by Mark Catalano
Ted stands at the end of the dining room table. He is deep into his project, the making of a doll from old black socks, some scraps of green felt, and cotton balls for stuffing. All his idea. He has a cigar butt in the side of his mouth and ash down the front of his T-shirt. He is elated. He has never sewn a thing, ever, and the black doll, smeared with ash, is almost finished. He thinks it is perfect. In a minute he will charge outside with his creation and show his sisters, who are lying on the patio, sunbathing, and drinking Fresca.
by Thomas Rabbitt
So the town has found one drunk a proper house as well.
In Gilligans we shake our woozy heads. A house for him
To wreck and not pay rent, to burn the doors and floors
Against the coming winter’s cold. Just to ease our souls.
by Julianne Buchsbaum
A dog lies at his feet as he looks into
his manual and says,
“A person reduced to his worst elements
makes a fascinating subject.”
by Lisa Lieberman
My first teaching job was at a small college in the Midwest that had not wholly succeeded in shedding its Baptist past. Jews there kept a low profile, not through fear of anti-Semitism but out of a kind of modesty that seemed in keeping with the Midwestern ethos. I remember being buttonholed by a Christian colleague at a cocktail party in 1988, during the height of the intifada. “What’s Shamir doing, sending soldiers to kill children?” I was asked.
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