Aerie Journal

  • University of Hartford's Literary Magazine
  • |
  • August 23, 2017

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If you wish to support Aerie Literary Journal and wish to see bigger and better editions in the future, please consider donating to the Aerie endowment! To make a donation, contact the Office of Institutional Advancement, Caitlin Simard, at 860-768-2452. Or Aeries faculty advisor, Ben Grossberg, at 860-768-4944. We greatly appreciate your support!

Past Archives

Submissions From Aerie 2010


Pigeonfoot
John Dudek                                    

Brother, I swear by
the white of this collar,
I was not alone in the gloom
of the church tower.
There was a warbly breathing
in the rafters above me
as I scoured
the tenor bells.
A ghostly coo spun
in the thick brass
under my rag and
into my hands. Brother,
I prayed
for the strength
to look to those beams
and face what was there.
The Lord heard my call–
goodness, how I wish he hadn't–
for perched on a dry cross,
there was no nesting
dove, nor vagrant child
of God. Brother, there was
something else. Some
botched creation, a–
an abandoned child of
nothing Christstian.
It hissed behind an
Indian-corn smile,
beat its greasy wings, and
screamed.
I recoiled and fell
through the ceiling's rotten
support beams, down
into the pews.
Only by the grace of God
can I stand here before you.
Brother, I'm sorry–
I can never return
to that church tower's
hideous gloom.

 


Lace
Dominique Boxley

In your old vintage lace
nothing touches you–
scudding in the air like embers
rising above the empty shells,
vain and self loathing.

Bohemian nymph, your siren song calls
through the pulse of a fevered night
beckoning strangers to your hip.

In the shadows your aura blinds.
Mine is defined by sihouette.

You move in slow motion,
intoxicating sway
table dancing on the lips of hers and his,
buzzing glass to glass guzzling nectar.

At night's end,
the irridescence that encompasses you
dims and depletes to soft focus.

You rest your head on the shoulder
of the unfamiliar in your old vintage lace.
 


The Hymm for Cigarettes, an excerpt
Grace Painter

     In the parking lot at Mott, I sit with a legal pad across my steering wheel. On it, I have made a list, my To-Do List for the day. I find when I have everything I want written down right there, I am way less apt to get distracted by squirrels and shit in the park. Look, it happened just the once and they were fighting over this nut and it was hilarious so don't judge me.

         Anyway, the list. My list, that is.
                           YOU NEED TO DO THIS
                           1. Help some kids
                           2. Finish paperwork before B kills you
                           3. Meeting w/ LT
                           4. Mid-afternoon meal w/ GF @ Mott
                           5. Call your father
                           6. Quit smoking (again)
                           7.                            
       
         I'm hovering on seven, you see, because what I want to write is "find out if it is morally objectionable to push the woman you love down the stairs to kill what might be your arch-nemesis's spawn & then win her for yourself." I see a few problems: a) I like to keep my lists short and snappy, and that is neither; b) I probably shouldn't have paper evidence of a plan for some sort of crime; and c) I think I already know the answer.
         [. . .]

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Events

Check back later for more information on our fall 2016 events.  We expect to be advertising an Open-Mic Event very soon!