Browse Sections
Fiction
Sam
There was a scarecrow named Sam. He lived in a field of corn, with no shelter from the sun and snow. He wore an old felt hat — gray — and a faded black suit jacket.
April 1988You Go To My Head
When she first sees Sol, he’s telling stories at a party, a party for musicians. All the players sit in the living room, drinking beer and telling jokes.
April 1988Small Talk
I was flirting more that summer than ever before or since, but I had a dull and temporary job at a convenience store, with the prospect of serious employment in the fall.
April 1988The Testimony Of The Snake
Yessssss: and every snake must slough its skin, leaving a trail of cellular clothing around the forest, or, as it were, this garden.
April 1988The House Of Esperanza
Esperanza had informally inherited the house from Salvador Escondido, her husband by common law, who one morning kissed her goodbye at the door, left for work in the fields, and never came back.
April 1988A Little Irish Water Music
Occasionally, when Dad belted up his trousers with twine, she turned as brittle as snapbread, but in those early years, she was usually willing to dismiss our days as the pruning from which decorous bloom must one day erupt.
March 1988Childhood
“I only wish I could be so young and carefree,” your father says when he comes home from work. He doesn’t remember what it’s like. The pressure, the decisions.
March 1988Abilities
As I drank my tea, I hoped I wouldn’t remember my dreams tonight. Last night’s dream about Walter confused me — I hadn’t thought of him in years. He had been two lovers before Fletcher, my first serious relationship as a divorced woman. I wondered what had become of him.
February 1988Occupational Disease
Loggers are notorious hard-asses. Hard labor, danger, long hours, and constant, male-only intimate companionship almost guarantee a hardening of the heart. Work gloves can protect soft hands but psyches protect themselves with calluses. It seems simple enough when seen from a distance, but up close, like everything in life, it gets more complicated.
February 1988Demon Eye
I needed to see the stallion’s body once I knew that he was dead. Nate had found him down by the creek while I was away.
January 1988
Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
Subscribe Today