magusMabus

Milton Academy presents

Magus MabusWinter 2010Volume One

wordsSavannah HeatCrippleStalkerScarecrowTh e Art of DrowningI Know Why We No Longer SpeakAbsent Without LeaveCambioFlimsyGorillas and Much MoreIn BudapestTh e Hanging TreeBuoysMulholland DriveAbsolutionWords Always Fail MeRust BeltRomulus and RemusArs PoeticaWarAcupuncture

magus ~ 1 ~ mabus

Rebecca Deng (I)Mallika Iyer (III)Jack Mitchell (I)E.J. Bennett (II)

Jaclyn Porfi lio (I)Jessica Blau (III)Sam Shleifer (I)

Charlotte Reed (I)Nicole Acheampong (III)

Tina Cho (II)Elias Dahger (I)

Catherine Parker (III)Tina Cho (II)

Charlotte Reed (I)Robin Chakrabarti (II)

Jaclyn Porfi lio (I)Sam Shleifer (I)

Charlie Malone (I)Jaclyn Porfi lio (I)Xiaoyin Qiao (I)

Charlotte Reed (I)

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wordsUntyingEve’s ChildrenCraniotomyHigh TidesSamskyetiFift y YearsTh e MetroI Don’t Have Nine Lives (Runaway)Dissatisfi edBangBlueberry Picking

magus ~ 2 ~ mabus

Jaclyn Porfi lio (I)Osaremen Okolo (III)

Hannah Grace (II)Rebecca Deng (I)

Robin Chakrabarti (II)Osaremen Okolo (III)

Tina Cho (II)Mallika Iyer (III)

Jay Sharma (II)Oliver Bok (III)Elias Dahger (I)

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magus ~ 3 ~ mabus

Stephanie Ng (II)Max Bennett (II)

Carson Gaff ney (II)Kate Couturier (II)

Erin Yang (II)Ashley Bae (II)

McKean Tompkins (II)Jay Sharma (II)Jay Sharma (II)Ashley Bae (II)Ariana Lee (I)

Nicole Acheampong (III)Genna deGroot (I)

Sage Warner (III)Arielle Ticho (II)Sage Warner (III)

Sara Pearce-Probst (III)Ndea Hallett (I)

Shauna Yuan (II)Michael Berke (I)

Danielle Cahoon (III)

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magus ~ 4 ~ mabus

Kirby Feagan (III)Shannon Peters (III)Isabella Frontado (I)

Rachel Black (I)Tina Cho (II)

Sophie Janeway (II)Andy Zhang (II)Ndea Hallett (I)

Stephanie Ng (II)Michaela Carey (II)

Ashley Bae (II)Arielle Ticho (II)

magus ~ 5 ~ mabus

Max Bennett

magus ~ 6 ~ mabus Carson Gaff ney

magus ~ 7 ~ mabus

Savannah HeatBy Rebecca Deng

we sit in mondays rain

the drops chase one anotherto the ground fl y through the porch screen soak my

eyelashes into clumps

georgia peaches fall and splitthe aroma embedded in his skin

magus ~ 8 ~ mabus

CrippleBy Mallika Iyer

Whenhe drags himself to us across petal-littered gravel,

hardened yellow bits of milk crumbling in his mustache andash-fl ecked, fl y-feasted skin tinged a watery saff ron

from that morning’s prayer powders skimming down the guttersee calls home;

while he looks at me with eyes squinted overfrom the fl ailing dust of passing cars, I look, too

at the city dirt collaged on his shirt, his withering fl esh cushioned by a puddle of sewage,

before I lower my eyes to save him anydignity and the coin drops in his palm.

as the auto horns bellow, wet laundry landing with

a thud when it slaps the cement by the river, he crawls his way down the lane, a man

on all soot-painted fours witha coin-clenching fi st and a pathway of

stately banyans twisting to the sky,beckoning him forward.

Th en I wonder: how many rupees, penniesin a collection box at the Y,

can put the skip in your step, the jolt in yourwalk?

magus ~ 9 ~ mabus

Kate Couturier

magus ~ 10 ~ mabus Erin Yang

magus ~ 11 ~ mabus

StalkerBy Jack Mitchell

Her slender legs shaped like the smoothwooden curve of a canoe paddle dappled

in sun.

Her breaths sounds the silent swoosh of an owl as she sleeps, sleeps, unsuspecting

of me.

Shivering, disturbed by dreams, she pulls sheet over body like the robe of a

goddess.

I rely on distance because I cannot bear the ugly scar, the wart, the wrinkle on the brow

the anti-Michelangelo, the scratch on her cool marble translucent skin—so pale.

