California State University (CSU): Open Journal Systems

Vogl Sáenz, Alicia

Under dust balls and cobwebs in a box 
her things rest like a secret. 
A mirror, some bobbypins, photograph, 
old nail polish and file reveal her espiritu 
in part, but leave the unsaid: ilegitima. 
It is through this word that I become a lens. 
Through the lens 
1 see her swim with her nieta. A box 
of toys nearby, toys denied her, toys that whisper ilegitima, 
whisper the secret, 
whisper ilegitima, the secret que no deja en sosiego su espiritu. 
But I remember el espfritu does not photograph. 
I study the photograph, 
wonder if it is between the lens 
and the subject que el espfritu 
gets lost, or does it stay in the box-
like structure of the camera, waiting for secret 
chemicals not yet invented. Then will my mama have ilegitima 
printed on her forehead? llegitima 
whisper las tlas do not forget abuelita's secret. 
Their eyes made bigger by the lens 
of their glasses stare form the box, 
they say sufrir enriqueza el espiritu. 
Entre elias dicen que mi mama tiene el espiritu 
viejo por el pecado inato de ser ilegitima. 
I try to leave their voices in the box, 
try to remember esas tfas in the photograph 
are long dead, their words locked con el espiritu in the lens, 
ese pecado no longer secret. 
In this poem it is not the secret 
abuelita wanted. My mama's espiritu 
necesita sociego. So, I will not let the lens 
keep esa palabra pecadora ilegltima. 
Then mama and her nieta can swim in a photograph 
without tlas whispering in the box, 
fifty years peering through a lens: eres ilegitima. 
Dusty secret, mirrored en el espiritu 
VOICES 
INA 
BOX: A 
Sestina 
Alicia 
Vogl 
Saenz 
is erased in this poem, not preserved in the photograph in the box. 


