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sparkle + blink 61
2015 Quiet Lightning
artwork Tracy Piper
thetracypiper.com
Look, Here by Lisa Piazza first appeared in Cleaver Magazine.
No Judgment at Social Kitchen and Life Lessons from a Ditch
Digger at The Mucky Duck by Benjamin Wachs
first appeared in SF Weekly.
Pretty from the Side by Mira Martin-Parker
first appeared in The Milo Review, Vol. 1 Issue 1.
Upside Down, Backwards and Inside Out,
and Versailles first appeared in Hack Writers Magazine.
book design by j. brandon loberg
set in Absara
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CONTENTS
curated by
Tracy Piper
CLAIRE WILLIAMS
11
BENJAMIN WACHS
LISA PIAZZA
Look, Here
23
CHARLES KRUGER
27
DEBORAH STEINBERG
41
I Want To Be a Symbol
For My Culture
47
CADY OWENS
51
E T L IG
I
U
Q
HTNING IS SPONSORED
lagunitas.com
BY
QUIET LIGHTNING
A 501(c)3, the primary objective and purpose of Quiet
Lightning is to foster a community based on literary
expression and to provide an arena for said expression. QL
produces a monthly, submission-based reading series on
the first Monday of every month, of which these books
(sparkle + blink) are verbatim transcripts.
Formed as a nonprofit in July 2011, the board of QL is
currently:
Evan Karp
founder + president
Chris Cole
managing director
Josey Lee
public relations
Meghan Thornton treasurer
Kristen Kramer
chair
Kelsey Schimmelman
Sarah Ciston
Katie Wheeler-Dubin
secretary
director of books
director of films
- SET 1 -
AAA
AAAAAAAAAA
CENTER
Minutes later, when I walked into the Widows
Support Group the second time, they were much
more welcoming.
Im so sorry, a middle-aged woman on the left side
of the circle stood up. We just thought, she must be
looking for Alcoholics Anonymous across the hall.
And then Emmy spoke up, a woman on the other
side of the circle wearing a headscarf waved, and we
realized, oh no...
Its just that youre so young, Emmy said.
The women closest to the door scooted apart from
each other, and I pulled a folding chair between them.
Everyone seated was elderly, apart from the two who
had spoken. Some looked worried.
I was next, anyway, Emmy said. She passed a plate of
cookies from her lap to the woman beside her. My
husband, Bill, was killed at Kirkuk, which is in Iraq.
He was a soldier there, and his vehicle was blown
up while he was driving. She went on to detail
how they found his arm, and his dog tags, and sent
1
AA
AAAAAAAAAAA
H E A LI N G
Sputtering stupidly after falling through the ice,
I thought, I will be dead soon, and tried to swim
anyway. As the undertow pulled down and out, it
dipped the ice below the surface, catching me. When
the water rushed back in, the sheet was bent together,
like some giant piece of twisting glass, which carried
me quickly back to safety. Half alive, on the old ice,
I knew she had chosen to save me. I found kindness,
without reason, in that unforgiving landscape and
now know, beyond doubt, that Antarctica is the only
wife I will ever want.
CCC
CC
THE M
CCCCCCCCC
A N W H O DRANK T H E S E A
Once there was a boy who could drink only sea water.
Each morning he would walk down to the water with
a bucket, and draw a big draft of it to his home on
the hill drinking the thick stuff like it was milk. Be
careful said his father, or you will drink the whole
thing. His mother smiled.
The boy grew to be a man. He knew how to carve
wood and to start a fire, to bake a loaf of bread and
skin a hare. He could hike for many miles but he
could never leave the side of the ocean. He longed
to see what lay deep inland, but he knew he must
remain close to the shore. So it was that he decided to
become a sailor; it was a natural choice.
The people of his town did not trust the water so he
went out alone. The father was glad to have him out
on adventure, but the mother feared he would never
return.
He braved every storm, for he could not drown.
When the waves came upon him he opened his
mouth wide and drank them up. When the rain
came tumbling, the plants he kept on the boat
11
12
13
14
BB
BB
BBBBBBBBB
NO JUDGMENT
AT SOCIAL KITCHEN
Mari and I are sitting in the Social Kitchen and
Brewery, talking about the nature of female beauty.
We both live in the Inner Sunset, and over the
years weve seen the building go through many
transformations. It was a dive bar, it was a Mexican
restaurant, it was an upscale neighborhood spot
named Wunderbeer (I miss Wunderbeer), it was an
empty husk and now its Social Kitchen. Almost
every incarnation has been better than the last. Its so
hard to tell the difference between gentrification
and evolution, sometimes. Progress and terrible
things share an apartment.
I pointed her toward John Olivers terrific takedown
of the Miss America Pageantand the very idea
that in the 21st century we would line up women in
swimsuits to be judged.
But this isnt just about beauty, of course: Its also
about competition. We cant just be happy that
we have 50 beautiful women standing on a stage
in swimsuits who will, it is fair to deduce, do
15
17
18
LIFE LESSONS
FROM A DITCH-DIGGER
AT THE MUCKY DUCK
Im sitting in the Mucky Duck with Jimmy, who
called me up today and told me that his old mentor
from back in Montana was in town, and he wondered
if I could meet him.
This guys important, Jimmy said. Hes the guy who
first taught me how to dig a ditch.