Without warning she wakes and jerks,rising to shut Venetian shades and block the

mean sun.

magus ~ 12 ~ mabus

ScarecrowBy E.J. Bennett

Today, the woman traveled the town, past homes pinned shut,

lawnmowers stillperched in the yards.

Screens stapled over windowswhy-ing into the wind.

Th e woman drove to the grocery, testing the weight of a canin her hand. Hearing the

chigga-chigga-chiggaas it spooled to the back of the cart.

Th e woman surrendered to the carthen the street, then the house.

Hoisting paper bags upon her hips, she entered the kitchen where the man leaned into the table.

(Aft er her wedding, a bride fl ung a fi stful of rice over her left shoulder, seed scattering

in soil. Grandmother bowed collecting her luck grain by grain

to boil for the family.)

When the soup began to simmer,hiss behind microwave walls,

the woman cupped the can like a candle then watched the broth tip and spill into bowls.

magus ~ 13 ~ mabus

Ashley Bae

magus ~ 14 ~ mabus

McKean Tompkins

magus ~ 15 ~ mabus

Th e Art of DrowningBy Jaclyn Porfi lio

My cartoons swallow the heat,absorb a bit of the spills.

I can conjure a laugh, secure a smileswing from the White Star Line,

fi nd love at the bottom of the bottle.

He used to fall through my drawings,lie crumpled in the waste bin.

I wish I knew how to keep himinside my pen, removed from air,

his neck within my fi ngers. Or

I wish I knew how to draw him.

Th e ship slides in, I’m told,and then it’s fl icked to full.I wish that’s how it workedwith him, his outline black

on white hid beneath the pages.

magus ~ 16 ~ mabus

At some point he left me, the wreck,because women and children go fi rst.

I let the clink of the ice, the rush of the Johnny Walker Blue

ease me down, be my violins.

I wanted a ship in a bottle.I can break apart,

wait at Mistaken Point,sloshing in my drawings.Life looks good in boxes,

when I form it without thinking.

He twisted what I gave him,became a “mad man.”

I live for the lines of the ship,tucked within their glass,

the sail, the mast, the rush, the clink.

My son was enough of a thrill.

magus ~ 17 ~ mabus

Jay Sharma

magus ~ 18 ~ mabus

Jay Sharma

magus ~ 19 ~ mabus

I Remember Why We No Longer SpeakBy Jessica Blau

On a Th ursday at dinneryou told me I wasn’t quite good

enough yet.

I didn’t hate you then.

But were you to be chokingon a piece of my broccoli

I would pretend not to know the Heimlich

until the very last second.

magus ~ 20 ~ mabus

Ashley Bae

magus ~ 21 ~ mabus Ariana Lee

magus ~ 22 ~ mabus

Nicole Acheampong

magus ~ 23 ~ mabus

Absent Without LeaveBy Sam Shleifer

Before the blonde horseman rode into our village,Megan fi xed me scones

London sent him North,to fi nd expired uniforms

before business hours.

Monday at 9, I gutted her husky.Th e pancreas popped methane,

smelled wetter than lickingor trading a trench at Verdon

for a French jew’s tulip wagon.

Th e third month of toast,I burlapped the vestiges,sulfur rottings prickling

like nerve gas.

Ever valiant master trailing,I tied my sack to his mount.

Megan didn’t recognize the scent.

magus ~ 24 ~ mabus Genna deGroot

magus ~ 25 ~ mabus

CambioBy Charlotte Reed

Who would have imaginedthat the Mexican girl on Pico,

with the blue-black hair like crows’ feathers,and skin like cooked meat,

would be selling fl oreson a Sunday aft ernoon?

Who would have imaginedthat the Mexican girl on Pico,in the green and white dress,

with the eyes like bent spoons,would be lying facedown in the street

on a Sunday aft ernoon?

magus ~ 26 ~ mabus

FlimsyBy Nicole Acheampong

Shift ing with the wind,thin stem precariouslybalanced within dirt—

A fl ick to your stemwould break you the same as one

fi erce stamp to your head.

