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Here on the phone is Miss Patricia Mitchell Of Nacogdoches, Texas, who is writing her term paper About a poem of mine she wants to ask about. “It's such a privilege, Mr. N,” she says, “Just to pick up the phone and talk to you.” “The others in the class are writing theirs On W…
for Danielle Inseminator, hole-scrubber, midwife, you ache from the scuffle and weight of hauling the troubled cow into stanchions, of thrusting your leek-long arms inside to free the breech that fell against your chest, a steaming new world veined in fading latitudes. Inside the dimly lit birth sac lies the earth-colored calf already weaned from…
Something happens in the water: first of all, you are weightless; this is the first thing Rosie noticed, remembers. She learns to swim the ordinary way many of us learn: a small rectangular pool in a day camp in the Indiana dunes, one hour's ride through smelly south Chicago, past the threatening smokestacks of Gary,…
FIRE One girl among us set herself on fire. She used gasoline. She was too young to drive at the time. I wondered how she'd gotten hold of it. Had she walked to her neighborhood garage and told them her father's car had run out of gas? I couldn't look at her without thinking about…
Behind Church Ebenezer, moral box, the steep red washed-out slope grew scrubby pines. Some pennyroyal stank invitingly, and vines transgressed the narrow tracks. It wouldn't be right to go back now— was hardly right to go. . . . Ten-year-old Lou squatting, hesitating, blocked by the grave spirit of big Dr. Marr, the egg-on-legs…
They walk into the air at dawn. The man and woman trying to birth the baby. Along the stretch to the lying-in hospital she summons cows she has seen—docile, steadfast in the way sea is always pregnant and ready to give and destroy at the same time. Patience covers her like a shield against women…
White cottonwood tufts fill the air like moths; we rub our eyes in the filmy atmosphere thick with white dreams, while down the road at the Sagebrush Inn, a Seeing Eye dog sleeps beneath the piano where his mistress practices Linda Ronstadt's greatest hits. Afternoon. The room is empty except for the bartender swatting at…
MASTHEAD Directors DeWitt Henry Peter O'Malley Coordinating Editor for This Issue Maxine Kumin Managing Editor Jennifer Rose Office Manager Don Lee Thanks this issue to: Roland Kelts, Mary Ellen Beveridge, Sharon Bogue, Kathleen Bowden, Catherine Creegan, Kirsten Czupryna, Emilia Dubicki, Beth Elion, Carol Feingold, Anne Friedman, Kahtryn Herold, Doina Iliescu, Jean Kane, Naomi Kent, Tom…
The first ones were attached to my dress at the waist, one on either side, right at the point where hands could clasp you and pick you up, as if you were a hot squeeze bottle of tree syrup, and the sashes that emerged like axil buds from the angles of the waist were used…
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