Monthly Archives: June 2014

An Open Letter to the Baby Deer I Nearly Hit Tonight by Dena Rash Guzman

The mist cold and thick, I had the high beams switched off so the bril­liance wouldn’t chan­nel in and blind me— the switch­back roads wind through the woods past hous­es built by peo­ple with wag­ons drawn along by beasts with … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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But Pat Boone Never Lived in Bessemer, essay by Terry Barr

On the night before I entered 7th grade, my across-the-street, 9th grade neigh­bor Joe, while we were enjoy­ing spareribs at our family’s annu­al Labor Day pic­nic, gave me this advice: “Be care­ful tomor­row. You nev­er know who’s car­ry­ing a switch­blade.” … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Texas Never Whispers, by C.L. Bledsoe

The clos­er it got to Joey’s dad’s birth­day, the more agi­tat­ed he became, and with noth­ing worth­while to do when he wasn’t at work – which was less and less often since Jer­ry had been cut­ting his hours – he … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Toluene, by Max Sheridan

This guy I knew, he thought he could make his shit high stick­ing toluene up his ass. Some peo­ple know more than one guy like that. I fig­ure you talk to enough of them you’ll hear just about any­thing twice. … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The Last Summer, by Kelly Ford

My friends would head to the pool that day. They’d show off their new boobs in their new biki­nis. Point out which boys they want­ed to date. Make plans with­out me for our upcom­ing sopho­more year. Angela paused and spun … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Flight, by Mitchell Grabois

  Once you have tast­ed flight, said Leonar­do you will for­ev­er walk with your eyes turned sky­ward   and when you are four­teen and ini­ti­at­ed into sex by a thir­­ty-two year old woman who lives in your par­ents’ hip­pie com­mune … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Poems by Marian Veverka

After the Vic­tims were Buried Every­one went back to the farm­house where Friends and wives of neigh­bors had set out food. At first there was just the sounds of chew­ing and Swal­low­ing and maybe a child pip­ing up a few … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Castoffs, by Lindsey Walker

How would this look to a cop, hang­ing halfway inside the unlatched win­dow with C.J. boost­ing me through? It is dark inside, but I grip what I think is the short side edge of a farm­house table, pull my knees … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Summers in Durham, by Alana Folsom

There were too many well-marked and paved roads For it to be Small Town Amer­i­ca. Was only want­i­ng The antique store with the rib­boned-off rock­ing chair In which the very Martha Wash­ing­ton once perched, Or just some­thing eas­i­ly iden­ti­fied as … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Baptism, by Misty Skaggs

All the old men from the Beartown Church of God call me Sis­sy. There’s Ligey and Whirley and John­ny and my Mamaw’s cousin, who found Jesus after he beat can­cer a cou­ple years back. They’re work­ing Men of God. They … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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