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    To Remain
    The Sun InterviewBy Judith HertogTo RemainRaja Shehadeh on Living through Destruction in Palestine

    I have been thinking that people all over the world these days are feeling a sense of despair because, like me, they are seeing the destruction of the world as they knew it. But it has occurred to me that the real destruction of my world happened in 1948, when the Palestinians lost Palestine.

    Distractions
    Readers WriteBy Our ReadersDistractions

    Reading at work, listening to music during labor, swatting gnats while meditating

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Browse Sections

Fiction

    Fiction

    Rocks Along This River

    There are certain safe points — rocks along this river, natural bridges. Once in a while, Papa and I feel the same thing the same way. Each of us knows, when it happens.

    By Crawdad NelsonDecember 1988
    Fiction

    Gypsies

    Earnest says he is going out for a drink. Becky knows that he knows she knows.

    By Sharon ClayboughDecember 1988
    Fiction

    Walking

    Clea took my hand and we swung arms like little kids. At college, I would never hold hands walking down the street. But here, I didn’t care who saw me or what they thought.

    By Deborah ShouseNovember 1988
    Fiction

    Lakestone, Minnesota

    My heart bristled a little around the edges at the mention of Anna, but it was more like the wings of a bird, hit and dead on the highway, whose feathers flutter a moment from the movement of a passing Chevy.

    By Natalie GoldbergNovember 1988
    Fiction

    Mister Duck

    He is a Southern suburban white boy now all grown-up, born too late for Vietnam and not late enough for high-yield T-bills, so he is stuck somewhere, an underground movement of one. That suits him fine.

    By Cal MasseyOctober 1988
    Fiction

    Permission To Speak

    One night as I lay in my crib, my tired mother, her patience spent, came into the room and stole my voice.

    By Neena BeberOctober 1988
    Fiction

    you never realized

    a woman comes to the door, wearing a saffron robe, her straight hair in a brown bun, her face stern but capable of merriment. her long robes sway, shine purples and royal blues as you follow her.

    By Deborah ShouseOctober 1988
    Fiction

    The Flag-Draped Coffin

    Oron flanks left with the small platoon of formally dressed sailors, all in ceremonial blue wool, all armed with parade M-1 rifles. The overcast sky is ashen on this mid-November day, and the wind pulsates bleakly over this little land of the dead.

    By Jerry OglethorpeSeptember 1988
    Fiction

    No Pretty Country

    I have not been close to my mother. We have been friendly, conventional, conversational — not close. I felt her love as a black hole, waiting to suck me in. I danced cautiously around its rim. Now it is safe to come close. It always was safe.

    By Joyce AllenSeptember 1988
    Fiction

    Kudzu Dreams

    I was a child with a peculiar and passionate hunger for the peppermint in toothpicks when I went on a lion hunt with Opal Lavender, who was my favorite person and one of my own people.

    By Susan HanklaSeptember 1988
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