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Page 88 from Issue 105

Spring/Summer 1999
exam­ ple: what used to be just part of every morning-watching the sunrise from my bed, through my ... too, her beau­ ty. Sometimes I used to just quit what was I doing and lean against the bars of my stall ... shifted as she worked. Watching Sweet used to be about the favorite part of my day until Paul, who was ...
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Page 120 from Issue 122

my parents' farmhouse, on a country road near the Delaware River. We're drinking ... white wine. Frank Sinatra is playing on the stereo-"My buddy," Frank sings, ... "your buddy misses you"-when I mention Governor McGreevy. My parents are life-long Democrats. ...
Interview

Frum Gay Girl

Goldie Goldbloom
of my friends from HIV/AIDS, I decided to write an article about Orthodox Jews who are also gay. ... contributor. I was told by my editor, an educated woman with a degree from a prestigious university, that there ... Chabad’s Ask the Rabbi. Someone posted about my blog on the Orthodox women’s group ImaMother. As a result, ...
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Page from Issue 9

your liking, my lord- my princely tent? EDEKO: 'These dark, blind nights. LAUDERIC: Excuse me, ... my lord Hold that torch higher, boy! EDEKO: Nights here, on the banks of the Seine, by strange and ... nights... LAUDERIC: My lord Edeko, will these chairs be enough? I don't know who's coming, ...
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Page 192 from Issue 132

course, my father says everything I knew he was going to say. Talking bout fighting terrorists and ... "American Hero" that. Even my mother thinks that's. You know. She just does this little ... that Abe Lincoln beard of his. And I just keep my mouth shut. Don't say a word. But also ...
Fiction

The Frenchwoman's Letter

Carlos Cunha
The Frenchwoman's Letter The Frenchwoman may have imagined not only that my father’s café was ... undocumented black Mozambican whom my father, on one of his buying trips to the Portuguese territory, had ... was also the café’s owner himself, my father, a man whose eloquence shows through even when he is ...
Fiction

Most Holy Ghost

Martin Pousson
certain my grandfather lurked, waiting for me to find him. Since I’d only met him once before he ... hell-bent to try. Unlike most men in Acadiana, my papère claimed neither a medieval French name nor legal ... His legend filled my head as I grew up, from the stories Mama told me at night. His restless eyes saw ...
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Page from Issue vol5-no2

Page from Issue vol5-no2 "Goodbye. " Gill and I ran down the stairs and into my ... room and began to supervise my prep­ arations. Her small frame was packed with en­ ergy. She darted ... around the room in her excite­ ment, and inadvertently delayed my preparation. My closet looked rather ...
Fiction

The Silver Motorcycle

Bonnie Nadzam
The Silver Motorcycle My grandmother was very old. Her hair was white as bone, and her bones were ... pekoe tea in a china cup that rattled like teeth in its saucer. In the back, my grandfather was tending ... pruning shears and danced among the rose leaves like copper-colored flames. “Years ago,” my grandmother ...
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Page 120 from Issue 73

Fall 1988
Page 120 from Issue 73 poison/whips hissed-screamed in my past. And the windows/painted with blood ... in my soul crack. As he shouts my future in a half cry/half late evening moon and I. Crawl a thousand ... steps/for his voice. Hell hounds on my trail Hell hounds on my trail. July 23, 1987 120 Issue 73 page ...

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