. " 9. 0 0 0 23 Th Saemn / ededaMac 10@01 Wenedyarh10 21 / TeStteet Bl statement Magazine Editor: Trevor Calero Editor in Chief: Jacob Smilovitz Managing Editor: Matt Aaronson Deputy Editon Allie White Designers: Sara Boboltz Corey DeFever Photo Editor: Jed Moch Copy Editors: Erin Flannery Danqing Tang Cover Illustration: Jed Moch Allie Ghaman The Statement is The Michigan Daily's news magazine, distributed every Wednesday during the academic year. THELITERATUREISSUE editors' note TO our readers, This week, we bring you The Statement's annual Literature Issue. After soliciting work from students for the past two months - advertising in the pages of this magazine, posting flyers all over campus and asking everyone we knew - we've combed through the hundreds of poems and short stories submitted and have come up with what we believe tobe some of the best undergraduate creative writing this University has to offer. There's a short story about going to the bathroom on an airplane, a poem about the sexuality of animals and a piece of flash fiction about a dead woman in a bathtub. Though most undergraduate writing can be trite, simple and juvenile, the writers whose work is displayed in this issue demonstrate avoice and complexity of thought often missing from the work of their peers. We could only fit a select few in print, but check out the rest online at michigandaily.com/the-statement. Enjoy, Trevor Calero and Allie White, Magazine Editor and Deputy Magazine Editor The dead, naked woman in your bathtub Iowa is for Lovers H a a i * THE STATEMENT IS CURRENTLY TAKING SUBMISSIONS FOR ITS STUDENT OF THE YEAR ISSUE. If you would like to nominate someone, please e-mail calero@michigandaily.com. A right, don't panic. Calm. Collected. Untroubled. Don't breathe too fast. Don't look down too much. Assuage. Temper- ance. Relieve. Rest. Reprieve. Is reprieve a befitting synonym? Is she dead? She's dead. There is a dead, naked woman in your bathtub. And what a bathtub! An iron-clad claw foot bathtub with solid brass fixtures and a marble soap dish. A beautiful standalone unit, on tiger paws beneath the Southern ac- cent window coverings, decorated toward the ambition of a delicate ambiance, perfect for... reprieve. You should probably unlace your shoes. Pink bathwater is spilling onto your tiled floor. Most guests agree they afford the room a rustic dignity - these polished desert yel- low Jerusalem Stone tiles, quarried from Palestine and laid with the utmost attention to detail. My God, they must think, what magnificent tiles! You came home and there she was. There she is, blue and getting grayer. "Death," you tell yourself, "poor, poor girl. Maybe I could have tried to afford a better bathtub to die in. I'm honest. Believe me, my wife will be home in an hour. I need to wash my hands and pledge sixty sit-ups an evening to keep her inter- est." You shouldalso trim your nails. And remember to buy potpourri., The faucet is not running. The ap- plication ofther makeup indicates a precise attention to detail. The absence of clothing, the soft curve of her neck, her choice of setting begs a pertinent question ... but whsich one? What runs through the mind of a dying naked woman in a strange colonial bathroom at four in the afternoon? What do the neighbors think? Johnson McCantley next door, most likely on his couch - a gaudy black leather sectional - thinks, no doubt all the time, about bathing in this room. You can see it in his eyes when he says hello walking past, green with envy. It's hard to stay humble. Johnson's wife left him last August. Keeping a wife is very important. She fell in love with another man when she found Jesus, an unruly-haired Mexican gentle- man who touched her inthe park one afternoon. Your bathroom is rich with thera- peutic candles of assorted floral scents. "I enjoy the finer things in life," you tell yourself, "my wife is very beautiful." Which she is. The envy of other wives. The girl's finger twitches slightly. Look at her. She looks like your wife on the wedding night. Not gray...,but very young. And twitchy. She looked lively in the hotel bed on the honeymoon night, staring up at you, an air of sensual- ity. You re-arranged the chairs sev- eral times to promote a lascivious atmosphere and domesticate certain animal urges. While the last woman you will ever sleep with lay there, waiting. She said, "For Christ's sake, Walter, you're more concerned with establishing a setting than focusing on the task at hand." The girl's fingernails are painted red, at least the five not underwater. Blood is