, so I sit in m# car outside the 
restaurant and smoke a few ci!arettes. Turn the radio on 
and !et sick of the music, switch to NPR and !et bored, so I 
turn it o& and call Alana.
“Hello,” she sa#s, and it’s kind of muted because she’s 
on s"eaker"hone. 
“I’m havin! dinner with Brett at Wolvesmouth. You 
should come.”
“Who is this?” She sa#s. Shouldn’t m# face have "o""ed 
u" on her "hone? 
“Ta#lor.”
“Oh, he#.” She sounds anno#ed, and I wonder if she’s 
still u"set about the end of summer. “I’m actuall# on m# 
82 DANTE BARRESI-MATERO
wa#; Brett didn’t tell me #ou were comin!.”
“Oh,” I sa#. “He $ust invited me an hour a!o.” There’s 
a lon! "ause and then I sa# I’ll see her soon and han! u" 
before she can res"ond. 
I’m sittin! there for ten more minutes before Alana 
arrives, and I watch her "ark and touch u" her makeu" in 
the rearview mirror and walk in the buildin! before I !et 
out of m# car and follow her. Inside, she hu!s me %uickl# 
and sa#s that she wants to !et a drink. 
We both order !in and tonics with our fakes. The 
bartender, a thirt#-ish woman with bi! !old hoo"s and 
brown li"stick, looks at Alana’s ID and then u" at her face, 
does that two more times and then a "hone starts rin!in! 
on the o""osite side of the bar and she !oes to answer it. 
Probabl# her ex-husband callin! about visitation ri!hts, 
a!ain.
“Remember when we bou!ht these from that thirt#-
#ear-old who was datin! Jessica?” Alana sa#s, "uttin! the 
ID back in her "ocket. 
I nod, even thou!h she’s not lookin! at me.
“What was his name? Jackson? I ke"t tellin! Jessica he 
was a "ervert.” Alana’s nervous, I think, twistin! her fin!ers 
and "ressin! her li"s to!ether hard. She’s !otten reall# 
skinn# since I saw her last and I wonder if she still takes her 
sister’s V#vanse. “Remember that "art# at Jessica’s where 
he ke"t !ivin! coke to Olivia’s little sister? Fuckin! "ervert.”
“I think the#’re still to!ether,” I sa#.
“Yeah, and she $ust turned ei!hteen like last month. 
Fuckin! Dateline shit.” 
83PLAYER
She lau!hs kind of and then it’s silent exce"t for some 
s"orts commentators "ickin! a"art a basketball !ame on 
the TV behind us. I’m bored and Alana must be, too. She 
"ulls her "hone out and I tell her I’m !oin! to !o smoke 
a ci!arette, but she doesn’t look u" or sa# an#thin!. On 
TV, some incredibl# tall basketball "la#er !ets knocked 
into a row of cheerleaders and his elbow connects with a 
redhead’s nose and blood starts s"illin! out of it, but she 
$ust smiles and clutches her "om-"oms to her chest as the 
camera zooms in closer and closer on her face. 
I smoke two ci!arettes before Brett shows u". He’s 
shaved his head since I saw him last and, toni!ht, has 
wra""ed a thin silver chain a few times around his left ear.
“Ta#lor,” he sa#s, walkin! u" to me. 
“He#, Brett.” 
He wra"s an arm around m# shoulder and "ulls me 
hard into his side. Sometimes when he does this, he’ll relax 
his arm down the len!th of m# bod# and, when I’m dizz# 
from his colo!ne and BO, will work a cou"le fin!ers under 
m# "ants and sna" the elastic on m# underwear. Toni!ht, 
he’s shak#—his le!s, his arms literall# buzzin!. 
He releases me after a second and bounces u" and down 
on his toes. He starts askin! me %uestions about Ithaca 
and classes and what "eo"le I’m seein! and if I’ve watched 
Chloe’s new film, but never lets me answer. 
I tell him Alana’s at the bar, and he asks what the fuck 
we’re doin! out here then, and "ulls me inside.
84 DANTE BARRESI-MATERO
Alana’s finished her second !in and tonic b# the time 
we find her at a table b# the bar, talkin! to some !u# she 
knows from Parson’s. His name’s Tro# and he’s tan and has 
tattoos cree"in! u" his neck from under his shirt. His e#es 
kee" driftin! between me and Brett, and he tells us all to 
come to his "lace after we’ve finished eatin!. Alana smiles 
at Tro# as he s"eaks, and I wonder if she’s fuckin! him or 
if he’s !a# or if she even knows him that well. Lookin! at 
her, I can’t sto" thinkin! about summer and how di&erent 
ever#thin! was. How much healthier she looked then and 
how often she would #ell at me for not listenin!.
Once we’ve been seated, we all realize we’re not hun!r#, 
so Brett orders o#sters and we all !et !in and tonics. 
Alana asks Brett about New Ham"shire, and I envision 
an enormous, muscled basketball "la#er burstin! throu!h 
the doors and crashin! throu!h the restaurant, ever#one 
