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Now it happened in the twelfth month that James and Crowbar visited Renah, James’s sister. They were there to never lift a hand. Just their fork expecting something on it. The two men drove from Nail, Arkansas, along Highway 16 to Red Star, where Renah had her cabin nearly built into the hills. Her goats…
If Earth is one of seven ancient wandering stars, where is that girl who, every afternoon, runs water into a basin of hollow scales? Surely not in the vertical crowds, among colonizers and women passing in shallow hats. Nor riding with the plutonium makers, without hair or explanations, whose buckles glow in…
You could not call it an actual crucifixion, Doctor Hébert thought, because it was not actually a cross. Only a pole, or a log, rather, with the bark still on it and scars on the bark toward the top, from the chain that had dragged it to this place, undoubtedly. A foot or eighteen inches…
A crucifix on a bare wall. Crocheted cincture with a lover’s knot tied at each end, which swing as you walk (also known as “nun’s balls”). The veil, with or without wimple. Crepe-soled, lace-up oxfords, black, or sandals, preferably Dr. Scholl’s. A watch, plain, and your pectoral cross on a black string— small enamel for…
The trees, so white and so many. I don’t remember it this way. Their slender trunks a comfort. You surrender, that’s all. To a man, to a drug, to wall after wall of birch. It’s not unpleasant. Winnie, steel-gray in October. Whitecaps. This is where nostalgia will take you: a mean wind, a sleety snow…
MASTHEAD Guest Editors Russell Banks and Chase Twichell Executive Director DeWitt Henry Managing Editor & Fiction Editor Don Lee Poetry Editor David Daniel Assistant Editor Jessica Dineen Founding Publisher Peter O'Malley Staff Assistants: Stephanie Booth and Jodee Stanley. Fiction Readers: Karen Wise, Billie Lydia Porter, Holly LeCraw Howe, Barbara Lewis, Maryanne O'Hara, Sara Nielsen Gambrill,…
It descends with the Holy Spirit over your face, breasts, legs, draping the flesh in modesty, a falling curtain of grace, and you: an empty dress-shape with a scapular, a cincture, and a veil, receptacle of God’s will. Unless, of course, your body is a swamp of desire, your heart a simmering kettle, its…
The last deportations from the town in Poland where my father had been born, and where his parents lived, were carried out in October 1942. The town was declared Judenrein. This word was written in the center of the green ruled page that my father found when he returned to Poland after the war. It…
To say that she came into me, from another world, is not true. Nothing comes into the universe and nothing leaves it. My mother—I mean my daughter did not enter me. She began to exist inside me—she appeared within me. And my mother did not enter me. When she lay down, to pray, on me,…
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