magus ~ 27 ~ mabus

Sage Warner

magus ~ 28 ~ mabus Arielle Ticho

magus ~ 29 ~ mabus

Gorillas and Much MoreBy Tina Cho

“Aft er this, are we going to the zoo?” she asks, her hand dipped in the pool as her brother cranks up the garden hose. “No, your friends are coming soon.” He points at the piñata. “You’re going to crack that thing open and all the candy’s going to fall out and your friends are going to scream their heads off .” “I don’t want them to scream at my party.” “It’s a scream of delight. You get to watch them drop to the ground and rake through the candy like they’re crazy.” Caddie takes her hand out of the water and walks toward the plastic table set with brownies, cream puff s, a pitcher of milk, and her favorite cake, red velvet with vanilla ruffl es. She looks down at her dress. “Do you have your new swimsuit on under that, Caddie?” he asks. She answers no. “Why not?” “I like my old one better.” “What?” He sounds harsher than he has intended. “Do you have any idea how long I had to walk around the mall by myself to fi nd that bikini? Do you think a junior in high school likes buying training bras? If it wasn’t for Mom, I would’ve tied that eye mask around you and shoved your face down the pool half an hour ago. Besides, I bet all your friends have passed that one-piece stage.” “Why don’t you go put it on?” She plops onto one of the chairs. “Caddie, why are you shitting on your own party?” “I don’t want a party. I don’t like my friends.” She pauses. “But don’t tell me that I should pre-tend to like them, because I know your scheme. You just want to leave me and go off with Anna.” “Anna moved to fucking Texas,” he says, squinting at the sun, “you know that. But I guess your only friend is that girl from church, the fat, metal-teethed virg—” Caddie picks up a cream puff and crushes it in her palm. Th e white cream oozes down her wrist. “You think this is not a big deal. You think this is funny. But I know your secret. You actually like taping ‘Caddie’s ninth birthday’ kind of crap. Mom asked you to order my cake but you couldn’t resist, you had to bake it.” She looks at the brownies, the piñata, her brother. “You like doing this, don’t you?” He searches for a good comeback but fi nds none. She walks toward him and washes her

magus ~ 30 ~ mabus

hand from the tip of the rubber hose. Th e cream puff from her wrist drops by his feet and clings to the grass. She reaches over and turns the tap until the water droops from the hose and shuts off . “Are you looking for an excuse? I have one. Just say you like watching my nine-year-old friends splash around in their bikinis. Admit it.” He loses it. He chucks the hose at the ground. He walks to the table and grabs the baseball bat from under one of the chairs. He runs to the piñata. He whacks the frilly animal. “You know what, Caddie? I hope you heard yourself just now because you talk just like me. And you know what I’m doing now? I’m resolving this situation, baby. I’m gonna beat the shit out of this fucking rainbow horse, and you’re going to cry and run into the house. But guess what, I’m go-ing back in there, too.” Th e horse’s cardboard throat cracks open. “You aren’t going anywhere. I can chase you down as long as we both live in that house. And oh wait, you want to go to the zoo? We are at the zoo. I am the fucking gorilla.” Caddie breaks into tears and runs into the house. Her brother fi nishes the horse. Its body rests on the freshly watered grass like a pile of skinned bunnies with metallic slivers of wrapped candy. He puts the baseball bat down, puts his hands on his waist, and looks around. In front of the fences a zebra by the tree rubs the side of its grimy face against the rough bark. He sighs and returns to the house.

magus ~ 31 ~ mabus Sage Warner

magus ~ 32 ~ mabus Sara Pearce-Probst

magus ~ 33 ~ mabus

In BudapestBy Elias Dahger

Hungary: Toxic red sludge has reached the Danube-Headline for an Associated Press article by Pablo Garondi, October 7th, 2010

For the one who knows this is hers.

In Budapest, that Riverruns with the bloodof lovers and haters,

of war-wagers and the desperate

lights, castles, cathedrals,and the thorny shadows of long-abandoned barracks.

Th ese watery phantom-choirsscintillate there,

in grotesque symphony

Once, we anointed her undulating skinwith foaming champagne

and sweet kisses and the fi erce sweat,

the wax of those undying candlesshimmering like stars

among the crumbling statues

magus ~ 34 ~ mabus

Th ey stood sentinelon the hills

watching us and yearningyearning for death,

for fl esh

But now, my priestess, my champagne-pourer,

my blushing serpent,your scales have hardened.

even statues weep wax for you,you unfeeling, you stony—

from your cold skin tears reboundthey fl ow acidic, stainingour once pure ablution

