bucket of water into the whale’s middle. The water hits its skin, dilutes the gush of blood from where ... worth saving, and that by my splashing water onto its skin, the whale will snap awake. There’s no ... the land they worked and crops they sold but never truly owned. Below its eye, along its ...
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Summer 2002
catch a glimpse of the spy. Out of the corner of her eye she Issue 113 page ... didn't appear terribly thick-the day's light simply seemed to fall short before it could reach ... the great mountains. Even plunking coins into a telescope yielded nothing. Frustrated, she strolled ...
head dropped I began to cry, gazing-my vision intensified by flooding eyes-at the evil device in my ... agreed, turned it over in his hands, nodding thoughtfully. The car was like Heydrich's. Encased ... the village. He is the last collaborator we will shoot, and then we must wait for the Russians. They ...
Page 422 from Issue 69 from the human excreta in cans (merde rouge, a friend describes it as ... 3) Fien and Betty recall in an unguarded moment how the skin of his upper eyelids, where it starts ... mounting violence? But clearly also more than that. My husband talks to me in the kitchen. It is ...
some urge dictated by its sap and fibers, the lowest branch of one of the few trees in the orchard, ... eyes were the eyes one sees at dusk under the roots of a tree, five pairs or more, in winter, staring ... a tree planted too near the house, had reached to the window and pressed its crowded shape to the panes. ...
its skin, drying the frigid water of the ocean into a thin film of salt. It closed its eyes and ... were no antibiotics. She rinsed the cut in boiled water and covered it with duct tape, but her skin ... such a good job. The empty medical supply box sat primly in the corner, its dull steel latch catching ...
the unbearable news of his slaughter. * In audio released after the Orlando shooting—I can ... We can’t even pay attention to each loss, each family on its knees, rocking in keens of grief. The ... and watching them bubble up, black and steaming, a swamp. I can’t help it now. I have to keep reading, ...
them off, too. Back under the covers, her skin brushes over mine and her hair falls into my eyes, the ... It’s the things I can’t give my wife that are hardest to let go. Back in bed, the memory presents ... doorway, her laptop balanced on one hand. “You know we can do it at home?” “Hmm?” “The insemination. Look, ...
like a different world.” “It isn’t.” Four boys stood on the corner outside an unmarked store, one ... in the distance, the horizon a soft estuary of dust and clouds and sky. “Pretty soon it’ll all be pig ... farming.” “Pig farming?” “They’ll bring in a big complex.” “A big pig complex?” “You think it’s funny. You ...
Twitter can seem like a creative outlet, what its users really provide is content. To tweet, then, is to ... They tear open negative spaces where breath can hang between our words. * While it doesn’t help me feel ... tweets. To use Twitter is to be its self-creating content. It is to be restricted and driven by the form ...