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On the morning of July 23, 1921, my parents, Cowley and Elizabeth Russet, died in the crash of a zeppelin at the fairgrounds in Fleming Park. They had each paid fifty cents to ride in the gondola, to float and drift over Halifax, the harbor, then back to Fleming Park. That day, I had been…
More in number, five or six at a time perched atop stiff cat- tail tufts or calling from lush caverns in the willow limbs—more on the wing, more flash and blood, more wild song, who seldom travel in numbers bigger than a pair—the red- wings returning this spring to the…
James Alan McPherson, Crabcakes, a memoir: McPherson’s first new book since his 1978 story collection Elbow Room, which won the Pulitzer Prize, Crabcakes artfully describes his departure from his beloved Baltimore in the late seventies to Iowa City, where he continues to teach. The second half of the book recounts his recent trips to Japan,…
A duppy by default, he was drowned, but he came out of the sea. Never dead, he said, though who would believe him? Life raft, he explained, but his employers-a graying pair, nondescript Anglicans who already spoke of the Will of God to describe his disappearance-now spoke of that same Will to describe his appearance….
When Grandma was dying in the rope bed, no one said much. I had pinworms, used to wake up and hunt for them in the sheets. Dad taught me rummy and chopsticks on the piano. Mom took turns with Aunt Sarah wiping Grandma down. Mostly I wasn’t allowed in but I peeked anyhow, seeing how…
Gary Soto, Junior College, poems: Soto’s new collection is a touching and often hilarious account of his coming of age in Fresno, California, where he was a terrible student, graduating from high school with a D average, then attending Fresno City College with the “easiest of majors,” geography. As always, Soto’s memories of his Chicano…
1. Those Absent Any reasonable baby shower would have properly culminated in the videocorder with the instant playback feature. The present was addressed to The Formerly Thin Addie Ling from her three tactless brothers, and arrived suspiciously wrapped in a brown paper grocery bag. There was no box or warranty card. If the camera was…
Gray cloud like a sweater pulled over the heart of the moon. High-napped purple sky. Why are so many friends Leaving or getting left behind? Mao’s anti-sparrow campaign: to kill and eat the birds That were eating the grain. Winter sun drifts away Leaving thin taffy light. Venus Mercury Jupiter— Three pearls in the morning…
Maura Stanton, Life Among the Trolls, poems: The cool, elegant surfaces of the narratives and lyrics in Stanton’s third collection conceal fiery depths. She penetrates the disguises which cloak the Iago-like figures-friends, bosses, lovers, colleagues-who manipulate our world, and who would like to remake us in their image. (Carnegie-Mellon)
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