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.
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.
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, . . .
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 Yeatss tree
watered by sacrifice and blood.
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