61 I can't say he didn't feed me or lead me on. at least. My friendly little squirrel began to miss my affection, and I didn't want to encourage the pest any longer. A small rock sitting beside me found its way quickly in the rodent's direction. That would take care of him. "I have called thee by... Show more61 I can't say he didn't feed me or lead me on. at least. My friendly little squirrel began to miss my affection, and I didn't want to encourage the pest any longer. A small rock sitting beside me found its way quickly in the rodent's direction. That would take care of him. "I have called thee by name; thou art mine. When thou passeth through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through fire, thou shall not be burned. Fear not. for I am with thee." He spoke words of the Bible. but his followers surely thought they were his own. An empty park bench now held up his weary and fatigued body. He was not old, but certainly had lived through many hard and long days. My first thought of the man was that he was just another vagabond coming to wander the park and make it smell of sweet urine and body odor. I had thought the only natural area already had enough of that. Was it simply the words that intrigued me. or was it that he really did have followers? His hands were soiled. and the blue and grey flannel shirt hardly was anything at all. I began to wonder if I was crazy for giving this man any of my thoughts. Show less
Angie Wareham "Illusions of Decay" Mark R. Olson "Philippians 2:5-11" "Reincarnation" Lisa Dietz "Overdose" "Woman. Do You Know?" Angie Wareham "Nightmare" Kathryn Swanson "Carpe Diem" Pat Linder Ortmayer "A Letter to Ernest" Adam Pieri-Johnson "Time of Life" Joel Thoreson "That's Life" "A Winter... Show moreAngie Wareham "Illusions of Decay" Mark R. Olson "Philippians 2:5-11" "Reincarnation" Lisa Dietz "Overdose" "Woman. Do You Know?" Angie Wareham "Nightmare" Kathryn Swanson "Carpe Diem" Pat Linder Ortmayer "A Letter to Ernest" Adam Pieri-Johnson "Time of Life" Joel Thoreson "That's Life" "A Winter Afternoon at the Historical Society" Edward M. Sabella "Coke-Lite" Chad Pierro "Anima Projection" "tangled reflection" Anjie Tonolli "Reflections" Pamela Jean Hartwell "Pigeon Messiah" Carolyn Schueller "Blanche: To Illusion" Jennifer Robertson "Das Ende der Mauer" About the contributors 37 38 4o 42 45 46 47 51 52 54 55 56 59 60 63 64 Show less
27 bit it free. The baby whimpered and grabbed at her mother's dress. This done. she stepped across the surface of the water toward the busy shore. I was still horrified and in shock. I stared at the woman. alone now in her raft. and thought I would sit there forever. waiting for her to bring more... Show more27 bit it free. The baby whimpered and grabbed at her mother's dress. This done. she stepped across the surface of the water toward the busy shore. I was still horrified and in shock. I stared at the woman. alone now in her raft. and thought I would sit there forever. waiting for her to bring more horror from that line between the sea and the sky. She looked anxiously back at me once in a while. but it seemed her job required that she look constantly into the distant air. Eventually the wagons did uncircle themselves. so I could get to my feet. I felt very tired. I turned from the woman in the raft and looked toward the shore. The people running and playing on the beach seemed tiny and unreal. I began to shuffle slowly back. tripping on the waves as they moved past me. l had not gone very far when I heard a roaring behind me. At first it was like the buzz of a large bug. but as it got louder and apparently closer. it sounded like a chainsaw. and it sounded as if it were coming at me. I spun around in the direction of the horizon. A speed boat was weaving its way out of the horizon. bouncing as it went and spraying the Show less
36 a home. The worst that he saw. were the small children with their stomachs bloated and their faces full of pain. "I can't let them do this to themselves." he thought. He then proceeded to gather more materials and put his art together in the way he had intended. There was harmony in this new... Show more36 a home. The worst that he saw. were the small children with their stomachs bloated and their faces full of pain. "I can't let them do this to themselves." he thought. He then proceeded to gather more materials and put his art together in the way he had intended. There was harmony in this new world. NO one was dying or being killed and everyone had a good place to sleep and food in their cupboards. He then looked at the first creation and shook his head. It was indeed a work of art. but one that was not fit to exist. He picked it up and threw it into the toilet. He flushed it away like a dead fish. Show less