Oh champagne! Oh kisses!—my double Eucharist:

you smolder in those icy waters, you burn up and freeze in

deathly prison

And gypsy light-prisms shatterunder the thick weight

of medieval blood

magus ~ 35 ~ mabus

Ndea Hallett

magus ~ 36 ~ mabus Shauna Yuan

magus ~ 37 ~ mabus

Michael Berke

magus ~ 38 ~ mabus

Th e Hanging TreeBy Catherine Parker

We hung a great wood swingfrom ancient oak outside

Too small, you put me on your lapto take me for a ride

You taught me as I grewto swing all by myself

’til I could fl y up down up downup down without your help

Th en you started sleeping latenever smiled or played

told me everything was greatnot to be afraid

One day I went to swingbut you had beat me there

just swinging from that self-same oakneck broke beyond repair

I tried to close my eyesbut bloated face remained

somehow it came as no surpriseto fi nd I’d gone insane

magus ~ 39 ~ mabus

Danielle Cahoon

magus ~ 40 ~ mabus

BuoysBy Tina Cho

Aaron was watching his father sleep when a bird swept in from the window. His father turned in his bed, but the sound of the sheets was muffl ed by the twitching of the black feathers as the crea-ture settled onto the water pipe. Aaron was observing the neck of the bird turn when Mark mut-tered, “You are a little late.” Aaron apologized. “Or early now, I guess. Th e sun woke me up,” Mark said. He motioned his son to prop up the bed. Aaron arched his body over the old man and turned the handle counterclockwise until the bed sat up at a right angle. “Was there an emergency?” “Sort of.” A woman had fallen into a lake. Mark smiled. “Well, you can tell me all about it while I take my bath.” Aaron closed the window and fl icked on the television. He went to the bathroom, squat by the tap while his hand cut through the column of hot water. From the sound of the water Aaron thought he heard his father hum to the national anthem. “Look,” Mark said, pointing at the screen. Aaron returned to his father’s bed. “It’s the lake. Th at was years ago, wasn’t it? When we drove south for four hours for some lame water because your mother got ideas in her head from some sailing magazine?” “Th e boat was fun.” “We shouldn’t have let you drive, you almost fl ipped us over. But you and your sister had a hard time getting off in the end, didn’t you?” Aaron answered yes. “And your mother—where was she?” “She was sitting next to you.” “No, she was by the bank. I remember she was standing on that grass, waving her arms like crazy. It was so windy, she was scared.” He paused. “When did she say that she’d visit?” “Tomorrow,” Aaron answered. Mark turned back to the television. Th e weight seemed to be leaving his body as his face dissolved into a blank stare. Aaron looked up to check on the bird. Th e bat sat crumbled in the corner of the ceiling, fl inching. “What are you looking at?” Mark asked. Mark never liked birds, detested their shrieks and red-eyed glares. Aaron hated being the only one to remember Mark explode then leak, so Aaron kept the bird to himself. Instead, he swiveled his father’s legs around like a niece in a sundress and carried thehairless body to the bathroom. Both men looked away as Aaron unbuttoned and slid the garment

magus ~ 41 ~ mabus

down his father’s back. Leg by leg he pulled down the sweat-stained bottoms. Neither of them spoke. Holding his breath, Aaron stood still with Mark’s arms around his shoulders as Mark dipped his knees into the water. For a moment, Aaron thought they were dancing. “Look at me, I’m a peeled potato,” Mark chuckled, looking at his bare torso. “I thought it was the disease, but I realized that there is no problem. It’s the age.” “Th ere really is no problem.” Aaron answered quietly. “Really? Ha, look at your hairline. I thought it was the recession, but you’re aging, too, just like me.” Aaron watched Mark’s narrow feet swell in the water. “I remember you as a baby. Right aft er you were born, though, I was pretty sure you weren’t my child. Your mother and I both had this thick, black horsetail hair, and we thought you’d come out looking like Elvis.” He paused. “You know, that day your mother and I fought so much I wished her dead. But we never fought, never again. I loved her too much. Even when Cecilia came out with hair like yours, I said nothing.” He closed his eyes and rubbed the balls of his hands down his cheeks, sunken and bruised as his dented buttocks. “We should go back to the lake sometime.” “When the water’s not too cold.” “We can get that small boat again. Just you, me, your mother, and your sister. Soon it’ll be warm enough so you can teach your mother how to swim.” “Just you, me, and Cecilia.” “I can steer the boat this time. I would let you, but remember the last time we went there, when your mother was on the bank waving her arms like crazy, and you couldn’t stop—” “You, me, and Cecilia is enough.” Aaron rested his head on the wall. “Aaron,” Mark smiled, “it’s not embarrassing that you’re bad at driving.” Aaron wrapped his hands around his face like a cornhusk. “Mom can’t be there.” “I mean, look at you. You’re going to be a doctor. Th at’s enough.” “I never drove that boat. You didn’t let me.” “Why don’t you meet some of Cecilia’s friends?” “You never let me drive. It was an accident, Dad. Mom didn’t know how to swim.” Silence hit the water. Mark slowly lift ed his chin, letting his ears sink and his toes slit open the surface. His fi ngers let go of the tub and he swelled along the green waves like a buoy. Aaron left the bathroom and lied down on the crinkled sheets. He found the bird hunched over on the water pipe. Aaron never liked birds, either. On the day when the wind knocked the ribcage out of his father’s boat and his mother sank like an oilcloth, a fi eld of blackbirds had scattered into

