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Gillian Kendall is the author of the memoir Mr. Ding’s Chicken Feet (University of Wisconsin Press). She cultivates a native garden and an Aussie identity in Melbourne, Australia.
Beth kneels on the edge of the bed, re-counting her American money and finding again only five hundred-dollar bills where there had been seven. She leans over, nearly toppling off the sloping mattress, to ferret underneath the mahogany night stand, but comes up only with handfuls of dense brown dust.
January 1996No one knows exactly when my sister disappeared. When I think of her now, a funnel, dark and deep, opens before me, echoing back her name: Victoria.
February 1995The first time we had Joe over, one spring evening some years ago, he lay on his gurney with his face positioned toward us.
July 1993The Pacific crashes into mountains here, with no introductory foothills, few beaches. Highway 1, the only north-west road in Big Sur, dips and swerves like a roller coaster. First you’re flying up in the redwoods, breathing eucalyptus and fog; straight below are tiny coves and river mouths. It’s a descent you feel in your stomach. Then you’re skimming along the beach under a kaleidoscope of sea gulls.
April 1992Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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