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Gettysburg Review
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“The Man Who Became Himself”

by Charles Yu

David, for his part, played along, glad to make small talk. He asked about their children, looked at pictures of dogs and cats and trips to Tahoe. David moved his mouth, made the right sounds, gave people what they expected. The men talked about sports, mostly, and the women, if they could help it, usually didn’t talk to him at all.

“Your Suitcase Is Heavy”

by Elizabeth Weld

In Massachusetts, if somebody doesn’t want you, they leave you standing on top of a hill. They do this. There are certain requirements, of course, such as a giant supply of private funding—i.e., a rich grandmother—and a suitcase in your hand, and secret arrangements that have been made beforehand.

“In Praise of Camus at the End of His Century”

by Judith Vollmer

Paper comes from trees, wine comes from the grape,
I love my country. Today came in two distinct parts

instead of one vat of moments. In the first part
I read without interruption of any kind, . . .

“The Iron Cross”

by Alice Friman

Three-leafed, I figured it was a kind
of shamrock, but red, the color of old slaughter.
I thought of romantic Ireland dead and gone,
Maud Gonne in her grave and Yeats’s tree
watered by sacrifice and blood.

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