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Bennington College's journal of arts and letters
Volume 67: Issue 1
12 Weeks Out
Emmet Penney ‘11
Now your trainer’s talking travel arrangements to Vegas, organizing hotel rooms with the manager. Still, he sits you down and forces you to watch more videos of your opponent. You’ve seen them so many times you’ve memorized the swirl of black ink around his right shoulder, his daughter’s name across his left ribs, the hand grenade pulsing on his thick neck. When he steps forward like that, your trainer whispers in your ear, just catch ‘em with an overhand right. You practice this: a haymaker, a fist driven hellward.
We Touched the Wire
Ethan Woods ‘12
Tulips
Alana Orzol ‘11
Each petal wilts on cue,
swooning like red palms
that held bees, dew,
but now embalm
the earth alone.
Lean Into the Light
Ezra Lowrey ‘13 and Corina Dalzell ‘13
Exception
Killian Walsh ‘14
“Furthermore, I would like to apologize to the people of the Great State of Minnesota. I have brought shame to this office, and to this state, with my actions, and while there is no way to undo what I have done, I would like to extend my formal apology on the matter, and request forgiveness from my constituents, if they see fit to forgive me.”
A stir of murmurs made its way through the crowd with words like, ‘believe,’ and, ‘nerve,’ and ‘bastard,’ and ‘aquarium,’ extending themselves audibly from the din. The Senator took this opportunity to clear his throat and drum up some emotion for the final drive of his speech.
Give Us the City
Jenny Rae Bailey ‘12
Inebriate as you contemplate
which snacks to buy from the bodega at four a.m.
What shape would form if we fused together, bone-strung,
then what kind of mistakes would we make?
Hands On Me
Emmet Penney ‘11
In Baltimore, you and I watched some guy wearing
a Shaggy 2 Dope t-shirt fuck a girl with Michigan’s
state bird tattooed to her throat. Her fist-clenched
ponytail, spit frothed on a car window.
Hurting Hands
Nicole Pollina ‘14
Holyland
Idumea (Emily Call ’11, Kellin Murphy Cavanaugh ’11, Brad DeMatteo ’13)
Gorilla Warfare
Natalie Casagran Lopez ‘14
While many might think that a jar of slime is a toy straight out of a turn of the 20th century seance- some deluded housewife’s ectoplasmic magic trick- I knew that this particular item would appease my grandmother’s sense of youthful wonder. If she didn’t snicker at the packaging itself- the label delicately explaining that not only did the slime feel “cool”, it also made “farting noises”- I would be forced to move the Jack Daniels from her lips so that I might have room to stick a mirror under her nostrils and check if she was still breathing.
Schuck Your Corn
Riley Skinner ‘13
Farmer’s Almanac
Sara Judy ‘11
The wheat stalks come
toward the house like preachers
mutter and knock splinters off
front doors. The wind makes
sense of this place, searches
out the empty spaces to be filled.
The Triumph of the Rhinocerus
Ethan Woods ‘12
Tiptoe Down
Riley Skinner ‘13
Daisy: Gainseville, FL
Emmet Penney ‘11
It’s hurricane
season and rain comes down in fat
fists. With their bed sheets as sails
children catch the wind. Briefly,
Cell
Elliot Cash ‘13
Anhedonia (Excerpt)
Alexander Barry ‘12
“And how are you?” with a tilt of her head.
How was I? I was seeing nooses in shoe laces.
“I’m alright.”
But you can’t see stars in the city. There’s light grey and dark grey and darker grey and not much else at night, and I was preparing an excuse to leave when Castler hailed a cab and entered with the blonde, with her slipping over the curb as they went. The taxi pulled away and the raven, whose name was Charlotte, looked at me expectantly; Castler, thou hast forsaken me.
