 Cover art by Eric Eschenbrenner, '17 The 2016 edition of R2: The Rice Review is now online! You can view it here in our archive. The full launch of the magazine will be next semester, Fall 2016. Be on the look out an announcement!
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 Editor’s Note: “Resolution” seemed to be the perfect theme to fit our last Monthly Contest of the year. Likewise, this piece is beautiful, profound, and wowed every member of the committee—the perfect poem to round out a great year of submissions that have brought true insight for each prompt. We hope this poem will bring you a bit of resolution, whatever it may be, as you push through the end of the semester! —Bailey Tulloch, R2 Monthly Contest Committee Head Sylvia
by Ian Morell Since July she’s appeared before me, always after the bright morning bile has settled, the meticulous coating of each tooth. Words of bone white light crackle through her fingertips, caressing my neck like blades and valium thoughts. Eyes shut I can find you dancing, swimming through jet lounges. She reminds me of you without the broken cul-de-sac tattoo. You move both time and sky the way dad used to lie and take my splinters out with a knife; you rise to fall or maybe it is all a misunderstanding like those poor lemming bastards migrating, minding their business. Her technicolor spit, a wild mix of ash and berries; and you… pores dripping soft hellfire mixing mind with action. Was it you or her at the Tremont who finally spoke-- “God. An orange hospice house is the only thing I can imagine anymore.”  Join us in celebrating the launch of the 2016 edition of R2: The Rice ReviewWhen: April 23, 2016. 2-4 p.m.
Where: Rice Coffeehouse RSVP We're so excited to share what we've been working on these past few months. Come out for free coffee, treats, and plenty of magazines! We'll announce this year's prize winners, and then open the floor for any contributors who would like to read a bit of their work.  Editor’s Note: Happenstance is one of those words I always have trouble defining. If you look it up in the dictionary, it’ll tell you it’s a “chance happening or event; coincidence.” But, for me, happenstance has a deeper connotation, it’s more fate-driven than mere irony. This piece perfectly captures the definition I can never seem to find, that idea of a fateful encounter which changes everything—and whether it’s for better or for worse, we’ll never know. —Bailey Tulloch, R2 Monthly Contest Committee Head A Light Lost in the Rain
by Isaiah Tristan Childhood memories are a blur. When we walked around, our eyes darted everywhere, blurring our vision and filling our heads with more sights than we could perceive. As we got older, after years of being told to sit still, we learned to keep our eyes straight. We walked through life determined. Focused on our goal and nothing else. Whether going to the store or to a life-changing meeting, we walked with our backs straight, eyes forward. We walked with eyes that were cold, that did not turn to greet the other eyes moving past. Every now and then, something would catch our attention, however. A smell of fresh bread might turn our head to the corner bakery, blurring our vision and introducing us to the small glow coming from inside the shop. Each time we turned, we turned back, forsaking the light and continuing on with our business. What a chance it was that I would see the light of your face in a puddle of water that rainy evening. I had dropped my phone while waiting in a line for a glass of lemonade at the park. When I bent down to pick it up, I saw your reflection. While I was standing there, thinking of how to approach you, I overheard you say you forgot your wallet to the cashier, and I jumped to pay for you. We walked and talked, sometimes looking at each other, sometimes our eyes darting around. The rain stopped, and the sky opened up just for us. I showed you the stars and told you all of their names. You showed me your heart, and things were never the same. Everything was so bright then, when I could see your face, and blurry when you were near me. We left the park late that night, and I never found you again. Neither the phone number nor the address you left led me to you. It has been years, and I fear you do not remember. I wonder if you are sharing the stars with someone else, as I once did with you. Even so, just once more in my life, I wish I… [A doorbell is heard, and the man goes to answer. The story is never finished.] |
April is the cruelest month, breeding/ Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing/ Memory and desire, stirring/ Dull roots with spring rain. -T. S. EliotR2: The Rice ReviewRice University's undergraduate literary magazine. Here you can find event updates, monthly writing contest winners, and opinions by the R2 staff on what's new, interesting, or subject to discussion in the literary and arts world. Archives
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