Issue #20 (2011) PDF - myweb - Long Island University

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again. Someone thinking straight about designing the angles of windows to be, to be looking out onto Route 250, to be wearing a jacket in a heat wave, the last piece of land sold. Hand it over, admit that you can‘t catch a storm cloud with a fishing net, everything more imminent than before. Jump from hay bale to hay bale. Hum a tune. Tip a can. Secret cigarettes. Wait for John‘s name to show up in the newspaper, for developers to ask for an apology. Come home. Steal beer from the fridge and listen for the absence. 58
Giuseppe Infante DINNER FOR TWO Once she stepped out of Mariano‘s corner bodega, the aroma raging from her apartment wafted onto the busy streets of 4 th Avenue. Vehicles of different color and design passed by the Sunday afternoon streets, containing some folks eager to return to their homes before the football game‘s coin toss, and some going out to George‘s World Famous for a late lunch after the twelve o‘clock services. After mass she used to stop at the bakery for her favorite desserts, seven layer cookies or ―wainbow cookies‖ as she had called them as a child. She could tell it was her sauce from the strong garlic and basil fusion tickling her olfactory receptors. Angelica entered her building and the smell of the sauce became stronger as she climbed the dilapidated, off-brown steps with the gold-plated edges that tried to give the shabby staircase a furnished look. Her railroad apartment was on the third floor above Mariano‘s. When arriving at the top of the stairs, she stood for a moment, gazing at the festive holiday wreath covered in candy canes, red bows and miniature silver gift boxes on her apartment door. She then felt the life in her chest increase a few heavy beats. Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! This was nothing unordinary for the overweight woman of 72 years, 47 of which she smoked Camel unfiltered. The thumps occurred every time she climbed a staircase—in her building, at the R train stop on 36 th Street, Sundays at St. Mary‘s. Her once curvaceous body was now occupied by a round potbelly acquired from uncountable bottles of Budweiser she had guzzled over the past six years while sulking in her widow‘s depression. As she was catching her breath before entering the apartment, her dark eyes met her darker eyes in the foyer mirror opposing the wreath of primarily green and red. She noticed her salt and pepper perm was thinning after each visit to the beauty parlor. Her gut was growing, this she was sure of as she needed new shirts every few months lately—though really it was because her garments would gather food and beer stains. She removed the two forty-ounce Budweiser bottles from the black plastic bag; she put one in the freezer and one in the fridge. Angelica turned towards the vintage O‘Keefe & Merritt stove supporting the sauce pot that rested over the medium orange, though blue at the root gas flame. She used the wooden spoon in her apron to turn the tomato sauce. With every turn she grazed the walls of the stainless steel pot. Tink! Tink! Tink! Tink! Meatballs of veal/pork/beef mix and fennel-less sweet sausage floated in the tomato sauce. She had a special recipe she had learned from her grandmother as a child: Chop and mince basil and garlic, then let them simmer in olive oil for twenty minutes before using the mixture in the sauce. Giraud always claimed never to have tasted a tomato sauce quite like Angelica‘s. She removed the beer from the freezer and poured some into a goblet she loved. The goblet was the glass Giraud had used to drink his beer from. ―Never drink from the bottle,‖ he would always tell her. From the cupboard she grabbed a pot slightly smaller than the one she used for the sauce. Angelica filled it with water, set it on the stove and turned the flame on high. Linguine was her choice of pasta for today. She began to set the table, placing out two napkins, two forks, two knives, two wine glasses with ice water, the bread basket and the butter case. She cooked for two every night. She ate for two every night. She missed him. 59
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downtown brooklyn a journal of writ
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he can see his smiling reflection i
