Issue 146

Summer & Fall 2014

Image from Dead Christ

Nonfiction David Bradley Nonfiction David Bradley

Eulogy for Nigger

DETROIT. Hundreds of onlookers cheered… as the National Association of Colored People put to rest a long-standing expression of racism by holding a public burial for the N-word . . . Two Percheron horses pulled a pine box adorned with . . . a black ribbon printed with a derivation of the word. The coffin is to be placed at historically black Detroit Memorial Park Cemetery. —Associated Press, July 9, 2007

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Nonfiction Jaquira Díaz Nonfiction Jaquira Díaz

Reflections, While Sitting in Traffic

How I remember your voice on the phone but not the last thing I said to you, the last thing you said to me, how I didn’t leave my husband, how I went back to Miami last summer and was having tostones at La Granja when I saw your brother sitting there having pollo con papas, how he didn’t even recognize me, how he looked older, like a man with a job, how you would be proud to see this man, to know him…

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Nonfiction Kent Meyers Nonfiction Kent Meyers

The Western Uncanny

Let us say you are walking near a wetland where red-winged blackbirds nest. You are absorbed in conversation, in a human and social world. Then, over your head and just behind it, the air creases and rips. How do you know—before you even know—to duck, to avoid?

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Nonfiction David Lazar Nonfiction David Lazar

Who’s Afraid of Helen of Troy

If I hear you once more say the word love, I’ll take the imaginary child, his hair gleaming on my shield, or reflected in your Subaru’s window, and present him on a platinum platter for the Cyclops to devour for the world’s amusement. This is commensurate with the nature of my powers and the natural state of a healthy relationship, not to mention the good of the polity.

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Nonfiction Paula Carter Nonfiction Paula Carter

Ictalurus Punctatus

The mouth alone must be over a foot wide, and the fan-like tail is kicking up mud some four feet away. My father says no, it is only three feet. He was a chemist and is careful with his measurements. Still, those whiskers, tangling with the sedge along the shallow banks of the Hennepin Canal, I half expect to turn into whips.

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