Kate would not remind the Bakers that the day of her visit was also her birthday. It was probably bad enough that she was visiting, their dead son’s wife, showing up to—what? Remind them that David was still dead? He had died in a boating accident in June, four months ago, and this visit to … Continue reading
Category Archives: Volume 45
The Oldest Guy in the Arcade — John Grey
One pin-ball machine in the arcade, just the one nod to the ancestors of all these new-fangled machines. I don’t want to drive at Indy, wipe out aliens, gangstas, monsters, ski down precipices, pilot rocket ships through meteor showers. These thumbs, these fingers, are designed for flippers, and these ears are trained to the thump … Continue reading
Stop Hitting Yourself — Anton Jones
Tour the world through the inside of my old shoes, unworn since the crutch of youth but dusted off to take a dismal glimpse of a past repressed by my unwillingness to please my frumpy self. Take a step into the mirror, as the cold glass fondles my memory I laugh because it is inappropriate. … Continue reading
Night School — Larry Narron
Most of us in Intro to Egyptology are grateful for a smoke break in the rain. The ex-paramedic with the teardrop tattoo blows half-broken rings at the moon as he preaches Osiris. It’s clear by the sand in his voice he’s lamenting the tops of the pyramids dissolving slowly in the wind: “Tonight after class, … Continue reading
Last Doctors in Aleppo, June 2014 — Ann Struthers
-for Angelique and V. Before coral, pearl, mother of pearl, before the chambers of the nautilus, millions of ancient trilobites crinoids, all the little limestone shells compressed for centuries by the weight of water. Then lifted up, cut, carved into the city of Aleppo, Halep, milk of Abraham’s cow, now blasted into flight by mortars, … Continue reading
Decisions — Brad Garber
If a man drinks to excess, he dies early. Drinking in moderation will protect his heart. If he does not drink, he dies of loneliness and, so, I struggle with decisions, a cigarette blowing thin party ribbons across the room. People sometimes explode their hearts white lines blurred from zero to boom. Others know how … Continue reading
Riverstones — Allison Grayhurst
Announcing flesh in the sleepy-loosened day. A childhood of bridges, masterpiece aromas that overlook the playing fields– one year, two grades and people once beautiful, now ordinary, bike turns, riverstones, skipping on driveways, melting ice over grates long pleated hair, dark, looking into competitive eyes. It was the last year I was there, spending evenings … Continue reading
