Issue 140

Summer & Fall 2011

Fiction Ilse Munro Fiction Ilse Munro

Making Soup

My mother nursed me and carried me to the road. She walked in one direction, then the other, taking in the damage from the previous night.

A woman on a bicycle stopped to tickle my stomach. It was bad enough she did that without my leave, but then she turned to my mother and said, “Thank God she is too young to understand.”

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Fiction Kara Levy Fiction Kara Levy

Transplant

The first thing Sanchez Miller did on his eighteenth birthday was change his name to Constantine. He didn’t want the things his parents had wanted. He kept the Miller, though.

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Fiction Christine Sneed Fiction Christine Sneed

The River

People still swim in the river, but it’s so polluted that when they get out and sit on a towel, their butts leave a grease print. Kids used to skinny-dip in it and have picnics on the banks when my mom was a girl, but now it smells like sewer water and basically, that’s what the river is.

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