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MASTHEAD Guest Editor Alberto Alvaro Rios Executive Director DeWitt Henry Managing Editor Don Lee Associate Poetry Editor Joyce Peseroff Assistant Fiction Editors Don Lee and Debra Spark Office Manager Renee Rooks Production Assistant Mariette Lippo Founding Publisher Peter O'Malley Staff Assistant: Julie Trevelyan. Typesetting: Gian Lombardo and InText Publishing Services. Fiction Readers: Billie Lydia Porter,…
It was just me and my brother Paul at the coops when Hondo come home with his new truck, ready to kill. He'd been down at Rose's, drinking hard, and as he lurched across the lawn I stepped out in front of him like a fool. You see, me and Paul, we're looking out for…
It was one hundred and seven that June day. The swamp cooler on the roof had lowered the temperature down to the high nineties, and the walls and furniture were damp to the touch. I felt clammy and restless but there was nowhere to go except to the shopping center. My husband had flown to…
When I crossed the border on foot at Scobey six months after the general amnesty, and two weeks after Dad passed on, no brass bands were playing-but it was a well-known fact that even the actual vets didn't get parades. It was a typical eastern Montana March day-wind that had took a running start at…
Alberto Alvaro Ríos won the Walt Whitman Award from the Academy of American Poets for his first collection of poetry, Whispering to Fool the Wind. Other volumes of poetry include The Lime Orchard Woman (1988), Five Indiscretions (1985), and Teodoro Luna's Two Kisses (1990), which has just been reissued by W. W. Norton in paperback….
Doc Kitchens told me about this trapper he took the appendix out of name Robb Valton the one got his finger cut off but he found it put it in his pocket when he got home sewed it back on the stump part didn't work fell off after a week so he buried it but…
Odessa, Washington: May, 1980 These were the fields of the moon: a dream of crops and the distant cataclysm's new snow ghosting on the roadway, white as elevation markers she could no longer point to on the wall maps. All afternoon across the wheat steppes. Hills mauve with slant-light, spring wheat green-graying to the horizon….
The tree was the tallest spruce Still standing at the edge of the meadow Just down the road from the trailer; He'd dragged it back and set it up In the metal stand, leaving just enough room Between the tip of the spruce and the ceiling For the foil star. She'd baked a few dough…
By then, by the time my brother Was getting married, weeks away from When the old apartment would be pulled down, The evenings were warm and the sounds of Freight trains were absorbed by three oleanders, Whipped by iron sounds and the wind of its passing. By then, by the time I was nineteen And…
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