Gettysburg Review
Gettysburg College | 300 N. Washington Street | Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Selections

Essays

How to Shoot at Someone Who Outdrew You

by David Meischen

The morning I learned of Hank Locklin's death, I disappeared right out of my life, jolted elsewhere by a single fragment of the deluge spilling from my web browser.

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The Mountain

by Barret Baumgart

People kept materializing out of the mist—college students, spandex moms, and couples with dogs—everyone satisfied, exercised, a restful, celebratory mood dominating the parking lot; folks shaking hands, heading home to watch soaps operas and eat ham sandwiches, saying, “Bye, Trish!” “See you Monday, Tom!” Within minutes, they were gone.

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Rooted in the Sun

by Don Lago

As I looked up at one huge cottonwood tree, I saw the power of trees to lift tons of matter high into the air and give it shapes and skills. I looked at the ground and imagined the root system, two or three times the size of the canopy, tunneling in search of water and nutrients.

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Fiction

Weekend Trip

by Anne Ray

On our way to the yearly party Yahlie’s friends throw, we encounter a woman and her baby. The drive is one day from Santa Fe to Amarillo, one to Austin. Maybe Yahlie and I will do it in less, with our feet up on the dash and Styrofoam cups of soda in the cup holders.

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You Are Here

by Victoria Lancelotta

Here is the slow thaw and the fox that creeps through the sweet new green, wet teeth, wet fur, sharp ears and snout, so pretty in its stealth, its silence. Here is the lullaby, cicada hum and truck horn, water dripping on cracked tile and the buzz of walkway lights, the fade and crackling swell at the bottom of the radio dial: voice and static and the tin roar of applause from the stands of a dusty arena inside that metal box on the stained and listing dresser.

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Sully

by Janice Obuchowski

His heartbreak loud, demonstrative. And when his mother died, this tendency became exacerbated. He cried for weeks, although this grief—unlike his other various melancholies—was pure. Sully felt that despair, too—like a hole he could jump into and fall and fall.

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Poetry

Michaux State Forest, New Year’s

by Christopher Kempf

We run the kókúku trail (translation— snow owl, in late-American) alone this morning, its strict, midwinter alders dark against the snowfall, its flocks of crows

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Ugglig

by Michelle Boisseau

Clock in the hall, tea in cups, Henry James has come to call on George Eliot. “To begin with,” he writes his father, “she is magnificently ugly, deliciously hideous.”

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Carried Away

by Alice Friman

The Rapture must have been cancelled.
The only sudden flight I’ve seen
belongs to the bird nesting in my begonias
who takes off each time I open the door.

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