Andrew David Rufus Ballstaedt is doing a BFA in painting and also a BA in art education. He lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, and commutes to BYU. He hopes to go to grad school in painting.

Sara Blaisdell is a sophomore from Portland, Oregon, majoring in English. Two of her poems appeared in the last edition of Inscape. She can be contacted at

Dave Brown has studied art in East Africa, Poland, and Germany. He’s graduating with a BFA in sculpture from BYU this April after which he will go to Peru to study art and launch his ‘fame or bust’ campaign, though he’s not too worried about becoming rich.

Julie Deverich is a junior majoring in humanities and minoring in studio art. She spends most of her time contemplating the complexities of life and has come to the conclusion that contrary to the discoveries of Sir Higgy Boffo, the moon is indeed made out of limburger cheese.

Jenny Rebecca Griffin wishes she could drop out of school, move to London, bind handmade books, and sell them at a booth. Instead, she is majoring in English teaching at BYU and loves it.

Janelle Kemsley is a senior majoring in English. After graduating in April she’s moving to New York City to (hopefully) work in publishing.

Lindsay Larson, from Orange, California, is a senior majoring in history. She plans to attend law school in the fall of 2004 and become a civil rights advocate.

Jason Ludlow, regardless, after graduating with a degree in English, plans to move to Paris and live in squalor like any good artist.

Elizabeth Luker is a junior majoring in English. When she’s not writing, she enjoys dancing in the living room and singing very loudly. She wishes she had a secret identity as a crime fighter, but is usually too busy going back and forth on the bus, visiting her family in Salt Lake City.

Margaret H. Manchak is a junior majoring in English. She might as well be a philosophy major, too, since that’s her husband’s area of study. They are traveling to south-East Asia this summer, where she hopes to soak up culture and further material for writing. she likes chocolate, her trumpet, and, of course, reading.

A. E. Marlowe was born, will die, and is currently occupied in living.

David Nielsen lives in Salt Lake. He completed his undergraduate education at Westminster college. Currently he is a graduate student at BYU.

Audrianne Porter was born and raised in Mesa, Arizona, and has never really done anything exciting enough to include in a bio. One of her greatest accomplishment was deciding a major. She’s hoping to study in New Zealand next winter in the elementary ed program. She’s considering someday graduating from college.

Jessica Scoville is a senior majoring in English and minoring in micro-biology. she calls Littleton, Colorado, home. other people just call it Littleton, Colorado. When she isn’t reading books, she is writing books. And when she’s not reading or writing or playing in the mountains, she is usually asleep.

Erin Elaine Tuttle will graduate in April from Brigham Young University with a major in English and a creative writing emphasis. She is getting married on July 26th to the best man on the earth. She grew up in North Carolina and has written poetry for as long as she can remember but never submitted anything to be published. This year for a New year’s resolution she promised herself she would conquer that fear and it proved fruitful. Maybe it’s the beginning of success or maybe it’s her swan song but any and all things good from writing are forever dedicated to her dad, Lewis, her biggest fan.

Missy Ward is a senior studying psychology and international development. Her favorite things include foreign films, live indie rock music, green mango shakes, trick or treating for UNICEF, the coldness of the Baltic Sea, grilled cheese sandwiches, harmony, the Philippine island Boracay, volunteering, brain anatomy, Picasso’s blue period, springtime in Russia, Chopin’s Nocturne in E flat minor, museums with secret rooms, riding on small boats on the ocean at sunset, looking at maps, and listening to people who at first seem too different to be understood. Her least favorite things include saying goodbye. Impending post-graduation plans include a health internship in the Marshall Islands, a mission to Brazil, and ultimately marriage to Joe, who likes reading her poems.

Joshua Weed writes poetry when he’s not playing the violin his grandfather made for him or hanging out with his beautiful wife, Laurel. He’s also on the verge of allowing his friend Steve to convince him to buy a dirt bike and a gun so as to adopt more masculine Pastimes.

Aaron Welling married Natalie Marston (now Natalie Welling) two years ago. Aaron is a senior majoring in English.


By Missy Ward

as a long pale bed
glowing like moonlight
under a window that is being
pelted and smeared silver
by forlorn angry raindrops.
And the wind is heaving the trembling trees
while a tiny frightened star peeks out
of the cloud-ridden purple Bangkok sky
and cries

But child, you’ve never been to Bangkok

Shut up. This is not so much about
where I haven’t been as it is
about where I have been.

Regardless, you’ve never been there.

And neither have you. So
for all you know, I’m right
about the way leaves shaped like valentines
are thrust from their comfortable perches
by teardrops that echo like
deep rain in stone corridors.

Between Us

By Missy Ward

Between us was a frozen street,
shining in the dawnlight
like a dark solemn river.
From across the span of eternity,
I watched the bent limping man
scatter seventeen scavenging crows
and dip his battered bucket deep
into the belly of a dumpster.
I saw it come up empty.
I saw him turn around.
And as I walked down the street,
I imagined him fording the
slippery river, more alone
than the first time he crossed it.

Under the Covers

By A. E. Marlowe

I close my eyes under the covers and see this:
Two million seraphim in Speedos, on God-errand
Freestyling through the ether. Their jaws
Slice further with every stroke, them
Gasping for divinity on alternate hands.
Some three million-odd others are butterflying
—Because they can—to unurgent callings.
I wonder if also God tolerates
Fat stupid cherubim blowing bubbles in the deep end.

Prayer at Church

By David C. Nielsen

Close your eyes and don’t peek-but I peeked.
I expected angels,
smiling down,

slapping high fives,
reeling in the words
like rainbow trout.

Instead, it was like swimming underwater:
I could stare where I wanted, make faces,
wiggle my tongue.

The woman next to me
whispered amens. I thought about
kissing her,

laying a wet smack on her lips
and watching her wake
like snow white.

A girl my size swung her legs
on the back row, looked around like this
was a baseball game—

an easy afternoon,
warm, breezy.
I wanted her

to see me, to reach out
across the deaf sea of people
and mouth hello.