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Leaving the chiropractor’s office / driving through the woods along the Cold River / I wanted to write a poem
By Stephen T. ButterfieldJune 1988When my mother screamed into the phone for me to get over there, “Daddy’s dead,” a long waiting period ended. My father’s failing health over several years had left him almost helpless; he had demanded and received from my mother as much care and supervision as a infant.
By Fred WistowFebruary 1988I didn’t go to my grandfather’s funeral. I had excuses at the time — I was living 500 miles away, no money for plane fare, other obligations, and so forth — but mostly I suspected that funerals were some kind of superstitious pagan ritual.
By David ManningJanuary 1988as a small child, i did not know how to unzip myself. my parents never talked about it. when i was fourteen my father “accidentally” left out a book on his desk called “what to tell your child about unzipping.”
By Andrew RamerJanuary 1988November 1987Seek not to follow in the footsteps of men of old; seek what they sought.
Matsuo Basho
October 1987To stand on one leg and prove God’s existence is a very different thing from going down on one’s knees and thanking him.
Søren Kierkegaard
I wouldn’t call it [my world view] cynical, I would go beyond that. I would call it a total distrust of all the cherished notions we have of progress and history — and that’s a Balkan characteristic. We can’t believe that things are going to get better, because we know from our history that they never do.
By Ralph EarleOctober 1987Time with family, an interview with Todd Rundgren, a suicide attempt
By Our ReadersOctober 1987I stood by the open door, watching my old Olympia sail past me. It hit the grassy strip near the parking lot, the carriage extended like a climber’s broken leg after a fall. . . . I remember the thud; the carriage bell ringing once, with the impact; then ringing again, as if in disbelief.
By Sy SafranskySeptember 1987Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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