Issue Sixteen – April 2010

Another to Laura

By Tom Odegard

In your office…
how you’ve bloomed
into a Tao of orchids
putting up a budded stick

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Everything You Wanted to Know

By Lorna Reese

It was one of those steamy July days in Minnesota when hair expands to twice its normal size and clothes get damp and sticky right after you put them on. My dad’s stomach cancer surgery had been two months earlier. Now I was driving my folks to see the oncologist in Dad’s prized red Ford pick-up. During the eight short blocks to the clinic, he sat as unmoving as a stone. But his pain

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Watercolors

By Caroline Buchanan

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Rock Wall

By Monica Woelfel

His hands, mine, grip, our backs bend, arms lift stone and carry. Gnats come close, linger, bite. Knees bend, ache. Can this be who we are together best – two people building a wall of rocks in the woods, arguing over what constitutes a straight line?

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The Spatula

By Margaret Payne

Is it worth it, leaving the island? No. Emphatically no. If you can’t find what you need on the island, which means if you can’t find it at the grocery store, the drugstore, the hardware store, the consignment furniture store, the consignment clothing boutique, a yard sale or, better yet, at the Exchange, where even rich people poke around in garbage, you don’t need it. Because I promise

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Beauty Marauds

By Monica Woelfel

They have no mercy
as they step in their high-heeled party shoes
into the meadow.
Dark-furred lips gather with expert care

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The Anatomist

By Faith Van De Putte

The chest is ajar after the lesson.
Now, alone with the body,
she reaches down and picks up the liver,
as solid as a loaf of rye bread.

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Rock Paper Scissors

By Renae Keep

This round, the scissors you could crush
lie elsewhere. The sky flexes, blue.
We’re face to face, palms extended. A hush
descends: paper covers rock. True,

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Whistle for the Sun Dogs

By Lewis Spaulding

those dogs come
at 22 degrees
falling off
ice crystals

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My Father’s Business Coupe

By John Sangster

It had its comforts.
Beneath the seat, a pint of Old-Granddad
in a brown paper sack.
Behind the seat, a bag of peanuts
shells and all.

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When I Knew the Makes and Models

By John Sangster

I could walk down Hamlin street,
name them all: 1939 Lincoln Zephyr,
`41 Chevrolet Special Deluxe Coupe.
A boy, ten years old,
alone in his world of cars.

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Dakar, Senegal

By Ann Bodle Nash

nside the white mini bus. Twelve seats, all facing Dakar’s cacophony of human wanderings, roadside. Lemons, oranges, bananas. Cloth dolls and fabric passport-purses balanced in flat baskets on heads of moving women swathed in vibrant prints. Upholstered sofas wrapped in plastic for outside sales. Pens of goats awaiting slaughter—Mrs. Camara’s dinner. Fathers, mothers,

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End of Summer

By Julia Klimek

Sitting in a children’s circle, one began:
“I am going on a trip, and I am packing into
My suitcase … an apple.” And the second child
Repeated, added.

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I’m Just Telling You

By Julia Klimek

So, I’m telling you,
Them shoes you wearing,
Them ugly shoes caked with concrete and torn up,
If you was married, you’d be wearing better shoes.

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Self Portrait

By Ande Finley

Start with bright colors

bold, black strokes.

Notice the eyes

on the blue side of hazel

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Blessing the End

By Ande Finley

Sweet dark graces me with grief

to mark the bits slipping into strange hands –

the champagne shades, the old chipped dresser,

the table with the children’s scars.

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Writing as Exploration

By The Editors

As writers, we are inspired by just about anything under the sun – and moon – because we know our writing will take us places. Often, we don’t know where we’re going when we start but we stay along for the ride, moved to explore new terrain or dig deeply into old places. If we do think we know where we’re going when we begin, it’s not at all unusual to be surprised at where we actually end up.

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