WHITE WORDS

My paints are sold out within two days...wow... Thank you very much for everyone who is interested in buying my art.

Piano Recital of Tamar Mikeladze

The Northside-Hall of IUSB
Wednesday, April 23 at 4:00pm

Wolfson Poetry and English Department Awards–this Saturday

AND

A little get together after the Wolfson/Analecta festivities for those who are interested at Neil's house.

The Empty Suitcase:
An End of Semester
It was like a normal, ordinal day: I worked part-time and had some appointments in the afternoon. I needed to finish my literary analysis paper for an English class before having fun on Saturday night. In the evening, I wanted to write the paper, and I wanted to eat dinner, straighten my naturally curly hair, dress up in a pretty summer dress. Until sometime in the morning, I wanted to have a good time with my friends and strangers, which was my ordinal plan on that Saturday.

But the ordinal plan is always changed; perhaps, distracted by ‘emergency’ situations. At first, I called my mother because I totally forgot her birthday. I am never sure when my mother’s birthday is, which is always changing between the 16th and 19th in April. Her birthday seems to change every year so I usually called around the 18th. Sometimes I called her on the exact day but sometimes I wished her happy birthday hours; perhaps a couple of days, later, but I excuse…

PHONE RECEIVER
------------------ After Norman Dubie and for A.K.


“Nobody is perfect,” a poet tosses me a white
paper airship and I thought it was ash,
the ashen love letter. There is limited
mind in his eyes with eternal excuses for a blue-birdhouse,
gunpowder, or the virginity. I’m the stone
nude under the half

moon and still feel Indian
summer on his palms. In late June
he devoted his tears for a hydrangea. It’s 1983,
on his ex-wife’s birthday. The dewdrops
from the moon wash away the star-
sky maps on straddling spider webs. He was pure,
the pure blue deer. I start

writing poems so I can see
my past for the sleepless night. I know
the smell from the center of his room
like the early spring moon, popcorn, and the yellow
milk. A corn husk-
feathery heart bares under my shaved ribs like a hairless cat;
your cat is always selfishness. It’s still preparing to leave,

returning to your heated kitchen. Roasted pork
bones are on the table and peppers
fragment on the broken white, the lilies. You pick
up the receiv…

The Empty Suitcase:
Filling Me Up with the Soul Foods

The 9th Annual International Food Festival at IUSB on April 5 was the most fantastic food festival the International Student Organization has ever had! For a cover charge of $9, guests can taste any Asian, European, Middle Eastern, South African, South American, and even North American homemade traditional food in buffet style. Foods were unbelievably delicious since I have never had a tasty appetite from Malaysia, noodles from Indonesia, a main dish from Zimbabwe, an intermission hotdog from America, and dessert from Ukraine. The main cafeteria, The Grille, was packed with hundreds of locals and others representing mixed cultures, America.

I had greeting kisses with South Americans, hugging with South Africans, shaking hands with Arabians, and smiling and bowing with Asians, and then all the people asked me, “Did you cook Japanese food?”

This is the most painful question for the international student, me, who had attended four fo…

"Koi-Kokoro" By Naoko Fujimoto