smilin! as he knocks them to the floor because it’s not reall# 
a bi! deal, and he was $ust doin! his $ob. 
I realize it’s silent and the#’re both lookin! at me 
ex"ectantl#, but whoever asked me a %uestion doesn’t 
re"eat it. Alana sa#s she’s drunk and wants to !o to Tro#’s, 
so Brett asks the waiter to "ut ever#thin! on his father’s tab 
and we leave. We all !et into Brett’s car because he’s drunk 
the least, and after he takes a bum" from the little vial in 
his "ocket, we take o&. 
Au$ust, and I’m stretched out in this older dude’s back"ard. 
M" back’s thick with scratches #rom rou$h lawn-chair #abric with 
little red %owers and stri!es u! and down and his hands runnin$ 
85PLAYER
u! m" back. I’m not archin$, not extendin$ into his !alm, his !inch 
on the new slide o# m" bod". He i$nores m" heav" !ulse. Di!s a 
&n$er in his $lass o# ice water and !aints it down m" vertebrae. 
M" !hone buzzes and when I answer, it’s Alana, askin$ me where 
I am, a$ain. I tell her I’m on m" wa" and turn onto m" back so I 
don’t burn.
In the car, it’s %uiet a!ain, and Brett kee"s havin! to 
ask Alana where to turn because she’s lookin! down at her 
"hone the whole time. She’s in the "assen!er seat, and her 
lon! hair is dan!lin! over the back of her seat and swee"in! 
across m# knees.
I’m tired and dizz# from all the li%uor, slouched low in 
the backseat, so I take a bum" from the !ram I $ust bou!ht 
and am startin! to feel it when Alana turns around to look 
at me. I can tell it’s about to ha""en because she’s starin! at 
m# mouth—can’t brin! herself to look me in the e#es. 
 In this moment, I feel sorr# for her or somethin!, stuck 
here in the Valle#—watchin! her mother doin! Pilates in 
front of the TV, havin! lunch with her father ever# few 
weeks at Duke’s, listenin! to her sister throw u" after ever# 
meal. 
I see Alana crashin! to the floor, hi!h and uncoordinated 
and tired, Alana motionin! for me to hel" her out of bed 
and into the shower, Alana’s face "o""in! u" on m# "hone, 
callin! me nonsto". Alana’s stick bod# turned around in 
Brett’s car to face me, tr#in! to slou!h o& some heaviness 
onto me, !ivin! me "ain in m# lower back. “You’re doin! it 
86 DANTE BARRESI-MATERO
a!ain,” she sa#s, still lookin! at me. 
“What?” I sa#, too loudl#.
“Not listenin! to me.” 
“I’m drunk.”
“You’re an asshole.” She sort of #ells this, and Brett 
turns the music down in res"onse—I lean forward. 
“You’re drunk,” I sa#. “Take some more V#vanse.” She 
turns around to face forward. “Or here,” and I toss m# little 
ba!!ie of coke into her la". “Take as much as #ou need.” 
“Fuckin! fa!!ots ruinin! m# life,” she sa#s in res"onse, 
and "ulls a ke# out of her "urse to take a bum". It’s %uiet 
in the car then, besides Brett’s K-"o" "la#in! %uietl# and 
the sound of all of us sni'n! intermittentl#. B# the time 
we make it to Tro#’s house, dee" in the murk# hills of 
Malibu, Alana’s taken three more bum"s and braided, then 
unbraided, her hair. I’m not "a#in! attention to an#thin!. 
The house is !ated—!aud# twists of bronze and iron—
and Brett has to hit the buzzer on the intercom over and 
over until, after a tense minute or two "ass, the !ate swin!s 
backwards smoothl#. The drivewa# extends for a cou"le 
hundred feet, and we roll alon! it until we reach a !rou" 
of twent# or so cars, !loss# black or tan convertibles 
and SUVs. We "ark and Alana !ets out and strides into 
the house, this enormous thin!, without waitin! for us. 
I tell Brett to !o in without me—that I want to smoke a 
ci!arette—and so he also walks in, leavin! me alone in the 
dark !low of the "orchli!ht.
87PLAYER
Alana’s bed, Se!tember, and she’s snorin$, staccato $ravel. 
Her arms and le$s s!la"ed out like tattered seaweed in the sur#. 
She’s sweatin$. With one &n$er on her neck, I can #eel the vibration 
in her airwa", the dim 'um!in$ o# blood in dee! !assa$ewa"s; 
with m" whole hand, I can #eel the abnormal hotness runnin$ 
throu$h her. Her #ever. I inch closer to her—want to so#ten her 
with m" cool bod"—but when her e"es %ick o!en, I shi#t back. 
Two ci!arettes later, I follow them inside. Nobod#’s in 
the fo#er exce"t for some !u# cr#in! into his "hone, but 
I hear "eo"le screamin! and lau!hin! down the hall and 
follow the noise to find a !rou" of about fort# circled around 
one !u#. He’s bi! and tan and muscular and com"letel# 
naked and l#in! on his back with his arms coverin! his 
