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  • Palimpsest

    The stick the dog drags writes a poem in the snow along the railroad tracks. Is it my life she’s writing in a long, slow cursive already half-buried by fresh snow? There, written in a winter forest, lies my story, for anyone to read.

  • The Old Impossible

      Clare can’t walk. She has sprained her ankle so badly, it’s no better than broken. Marble step, wet leaf, a moment of distraction, and she was pulled up, several feet above the landing and dropped like a bag of laundry, her fingers sliding down the wet iron banister, her feet bending and flopping like…

  • A Good Read

    What makes a good story? Could the question be asked, What makes a story good? There are nine answers. Here’s one. One summer many years ago, I was in the mountains of Utah installing a catch-basin water system for a remote cabin. My dear friend George had a blue backhoe on a trailer which had…

  • Taxonomy

    De Español y de India Produce Mestizo —after a series of Casta paintings by Juan Rodríguez Juárez, ca. 1715 The canvas is a leaden sky     behind them, heavy with words, gold letters inscribing     an equation of blood— this plus this equals this—as if     a contract with nature, or a museum label,    …

  • About Ron Carlson

    At fifty-eight, Ron Carlson is gray-haired, large-boned, one of those men who at six-foot-something is big without being imposing. He could pass for a park ranger at the Grand Canyon, or your local TV anchor, or maybe a third-base coach in the majors, and he seems solid and grounded in ways that go with those…

  • Contributors’ Notes

    ANDREA AVERY is a writer, pianist, and editor who lives in Phoenix, Arizona. She has finished a book of stories, some of which have been published in the anthology Shade 2006 (Four Way Books). She received her M.F.A. in creative writing from Arizona State University. RICHARD BAKER is an artist living in Brooklyn, New York….

  • Semana Santa

    In Spain I never rode the Talgo. The Talgo was the express train from Barcelona to Paris, but I never went to Barcelona. This was years before the Olympics, and Franco was finally dead. The white gorilla was still around and all the Gaudi, but I never made it there. Partly it was the expense….