Page not found

Page 326 from Issue 21

not. from Ichor I opened my eyes at the foot of a grey mountain, and felt I had moved a boulder out of ... my skull. I looked at my hands. They were cut, and my hands were bleeding. And my hands were running ... with mucus. As though I had lain three days at the foot of the mountain. And my head was a recurrent ...

Print Page

Page 246 from Issue 39

low wooden tower with boards rotting black- there in my childhood lived weeping. I remember the tears ... and those caught by last year's telephone wires, I stand with the branches of my silent ... decisions grown strong within me, and the small birds of hesitation in my heart, and the great rocks of ...

Print Page

Page 250 from Issue 39

prayer or a charity institution. That commits one. My name is the name of my contributors. That commits ... one. I am getting to be the age my father was when he died. My last will shows many superscriptions. ... I must change my life and my death daily, to fulfill all the predictions concerning me. So they ...

Print Page

Page 80 from Issue 69

Mama...? Only a bar of soap, they said. So thula, thula, now quiet my child. But who killed Solomon, ... thula, now quiet my child. But who killed Ahmed, mama...? Sssssssshhh! we must get up early. Please? Only ... the tenth floor, I heard. So thula, thula, now quiet my child. But who killed Joseph, mama...? ...

Print Page

Page 181 from Issue 97

weren't looking. But I was looking, wondering why my sight would leave me in the middle of a dream ... unweaving. When the ache was unbearable I'd reach across the abyss of my slim hips with my other ... a trance-and I'd tell myself my vision wasn't gone, that it couldn't go in an ...

Print Page

Page 217 from Issue 106

Fall 1999

Page 217 from Issue 106 Today, my black wool sweater smells of stalagmites and pauses: my role ... in My 39th Year I walked a Hamptons beach. Diana approached. I stopped, backtracked, performed ... beach club and met my relatives-aunt drinking mirabelle, uncle offended by Diana's misuse of ...

Print Page

Page 195 from Issue 116

Summer 2003

waiting to fall. One of us is not like our mother and it's me. It's 1. My eyes are ... mostly closed. My mother knows how to make snow. We never see our feet. Our skirts end in the oncoming ... frost. My sister wears ermine. I have a narrow waist. I no longer curl my hair. Why bother? I love my ...

Print Page

Page 56 from Issue 121

Page 56 from Issue 121 John Rybicki Say My Name Say my name is ash and I keep it in my pocket to ... play with. Say I'm hammering my fingers on the air like there's a piano floating ... sound to try through your fingers, owl-like, who who, only I wish my fingers were little trumpets, no, ...