Issue 150

Summer & Fall 2016

Image from Rehearsals for Extinct Anatomies

Fiction Bonnie Nadzam Fiction Bonnie Nadzam

The Silver Motorcycle

My grandmother was very old. Her hair was white as bone, and her bones were thin as stems of feathers. She sat in her rocking chair with the bright green window open behind her, and the dim, dusty room of varnished wood and books and photographs before her.

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