J. O. BEALE J. O. Beale is a horse's ass which anyone can see he smells like something in the grass I couldn't finish the thought because I couldn't find the rhyme, though I wrote seven or eight rhyming words in the margin: free, sea, be, tree, me. Even Don key. None of them…
(later acquitted of the drowning) There was the pond, trout-filled, dark green. Child-shaped for the father since the child was born. But deeper. There was the sour brown meadow, the blue jays moving against his ears. The father walked through, lonelier than anyone. There was the huge doll-son he carried, breathing heavy in his arms….
“. . . it is not War which is tearing up the world, it is Conscience . . .” —in The Fixer “The honors of this world, what are they but puff, and emptiness, and peril of falling?” —St. Augustine `How does it feel when you fall?‘ Asked plainly enough at the dinner table Mother…
In 2 days over the ocean.
She is sitting in the car and I do my number. Looking down the sight I see an auriole fly to the right and left, all around in haloed flutters. Then it wavers like underwater noons, I have to split, my Uncle doesn’t wait. He says be back, be quick, be reverant. We pray for…
It must be hard to be a girl, Kamala. There are stories how you were stolen from the field, a baby, your mother hoeing far away as a she-wolf passed, took pity, lifted you by the scruff home to the den, raised you as the slow cub in her litter. A long time until you…
MASTHEAD Directors DeWitt Henry Peter O'Malley Coordinating Editor for This Issue James Randall Fiction Editors DeWitt Henry Tim O'Brien Associate Fiction Editor David Gullette CONTRIBUTORS M.M. ANDERSON is a discovery of Tim O'Brien's. She currently lives in Texas. JOHN ASHBERY'S current book is Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror, which won both the National Book Award…
It is late afternoon, the Sunday before Labor Day. Paul looks over the classroom assigned to him and then goes outside, down the steps into summer heat and sun. In the middle of the dusty street, a girl with long legs leans into a car, talking with the driver. She balances on tiptoe and her…
On this pavement I have fallen without grace, and I am looking into the eyes of a handsome blue stranger, who will not let me rise. He says an ambulance is coming. I may have broken a bone. But he is lying, and he knows that I can rise if I desire. This lady claims…
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