Creative Writing Commons^™

Preface & Table Of Contents

The Echo

No abstract provided.

Cover

The Echo

No abstract provided.

Echo 2017 - Complete Issue

The Echo

No abstract provided.

Nicole4, Nicole Jackson

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Nicole6, Nicole Jackson

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Nicole8, Nicole Jackson

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Nate1, Nathaniel Ancheta

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Nate4, Nathaniel Ancheta

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Nate7, Nathaniel Ancheta

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Zach1, Zach Moneypenny

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Zach3, Zach Moneypenny

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Zach4, Zach Moneypenny

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Untitled, Lauren Rigor

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Jhoy, Marion Sarte

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Princess, Marion Sarte

The Tuxedo Archives

No abstract provided.

Immigration Told Through Cuisine, Melissa Hughs

The Tuxedo Archives

The Fortune Cookie Chronicles by Jennifer 8. Lee is a wonderful, well researched book. Lee, the daughter immigrants from China and a speaker of fluent Mandarin, began this book as a research study into the lives of people who won lotteries based on numbers found in fortune cookies. What the project turned into was a discovery of herself and her culture. Lee, whose middle initial means prosperity in Chinese, combines historical facts and the stories of immigrants, along with her experiences as the daughter of immigrants, in order tell the story of Chinese food. ~excerpt from prose

Being Blond, Audrey Curtis

The Tuxedo Archives

The vast majority of people have hair, and, however they choose to cut, color, or style it, it's always there, on top of their head (and frequently hanging off onto the sides). For me, my hair is always present in a much more vividly apparent way than is true of most people, for I am blond. ~excerpt from short story

Outskirts Of Berlin, November 18, 1949, Jackson Wayne

The Tuxedo Archives

Were almost there, sir”, said the young uniformed driver. There was not much to say from the man in the back of the jeep. He was very quiet with and had aviator’s shades covering his eyes. Unlike the driver, the man in the back did not have on an army uniform or even look presentable or even dressed for the weather. Only a Hawaiian aloha print shirt and khaki slacks barely seemed to shield him from the cruel winter breeze. As they came upon their destination the driver reached over to give the man a green field jacket. ~excerpt from …

When It Becomes His Gun, Jennie Lillard

The Tuxedo Archives

It’s not dead. Ok. Ok. Dad says: If the bird’s not dead, be ready with another shell if it decides to

take to the air. If I can get to it, put the bird on the ground, and smash it--smash it right on the neck--with

the butt of the gun. ~excerpt from short story

Sight, Allysa Miranda

The Tuxedo Archives

The sun beat down on the small suburban park in which all the local children spent their summers. Their laughter rang out among the trees and trickling brook that surrounded the minute playground. The cement path that wound its way around the child-size structures was lined with park benches, all desperately in need of a new paint job. These benches were filled with the mothers and babysitters forced to sit waiting for their charges to finally tire and be ready to lay down for their naps. ~excerpt from short story

Kitchen Poem #4, Lauro Vasquez

The Tuxedo Archives

I like to chase you around the kitchen

treading your footsteps like the

tracks of a seagull marking my way

to your shores because it is then

that your feet become the loveliest ~excerpt from poem

To The Untouchables, Lauro Vasquez

The Tuxedo Archives

to those who’s name or place

of origin is known by no one

to those who’s bullet-ridden blood

polluted deserts and kitchens ~excerpt from poem

I Want To Remember, Mariel E. Valerio

The Tuxedo Archives

I want to remember

crawling into bed beside you

the way I remember

reading a poem aloud for the first time. ~excerpt from poem

Tell The Children: No Talking At The Dinner Table, Vanessa Leung

The Tuxedo Archives

Tell the children no talking at the dinner table

Ivory chopsticks striked down to sever unfinished

Articulations, into pieces of broken syllables.

All not knowing what malice they had inflicted,

Hurried with their sustenance and scattered

Behind walls. Try to make amends

In uncertain ways. Promise

No talking back, nor back-talking. ~excerpt from poem

108 Double Stitches, Robert D. Johnson

The Tuxedo Archives

So tightly I’m wound,

I recoil when struck.

Compressed like a spring.

I’m constantly fondled,

Examined and lifted on high.

A pale white complexion,

red lines all over my face. ~excerpt from poem

Fellow Traveler, Steve Galiani

The Tuxedo Archives

Gather round, be present!

Listen to words granted me

(presumptuous vessel)

by the muse. ~excerpt from poem

Vocation, Steve Galiani

The Tuxedo Archives

daybreak finds me

the freshest of flowers

dew-soaked, opening slowly

to the lighting sky. ~excerpt from poem

We Are Horses, Aijuana Bifri

The Tuxedo Archives

To read and to write is to breathe and to live and to eat and to drink

to sustain my life

when the pen and the pad and the life you had are put on stage

and on the mic

I need to read I need to write and over and over ~excerpt from poem

The Belly, Aijuana Bifri

The Tuxedo Archives

The Star-Spangled Banner plays and I don’t have my hands on my heart

next thing I know, I hear,

“You anti-American immigrant leech

if you don’t like America, why don’t you leave?

if you don’t like America, why don’t you go home?

you’ve talked shit about this country

expressing your pain in this country

aren’t you thankful we serve you in this country?

all you do is take money from this country

you ungrateful...” ~excerpt from poem

Better Than Grey, Tanya Tsikanovsky

The Tuxedo Archives

Our words slide off our tongues like marbles on wet floors,

too wet to stop gliding

And we soak up our thoughts like sponges,

wringing out the water we both now taste ~excerpt from poem