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featured poets & artists


Gina Prodan

'Bred in Euclid, Ohio, I am a graduate of John Carroll University always in search of graduate programs to support my fiction writing and its development. I've been eating a lot of bananas ever since I got into an accident due to a potassium deficiency. Like most people who have spent too many hours in cubicle-dependent spaces, I fear offices and the ideas they support, and, therefore, do not like being defined in a confined space. My other publications include two poems--"Philip Larkin and J Mascis Together at Last" and "the empty body still bled"-- and a short story --"Thanksgiving"-- featured in The John Carroll Review. ' -- Gina



Traffic Hums

Mmm tsi, mmm tsi, mmm tsi. Sitting in rush hour traffic on 90-East one summer afternoon, a girl and her brother made their own techno song to pass the twenty-minute commute that was taking forty-five. Every attention-deficited, spatially-disoriented, uncoordinated fool seemed to be heading out of downtown Cleveland and gawking at the flat tire in the left berm or crawling at an unreasonable pace around the East 55th Street and Eddie Road curves.
          The day was hot, the streets wavered in the sun, and the metal on all the cars glinted and made everyone squint. The girl and her brother were half way home before they realized that home was indeed a distant prospect.
          Other than the wurr of traffic stop-and-go, there was silence. While they did find an AM station sporting an extensive Spice Girls montage, they were deprived of any quality programming because her car stereo was stolen when her brother borrowed her car a few weeks before and did not return it all in one piece as he had explicitly promised. All was quiet except that she drove an old Beetle, so whether or not traffic was moving, the car was always wurring. The car was always wurring and rumbling and shaking. The hypnotic massage was lulling the brother to sleep. Since the seats hadn't headrests for him to sleep against, his head bobbled back, spun forward, and would occasionally rest against the rattling windows that resonated the rhythms of the engine's lawn-moweresque sentiments.
          The epitome of sibling dynamics, telepathy, and synchronization-despite the years of smacking, heckling, and "shutting up"- was realized when the sister instinctively developed and inserted her own synthesized electronic melody to his beat. They proceeded in their musical realm of lunacy for at least fifteen minutes before they looked at each other and laughed.

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