Contributor Spotlight Tim Seibles is a commanding, dynamic presence, particularly when he reads his poetry. Tall, charismatic, he stands behind the podium and gives animated voice to poems that are, at turns, grave, inventive, and hilarious. His primary subjects from the start have been sexuality and race, and somehow, Seibles has always been able to…
On the day before his fiftieth birthday, Bill Lander received a letter from a woman he had never heard of-Amber Harding-saying she’d be pleased to come to Wallace to meet him and be his birthday date. She noted the time she’d arrive on the train and said she’d have no trouble recognizing him. “I’ll just…
She has always been clever and poor, Especially here off the Yugoslav Train on a platform of dust. Clever was Her breakfast of nutmeg ground in water In place of rationed tea. Poor was the cracked Cup, the missing bread. Clever are the six Handkerchiefs stitched to the size of a scarf And knotted at…
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,…
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….
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…
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…
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…
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,…
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