new essays, including our briefest brief to date, as well as repeat
visits from Greg Bottoms, Rebecca McClanahan, and Cheryl Merrill. Good
things still come in small packages:
By Ira Sukrungruang
mother was a champion bowler in Thailand. This was not what I knew of
her. I knew only her expectations of me to be the perfect Thai boy.
I knew her distaste for blonde American women she feared would seduce
her son. I knew her distrust of the world she found herself in, a world
of white faces and mackerel in a can.
By Nicole Walker
Cooking filets of fish is not complicated. Salt and pepper
the fish. Press the water out of the skin with a knife. Slide it across
at a 20 degree angle. In the pan, in some oil, two minutes on the skin
side, one minute on the flesh. It’s the sauce that’s difficult.
By Stuart Lishan
So, “Ka-Chunk,” went Jerry’s head. And that’s a sort of love, too, don’t
get me wrong, only it wasn’t Sherri Luna’s sort of love. She needed
to touch the someone she loved, even if she didn’t understand what the
yearning in her heart was asking her 9-year-old body to do.
LIKE YMA SUMAC
By Cheryl Merrill
Imagine a vocal instrument that is equal parts cello, double bass, violin,
tuba and trumpet, one whose entire body is an expanding and contracting
resonating chamber, one that can sing with a throat full of water and
triple-trill a rumble, a roar, and infrasound, all in one 3-second call.
Yma Sumac would be horribly jealous.
By Porter Shreve
The glass explodes in front of me. Loud snaps and a deep bellow. Then
I’m looking at a mass of black fur and bone where our windshield
used to be. I reach for my face and everything is wet, tiny shards dug
into my hands and arms.
THE STREET AND A WORLD APART
By Linda Dyer
She sauntered down the street mid-morning in a navy blue silk bathrobe,
her satin mules clicking the sidewalk with two-inch kitten heels.
By Rebecca McClanahan
King murdered the week of my senior prom, then Bobby in a hotel just
miles from my school while I marched to Pomp and Circumstance, not knowing
that within a year on a July night in the back seat of a Volkswagen,
I would pledge what was left of my heart to a boy leaving for Vietnam.
By Joshua Dolezal
All winter, I rose early and drew a scalding bath first thing, smothering
toast with apricot jam while water drummed in the tub. Night and day
converged in a stream of heat and half-waking.
By Greg Bottoms
“She’s insane. She does this every time she sees me. She bit someone
in my mom’s neighborhood, so my mom told my dad he had to keep her here
until they could sell her. My mom says my dad drinks and that’s why
the dog is wild. "
By J. Stephen Rhodes
the day before she died, I visited Mina in the hospital. As soon as
I walked in her room, she said, “Oh, Steve, I just took the most wonderful
trip before you walked in. I went on a helicopter ride–you know how
I’ve always wanted to. We went way up in the air, so high the trees
looked like blades of grass.
BREVITY copyright © 2005
authors retain copyright over individual works