magus ~ 42 ~ mabus

the sky like his mother’s hair when her body was returned home. Th e creature’s eyes met Aaron’s, and the bird stretched, unfolding its limbs as if it had woken up from a dream. Aaron watched as the bird tiptoed along the concrete pipe and plopped onto the windowsill. He looked at his watch. It was time, and like the spark of a television fl icked on, Aaron sensed Mark’s eyelids reopen. “Aaron, is that you?” asked Mark. Aaron answered yes. “What time is it?” He told his father the time. “You’re late. An emergency?” “Yes. An old man drowned,” Aaron said, as he watched the bird spring from its feet and fl y out the window.

magus ~ 43 ~ mabus Kirby Feagan

magus ~ 44 ~ mabus

Shannon Peters

magus ~ 45 ~ mabus

Mulholland DriveBy Charlotte Reed

“Th ere it is, take it.”—William Mulholland

Marilyn Monroe is twenty miles long,lying naked on her side.

She is the desert, golden earthmelting into the Pacifi c.

Her anklebones, stacked,are cut by the river,

and those silvery shinsbecome thighs, sliding west

with sunsets till murky dawns.You drive up her hipbone, the 101,

and boulevards beloware strings of stolen jewels.

Along her waistline, you’ll fi nd Godand Warren Beatty—

her breasts read Hollywood,and underneath is the reservoir,

its sharkskin surface and barbed wire fencesgleaming in the glare of a dusty sun.

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At the nape of her neck, the hillsides burn black,

and, in the distance, the glint of downtown

is like knives sticking straightup from dirt.

Her platinum locks are the sea,her ivory face regal ruins,

her lips the slow curve that meets the bluff s:she is rotting into the swell,

the swell of angels.

magus ~ 47 ~ mabus Isabella Frontado

magus ~ 48 ~ mabus

AbsolutionBy Robin Chakrabarti

Lost in the current,gushing

as the breath of a ghost.I’m a swallowing fl ower,

sucking in the specks of black pollen.Th is road has lost us.

Emotions have washed over the memories written in the sand.

I will chase the words; I will follow the sounds;though it won’t be found.

magus ~ 49 ~ mabus Rachel Black

magus ~ 50 ~ mabus

Words Always Fail MeBy Jaclyn Porfi lio

“It’s the words that are supposed to do the dancing,”he once told me.

And I pictured my rhythmic gymnaststangling themselves in ribbon as I talked,planting batons in all the wrong places.

“You’re not the one who should be doing the work.”And I saw my little soldiers, holding tails and marching,

caught in a dynamic form of attention.His army was stronger.

Th ey had cannons in their back pocketsand a battle cry I couldn’t pin down.

“No one needs to know you if they know your words.”And I watched our executives crowd a conference room,

point at charts they didn’t create,chuckle at jokes no one understood,

and refuse handshakes I willed them to embrace.“Just write. Give yourself to the language.”

And I witnessed his security guardsknock mine into the hydrangeas,

back him out of our house, my house,down to the street and the waiting car,

aft er dripping black ink on my doorstep.

magus ~ 51 ~ mabus

Tina Cho

magus ~ 52 ~ mabus

Rust BeltBy Sam Shleifer

Grumbling of chest painhe sits at six thirty four,

pretending to pray.

Th ree bites deep“the sweetest girl in Cleveland,”

Grandpa used to whisper,

sips something amberand kisses the shoulder

of the Tinkerbelle costume

she pleaded to wearat dinner,

eyes shining back like wet stones

that see mom crumpleArbys’ wax paper, greasy

white like pigeon shit.

magus ~ 53 ~ mabus

Romulus and RemusBy Charlie Malone

Filthy with river water and vernix,brothers bobbed away from a trembling man

of twenty-eight, for the fi rst time in his lifeignoring orders, unable to send those

plump round faces into the brown waterto meet Hades before their skin ever felt the sun.

Th eir mother, a doe-eyed virgin spoiledand left underground to suff ocate, would never

know they had survived, and when she diedshe thought of seeing them again, and so it was

willingly that she left that room where her fi ngernailswere still stuck in the walls.

