This story is not currently available online.

The silver and black Lakenvelder was the best.  A rooster shiny like marble, a purple ribbon winner if I ever saw one.  Big.  He could kick a hole in my jeans with his fifth toe, sharp like a diamond.

Poetry Feature: Kathleen McGookey

Featuring the poems:

  • Class Picture, My Grandmother As Teacher, 1922
  • Beldora Burrell
  • Leda
  • Simple Arithmetic
  • Esther S.


This story is not currently available online.

It is late spring, and the leaves of the tobacco plants are beginning to yellow from their tips inward.  William Noble stands in his tobacco field and stares across the road at Mincy Jones’ property.  He is trying to understand why Mincy won’t give him the hay that he has earned.

Sid Badloss Sings "The Malignant Wandering Spirit of Darkness"

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Here is Sylvia, in the audience again.  She’s hunkered down on the rec-center astroturf, surrounded by kids, but none of them are hers.

I play guitar and sing “The Squeak Squeak song,” Squeak up!  goes the refrain, Squeak now or forever hold your peace!  Cute.

Last Dance

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On the island I practiced winding, fashioning a slick, tight neurological cocoon around my interior ferment — the usual stuff:  guilt, anger and, especially, fear.  Not perfect, but God knows it worked, and I presented a seamlessness and continued to fly missions.

The Letters of Dolly and Zane Grey

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Wednesday, Feb. 18, 1913

My dear husband,

This is my first letter to you.  Whether it will be the last is still a matter of conjecture on my part.  But I simply cannot resist telling you of our interview this morning.

Poetry Feature: James Harms

Featuring the poems:

  • Elegy As Evening, As Exodus
  • Decadence: Newport Beach, California
  • In Any Country
  • Mother To Daughter
  • Copper Wire
  • 20th Century Boy

Poetry Feature: Brian Taylor

Featuring the poems:

  • Sirius Rising
  • Heat Lightning
  • Rhapsody
  • Darkling, I Listen
  • Rapunzel In Thebes
  • Home Thoughts

The Pleistocene Extinctions: A Bedtime Story

This essay is not currently available online.

Violence was on my mind when I went to see palaeoecologist Paul Martin at the University of Arizona’s Desert Lab in Tucson.  The night before, my first night in town, I had stopped at a convenience store to make a phone call.  A teenage boy grabbed my purse.  We scuffled, he ran, and I was on the ground, my wallet still gripped under my arm, my legs waving feebly.  I felt like an overturned potato bug.


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We arrived in Durango a day late, our bodies creaky after fourteen hours on a bus.

I slept most of the trip, but Kansas was antsy.  He tapped his feet, played drums on his knees, went to the bathroom twice an hour, chatted up the bus driver so much that the guy told him to go back to his seat.