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Like the time I was in fourth grade and my hair / reached all the way down to my butt and my mother / said, “Let’s get a trim,” and my cousin Kathy cut / my hair all the way up to my chin, and when my / friend Carol laughed at my “cut” I said it was a / “trim” and she shut up.
By Leslie ShielOctober 1997was on the third floor up, past slipcovers and tablecloths. There was even an / elevator girl in a black-and-white uniform who listed each floor’s contents, / Ladies’ apparel, china, silver plate, until almost halfway into the nineties, / when Carl’s, the last of three department stores downtown, took down its last Christmas / window, outlasting my mother, who near the end was no longer able to tear through / dress racks for bargains, and sat thinly on a chair
By Lyn LifshinOctober 1997I was conceived / in a shack by the sea, / its shingles bleached / and beaten nickel gray. / There were waves that day / washing over the foundations / of the old saltworks.
By Mary-Beth O’Shea-NoonanOctober 1997I have had the most wonderful dream. / My neighbor is playing a flute in the back yard. / I don’t even like my neighbor. / You wouldn’t either if you knew him.
By Wayne LiebmanOctober 1997Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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