But the boys lived.Naked and squalling, they washed onto

a faraway shore where they lay, helpless and gasping,dying as surely as if they’d needed the water

to breathe. A childless mother of a dirtydog untouched by the gods’ unending rape

of mankind scooped them from the river bank,licking nature’s grime from their half-god

bodies, and they grew with her, never knowingthere were other pale and hairless wolves

magus ~ 54 ~ mabus

just beyond the trees, never thinking themselvesthe children of heroes or gods. Th ey taught

each other to talk, but never asked why their mother never could.

Th e boys lived.Th ey tumbled around the forest as their limbsgrew and in time they found they would prefer

to walk upright, their backs straight and their jawsset. Th ey played human war and never knew the diff erence.

As all children do, they left their mother one day.Th ey found a human city and the nameless, matted

she-wolf died above ground. She had no conceptof an aft erlife, only a warm beam of unseasonable

sun that buoyed her away from the only earthshe’d ever known. Her children, twice motherless,became shepherds, discovered themselves heirs,royalty, and learned how human men play war.

When he awoke to fi nd his brother missing,taken into the hands of rival shepherds

he should never have been so cocky with,the slimmer and the scrawnier tore off into the dawn,

shouting for his taller, handsomer brother,and when his head had stopped poundinghe gathered every sympathetic man he saw

and charged to Amulius. He could never remember

magus ~ 55 ~ mabus

clearly how he came to free his brother,but Romulus remembered Remus’s roar

of delighted shock, remembered their raggedgrip on the other’s shoulders as they refused

their grandfather’s crown and put an endto the war games. Remus had lived.

A city was to be built.Each brother selected a hill and waited,

unaware their gods were to make chess piecesof them yet again, and when Romulus counted

double the vultures sent to circle Remus’s hilltop,something broke between the brothers.

Th ey bickered, they brawled, and Romulus set to building his city, to appease the gods and leavebehind the tense hours on the hilltops. Th e wolf

in Remus came out then, and he snarled at his brother,growled at the workers, destroyed meaninglessly,

and when his twin asked why they could notmake a city together, Remus snapped his jawas if to bite, and the smaller and skinnier man

backed away. Th at night, Remus leapt over his brother’swall, and Romulus forgot all but his city,

and killed the traitor with whom he’d shared anembryo, a womb, a river, a wolf, a fl ock, a war.

magus ~ 56 ~ mabus

Rome’s history had begun in blood,Romulus on his knees, his brother’s heavy head

in his hands, trying to understand, to undo, all that his new city, his supreme tribute to the gods

and to human glory, had seen. Rome had its fi rstfuneral, and Remus was buried with honor,

his brother’s back turned,while eighteen vultures—twelve for Romulus,

six for Remus—watched from above,too hungry and pure to comprehend how the

human boys lived.

magus ~ 57 ~ mabus Sophie Janeway

magus ~ 58 ~ mabus

Ars PoeticaBy Jaclyn Porfi lio

I have a silver carp in my back pocket,carried close from China,

begging for a chance to craft its mark.I have Momma giving the same slapto the man with a name in the stars.I have alliteration soft ening the blow

of the fi sh-shaped bruisesand the parodied Volans.

I have my potential predators,the boat and the darkness,the deep and the needle.

I have the truththat top-feeding fi sh

are the only ones who smile.I’m asking for your breath.

magus ~ 59 ~ mabus

WarBy Xiaoyin Qiao

red vistablue expanse

faces upward gazed and dazed

tangerine dirtinvades distant stretches

stains steel spirits

snapshot of a rousing sun under midnight ascending shades to royal to cyan

mint paste chances pastel mistfades lighter from midway up

dark dust and bittersweet salmonmeeting for the very fi rst time

cantaloupewhiff s of muskof rust and dry

hollows of terrainrise toward the white of day

the frontier pushes high dunes lowand buff ers parched lungs below

with breaths of breadths of air abovered and blue fall in love

magus ~ 60 ~ mabus

Andy Zhang

magus ~ 61 ~ mabus

AcupunctureBy Charlotte Reed

You told me about herbs.Ones made from honey, goji and ginseng,

bitter ones, ones that stuckto the back of your throat even

aft er a glass of water.

I used to touchyour splintery, calloused hands

with the bumps on the tips of your fi ngersfrom years of pressing too hardon needles and guitar strings.

We hid under the blankets of your bed, in the guest bedroom downstairs

that you never shared with her. Underneath sheets, you held me

like a child, shadows in the half-lightcatching gold in your green eyes,

and your hands grasped my thin wrists, whole:I was the child.

magus ~ 62 ~ mabus

You told me stories.We pretended, and you were the captain

of submarines in your bed.We saw fi sh in the contours

and colors of the quilt we proppedup over our heads—drift ing,

sapphires and rubiesin our dark sea. Th ere,

the black played with your jaw,and your beard was onlyshadows. I knew you’dwarn me about sharks

in the distance.