English

Voices in a Box: A Sestina

Moran, Tom

dead echoest 
Moe sat in the straight-backed wooden kitchen chair, elbows on the 
A rushing, hissing, unending stream of intelligible and 
stained kitchen table, hearing. Many other people in Moe's same position-
unintelligible data assaulting and informing, 
s< 
the position of occupying a one-bedroom flat in a huge, run-down complex in N 
unneeded, unheeded, but ultimately rr 
an area of town that had never been good-would be listening. Moe however tL 
resolutely, 
was way beyond listening; he had transcended to hearing. And try as tie IE 
heard. 
might, he couldn't stop. 
Deep at night, with the insomnia which created unrest, and unrest 
Downstairs, Sam threatens 
which created insight, Moe first began to notice the acuity of his hearing. 
to finally kill the bitch. 
The neighbor's fighting ceased to be a blurry mumble; soon the threats 
Through the drain 
became both clearer and more terrible. And the televisions which 
muffled pleading 
surrounded his sepulchral apartment blared 24 with programs that held no 
echoes from the porcelain. 
interest for him but which he heard never the less. 
The wall booms under 
The various exercises recommended to him by his psychologist did 
the thump of matted hair. 
little to quiet the Pandemonium surrounding him and coursing through his 
The door slams below, 
veins. Moe rolled over in his riot of pillows clutching one to each ear, 
perhaps at last 
resolving that when the sun rose he would seek the help of a proper doctor. 
unhinged. 
"That I can see, Mr. Corti, your hearing is normal for a 42 year-old 
With age comes wisdom and the painful reality 
man; you have neither a deficit nor a heightened sensitivity. I did notice a 
of mortality and motive. 
build-up of cerumen, though. I'd like to take care of that." 
Simplicity ceases and complexity ensues 
"Cerumen?" Moe asked. 
with the knowledge that you can neither forget nor undo 
"Ear wax, Mr. Corti. It can interfere with your ear's ability to drain, 
what you know your body and mind to be capable of. 
resulting in a painful infection." 
Once you realize, it's too late, 
"Will it make me hear better?" 
it's there and you'd better deal with it 
tl 
r 
t 
·tom moran 
"Well, yes. Impacted cerumen will prevent your ear from conducting 
because it won't go away. 
sound to its fullest potential." 
Ever. 
Moe couldn't believe his ears. "Haven't you heard a word I've said, Doctor?" 
Moe held his hands to his ears. "Hear no evil. Don't you get it? I'm hearing too 
much, it's driving me crazy. I can't sleep: I can't work: it never stops. I want you to 
turn it down, not turn it up." 
"Mr. Corti, there's little I can do. Your tests show me that there's not a prob-
lem with your hearing. Perhaps you might try ear-plugs." 
Moe sat at the kitchen table, looking at the utensils laying quietly on 
The auditory conscience, the malevolent mastoid 
the padded plastic mats. Twisted deep into his ear canals were two 
are two of our autonomic functions which cease 
neoprene plugs, held in place by fists of cotton covered with surgical tape. 
never to operate. They function like the heart 
He liked the suffocating pleasure of the silence at first, but his ears soon 
or a shark-
acclimatized and slowly, insidiously the noise began to creep back in. He 
to stop is to die. 
held his hands to his ears and tears began to well in his eyes. He heard the 
You can ignore it, temporarily, but with knowledge 
tap, tap, tapping noise they made, and felt their cool splash under his 
comes awareness and no hope for escape. 
forearms as they struck the placemat and exploded. 
"Mr. Corti, I haven't any explanation as to your heightened sensitivity." 
The dream of blanketing silence 
The Audiologist peered at Moe over his glasses and across his desk. Moe 
like a damp dampening fog ushered in 
stared at the huge plastic model ear on the corner of the doctor's desk. "The 
by a soothing, silent ocean. 
only suggestion I might make, although it seems a little extreme, is to 
Tacit, slow water quilts the planet-saline and silent. 
consider wearing some OSHA approved ear protection." 
Dark, murky, and mysterious, like quiet 
"What's that?" Moe brightened at the possibility of some soothing 
the less you know, perhaps the better, 
quiet. 
cradled calmly in the enveloping nothingness 
"Oh, perhaps ear protectors like those worn in industry-like shooters 
thinking only occasionally of 
Wear at the gun range." 
sharks. 
Moe that this was a fine idea indeed. 
Oblivious to most of the attention paid him, Moe did notice his 
Increasingly isolationist, urban solitude 
