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Threshold by Nita Noveno & Sara Lippmann
Chris Tarry by Sara Lippmann
Laurel Fantauzzo by Nita Noveno
Music Heard in Hi-Fi by Noel Alumit
In the Beginning by Victoria Brown
A Handbook for Single Mothers by Jen Knox
Gray Area by Krista Madsen
The Forestiera by Cynthia Blake Thompson
Back Home by Ben Tanzer
In the Making by Kari Nguyen
An Unlikely Pilgrimage by Jennifer McGaha
that voice by …
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with thanks to Steven M. Lowenstein
My father’s parents were Germans,
and they were Jews,
and they were born long ago,
one just before and one just after
the outbreak of the war
that was to end all wars,
They came to New York in ’37 and ’38,
met and married and had a son.
From them, I have inherited
copies of Der Struwwelpeter
a fondness for Riesling,
Pünktlichkeit is beyond punctuality.
It is showing up ahead of time for movies,
meetings, and medical appointments;
submitting papers and assignments
safely before their deadlines;
and returning books to the library
at least one day prior to their due dates.
Pünktlichkeit is a preemptive way of life,
and not everyone admires it.
Even Rabbi Breuer of Frankfurt,
By Len Kuntz
It was my therapist’s idea. Ordinarily, he merely listened, taking a note or two during our sessions, but I could tell my exhibitions of misery were frustrating him, which is why he came up with the suggestion last week.
When I objected, he said, “Don’t forget, you’ve made mistakes in your marriage, too.”
That poison dart stung. I felt a moment of betrayal, but then realized the irony of my thinking—me, who’d been the unfaithful one.
I call our lawyers before leaving to tell them my wife and I are just trying to get out of town for a couple of days, drive to Portland–where people are less likely to …
By Kathy Fish
It begins like this: The baby is red and wrinkled and squalling or bleating like a lamb. The baby has lots of hair or none at all. It has the face of a bulldog. Or Winston Churchill. The baby looks wise beyond his years. The baby’s fists are clenched, his toes, splayed. He’s terrified and vulnerable and angry.
The baby is weighed, his dimensions and poundage announced as if he were a prize bass. He is wrapped and held and cried over.
The baby grows. The baby gets fat. When the world pushes, the baby starts to push back. He smiles. He gurgles. He grabs hold of hair and …
By Rae Bryant
I’m a crack shot, you know. That’s how he says it. We’re moving lettuces around on our plates at a sunny little outdoor café off Dupont Circle. It’s charming and sexy and creepy, the crack part. I don’t know exactly how to respond. Lovely? Next time I need a sniper, I’ll give you a call? We’ve waded through the I’m sorry, I love you. Just want to understand. Explain it to me. It would have been okay but for the rooms upstairs. We’re past fucking. Fucking can’t fix us now and so the rooms remind me we’re past the point of fixing with fucking so fucking now …