Anna-Victoria Duzinski, ‘17

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Father and Daughter

ByThe Grackle

December 1994Anthony is sunken into the queen-sized mattress pulling his knees up to his chin. He clutches at his ankles withblistered hands. Hands that had built some of the structures that surround the city, but he would never notice.His palms are thick and brawny. Big blue veins emphasizethe muscles that gloat over his metacarpals. His…

N e w O r l e a n s
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N e w O r l e a n s

ByThe Grackle

Brigid MacArthur-Thompson, ‘17 Plastic beads swinglike rosaries through the leavesAnd the sidewalks have scarsFrom the rising water.The roots grow big enoughThat as you walk,You could be upended at any second.And the ocean waits, ready to rush inAnd fade us into oblivion.The trees must be as oldAs my soul,Because the closest I’ve come to findingGodIs on…