Inside your offi ce on Sunsetthat smelled like gingerand hardwood fl oors,

there was the mannequinin the window, painted white

with the blood-blueand red veins stretched, spreading nerves,

like city streets, subway maps.With your fi nger,

you traced the onesthat lead to the heart.

magus ~ 63 ~ mabus

Th en, I was too afraidto try the needles. I imagined

safety pins, broken glass, thumbtacks.You shook your head and frowned.

Th ey’re too thin to hurt you, you said. Th ey don’t go deep enough.

I wondered how a prick near the right nerve

could give a man the strengthto walk again. Or could suck

the cancer out of someone’s grandpa.Or could stir the belly

of a tired woman, just enoughfor a baby to grow.

I wondered how,aft er years of your telling me

it would never happen,it would never come to divorce,

the words still came, sinking out of her mouth,landing on the fl oor.I watched you bite

your cheeks.

magus ~ 64 ~ mabus

And, that day,the moving truck still came,

fi lled with your guitars—Gibsons she never made

room for, your rugs, your quilt,your journals and Chinese Medicine books,

and your fragile, too-thin needlesthat never pricked

deep enough.

magus ~ 65 ~ mabus

UntyingBy Jaclyn Porfi lio

He hugs me taut,wraps my pinky fi nger

to swear he’ll let me crumbleone misstep at a time

into the crown molding.He kisses me pale,

frays my sleeveto promise he’ll keep me whole

each day he braids meinto the threads.

He lets the oil drip into the basinhe’ll never fi ll with wateror stain. He sees the glass

ripple my facefrom across the porch.

He cries himselfto war. I can

hum goodbye,

magus ~ 66 ~ mabus

wiggle my fi nger away,swivel out my hair,

twist wateruntil it stacks in my palm.

I can stop time.I can die.

He can live.

magus ~ 67 ~ mabus Ndea Hallett

magus ~ 68 ~ mabus

Eve’s ChildrenBy Osaremen Okolo

Still, we are watched,from Occident to Orient,

in feudal villages and bustling metropolises. A mirage from inside out,

opaque has never been so clear.An Earth built on soft curves

and delicate, intricate boundaries,forgets its strength and soul.

World waiting for the glass ceiling to crack—we’re already shattered.

See the shards sparkle mercilessly in the feminine sun.

magus ~ 69 ~ mabus Stephanie Ng

magus ~ 70 ~ mabus

CraniotomyBy Hannah Grace

I see them—blue caps like sterility,needles wide as her pupils—holding razors

that grind their teeth. Wisps of blonde,barely gravitational, kiss tile fl oor

and I try to remember whereI was when she was born, where

else there was to be before a daughter.Th ick black lines draw in marker on her headswelling with blood and car exhaust—I feelmy hands clenched over the steering wheel,

invisible fi shhooks tugging my eyelids. Th ey push her past me and I imagine

scalpels and ten blades; they say they’ll relieve the pressure building

deep in her brain. Fix her and maybepart of me with titanium, or something

else I won’t be able to see. I try to rememberwhat they said, but her anesthesia

numbs my mind as lights overheadexpose brain the color of newborn skin.

magus ~ 71 ~ mabus

High TidesBy Rebecca Deng

two deep seasrest in the belly of the basin

divided by a noble mountain

soft soil to dig toes inon a well sculpted plain

he oft en times bringsinclement weather

upon us

the tides risemy tears roll

my salty lipsdry quick and crackin the summer sun

magus ~ 72 ~ mabus

SamskyetiBy Robin Chakrabarti

I’m out in the rain,drowning in the sky’s weight—

awake in a relapseand afraid of self-correction.

She has me locked in the twirl of her hair.Her fi ngers,

gliding through brownsoaked rays of light,arrest me.

In the dark, I have nothing left to dobut swim in memories of her psychedelic eyes.

magus ~ 73 ~ mabus

Fift y YearsBy Osaremen Okolo

Okada motorbikes rumble down the path of red to black,carrying lives, minds salivating for change.

Aft er arrival, out of fuel:Restock and fi nally return? Or crash a while, and burn?

Th e December sun fi ercely burning brown to black.“Exotic, tropical locale” is just another Harmattan.

Red, red, litters the forgotten roads,a haze of imperturbable dust enveloping, leaving its memory.

