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By Rebecca McClanahan
Bread is delivered
in funeral carts pulled by men stooped like horses, each named
I was walking along on a sidewalk. There the cigarette lay, untouched,
where it had slipped from a pack. It was a test I wouldn’t pass.
By Ira Sukrungruang
For a few years, you
were all I had, and I liked your stories and I liked your pranks—though
I would never tell you—and we were inseparable for a while.
By Barbara Hurd
another time in my life, I might have responded--raised a sail,
plied my oars, at least considered the lure of infinity.
COLUBRIS, FIRST SIGHTING
By Bonnie J. Rough
parents stand together in front of the picture window, facing the
slack-tide sound, and my mother holds me up, invites me to look
By Carrie Oeding
One passenger traveled with a gun. One’s right nostril was full
of snot. Before they renamed these roads to make us think 911 would
By Suzanne LaFetra
nights she’d spent away from her family since her children were
she’d been married: 0.9
By Charles Cantalupo
taxi stopped behind a huge black limousine, out of which poured
an entourage of muscular men and fashion model women – draped in
a riot of bright Senegalese cloth.
By Chris Orlet
Like two drunks on the dance floor we collided,
slowly, then he dropped from view.
As a child, in church, you held your father’s hands,
rubbed the wire-thin scabs left by errant two-by-fours.
copyright © 2007
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