l7 breakfast counter. Two women in crisp pastel suits are talking on my left. "I swore up and down I'd never be like my mother," one says, "but when I got up this morning and looked in the mirror... there she was staring back at me." "I know what you mean." says the other. "I guess biology will... Show morel7 breakfast counter. Two women in crisp pastel suits are talking on my left. "I swore up and down I'd never be like my mother," one says, "but when I got up this morning and looked in the mirror... there she was staring back at me." "I know what you mean." says the other. "I guess biology will get you in the end, one way or another." "I guess so. I just hoped it wouldn't be so soon!" They laugh. They take a few last fretful sips from their coffee and leave. purses swinging. I hear their heels clack deep into the store. I used to wonder how my mother could have become so sour. After the city we moved to the suburbs where grass lived in little squared-off lawns and mothers called each other on the phone to discuss Jello recipes and stain removers. My mother the botanist sat in the living room waiting for the phone call from Creative Botanicals who had promised her a job. I had seen their animated ads on TV: "Don't worry. honey. call the Tree Man at Creative Botanicals!" The Tree Man. I used to wonder. because her anger was so cold. so unlike my bright rages that burst forth periodically. clear. momentarily painful. and Show less
39 l l l l i Reincarnation Mark R. Olson I in old auschwitz a shoot came forth from jesse's root, through ashes and dust. about brick and stone. weathered by the elements. and iron it crept. with delight and might it furtively flowered. hidden by the gates. a worker one night. while the tourists... Show more39 l l l l i Reincarnation Mark R. Olson I in old auschwitz a shoot came forth from jesse's root, through ashes and dust. about brick and stone. weathered by the elements. and iron it crept. with delight and might it furtively flowered. hidden by the gates. a worker one night. while the tourists were sleeping. cut branches from Trees. she trimmed the rosewood. knowing the feel. by its thorns. as she wore them away. selecting one branch. she measured. cut. then whittled the shape of a flute. the work of her hands once hollowed. then fingered. was polished. finished... we waited for wind as stillness pulled at auschwitz until. at dawn. she- passionately played until God listened. heard. and knew that it was good. Show less
62 He tossed another handful to the followers. "'We can't all be heroes because somebody has to sit on the curb and clap as they go by.‘ Will Rogers said that." he said quietly. When he was silent and still the congregation looked on waiting for what came next. There must have been thirty of them... Show more62 He tossed another handful to the followers. "'We can't all be heroes because somebody has to sit on the curb and clap as they go by.‘ Will Rogers said that." he said quietly. When he was silent and still the congregation looked on waiting for what came next. There must have been thirty of them crowded around him. As I began to write down what he had said. he noticed me and moved his mouth into a smirk like that of Modiglian's Gypsy woman. I could only look away with the sort of fear people have when talking to someone they know is more experienced than themselves. He stood up and continued his walk to the other edge of the park. As he turned away I heard him say. "And whomsoever will, let him take the water of life freely." He emptied the last of the bread crumbs from his bag; the pigeons that followed stopped to gather them all as he walked away. A few still followed. but they were foolish because he had no more nourishment for them. Somehow I felt that maybe he should someday receive followers that would truly appreciate their messiah. But I think this was enough for him. Though it would be insignificant to so many, it was enough for him. Show less