Of course I said yes.
Craig was recently elected the mayor of the 800person town he lives in, which, he says, has let its
infrastructure get so bad that it now needs more than
$50 million in repairs to its water system. How does
a town with just over 800 people raise that kind of
money? Its going to be the work of a generation, he
says. Unfortunately hes getting ready to retire. Hes
going to try to leave them with a solid plan before
he leaves public life. Something everybody can rally
behind when hes gone.
Be nj ami n Wach s
19
21
22
LLLLLLLLLLL
L O O K, H E R E
For this, I use my grandfathers axe.
Pull it carefully from behind the dead cats carrier in
the garage, where it rests dusty and dull, subdued by
seasons more or less come and gone. More because
fifteen winters is a long time for a dormant blade
idle through fifteen springs and summers followed
by fifteen hopeful falls glimmering with red-gold
readiness. Less because it is only my bony fingers
that inexpertly grip the heavy wooden handle, ready
to hack the camellias crowding the far corner of my
backyard.
Mine is a small job. I have hated these trees for years.
Stillsome warning would have been nice. A short
note typed by my sensible grandmother, attached by
thick garden twine to the long handled axe, stating: to
clear is not to clean. Maybe then my breath would not
have stuttered when two lops revealed a fibrous system
pink and raw as my own. Fleshy and hot. Intricate.
Purposeful. Ambivalent but alive. Gleaming in
the exposure of harsh afternoon light: the tender
wreckage of life hidden beneath tough bark.
23
24
Li s a P i azz a
25
- SET 2 -
CC
CC
CCCCCCCCC
WANT TO BE WRITTEN
My brother was 9 and me 7 walking home from school
When he suddenly pretends hes been struck blind
And I half believe him, Im blind! Im blind!, he cries,
Clutching the fence along the edge of the park on
Bowen Street.
That was the year of second grade
When I fell in love with Helen Keller and blindness.
I ached to be blind.
So much I saw I did not want to see.
My fathers contempt
The worry furrows on my mothers brow
My teachers uncertain gestures
The distant play of my siblings
Something was terribly wrong
That only I could see
And how badly I wanted
How scared I was of dying.
(Did my father want me dead?
27
Ch arle s K ru ge r
29
MM
MM
MMMMMMMMMMMM
MM
M i ra Mart i n- Parke r
33
M i ra Mart i n- Parke r
35
36
M i ra Mart i n- Parke r
37
VERSAILLES
We were at the Cuban restaurant, Versailles, and I
was hungry. But instead of ordering something, I sat
smoking cigarettes and watching my mother and her
friend Fertile eat dinner. They were each having roast
chicken, steamed rice, black beans, and fried bananas
with cream.
Im hungry, mommy, I thought, but didnt dare say.
Instead I smoked and watched them eat, since I had
no money. I ran out of cash earlier that day, probably
having spent quite a bit on her, buying us smokes and
beer at the beach. Now I was being punished.
Its not my problem. Ask your father for help, her eyes
said. She was glaring at me over the table as she cut
into a chicken thigh.
But Im hungry, mommy, I thought.
Did Fertile know that I had no money, I wondered. Did
he know that was the reason I had ordered only water and
was sitting there smoking instead of eating?
38
M i ra Mart i n- Parke r
39
DD
DD
DDDDDDDDDDDD
in many venues
over many drinks and in many dry places.
Writers eat words to stuff full the empty place in
their bellies.
Writers eat words for comfort.
Comfort eating late at night alone.
They call this self-soothing.
Eating the words and feeling them fill your belly.
Rubbing the words between your legs.
Slicking the words between your legs.
Stuffing the words between your legs.
Becoming an animal that subsists on words.
Becoming an animal that couples with words.
No humans left like you.
Where does an animal go that has been a human
and remembers what it used to mean to be human?
Where does an animal go whose words are slippery,
dont stick, stay, stand?
Where does the exiled animal go when the words
dont stick?
Red blossoms on a summer tree.
Red marks on a lovers throat.
Red blood from between the legs
where the words did not take root.
Did not meet their counterpart.
Did not engender young.
42
Red blood washing the last of the lover from the body.
The last traces of words un-rooted.
Where does the barren animal go in her exile?
De b orah S t e i nbe rg
43
HH
HH
MON
HHHHHHHHHHH
TAGSDEMONSTRATIONEN
46
JJ
JJ
JJJJJJJJJJ
I WA N T T O
BE A SYMBOL
FOR MY CULTURE
49
50
CCC
CCCCCCC
LANGUAGE ARTS
P O ETRY JOURNA L
Dear Mr. McMahon,
I wont lie to youI really hated this sonnet. I mean,
I read it over and over again without understanding
a word. I wont bore you by writing the whole thing
out here, but take a look at these lines:
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright
How would thy shadows form form happy show
I mean, come on. Tell me Shakespeare isnt being
difficult on purpose.
I took your advice and translated it into regular
English. And get thisonce I got my dictionary I
figured out that I actually knew most of the words
already. It was just the way they were arranged that
made them confusing. See what I mean about being
difficult on purpose?
Anyway, my new version goes like this:
At night I sleep and have a better view
51
53
55
and which
I know
was your prized
possession
Forgive me
its worn in
so much better
than mine
Cady Ow e ns
57
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