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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