by Elisabeth Murawski
They carry him up the mountain,
give him chicha to calm.
What is an honor? Continue reading
by Elisabeth Murawski
They carry him up the mountain,
give him chicha to calm.
What is an honor? Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Douglas Young
Madikwe Game Reserve—June 23, 2010
“Can’t they get in?” I asked the ranger.
We’d just finished breakfast in an overdone dining room with unsurprising pictures of animals every direction you looked. We were gathered outside in the circular drive of the craftsman style Motswiri Lodge. I wore a brimmer hat with my long auburn hair tucked under to protect it from lightening any more than it had rowing crew back home on the Bay. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Andy McQuestin
I walk him there along the thin streets. The small houses pressed up to the curbs, potted herbs balancing on window frames painted in primary colors.
He carries a walking stick. He wears slacks and a button up shirt: the comfortable shoes that await all of us who live long enough. Men of his generation never dress down.
“Just the other side of this block,” I say. He nods. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Derek Andersen
7:14 p.m.
Already, Joan is running late. But she still hasn’t found the right outfit—the ensemble bold enough to signal a triumphant return from her fifty-four-day leave of absence, but not so bold as to upstage the victims.
She, after all, was on the periphery of The Tragedy that struck Twin Lakes High. Though, perhaps “periphery” was too generous a term. She was on the margins, the outermost fringes. One could argue whether she’d been grazed by its farthest-reaching ripples. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Cooper Young
Today, the stars are hidden
behind a veil of blue.
The waves turn themselves
inside out, and my parents
bob in the water, beyond the break. Continue reading