23 brown woman was holding him by the throat on his back in the raft, trying to keep him still. She put her face to the side of his head, saying, "Shhhhh! Shhhhh! Quiet! Shhhhh! You‘re dead! You are dead! Shhhhh!" The small raft rocked with his thrashing and the blue in his body shifted in panic.... Show more23 brown woman was holding him by the throat on his back in the raft, trying to keep him still. She put her face to the side of his head, saying, "Shhhhh! Shhhhh! Quiet! Shhhhh! You‘re dead! You are dead! Shhhhh!" The small raft rocked with his thrashing and the blue in his body shifted in panic. I watched. wide-eyed. while this small woman clenched the head of the struggling man to her chest. whispering all the time to quiet him. "Shhhhh. shhhhhhh. you're dead, you're dead." After a while he stopped thrashing. He opened first one eye, then the other. so that he was looking her full in the face. The blue patches in his body seemed to hesitate. "What?" he asked. "You're dead," she said. "I'm dead? I am?" "Yes." "How?" "Starved." "Oh." I watched a patch of blue drift down his arm into the sea. "You mean I don't have to eat?" "No." Show less
35 Pat Noren "The Artist" The old man crossed his studio. thinking about how he should begin. There were several ways that he could do it. There was the magical way. where he said a few vague words and shook his hands a couple of times. "No." he thought. "that would take a week." Then there was... Show more35 Pat Noren "The Artist" The old man crossed his studio. thinking about how he should begin. There were several ways that he could do it. There was the magical way. where he said a few vague words and shook his hands a couple of times. "No." he thought. "that would take a week." Then there was the dirty way. In that one, he would have to get clay and form everything out by his hands. He didn't feel like getting dirty today. So. he settled on the scientific way. He gathered together all his materials. and just as he was ready to mix them together in a picture of harmony. he felt a sneeze overtaking his nose. It was too late to stop it and when it finally exploded. his tools and materials all flew up into the air and condensed into one huge mass. His sneeze continued for what seemed like ages. and when he collected himself. he saw that his art had exploded from its mass and evolved on its own. He now sat down and observed what the materials had become in his absence. He was astounded at what he saw. He saw racism and slavery. He saw people laying on the streets without Show less
19 against it. I pull the brim of my hat low over my eyes and walk to my parents' house. third cul-de-sac on the right. My mother has just stepped out the door, carrying a box of clothes to drop off at the second-hand store. She doesn't say anything as I step up the walk. She leans into the back... Show more19 against it. I pull the brim of my hat low over my eyes and walk to my parents' house. third cul-de-sac on the right. My mother has just stepped out the door, carrying a box of clothes to drop off at the second-hand store. She doesn't say anything as I step up the walk. She leans into the back seat of the car. and then stands up. facing me. There is no air- conditioning in the house. but she is not sweating at all. "Are you ready?" she asks. Her eyes are dark next to her pale skin. "I just have to change." I say. I go into the house. My younger sister and brother are at school. My sister's Godzilla doll is in the bathtub in the bathroom where I go to put on the cotton dress. shirt. nylons and shoes. When I come out my mother is waiting by the door, thumbing through some envelopes. She sighs. "Well. let's go." she says. In the car she looks at me, her hand resting on the stick shift. "You know I'll always support you. no matter what happens." she says. "but you've got to know whether you're doing the right thing or not." "I know what I'm doing," I say. She sighs. "Mom." I say. "let‘s go. Let‘s get it over with. I want it out of my body. now." We are a pair of icy stalks. "No." she says. "you're right." Show less
