Posts from "Portfolio"
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Portfolio | Oct.06, 2011
The Morning Bus Bench View
Pigeons gather around Pam as she sits on the bus bench. They jump in place, turning in circles, scrounging for food. Pam reaches into the side-pocket of her pink-crocheted sweater for some sunflower seeds. She scatters them across the sidewalk. The pigeons dive, fighting each other for the scarce food. A slow smile spreads across Pam’s face as she watches them devour the seeds.
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Portfolio | Sep.29, 2011
Missing from the Laboratory (Part 1)
Sophia was annoyed. It was the third time this week she had been called back to the lab. What was the point of hiring interns if her hours increased because of their mistakes? She was going to give her supervisor a piece of her mind; they definitely needed a more rigorous screening process. The last time she was called back, one of the interns had broken down crying because she spilled solution on the floor. How spilt solution reminded the intern of her boyfriend breaking up with her, Sophia would never know.
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Portfolio | Sep.29, 2011
The Cereal of Life
If my life revolved around one food, it would be cereal. The thing I love most about cereal is that I can always find a type that pertains to my mood. As my mood changes throughout the day, my cereal cravings shift as well.
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Portfolio | Nov.14, 2001
Eulogy For A Jazzman
I remember a conversation I had with Reuben after a show in St. Louis a few years back. He had been playing for six hours straight with little more than a sip of water’s break. In a sweaty, beat-down, post-performance daze he told me, “Ya know why I love playing jazz?… because when I’m playing there ain’t no limit to how high I can go.
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Poetry | Nov.08, 2001
Bobby
Joan Barker Bleached arm hair and freckled eyelids retreat for an hour. Head pressed to the cool window’s skin, Bus ticket. Nineteen dollars and twenty-five cents. Coffee. One forty-nine…a few drops spilt, maybe seven cents worth. Nervous fingers tremble, sending…
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Portfolio | Nov.08, 2001
Dealing with the Devil
Kevin Hirten His sleeping body lay still and silent. The sunlight that had crept towards his face all morning was just hitting his eyes and soon he would wake. A magnificent dream hastily ended when the blackness filled with the…
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Poetry | Nov.08, 2001
The Missing Machine
Matt Daly She never knew that much concerning cars besides the place she went to trade them in. The dealers there would lie right to her face, and driving home, she’d realize later on, the change could only last a…
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Portfolio | Nov.04, 2001
A Sane Insanity
by Ellen Bisson You’re just a photograph. I’m just a photographer, picking and choosing where the focus of the shot will rest. You’re just an image. I’m just a painter, changing with each stroke reality to suit my own needs.…
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