~Meniscus Archives~
Winter 2003
Issue #2

November - February 2004

Link to Issue #2 Home


Bynum's Corner Word Games

The Dissapperance of Childhood
Sarah Trachtenburgh

There's something about Crystal Boots
Drayton Patriota
Debate/Retort by Little Lamb
The Apothecary and Mr. Cesnek
Chrystie Hopkins
A Stroll Down Shakedown Street
Caleb Estabrooks
Out of the Box, Into my Hands
Derek Gumuchian
Travel Log of a Colorado Girl
Erin Hopkins
Santa Fe
Chrystie Hopkins
How to find your friends at IT!
Rob Hansen
Meniscus New Years Picks
Sound Tribe Sector 9: Focusing the Light
-Jon Heinrich
Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey: Take a Trip with the Wild and Wooly Masters of the Jam-Jazz Scene
-Brian Gagné
CD Review:
Solar Igniter
CD Review:
Cadillac Jones-
Junk in the Trunk
Through Glass
and Grain

-Aiden FitzGerald
four poems
-Brandon Rigo
-Pete Pidgeon
Art Model
-Julia Magnusson
-Julia Magnusson
Dead dog
-Julia Magnusson
-Julia Magnusson
Those games
we'd play

-Julia Magnusson
Ode de Toiletté
-Aron Ralston
-Stephanie Laterza
-Stephanie Laterza
-Stephanie Laterza
Meniscus is...
Meniscus Premier Launch Party
Zeitgeist Gallery
Cambridge, Massachusetts
August 14, 2003

Metro Saturdays hosts
Meniscus Portland Launch
Sky Bar @ The Roxy
Portland, Maine
August 30, 2003

State of the Art
Lounge Ten
Boston, Massachussets
October 23, 2003


Enjoy your senses
in the Meniscus
Prose Lounge

Those Games We'd Play
Julia Magnusson
Published 11/15/03

Memories: stalking in tall grass.
Those from the nest, late spring,
a quick crunch: more fun to be had
with the chase, the darting paw
catching, oft one-clawed, your wing
or tail. How I loved to put
one soft killer’s paw
on your now-useless wing,
carefully clamp my teeth
to your other wing or maybe back,
carry you up the steps,
across the porch,
through the broken screen door
I could pull open. Then to drop you

onto the carpet, stand over you
as you made crazy, hapless circles
with your damaged wing dragging.
Narrow-eyed, I’d follow.
We could play for hours, you and I,
my battings and tosses,
teeth and claws,
scattering your feathers across the floor,
long pinions and soft down drifting.
When I got bored or just too rough,

when you weakened, or slowed,
leaking blood from tiny cuts
my claws had left,

then to bite where your head met your back,
gentle crunch between my teeth,
and your slow movements stopped at last.
That’s when I could leave you for later

or begin to rip you open for the feast
although none of this was because I was hungry.

-Julia Magnusson

Meniscus Magazine © 2003. All material is property of respective artists.