taylortrauger

Ivory Tower 2012 Launch Party

taylortrauger — Wed, 02 May 2012 00:56:24 +0000

The 2012 Ivory Tower

The 2012 edition of Ivory Tower, a literary magazine of work by undergraduate University of Minnesota writers, artists, and musicians, celebrated its release on Wednesday, April 25 2012 at The Whole, in the basement of the Coffman Memorial Union. The book is a product of a year-long class in which undergraduate students learn and perform the entire process of creating a publication—delegation of responsibilities, calls for submissions, editorial selections, layout, design, printing, and now, finally, planning and hosting a launch party.

Heartbeat

taylortrauger — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 00:58:01 +0000

some nights I
hold my watch
against my ear,

hand hugging my
neck, wrist cold
on my cheek,

just so I
can listen to
a steady rhythm.

Silhouette

taylortrauger — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 19:22:37 +0000

when you see the dark silhouette
of a young woman
with curves

you have no way to know
if she is smiling
or crying

Distance

taylortrauger — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 03:02:27 +0000

I always know
what direction
you’re in.

I shift
a little to the left—
northwest—

to be
that much closer
to you.

At the end

taylortrauger — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 01:11:46 +0000

Written in class in the grass. First lines taken from Louise Glück’s “The Wild Iris”

At the end of my suffering
there was a door.

I cannot open it
until I’m ready
to cross the threshold.

It’s unlocked,
perhaps ajar,
the smell of blooming lilacs
creeping through the crack;
freshly mown grass
thrown in the air by gusts
of wind;
the perfume sucked into my
lungs; so deeply it tickles,
flirts with my heart,
pushes on my
ribs.

I cannot open it until I’m ready.

I don’t know what’s on the
other side
but I can see myself
standing there–
am I alone?
do I mind?

My fingers touch the handle–
colder than I expected–
like a sunny Spring morning
just after sunrise;
blue skies invite you out
of bed,
but the chilly breeze
tastes bitter on your tongue,
whips the skin on your tattooed arms.

I cannot be ready
until I’ve opened the door.

Bones

taylortrauger — Mon, 27 Feb 2012 14:00:47 +0000

I dreamed my food came to life in the microwave
slithered and squirmed in the bowl
ate me whole.

I dreamed the rain stopped dripping from yellowed leaves
seas dried and rivers died
nothing left but bones.

21 Things I can’t wait to do when I turn 21 in Minneapolis

taylortrauger — Mon, 27 Feb 2012 03:53:51 +0000

A 20-year-old’s review of bars I’ve never been to.

21. Surly @ CC Club

20. beer & tots @ the Bulldog

19. late night drinks & bowling @ Bryant Lake Bowl

18. happy hour @ Bad Waitress

17. after class happy hour @ Kitty Cat Klub

16. happy hour @ Republic and finally order something besides chips & diet coke

15. happy hour & fondue @ Melting Pot

14. Surly night @ Triple Rock

13. 2-4-1s @ Nomad

12. 2-4-1s @ Acadia

11. 2-4-1s @ Herkimer

10. $1 saki @ Moto-i

9. BYOB @ Chai’s Thai

8. mimosas & bloody marys @ Aster’s jazz-filled Sunday brunch

7. flaming drinks on the porch @ Psycho Suzi’s

6. pre-concert drinks @ The Depot

5. cocktails before a show @ the Guthrie or Orpheum

4. rooftop bar @ the Foshay

3. brewery tour @ Town Hall

2. drag night @ Town Hall

1. Forever Young dance party @ VFW

I feel Forever Young right about now…

Things my apartment usually smells like

taylortrauger — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 19:15:30 +0000

The not-so-pleasant scents of Pleasant Ave S:

My neighbor’s litterbox

My neighbor’s cigarettes

My neighbor’s weed

Scorched couch fabric from radiator

Drain-o

Burnt rice or burnt grilled cheese or burnt black bean tacos

Greasy cheese slice from Uptown pizza after giving up on making dinner

Rotten bananas (I swear I was going to make banana bread…)

Gas from the stove (I don’t feel loopy at all…)

Pomegranate incense to cover it all up (or try)

It’s time

taylortrauger — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 04:10:37 +0000

that time in the late afternoon
when the sun hangs low
below the clouds,
shining light
on the moon
on the other side of the sky
and the symmetry
(the imbalance)
teases you

that time between seasons
when leaves crunch under the snow
some still cling to tree branches
whipped
back and forth
in the wind
desperately holding on
to yesterday

that time between dreams
when you wake up
cold and dark
you’ve forgotten where you are
or—
how you got there
you don’t know if you’re still dreaming
or—
if you’ve been awake this whole time

and you’ve finally realized
you’re scared
(shivering and sweating)
until
you let go.

A portrait without adjectives

taylortrauger — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 04:47:20 +0000

Last night he stayed up until 3 in the morning helping me write a scholarship essay. This morning he slept through his alarm and was late for class. He skipped breakfast and hurried to throw on his glasses, jeans, and a polo with stripes. He wears the watch I gave him for our anniversary. He wears a sweatshirt to hide his weight. He has a habit of flattening his shirt by rubbing the palm of his hand down his chest. He has a habit of itching his beard when he’s concentrating on homework. Sometimes he pulls the collar of his shirt over his nose, and it rests there, the fabric whispering as he exhales. When he engages in conversation, his coffee bean eyes widen and his mouth opens in a smile that never needed braces. If he doesn’t know what people are talking about, he watches the conversation. He looks back and forth like a student driver checking the intersection at a stop sign. He’s a spectator; he’s a child. He smiles and waits to catch up and agree with what’s being said. He makes promises, but he struggles to follow through, like a puppy learning how to play fetch, forgetting to bring the ball back in his haste to please. He buys me flowers whenever my last bouquet dies. He gives me massages if I complain about a headache. He asks how my day went; he calls me every night before bed. He could talk for hours—not just to me—to anyone, about anything. His mom is his best friend, and he calls her every day.