Winter 1996 Edition Selections
by Madeline DeFrees
Writing to his mother in the summer of 1961, John Berryman spoke of his seminar at the Indiana University School of Letters: “working hard (w. the best students I ever had: 15 of them—2 beards, a nun, & a Lebanese professor).” I was that forty-one-year-old nun, swathed in five yards of black wool serge.
by Paul Zimmer
Two pugs on the undercard step through
The ropes in bright, satin robes,
Pink Adidas with tassels,
Winking at the women in the crowd.
by Harry Humes
The bear found her anyway,
came quietly down some scree,
crossed the stream,
and took her out of the tent.
by Tom House
He had heard people say she was, and he had heard Jimmy Martin’s brother, in the cafeteria, saying that she had been to a place for Sisters who have nervous breakdowns, and that that was why she taught religion now, instead of Spanish. Then, too, Alan had sensed something flighty behind the fluctuations of Sister Rose’s appearance, how one day she would come in wearing the full, brown habit, other days just the veil.
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