Issue 148

Summer & Fall 2015

Image from Pattern for Survival

Nonfiction Michael Ryan Nonfiction Michael Ryan

The Sparrows

I thought school was a pain, but for some kids, like Rich Utz, it must have been torment. Utz was a mountainous child, with a skull as big as a buffalo’s, abundant blonde curls, and an unaccountably cheerful expression. He even smiled while he spoke.

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Nonfiction Alan Shapiro Nonfiction Alan Shapiro

A Note on the Afterlife

I saw her in the shadows of the bar, peeking out from behind a column, watching us, the friends she’d left a moment earlier, “to freshen up,” she might have said, or was it to go outside for a smoke, or maybe to say hi to someone who’d just entered, someone the rest of us didn’t know?

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Nonfiction Alan Shapiro Nonfiction Alan Shapiro

A Note on Smell

The check had long since come, and he had paid it. And the restaurant now was empty but for the two of them and the last remaining waiters eyeing them angrily from the darkened far end of the room, all the other tables cleaned, the chairs upside down on the tables, and the floor mopped…

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Nonfiction Alan Shapiro Nonfiction Alan Shapiro

A Note on Manhood

You were still too little for the new bicycle I’d gotten you, but too big for the tricycle you still liked to ride, and so while the big bike stood unused in the driveway, you rode the tricycle around the cul-de-sac, knees banging on the handlebars, feet clumsily pedaling, happy to be too big for once for anything…

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Nonfiction Alan Shapiro Nonfiction Alan Shapiro

Note on Hell

Dublin, 1974

The car bomb had exploded not far from Trinity only a few days earlier, and the city was still largely on lockdown. Even the churches near the bomb sites were mostly empty.

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Nonfiction Caroline Sulzer Nonfiction Caroline Sulzer

Tante Hilde’s Desk

Secrets require space, as in the hidden drawers of a writing desk my grandfather built out of ash for his lover, who also happened to be his sister-in-law, my father’s (and mother’s by marriage) Tante Hilde. A small, light-colored desk with a clean, simple design. A writing desk.

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Nonfiction Meena Alexander Nonfiction Meena Alexander

Song of the Black Hen

1.

I was born by the river Ganga, in the northern city of Allahabad where two rivers meet. I was born in winter, a year after mid-century, four years after Indian independence.

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