Page 7 and 8: Magdalena slithers her key into her
Page 9 and 10: to watch vigilantly over sterile fi
Page 11 and 12: Should I reach down and cup the pac
Page 13 and 14: Alicia Berbenick STABLES I had to k
Page 15 and 16: Mr. Tate beat her after that. He be
Page 17 and 18: Wayne Berninger GUESS WHO I CUT IN
Page 19 and 20: John Casquarelli NATURAL MOTION OF
Page 21 and 22: I came searching for rain hoping to
Page 23 and 24: Alane Celeste THE HAVE-NOTS Flies h
Page 25 and 26: Nik Conklin HOLLYWOOD HILLS Hilltop
Page 27 and 28: Sing me that song of Purple mountai
Page 29 and 30: THINGS I LOVE I love fine porcelain
Page 31 and 32: Wendy Eng FOUND POEM: BEAUTY IS ART
Page 33 and 34: ―I think I‘ll check out the buf
Page 35 and 36: ―No.‖ I search for something th
Page 37 and 38: warm for this heavy cover and I‘m
Page 39 and 40: theme song to ‗The Stripper‘. I
Page 41 and 42: I’m telling you, you gotta rememb
Page 43 and 44: MAKE ME TO HEAR "Make me to hear jo
Page 45 and 46: Aimee Herman DEGREE OF DARK SPACE F
Page 47 and 48: Katherine Hogan BY THE LAKE —with
Page 49 and 50: SAPPHO TO THE MAIDENS What did Sapp
Page 51 and 52: He shook his perfect pointer and ca
Page 53 and 54: AND LATER I SPEAK in a minute I clo
Page 55 and 56: ARRANGEMENTS you can start anywhere
Page 57: FIELD RECORDINGS No pronunciation o
Page 61 and 62: ―You got a woman‖ he said looki
Page 63 and 64: Belynda Jones RED THRONES Amidst it
Page 65 and 66: Jamey Jones AVENUE VISION 1 At prec
Page 67 and 68: LIKE THIS —for Steve Bailey it‘
Page 69 and 70: Kate FOUR POEMS These poems appear
Page 71 and 72: Anna Lindwasser BIRTHDAY sometimes
Page 73 and 74: maybe you could learn to love my ra
Page 75 and 76: even if you message me five minutes
Page 77 and 78: i don't know what living is, but i
Page 79 and 80: Elspeth Woodcock Macdonald IN CLASS
Page 81 and 82: PACKAGE Do you feel me calling you
Page 83 and 84: Uche Nduka HALF PAST ZERO no hard f
Page 85 and 86: Steve Newton DRIVING WITH ABSENT FR
Page 87 and 88: Jon L. Peacock Ferry to the Mainlan
Page 89 and 90: ―I‘m fucking going to bed,‖ r
Page 91 and 92: Nothing can be turned down, or sile
Page 93 and 94: GEESE NO MORE They killed the geese
Page 95 and 96: Beatriz Alzate Rodriguez A STORY OF
Page 97 and 98: Thankfully, the house we stayed in
Page 99 and 100: We were all in the water now. I was
Page 101 and 102: steady with both her hands and her
Page 103 and 104: Lisa Rogal SO MANY THINGS ―You ev
Page 105 and 106: ehind his back like a school teache
Page 107 and 108: Kat: Maybe you should go 2 ER Me: I
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Then she hears the crash: a sound l
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developmentally delayed. The neighb
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P. J. Salber COIN FOR CS You be you
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Micah Savaglio A VACATION WITHOUT S
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Cancer. FRITZ Pause. FRITZ sets the
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Well, level with me. I don‘t unde
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THE PARENTS OF AABB1 The parents of
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hair on a g- string sing 123
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unmentionable slink ambles able (sa
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serious cloth loath to fold to how
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Jean Verthein CONTINUE Eve disappea
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Sarah Wallen OPOSSOMOON —an excer
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or spears. Everywhere there are roo
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PESTILENCE On a swing at the park.
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And somewhere a building is going u
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According to the weather lady The c
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You are slipping away In the silenc
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io notes Ana Almurani is an alumna
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directed the world premiere of The
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