super, Sal, eyeing him suspiciously. Sal was a detestable and noisy man, 
is difficult to achieve; 
given to fits of screaming at the neighborhood children for playing near 
it's not the anonime which is the enemy a 
the apartment property. He had hair on both his chest and back; he forever 
it's the noise and nosy neighbors s 
wore two articles of clothing: a too-small, sleeveless undershirt and a 
which supplants seclusion. n 
Greek fisherman's hat. As he pushed past Sal on the concrete steps, Moe 
You don't rent an apartment 
considered that Sal was neither Greek nor a fisherman. Sal for his part, 
you sublet your privacy. 
considered the Moe, or 360 as he called him, was going nuts. 
Everything you do is known 
"Afternoon, Corti." Sal eyed Moe curiously. 
to few and many, those who need not know. 
"Hello, Sal." Moe continued up the steps. 
When you brush and when you flush 
"Listening to the ball game?" Sal maneuvered to prevent Moe's 
passing. 
or ityou do 
"I'm sorry?" 
and what's your favorite program. 
"The ball game. What are you listening to?" Sal pointed to the huge, 
Doesn't anyone read anymore? 
green plastic cups which erupted from Moe's head like twin tumors. The 
That's a quiet pastime 
large padded head band squashed his ball cap and made him look like a pilot. 
whose time has past. 
"Nothing. I am trying to listen to nothing." 
It matters little 
"Some of the neighbors have been asking me ... " 
for in the absence of silence 
Moe turned and headed for the door, leaving Sal and his incessant 
there is little to do 
yammering on the steps. 
but hear. 
Roaming up and down the arctic aisles, Moe was uncomfortable and 
Choices: maddening and perplexing 
lost in the cavernous warehouse. The 60 foot ceiling dwarfed him, the 
disguised in indecision 
choices bewildered him. He eventually stopped on aisle 27, closed his 
amid the cacophonous din 
eyes and tried to achieve isolation in the maddening echoes. 
of babies and blue-light specials. 
"Can 1 help you?" a voice fairly screamed from somewhere behind Moe. 
Hope, silent blinding hope 
He spun, instinctively, nearly toppling over in the process. He blinked 
looms large on the horizon 
and sought to regain his balance, which he did only by grabbing the bony 
-the solution-hidden, unknown 
shoulder of the pimply-faced teen-aged boy in the polyester red vest. Moe 
exists simply because you believe it must 
readjusted his ear-muffs which had become dislodged during his pirouette. 
therefore you never stop 
"I said can I help you?" the boy screamed again. 
like hearing or the shark; 
"Shhhhhhhh!" Moe held his finger to his lips. The boy blushed with 
you cruise remaining close to the bottom 
shame, and leaned forward, conspiratorial. He waited to know Moe's 
avoiding, evading, eluding all contact 
secret. "I'm looking for quiet. Absolute quiet." 
until you perceive the possibility of purpose 
The boy looked perplexed, then realization dawned across his ruddy 
then you pounce 
face. "Aisle 85-1 think we have just what you need." 
hoping at last to prevail. 
Fascinated by the lulling blue patterns Moe luxuriated in the numbing 
Wanted: SWF 
near-silence for what seemed a very long time. He could still hear the 
Age: 35-50 
occasional car alarm or backfire, a siren now-and-then; these sounds crept 
Coy, placid, demure, even bookish 
through the glass. But with a sigh of great relief he had disassociated 
must cherish quiet and seek solitude. 
himself from much of the world. A faint thumping noise came from the door. 
for possible relationship 
The peep-hole-now covered-was of little use, so he opened the door. 
Sal. 
It was 
Mr. Corti, I've been knocking and calling you for five minutes! Some of 
involving long, deep, meaningful 
the neighbors were complaining about banging last night and 1-" Sal stopped 
knowing glances 
in mid sentence. His mouth hung open and he stared pastMoe into his 
apartment. 
and little conversation. 
Everywhere he looked, every surface except the floor and including 
Peaks and valleys 
the ceiling was covered with the repeated peak and valley pattern of blue, 
repeating patterns in blue 
egg-carton styrofoam. 
an attitudinal color scheme 
Sal stammered. "Mr. Corti, what have you done?" 
for the man who has nothing. 
"I have effectively reclaimed my privacy." 
A padded cell 
"You WHAT?" 
for a man and his thoughts. 
"I have sound-proofed my apartment." Moe stood in the doorway, 
Few intrudes, fewer escapes 
wearing his boxer shorts and the sort of athletic t-shirt so loved by his 
dE 
ll 
thoughts, utterances (which is which?) r 
superintendent, Sal. On his head were the green, OSHA approved ear-
