At the Diner on the Corner

Me?
I own this diner,
quick service, good food, hospitality!

Yeah, all right,
it's a grease-spoon,
but we can fry you the best
hamburger around and my
cook can ease your troubles
faster than a New York shrink--
and over a hot cup of coffee!

What? Oh sure
it's empty now,
but during the day
there's usually thirty or
forty people in here--eating,
socializing, smoking,
and having a good time.

Who?
That's Greasy Pete.
Forget about him,
he's not important.

Nah,
I don't come here often.
I show up late at night,
when I can think
and smoke a
cigarette in peace.
We've got a huge bay window...
If you drive by you can see me,

Oh, that's right,
only cabbies drive
at four in the morning.

Well, I'm not alone.
There's a woman
here with me.
A little hard on looks
but she seems pretty nice.

Me, ask her out?

Nah,
who are you kidding? Look at me.
Swell dame like her--
probably go home with
any guy she wants.

Guys like me ain't
meant to have romance.

Nope,
I'm just going to sit here
and ponder my coffee grounds.
Another cup of java
and I'll be on my way.

I got Raymond Chandler,
Dashiell Hammett, and
my radio at home
to keep me company.

You're right,
I'll tell Greasy Pete to lose the hat.
It does make him look stupid.

--James Enelow

Fall Morning

Hickory nuts drop, bounce and roll down the roof.
The dog barks, the hum of early morning traffic sounds
in the distance, and the sun shows promise through the fog.

I nestle closer in familiar arms seeking his warmth,
wanting to stay like this forever; frozen safely in time.

A car door slams, the radio plays Imus in the Morning.
The spell is broken. Another day begins.

--Susan Poorbaugh

Winner of the Devil's Millhopper/Palanquin Prize for Poetry--1994

Celebration in Red

(for pam on her birthday)

"All that which God has created is natural," Lisbeth said,
Soil, caked and crumbling, fresh and bright black
Clinging to her heels and down each foot
To where her toes pinched the garden floor.

Dew wet and natural, waiting,
Waiting for harvest,
Lisbeth pressed
The backs of her hands

Unmarked and tender
Against the thorns,
Welcoming the thorns,
To be pricked by the thorns,

Then paused to give back some portion
Of red for the red she would take,
Till, pressing petals full to her lips,
She snipped this morning's blossom.

--Delmar Brewington

Winner of the Sigma Tau Delta Prize for Poetry--1995

Dragon Slayer

I have many times
thatched my Icarus
wings, soaring into
the fatal sunshine
before plunging to
the icy-quiet
sea depths.
I did not need rough
burly arms pulling
me from the black
water, just warm
hands to smooth my
feathers and urge me
to fly once more.

You have never slain
my fiery dragons,
but you have stood,
St. George beside me,
and handed me
my sword.
You have never sutured
my neglected wounds
without first stopping
to examine the
gaping tears, excising
the poison of
gangrenous flesh.

I have had many
knights and smiling
Hippocrates come
forward with their
axes and scalpels,
kerosene and gauze,
ready to slaughter
demons and amputate
soft limbs.

You have let me
fight my brave battles
and you have stitched
my tiny talons
with gentle faith
and infinite care,
compelling me to
tackle the brilliant
horizon again.

--S.L. Spooner

Lanes

Cars fly by...
one, two, five, three, seven...
each one racing for resolution;
cars are dreams--fantasies on leave,
already bereaved of a dreamer.
These cars are streaking, some puttering along,
to pursue and always be pursued.
They have drivers but are never driven.
Always chased and often forgotten.
Resolution. Whether it putts or streaks,
it is always violently, uncontrollably...still:
for most just out of reach, for others just within--
this car in these lanes.

--M. Lavaugh Cummings

Untitlted by Caroline VII Miller

My ninth grade year of high school is a year that I will never forget. It was the year that I was no longer in middle school, but finally a high school student, and I was totally thrilled at the thought. That year I was pretty ticked off that one of my teachers would actually give us, her ninth grade science class, assigned seats. Who would have ever thought that a ninth grade seat assignment would put me right next to a stranger whom I would call my friend for the rest of my life.

The girl who sat next to me that year in science was Rachelle, and little did I know at that time she would become one of my best friends. We "hit it off" from the very beginning, and that was easy because we found ourselves talking about anything and everything. The subjects ranged from boys and make-up tips to dreams and hopes for the future.

As our high school years went on, so did our friendship. With age and maturity, we began to really notice that some members of our society placed judgment and stereotypes on our friendship. Since Rachelle was a Caucasian-American of German descent and I am African-American, some people thought that it was really strange for us to get along so well without cultural differences causing disharmony. I am so glad that we never let other people influence our friendship. Rachelle and I got along so well because we talked about our differences. We asked a lot of questions about each other's family life, traditions, perceptions of the world, and how we fit in.

We had a lot of fun in our high school years. We learned things a textbook couldn't teach us: how to truly understand and live with one another. During one of my sleepovers, we were doing our hair. Rachelle asked me a question that made me ponder. She asked, very innocently, "Why do you oil your hair?" I never really thought about the process even seeming the least bit strange to anyone else outside my culture. I told her that most African-American women use moisturizers to maintain healthy, attractive hair. I gave her the best explanation that I could, but I really felt her question had a deeper meaning. I realized that she really didn't understand some of the everyday life experiences that I experienced which made us culturally and racially different. I knew then it was up to me as a person of another culture and race to enlighten her if she had an interest in knowing.

Answering that question led to many other conversations of clarification about who we were as cultural beings. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. phrased it best when he said, "The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges." Dr. King was saying to me in this quote that America will never be a nation of harmony until we try to understand each other's differences to get along and learn from each other. I am very grateful my parents brought my sister and me up to believe that harmony is achievable with kindness and understanding.

That first day of class my ninth grade year, I didn't know I would wind up with a best friend whom I would grow to cherish so dearly.

Five years later, I didn't know she would be taken away from all of us who loved her due to gun-fire. Through no fault of their own, Dr. King and Rachelle, two very courageous, wise, unselfish people, were lost to gun-fire. As a society, we need to make a change and leave the guns alone. The similarity that made them stand out above the rest was their dedication to others which meant being true to what they stood for and making the lives of others happier. I give tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and to Rachelle Ann Gruber for having a positive effect on me, which has made me a better person today for a brighter tomorrow.

Woman with Braids by Lorenzo Williams

Visual Art Selection

Ralph Fiennes by Carla Merrell

Adolescent Ward

The orderlies lift her, silent and squirming.
The rest of us are herded down the hall.
But rumors take shape in cells like motel rooms,
when you're mad, and trained to see the scabs
and scars of each admission; to quietly catalog
every object on the dinner table, and wait.

When imagination tears down walls (the shard
between her teeth) and whispers this is desperation
so softly (the blood from her shoulders) that you squint
--searching your mirror for freedom (the arm straps)
or courage (the silence) or strength (the trembling)
and hear only the shrieks as the glass is snatched away
(leave me alone just leave me alone), then you know

the stillness of the leg gnawed through
in the jaws of a steel trap.

--John Lowery