face so that his elbows are over his mouth. The wa# his 
chest is movin! u" and down, I think he’s cr#in! or ma#be 
movin! in some choreo!ra"hed wa#, and when I’ve been 
standin! there at the ed!e of the room watchin! him for a 
few seconds, he brin!s his arms to his sides and sa#s “Next” 
reall# loudl# and starts to shake. With his face uncovered, I 
can see the blood "ourin! out of his nose and mouth, down 
his cheeks and onto the "ar%uet. Ever#one in the crowd 
starts screamin! and some "eo"le are lau!hin! so hard 
the#’re doubled over, and one small redheaded !irl with lots 
of braids tied u" into a "on#tail comes forward and stands 
above him, her feet "lanted on either side of his chest. She 
takes her "hone out of her "ocket and bends over and takes 
a few "ictures of his face, then "uts her "hone awa#, draws 
her ri!ht arm back, and brin!s her fist down hard into his 
88 DANTE BARRESI-MATERO
face, !runtin! with force of it. Ever#one is lau!hin! now. 
The !u# screams and flinches back in "ain, recoilin! into a 
fetal "osition and holdin! his le!s ti!ht into his bod#. After 
she takes another "icture, the redheaded !irl walks back 
into the rin! of "eo"le to re$oin her friends and the crowd 
!ets %uieter, "eo"le turnin! back to their friends, takin! si"s 
of their drinks. I don’t feel !reat.
I see Alana and Brett standin! with Tro#, and walk over 
to them. Alana doesn’t sa# an#thin! to me, but Brett hu!s 
me into his side and Tro# smiles at me.
“He#, Ta#lor,” he sa#s. “How are #ou?”
“Fine,” I sa# and extricate m#self from Brett, who’s 
alread# talkin! to some !u# who I think I reco!nize from 
hi!h school. Alana’s lookin! at her "hone. “Kind of tired, 
actuall#.” 
“Do #ou want somethin!?” Tro# "ulls a little vial out of 
his "ocket and o&ers it to me, but I shake m# head. 
“No, I think I’m !ettin! sick or somethin!. I want to !o 
home.”
“We can’t !o home #et,” Alana sa#s, still lookin! at her 
"hone. 
Tro# kee"s lookin! at me, smilin!. He takes a ste" closer 
to me, but when he’s about to s"eak, the bo# on the !round 
screams “Next” so shrill# that I flinch. Tro# "uts his arm 
around m# shoulder like he’s tr#in! to comfort me, and I 
close m# e#es because I don’t want to see him lookin! at me 
an#more.
When I o"en them, Alana’s walkin! forward towards 
the bo# on the !round. She looks severe, but !ood, and I 
89PLAYER
realize that she’s cut her dark hair to shoulder len!th since 
summer. Her outfit, a bi! loose-knit black sweater over a 
tan bod#suit, hi!hli!hts her thinness, makes her look older, 
and I can’t remember if she’s seventeen or ei!hteen, this 
!irl—m# best friend—standin! over a cowerin! bo# in a 
mansion, hidden in the hills of Malibu. She looks over at 
me, and I think she’s cr#in! or somethin! because of the 
wa# her e#es are flickerin! and lookin! directl# into mine, 
and I can’t hold her stare. She bends down over the bo# 
and I can feel Tro#’s bod# heavin! as he lau!hs harder and 
harder. Alana makes a fist and I don’t feel !ood an#more, 
and when she draws it back "ur"osefull#, I close m# e#es 
and wait for the scream, the hard bod# lau!hter, and the 
silence that follows.


Player

Urbina, Caroline

82
L-O-V-E
Caroline Urbina
L stands for “losing your mind”
wanting to see the person you desire then
feeling pain on days you wish never happened.
Screaming at yourself for allowing entrance 
to a person who broke you.
O stands for “obsessing over the details,”
knowing how much you love looking
at them when they smile through their lies.
Impossible to look away because at any second 
they would be smiling for someone new.
It would break your heart if they no longer
tried to make it up to you.
V stands for “Vital words”
making sure that your feelings 
aren’t the only ones that are true.
Holding someone too high while they
bury your shredded heart 
with false writings.
Letters hold sharp tools, enough 
to draw blood.
E stands for “Everything”
all the things that we once had
before this can no longer be  
how they once were.
You and I change 
after this word.
We know the 
consequences.
This will hurt us.


L-O-V-E

A burned-out psychic escapes the chaos of the city and relocates toa small town that seems too good to be true. As her energy returns,strange clues reveal the town is feeding off her peace, and itsresidents were never alive to begin with.&nbsp

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