bounce off nothing il 
protection tumors. For all intents he read Sal's lips, something for which he 
sad, dead echoes 
had developed a knack. 
of things unsaid. 
"Well, the owners, they'll never go for this. You can't do this ... " 
Conversation becomes circular 
"I have done it. I can't take all the noise, Sal. It never stops; I don't 
loopy, looping, and unending cycle 
sleep. I had to do something." 
of ever-decreasing concentric circles 
"But Mr. Corti, I'm telling you ... " 
the stone leaps from the water 
Moe closed the door on Sal, who began to pound and yell again. Moe 
the circuit is complete 
found that if he stepped back from the door several feet, with the ear-
a becomes 1 
protectors, that he was deaf to Sal's attacks. 
the synapse arcs. 
The patients in the Audiologists office shifted uncomfortably in their 
To achieve total objectivity 
chairs peering over their People magazines at the strange, quiet man in the 
requires great patience 
corner. The patients were all elderly, or children, and their mothers. These 
and terrible sacrifice; 
latter were careful not to permit their young ones to stare at the 
The quest for that which you truly 
disheveled, unshaven man in the plaid jacket and huge, green earmuffs 
desire 
stretched across the nylon novelty cap bearing gold silk-screened letters 
declaring: 
is unavoidable. 
I'm not deaf, 
I'm ignoring you 
Like gold, it's there all along 
"Ma, what's wrong with that man?" In her attempt to repair her little 
waiting to be discovered, 
monster, this mother had failed to impart any social grace onto this child. 
refined, and perfected. 
"Shh, honey, shh. It's not polite to talk about strangers," thinking she 
And like precious metals 
had never seen anyone stranger than this, and she would like to know what, 
it contains no value 
indeed, was wrong with him. 
other than that which you impart to it. 
Moe stared past them, at the serene impressionist canvas on the wall, 
Commitment, 
golds and blues, a forest he thought, and how it was perhaps the quietest 
terrible, irreversible, 
picture he had ever seen. He smiled vaguely. 
bridge-burning commitment 
The receptionist tapped Moe gently on the shoulder. He jumped. 
is the final ingredient 
"Mr. Corti, I said the doctor will see you now. 
in the refinement. 
In somewhat less-than-convincing ear-side manner the doctor said, 
The world can be divided into 
"What can I do for you today, Mr. Corti?" 
roughly two parts, 
Moe sat on the table, his legs dangling like a child's above the floor. 
no matter the subject of your division 
He removed the big OSHA muffs and said, "I think I've finally solved my 
Ultimately, there is 
Problem, Doctor." 
the divisor, and there is 
The doctor rummaged among his instruments on the stainless tray. "I 
quotient. 
thought we agreed there was no problem," he mumbled perhaps a little 
Those with a deficit 
irritated. 
seek to be whole 
"I took your advice, and I've been cleaning my ears regularly, you 
and those with a surplus 
know, flushing them with warm water." 
seek relief. 
"That's good, Mr. Corti. What can I do for you today?" 
a burden is 
"I have also been adding certain agents, and I managed to increase the 
a blessing 
power of the flushing mechanically, with my water-pik. It's ideal." 
to those who lack vision 
"Mr. Corti, that's dangerous. What agents?" 
but total consciousness 
"I think the problem has resolved itself nicely," Moe said, looking out 
and resolve 
the window. 
and rest 
The doctor the realized, with some alarm, the quality to Moe's voice. 
is achieved 
It was-out of focus. He moved toward Moe with his otoscope, looking down, 
when you step forward, 
he saw a white bottle in his jacket pocket. The doctor removed it, a bottle 
undaunted by the distance 
of Drano. The doctor tugged Moe's earlobe, activated the light, and peered 
inside. 
-forever is a long way down-
knowing not 
He recoiled, unprepared for the purple, ruddy landscape which greeted 
what's in the water 
him. Cracks ran the length of the canal, like Death Valley's floor and puss 
but leaping, mindful 
oozed here and there. At the end of the canal, past the second turn, where 
of the cruising sharks 
the tympanic membrane would rest supported by its red veins and vibrating 
into the inky, blue 
visibly in response to sound was a black crater, beyond which lied the naked 
void. 
inner ear 
"Mr. Corti, what have you done?" The doctor stood back, his hands 
shaking. 
Moe studied the doctor's lips carefully. "I have come, at last, to a quiet 
place." 
E 
p 
lE 
t1 
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n 
c 
l: 
t 
i 
l 


