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  • Contributors’ Notes

    MASTHEAD Guest Editor Gary Soto Executive Director DeWitt Henry Editor Don Lee Poetry Editor David Daniel Associate Editor Jessica Dineen Editorial Assistant<</strong> Jodee Stanley Founding Publisher Peter O'Malley Editorial Interns: Michelle Heller and Robin Troy. Poetry Readers: Rebecca Lavine, Mary-Margaret Mulligan, Leslie Haynes, Tom Laughlin, Renee Rooks, Lisa Sewell, Karen Voelker, Tanja Brull, Brijit Brown,…

  • Creatures

    Elna had once said that beautifying was nothing more than grabbing Mother Nature by the throat and showing her who was boss. When Shelly arrived for her appointment, her friend was vigorously at work on an alabaster-complexioned teenager. Testimonies of terse, coiled ringlets spiraled downward at the girl’s ears and the back of her neck….

  • Ten Miles an Hour

    The weird thing about the place was the speed of light— eight, nine miles an hour, tops. Isweartagod! It was beautiful, though, the way it felt slowing over you like a balmy breeze—light slow enough to catch in a, in a cup, light you could smear on a slice of bread like jam, light you…

  • They Lived Here

    In a backwards accident, Men cutting the old furnace Out to make room for oil Find the wedding band that Slipped, in February Nineteen twenty-four, Down the heat vent and melted To a coal. It was the coldest Month of the year my mother Was born, and The Captain Sat quiet while his wife, Her…

  • Introduction

    I admit it: I’ve written some introductions. Except for not being able to worm out of it with Best American Short Stories 1987, though, I’ve confined my remarks to books of photography. You know: The photographs are right there, easily viewed as fast as your fingertips can turn a page, so I’ve tended to write…

  • Dear Nicole

    They grew up playing hockey on Everett Pond, long after supper, after homework and Bonanza or Laugh-In or My Three Sons, after they said good night and went to their rooms yawning as if headed to sleep. The grown-ups pretended not to know about the rendezvous at the rink, but some of the fathers had,…

  • Playing Catch

    for Hermann Michaeli On the day the balls disappeared, men playing soccer suddenly looked like crazy people chasing invisible rabbits through the short grass. Men playing baseball became more clearly what they’d always been: bored teenagers waiting around for something to happen. Spectators, at home and in the stands, believed they were being jerked around…

  • In Reserve

    Your husband’s laugh, a glass of grenadine.     You greet the guests, steer coats onto your arms. Ice rattles the kitchen: he’s mixing drinks.     You stand where you can keep an eye on him. One measured glance at me, your face a smooth     storm, and I know whatever I’d say—vague murmurings in one…