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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.
December 1988Gypsies
Earnest says he is going out for a drink. Becky knows that he knows she knows.
December 1988Walking
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.
November 1988Lakestone, 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.
November 1988Mister 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.
October 1988Permission To Speak
One night as I lay in my crib, my tired mother, her patience spent, came into the room and stole my voice.
October 1988you 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.
October 1988The 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.
September 1988No 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.
September 1988Kudzu 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.
September 1988Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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