dead echoes

Kane, Clifford

Its Not Her At All

Hyers, Scott

Untitled 2

Cathrina Yim, Hyaekyong

OCTOPUS I 
N 
T 
E Light 
en light 
en light en ment 
A-H-
L 
Ah---! 
ENLIGHTENMENT!! 
Moon 
Mun 
Door 
Door to heaven 
"Please do not swear to the moon my love, 'cause it changes." 
"Julie." 
"Julie this is too hard to remember." 
I 
"But, this frighten me. God is in a word. God is in a word. I am in Word. I 
have tasted words, I have seen them. God is in Juliet. Word in Juliet." 
Mirror Mirror Mirror 
Mirrored and Mingled 
KyungHuh 
Emptied Mirror 
A your man comes to Kyung Huh and asks, 
"Master, I have SINNED. I AM VERY SORRY FOR IT. 
How can I be forgiven?" 
"Bring a hammer with a nail." 
"W-H-A-T?" 
"Here they are." 
"Nail on the pillar." 
(This is ridiculous but what can I do. I just do whatever you say.) 
Ta-ang Ta-ang Ta-ang ... 
"Now, take the nail out that you just hammered." 
"?????" 
"Did you take it out?" 
"Yes, Master." 
"Look at the scar! A sin is to a mark as a nail to a scar. 
You were forgiven, however, your sin would left the mark." 
66 
L 
G 
E 
N 
c 
E 
1 
ENLIGHTENMENT 
"Powerful, powerless, all-powerful ... and what am I between them? I am Hyae 
Kyong Kwon. And I am not. I am HER MI ONE ee. I let HER place her's inside 
mine." 
"Your mind seems to have a definite octopus quality." "What are you mean by that? 
"I mean Octopus Intelligence." "You mean Octopus is so intelligent that he would 
rearrange his garden as it was if someone moved the things around?" "Octopus also 
changes his color red when he is furious." 
Oct, OCt, OCT. I am Oct, I am Octopus. 
I have Octopus Intelligence. 
How dare you go on pretending I am just like other people? 
Leave me alone to see things in my own way. 
Leave me alone to enjoy things in my OWN way. 
Tree on tree on tree. TREE. I am the Tree of life. Tree. I am a tree planted by the 
rivers of Water. Tree. I am the Tree of Life. I am the TREE planted by the rivers of 
wisdom. Tree. 
I am the Tree of Life. I am the TREE planted by the rivers of grace. I am .. .I am ... 
Kwon Exactly. 
kwon:power in Korean 
mun:door in Korean 
Hyaekyong 
Cathrina 
Yim 
67 


Octopus Intelligence

Thomas, Angela

A
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206 ANGELA M. THOMAS
So
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207BRONZE LIMBS AND CONCRETE DREAMS
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.


Bronze Limbs and Concrete Dreams

Cardenal Moreno is a folk-horror story set in the Philippines during the Spanish colonial period. In this tale, an agent of the Guardia Civil investigates the disappearance of a friar in an isolated village, only to discover an ancient evil that hungers for his blood.

Bartolome, Joshua

Cardenal Moreno: Featured Illustration by Mina Citlali

Vilches, Ligia

Brick Road

Smith, Jessica

9
You Can’t Keep a Good Dog Down*
Jaine
What kills most dogs, Buddy ate. I’m not 
quite sure how it started, but my grandma had a 
habit of feeding him nearly everything that was 
banned on the veterinary’s dog safety list. Snickers, 
more chocolate, grapes, raisins, left-over bacon 
grease, coffee, sushi rolls with avocado, raw and 
cooked bones, Cheetos puffs, cakes, and possibly 
more items that I was never around to witness in 
horror.
Abstractly so, Buddy gained more food 
privilege as he grew into his old-man self. The 
reason my grandma took him to his check-up in 
April wasn’t for an average doctor’s visit, but due 
to Buddy’s refusal to eat and hold his pee. He peed 
everywhere in the house, outside on appliances and 
furniture, and on the tires of my Hyundai Elantra 
after I washed it. The vet reasoned that it was 
kidney or liver failure, which explains the week-left 
estimate. However, this diagnosis made Buddy raise 
his standards. 
He refused to eat dry kibble. My grandma 
would fill his bowl up, only to come back to it half-
full as the crows were picking off of it. Being an 
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innovative woman from a third-world country, she 
contrived an idea. It began with Vienna sausages. 
After two weeks or so, Buddy stopped eating again. 
Then the idea evolved to Vienna sausages and 
rice. Like clockwork, Buddy turned his nose up to 
the food. By mid-June, my grandma was feeding 
Buddy salmon on rice with sauce. By August, 
glazed rotisserie chicken with rice and shrimp. For 
comparison, I eat shrimp and spinach for dinner 
almost every night. “Even I don’t have the luxury 
to eat like Buddy,” I said to my grandma over the 
phone while reminiscing about his survival. “Well 
you’re not a dying dog, now are you?” She asked me 
in response.
*Excerpt


