by Josephine Jacobsen
“Get along pal!” the parrot mutters.
This is the sole remark he utters,
Yet visitors delight in it
As evidence of mother-wit . . .
by Becky Hagenston
While her husband is off somewhere getting them new identities,
Liz smokes on the back porch and tries to feel lucky. She’d asked him to change
her name to Daphne—Daphne sounds like a woman who could live in a place as hot
and humid and slow as this, where the plant life is thick and dripping, a place
that’s nothing at all like Tucson. But she isn’t thinking about Tucson or about
The Frenchman, who isn’t even French for God sakes! Who’s as American as she and
Teddy are. She frowns and exhales into a shrub that looks like it wants to eat
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