pouring down the arms. The terrycloth towels are still in the closet. A pink nipple rises like an is- land in an ocean of diluted ketchup. The fingers are starting to curl into themselves. No, no, you shouldn't smell her hair. A clear view of the legs is lost at the shin, under the water. The knees appear not too knobby and she has small, delicate toes. Alright, calm down. Focus. It is very warm in this bathroom. You should roll up your sleeves, you should loosen your tie - a very crisp necktie woven from Italian silk and very distinguished sleeves of the highest thread count. Breathe. Your wife will be home in an hour. She promised to cook your favorite dish, rosemary chicken marinated in lemon and black pepper. And perhaps this smell will have begun to fade. Can't have the place reeking to high heaven with a rosemary chicken on the premises. Your house is protected by a lovely red oak door. Your wife still insists on that eyesore of a welcome mat. She can be quite difficult sometimes, insist- ing on that ratty doormat, with tat- tered fibers and 'Welcome' spelled in faded-green block letters. One should never welcome anything on such obvious terms. It's gaudy and out of place. It used to belong to her grandmother's country porch. She argues it has value of sentiment. It has been linked with kind memories and thus, is justified. You begged her to consider a thin rug or rococo placemat. She is very difficult. This doormat upsets the balance of your entrance. People will make assump- tions. But your wife, your wife is fond of something that does not be- long, preoccupied with such a small detail - God bless her - you do not want the doormat, your wife insists on the doormat. Such is the nature of life, caught in the pull, trying to approach an impossible situation. We could go to the cornfields at night, maybe when the moon is full. We could stroll down the spaces between stalks like they were the avenues of Paris. The shimmering moonlight reflecting off the heads of corn could be elegant streetlights, lighting the way for us as we wandered between cafes and verdant parks. Then we could turn a corner and wander the streets of Ven- ice - marveling at the starry night and Are You Considering a Career in Health? Consider the advantages of earning a Master of Public Health (MPH) degree at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign The University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign is offering an exciting opportunity to become a public health professional specializing in the prevention and control of disease, particularly chronic disease. Health and health-related industries are among the fastest- growing in the nation, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, and those holding Master of Public Health degrees are needed in a wide variety of health careers. Our MPH degree provides intensive education and training in public health approaches to prevention. Applications are now being accepted for the MPH program's Fall 2010 semester. For more information, visit our website: embracing beside luminescent canals. We could set atable for two between the rows of corn; we could look at each other through the shim- meringcandlelight and we wouldn't have to say a word. I could make you the most exotic dishes and you would taste them delicately. You would gaze into my eyes, reach across the table and take my hand - and you would smile just so. We could wander down the boulevards until we found a spot to our likingand we could lie down together in the cool grass. You could restyour head on my chest; we would gaze up at the stars and I could tell you stories for hours and hours. I could tell you love stories and I could tell you fairy tales. I could tell you tragedies that might make you sad and I could tell you comedies that would make you happy again. And for the finale, I could tell us both a story about how we would never fall out of love and how I would never lie to you and how you would never leave me and how our story would end happily ever after instead of with me lying in a cornfield and you lying with him in California. WE'IRE HIRING. APPLY ONLINE by MARCH 19th www.umich.edu/info ICampus Information Centers Michigan Union & Pierpont Commons " (734) 764-INFO LtfdII II], tf C a (.UL UK-- I t k . Attend an information session. Wednesday, March 10th 6:30 p.m. International Center, Room 9 800.424.85'80 1www.peacecorps.gov Life is calling. How far will you go? WANT TO INTERVIEW A RANDOM STUDENT? Come write for The Statement. E-MAIL CALERO@ MICHIGAN DAILY.COM www.mph.illinois.edu