A masked nurse prods a six-
inch swab up,
up my nasal cavity. I try to focus
on her elbow, it’s still—
then moves in measured,
tiny circles, tickling
loosening, I’m sure,
some brain matter.
Then my mind goes
to the summer rental—
I lie back, watching
the endless scroll of clouds and seabirds,
my six-year-old brother
packs sand into my ankles.
Are you turning me into a mermaid?
He lets out a long sigh, No.
It’s a sarcophagus.
As the sun sets, my throat cracks
like clay. My chest sinks
into the shore. My nurse wears
the mask of Anubis
now, she draws out her hook—
the last thing I tasted
Olivia Hunt is an English and French major at the University of San Diego. This piece was submitted for the Alcalá Review’s Fall 2020 Semester Staff-Produced Original Content. She is the Poetry Editor of the Alcalá Review.
Due to the extraordinary circumstances surrounding COVID-19, the Alcalá Review has elected to delay the publication of Volume 5, Issue 2, until the coming fall.
In the meantime, we are pleased to offer the following preview material, which includes a downloadable sample of the forthcoming print edition and a selection of poems read by AR contributors and staff members Davontae Reed and McKenna Christian.
Join us for our Fall 2019 Publishing Party this Thursday (11/7) at 7:00 PM in the Humanities Center (Saints Tekakwitha & Serra Hall 200) to celebrate the release of Volume 5, Issue 1. There will be catered food, readings from the contributors published in the issue, and a special reading from USD professor Deniz Perin-Coombs. Copies of this latest journal will be available for sale at the event, and available here the next day. All are welcome.
The cop cars go by in twos and threes – There’s a rave in Danny Dyer’s flat tonight And there’s the half-emoji texts of delinquency, the coarse, yank language, the drunken fights. Half-past ten and there is not a parking spot Upon a mile of suburb, no party thrown That would turn out a sorority girl, not A frat boy toking, blazing or stoned.
I have what every Irishman loves in spite Of all the bitter talk of objectification. Oh, god knows I have the right To be the stereotype of a nation. A road, a mile of suburb. I am King Of shots and cheer and every blessed thing.
J. Sean Rafferty is a redhead, a godfather and an eejit. He is an MA English Lit student at Ulster University and was a finalist in the 2018 Ulster Poetry Slam. His work has previously been published in Gravitas and The Paperclip. When not losing games of pool he, sometimes, writes stuff.
This collection contains a variety of works from Marielle’s studio concentration on musical instruments, her personal explorations using a multitude of media, and some commissioned pieces as well. Although she is a double major in architecture and biology, she has always loved painting and drawing and is interested in pursuing scientific illustration.
These pieces originally appeared in the Spring 2019 issue (Vol. 4, Iss. 2) of The Alcalá Review.