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Page 60 from Issue 67

Fall 1986
seeming Sunday memories were only part of Tuesday's dreams. The pint still sloshed a little when ... Where was her mother, who never let him hang around Milly two minutes? Looking out the kitchen window ... had broken three tools and a machine and told his foreman what he could do with the parts and been ...
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Page 73 from Issue 80

Page 73 from Issue 80 Its grumble, tuned on cliffs to crystal lappings, came and went, where it ... the restaurant that night, so full ourselves with the shellfish, garlic, and wine, we must have ... for the first time in months of city living, that night we found Dipper, Bear, and Hunter, mere ...
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Page 54 from Issue 26

I'll not tell you her last words for they were meant only for Father and myself, though 1 have written ... "never mind. Tomorrow when you're stronger we'll go to town and buy a fresh brace and ... Page 54 from Issue 26 far and 1 can see straight"; these were not her last words; ...
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Page 92 from Issue 102

Spring/Summer 1998
in memory or recreate from eyewitness reports what the death (at which they were not present) of ... even if we are permitted, and even if we are there then often we cannot bear to remember or perhaps are ... not even meant to remember precisely what it was we saw. Thus when my mother died around noon the ...
Review

Half in Shade: Family, Photography, and Fate by Judith Kitchen

Alex Starace
we are treated to a view of where that hope-laden “everything” finally rested: in a man who would ... Kitchen’s bafflement that her father and mother became who they were. For example, Kitchen cannot account ... instructive: memories and history can be difficult. That Kitchen makes such an effort (even if failed) at ...
Nonfiction

Come In, It's Free

Amy Benson
riding a cab through the city. It was never found; it may be riding still, recording. 7. After a trickle ... Come In, It's Free We were invited to Dublin to curate a robotic art show. Ireland was then ... robots—that slick creature toward which we’re tending or to which we’ll cede, depending on our folklore. But ...
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Page 67 from Issue 47

disappointment that I almost wept for my stupidity, for of course she meant Jack Dale. And that was all she said, ... were the same mate­ rial, all of it confused with Morning Sun's dark eyes in her small, ... seemed a part of some dream I was sinking into at last, and a sense of someone standing over me, a shawl ...
Poetry

Scared Violent Like Horses

John McCarthy
where he never sat next to me again. Back then, everyone I ever called a friend held fire in their fists ... horsehair, as if they were untamed and lonely, galloping and wind-swollen. We didn’t know how to talk about ... dried brown on our skewbald knuckles, and we had nightmares of being reined in. We needed someone to ...
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Page 78 from Issue 10

cannot be halted. You'll discover that I'm quite progressive in my views. My social ... "You can sit here, sir," Jack said, ignoring her. "This can be your plate. I hope ... must be not to have any eyes! He supposed the old man had flesh grown over the empty sockets, maybe ...
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Page 261 from Issue 51

assistance, "Czechoslovakia has sunk into servitude." My friend Kundera We were invited by ... Czechoslovakia, but of Johnson in the Dominican Republic. It never stopped snowing during the days we spent in ... Prague. We bought ourselves fur hats and boots. Cortazar and Garcia Marquez, who are two equally intense ...

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