Gettysburg Review
Gettysburg College | Gettysburg, Pennsylvania



“A Ring of Bells”

by Catherine Jagoe

Church bells punctuated our lives, doling out information and instructions, for the church clock tolled every hour. Eight bells meant it was time to jump out of bed and get ready for school. One bell meant it was lunchtime. Six bells, and it was time for Dad to switch on the evening news. Bells at 7:30 PM on a Friday meant the ringers were holding their weekly practice. In the evening, ten bells meant it was time to switch out the light.

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“A Duck with One Leg”

by Aviya Kushner

I once lived in half a dorm room in the middle of Paris, right across from the École des Mines. Every afternoon, from the speaker of a rickety, cheap tape recorder, the music of Chopin’s Second Piano Concerto stretched its immense arms past the chipped, hundred-year-old bathroom sink that doubled as a kitchen sink, over the cold communal showers, the ancient grease-thickened hot plates, and the toilet in the hallway, operated by a string.

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“Body Worlds”

by Kerry Reilly

You met a guy online. You have had four or five dates, and you haven’t so much as held hands. He is artistic. His expensive button-down shirts are decorated with bold, colorful patterns. He has two tickets to the Body Worlds Exhibition in Denver. A traveling display of human bodies and body parts that have been preserved using a process called plastination.

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by Edward McPherson

Sam and Kat, Kat and Sam, as unassuming as their three-letter names but, to their minds, violent with potential. In the spring of 1998, they met in St. Louis, when they both had to board a bigger bus. Two kids in zipped pullovers smoking and picking at their fingers as they watched the driver fling their bags into the belly of the coach as if they weren’t their only belongings in the world.

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by Andrew Berthrong

You could say he chose me, although perhaps I was in the mood to be chosen. He came out of nowhere, and I was swept up. But I was concerned about things too: Lola’s recent desertion, the state of my heart, my aching tooth. And so on.

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by Shannon Robinson

The zombie community is astir with controversy. One faction insists that zombies are mindless creatures who cannot make the traditional moan for “brains.” And that in any case, they don’t crave brains specifically, but the flesh, blood, and organs of any living human. This is what I’ve learned from scrolling through chat boards.

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by Linda Pastan

If each couplet should represent a single pearl,
are these strung beads at my throat words disguised as pearls?
The hooked fish looks up at them with recognition
as his eyes fade to the opacity of pearls.

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by Katharine Jager

Who weeps for cracked bluestone

pavements? For flowering lindens, their havoc
wrought on lung and sinus, for the flower
shops laden with peonies each winter?

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by Lynn Domina

The body says, I am a galaxy. Choose
sixteen or seven or ten stars and write your story
within their image: dragon, swan, virgin.
Your story will exceed the stars’ boundaries.

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