Pure, white cotton stained by this dirtying, burnt orange,the blemish scrubbed away by knuckled fi sts over tired palms

until the garment fl ies against wavering, warping hemp – cleaned and baking. Folktales heard under a sweet, warm moon,

enrapturing elders twisting tales from their prime;the marvels of a night lit by candlelight.

magus ~ 74 ~ mabus

Turn aroundto paved, tarred glory

glistening under the same December sun, shadowed by a façade of manmade luster.

Cheating men in power proudly pound their lizarded loafers,snatching Naira from the machete-wielding sugar cane farmer for

the second wife at home, waiting to whiten her skin.Blood oil stains all this modernity, seeping,

covering lies, deceit, all incapabilityin thick, black, grime.

Half century. Perhaps it’s time to return, reconsider.

Or maybe,we’ll wait for the next tomorrow.

Dare to leave the old for new?

magus ~ 75 ~ mabus

Th e MetroBy Tina Cho

Boy rips girl.White light combs through

the gnarled roots of her heartas her leather face irons

fl at like the patches of miceat the blackened heels of the train,

sheets and sheets of red paperstrewn over her blessed, hard skull.

magus ~ 76 ~ mabus

Michaela Carey

magus ~ 77 ~ mabus

Ashley Bae

I Don’t Have Nine Lives (Runaway)By Mallika Iyer

One night I dreamt the world, whole worldwas at my window. It smelt like liberation;

the puddles called to me like a teasing playmate,the leaves lift ed me to the sky and sang that

they’d never know I was gone.

Th e moon illuminated my mud-streaked face,Soft fi elds of dandelions awaited my fall.

the air was cold, the night was young the brook and trees and bats above all knew

I was not another rich child smile pinned to a billboard,

waiting to be dragged home.

Tonight, I am the dream, a hazy female fi guredisappearing behind buildings for an extra dollar,

illuminated by the gaslights, immortalized by strangers;still thinking up excuses for my unfi nished homework

and wet earth in my hair,

exhaling snakes of smoke and the breath of each bait,I am a princess.

magus ~ 78 ~ mabus

Dissatisfi edBy Jay Sharma

Th e ground, yeah it goes deep. Layers and layers on top of me. It’s hard to remember, to know,

we’re in the middle of it all.

If everything’s so simple sidedwhy’s my mind so mesmerized?Went to look out my window,

saw nothing but colorful snow.

In dead-dirt summer heatnothing sweeps me off my feet.

It’s quite far from a dream. My skin’s not blue and my eyes aren’t green.

Where’s all that goddamn land?I used to have it in my hand.

But land’s nonexistent ’cause they think it has no business

hangin’ around.

magus ~ 79 ~ mabus

magus ~ 80 ~ mabus

BangBy Oliver Bok

spaghetti western valuesraid my refugee mind

looking for scalps.living on the Lamb, the fat of farmers

high caliber lifestyletoddlers get pistol whipped

draw trumps law.careening covered wagon trains

others jump, I shootaxle unhinged

spokes stab rubbernecksbrown cloud caboose.

dust this grimy never settlesgot into the yellowed iris of my eye

made me blind. “yo dude what’s good”

Bang.i won my duel at high noon

no joke fl ag, no shadows just acrid smell

and the friendly metallic click of a revolution.

magus ~ 81 ~ mabus Arielle Ticho

magus ~ 82 ~ mabus

Blueberry PickingBy Elias Dahger

Th e August heat oppress’d us into sloth,We two, the only pickers in the grove

of countless butterfl ies, those greater mothswho fl utter in an out of fruity love

A single bramble lent us shade to resther leafy caverns pregnant with her fruitI laid my head upon your rip’ning breast,your skin far sweeter than our berry-loot

But twice or thrice a sour pod I taste’Tis yet too young, that fruit, too immature

’tis as a moth, whose spring is still incased—not yet a butterfl y of deep tincture

From me you fl y, to foreign fl ow’rs you leavebut I, in groves await you, slender Eve

boardeditor-in-chief

Isabella Frontado

art editorCaroline Owens

literary editorsCharlotte Reed & Jaclyn Porfi lio

copy editorCharlie Malone

layout editorMariko Azis

staffart staff

Ashley BaeMichaela CareyCarson Gaffney

Jasmine GaleHannah MasonStephanie Ng

Alexandra StratoulyErin Yang

Shauna YuanCaleb Warren

Skyler Williams

literary staffElizabeth BennettNicolette Gendron

Hannah GraceMallika Iyer

Vincent KennedyElisabeth Makishima

Charlotte MaloneChloe MichaelidisCharles PerkinsSidartha RajuNicole Rufus

Madeline Thayer

associate editorsVincent Kennedy & Stephanie Ng

milton academywinter 2010volume one