Winter 1994 Edition Selections
by Lynne Knight
Finding it hard to communicate,
they began to speak through
stuffed animals. Ms. Bear would love
an evening without loud music
or Morgan thinks the pasta would taste
a little better with less hysteria.
by Charles Simic
Our schedule is very simple. Two of us work every night and don’t go patrolling before ten. The patrol drives to Luneville, has a drink at the train station café, checks a few bars frequented by GI’s, makes sure everybody is on the 11:30 bus, and concludes the evening with a couple of more drinks at the station. On Saturday nights there are a few more soldiers in bars since the curfew is not till one, but so far there have not been any serious incidents.
by Kirsten Smith
There’s a way to pander to a woman
and not actually harm her.
It starts with the lies you tell,
the way you call her into a glib fable
and let her float there.
by Frederick Busch
Once upon a time, I was dissatisfied with how I used my brains and with how Sam used his. He was what they call—and still, in upstate New York, with respect—a banker. I was the banker’s wife. And I had grown bored with my candor, weary of my brittleness, bruised by my own dissatisfactions. So, driving from a canal town that since the late nineteenth century had been thrashing about to survive, I went to bed with a man named Max who practiced medicine and who had no heart.
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