You Can’t Keep a Good Dog Down

Free, Quinnette

The Chosen One
Quinnette Free
Have you ever known someone who was happy 
all of the time? Not just happy but bowling over with 
joy, almost to the point of nausea?
I knew such a person, her name was Miss Nola. 
Miss Nola woke up with a smile on her face 
and never knew a day of misery. She was the type of 
force that when upset, atmospheric changes occurred 
because it was so rare for her to have a bad day. Both 
her happiness and her smile were contagious, but 
some people felt irritated by her joy. 
How could anyone be irritated by someone who 
makes you feel welcome and makes you feel like your 
best? What can I say? I guess some people just enjoy 
misery.
I got to know her when she was assigned to my 
classroom as a teacher’s aide. She was one hundred 
years old—if a day. I found out she never married and 
she had many careers around the world. She never 
spoke of family, so I secretly wondered what kept her 
grounded and so full of life. 
She invited me to tea. I wasn’t sure why I 
accepted, but I guess I was intrigued. 
Could her home hold the secret to her endless joy 
and happiness? 
What I found surprised even me, which is not 
easy to do.
I stepped through her gate onto a winding 
colorful mosaic walkway that looked like shards of 
china and glass from broken stemware and dishes that 
served in her home over the century because, like I 
said, she was a hundred —if a day. 
The garden was spectacular! Perfectly 
manicured with tulips of red, blue, and yellow, and 
roses in every color imaginable. Even the grass looked 
special with red and pink ground covers around the 
edges. The smell of honeysuckle wafted through the 
air with a hint of mint you could smell from the herb 
garden. In the background, there was a symphony of 
wind chimes, chiming unique songs.
Inside, the home was equally as beautiful. 
Colorful souvenirs that she picked up during her 
travels accented earth-toned walls. Big cushy furniture 
beckoned you to sit for a while to take in the house 
and relax. The smell of freshly baked cookies blended 
harmoniously with scents from the garden. 
As I looked at the pictures of her family, I 
found something very peculiar—a cat. A cat in itself 
is not peculiar, but what was, was the cat in the 
photos, who through the generations looked like the 
same cat. And I would have sworn dollars to donuts 
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that the paintings of the ladies with THE cat were 
painted BEFORE photography was invented in the 
early 1800s. This cat was very striking with unusual 
patterns of swirls, stripes, and circles.
What were the chances they could find such a cat 
in each generation?
Our conversation was easy and familiar—like 
we had known each other for a lifetime. She told me 
about the generations of family on the walls and their 
lives and accomplishments. She told me stories of the 
Salem Witch Trials and how being a single woman 
made you a target for speculation and suspicion. I 
told her about my five daughters and what it was 
like raising them during such a crazy time. As she 
recounted her early life, she gave a hint of her age, 
but I could not count that high, so I thought she was 
pulling my leg.
I heard scratching on the door and then, in 
walked THAT cat!!! The cat from the photo! When 
she saw me gasp and go ashen and faint, she quickly 
said, “Let me explain.” 
We sat and drank pot after pot of delicious mint 
tea as she told me the story of Bastet, the Egyptian 
cat Goddess. She told me that Bastet was born about 
ten thousand years ago and how he has been passed 
down by extraordinary women throughout the years. 
The chosen one is the perfect woman, who is 
loving and kind and has in her a great capacity for 
selfless love. After all, the great woman who cares for 
Bastet carries an even greater weight —for the fate of 
all women depends on the well-being of this amazing 
cat. She is a goddess tied to every living woman on 
Earth. She used to walk as we do. Later, her form 
changed to that of a cat—revered in ancient Egypt. 
If she dies, so does humanity. She brings joy and long 
life to those who love her, and when your time on 
Earth is coming to an end, you must find a suitable 
home for her care.
“That’s why I invited you to my home,” she 
admitted. 
She said the more she spoke to me the more she 
felt I was the perfect woman. She loved that I had 
five daughters, but ultimately it was Bastet who chose. 
Miss Nola spent half of her life looking for the 
perfect woman. Me and my girls welcomed Miss 
Nola into our family and we spent countless hours 
sharing our lives over endless pots of tea. She was a 
very warm and amazing woman who taught love and 
compassion. 
Today, my girls and I live in her home with 
Bastet. That was two hundred and fifty years ago.


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