13 Bronwen Stine "The Progress of Milk" It is hot. and I am happy it is hot. They say that people become foul-tempered in the heat. that crime waves rise on heat waves, flooding the city with axe murders and race riots, but I like it hot. My blood is so chilled by centuries of Northern European... Show more13 Bronwen Stine "The Progress of Milk" It is hot. and I am happy it is hot. They say that people become foul-tempered in the heat. that crime waves rise on heat waves, flooding the city with axe murders and race riots, but I like it hot. My blood is so chilled by centuries of Northern European procreation that it takes a real searing summer to penetrate the iciness of my soul. The heat is cleansing. I like to fight the heat because I know the heat will eventually win. I know it will help take the edge off my curdled blood. In the evenings I wet my top bed sheet in the bathtub with cold water. I open the window to my room and put the electric fan at the foot of my bed. I have metal rings on the comers of my bed for those gentle games I play with my lover when he is here. He is not here now. I lie the comers of the wet sheet to each of the four rings. It balloons up over my bed like a pink mushroom. I crawl in. By morning the top sheet is dry and crisp. Sometime during the night it has started to snap in Show less
30 "Hey, cut it out. This is cool . He hoisted one. then the other out onto the surface of the water. "We're dead. Surprise!" They shook themselves free of the yellow ropes and looked around. The water had stayed in patches, but now it was slipping off into the sea. They looked each other over. ... Show more30 "Hey, cut it out. This is cool . He hoisted one. then the other out onto the surface of the water. "We're dead. Surprise!" They shook themselves free of the yellow ropes and looked around. The water had stayed in patches, but now it was slipping off into the sea. They looked each other over. "Wow. Who else is dead? Andy? Isn't Marilyn Monroe dead? Let's go find her!" "Yeah, and Elvis is dead. too. Let's look for the King!" They meandered toward the beach. "Wow. a beach," I heard one say as they walked off. I looked at the woman in the raft. She was smiling, and looked at me for almost a minute. I waved to her and walked to the shore where I found a wooden tub, which I dragged out to sea. I sat down in it. rocking on the gentle waves, and looked out to the thin bright line between the sky and the sea. Show less
49 children that must be primped. and a dog that must be groomed. There are appointments to be kept. and clients to be impressed. There is money to be shifted, and budgets to be balanced. I go. and I do, and I go some more. but l'm trapped within a vacuum that isolates me. insulates me, and... Show more49 children that must be primped. and a dog that must be groomed. There are appointments to be kept. and clients to be impressed. There is money to be shifted, and budgets to be balanced. I go. and I do, and I go some more. but l'm trapped within a vacuum that isolates me. insulates me, and poisons my soul. I hear on the television news of the injustice in South Africa. and the starving homeless just downtown. but before my soul can feel indignation I must turn the steaks on the grill. or rush to make the opera. I see the pictures in the paper of the afflicted and oppressed, the brave students of China. the tortured Cambodians, but before I remember pain I turn the page and see Millie's puppies. and read of the White House birth. I speak out against prejudice and bigotry and inequality; but my words are empty; they're said out of habit; I've lost the passion to act. Ernest. you're right. Gangrene eases the pain. The more the soul rots. the less it feels. I have forgotten Real passion. Real pain. Real joy. I have forgotten what I wanted to tell this side--it was something about Living...it was something about Life. This side. my world. this vacuum. consumes my Show less
42 Lisa Diet: WOMAN. DO YOU KNOW? Woman Do you know your name? The one you had Before the scars Thick make-up covering Sun-glassed face Over red. blue, oily stains Cropped hair in a fit of passion Unpaid hospital bills The broken nose, bruised ribs Finger. elbow. knee. vagina Nothing left... Show more42 Lisa Diet: WOMAN. DO YOU KNOW? Woman Do you know your name? The one you had Before the scars Thick make-up covering Sun-glassed face Over red. blue, oily stains Cropped hair in a fit of passion Unpaid hospital bills The broken nose, bruised ribs Finger. elbow. knee. vagina Nothing left untouched. Woman Do you know where you live? In a suburban house Redwood fence Haunting memory-dream reality Locking doors, banging walls Wipe away the blood Scramble for the phone The line is dead As the door breaks down. Show less
Carpe Diem My dog and my mother are old. Each is not herself. The part of them that Laughed. and ran. and leased. and chewed Is gone. What remains is empty and blind And busy holding on. "You'll know when it's time." the vet says. I wonder.