Author: admin

PSYCHE AND EROS BY ANNIE MA

It was an August sunset when I saw you last — the lazy breeze was thick with autumnal promises that hung in the air like warm cinnamon. You were waiting for me at the end of the pebble path you had lined with California Poppy...

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SILENCE BY ANNIE MA

* Mountains hued purple morning light softly serene forest capped in snow. * Cautiously peeking at the world, the young fuchsias unlock their furled doors. * A yellow eyed snake hisses, a glint of slit teeth; the sound of water....

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WAYS TO THINK OF DEATH BY GENE TWARONITE

It can come abruptly like a hit-and-run ruining your evening plans or a bus running late when you’re ready to go But it can be so much more Think of it as a one-way hike down an unknown canyon whose end only you can know an...

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THERMOREGULATION BY GENE TWARONITE

Sluggishly, the lizard basks in the early sun, deftly shifting in and out of the shade to keep her body temperature on an even keel, as her blood slowly quickens. Masters of self-regulation, we sapiens still overheat and freeze....

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MORTAL DANGER BY GENE TWARONITE

Waiting for a cross light in Manhattan, I grabbed the drunken man in mid fall, holding him up with all my strength, his huge frame threatening to bring us both down in crashing ruin. For a moment I held him steady, propping him...

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HUNGER BY HEIDI JUEL

The river rolls in troughs and waves, a buoyant, undulating rhythm. Upstream, icy rapids dissipate into eddies that breathe and the last of the Jesus bugs leave wakes upon the surface. A salmon pits its strength against the...

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THURSDAY NIGHT MALEDICTION BY MARIO DUARTE

My twitching eye was always landing me in trouble—shuddering at a co-worker’s sexy wife, or at offensive jokes, or when someone wanted an obvious answer to a question—their faces contorted with anger at my twitching—their words...

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SHARDS OF MEANING BY MARIO DUARTE

This is how it began. Sunlight glistened in the underside of the Silver Maple leaves, and shimmered in the serrated edges of the willowy Chinese elm trees. Strands of light encapsulated my sister’s long, deep black hair leaping...

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A NEW YEAR’S MEMORY BY BOBBIE WAYNE

An unseasonably warm New Year’s Day, 1972. I regret wearing my flannel plaid shirt with my plastic imitation-leather jacket over top. Michael, too, is excessively dressed for a walk through the woods. Chester County,...

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