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A registration line, a nuclear power plant, a prayer candle
By Our ReadersJanuary 1981As a butterfly surveying a flowerbed, as objects, not very clearly at all
By Our ReadersOctober 1980Tchad, in the front seat, turned to me in the back, waved his arms expansively and yelled above the traffic noise, “Tell us again how your grandmother barks like a dog, Linne! Tell it again!”
By Linne GravestockAugust 1980Being changed forever, being on a long journey of wonder, being surprised
By Our ReadersJuly 1980I was actually going away. I must have waited a whole year for it but, right then, I was really depressed. If you could have seen it around my place last night you’d know what I mean. Everybody thought I’d never come back. Nobody came right out and said it, but my oldest sister, Jeannie, kept telling me how sad my hat looked.
By Nyle FrankMay 1980There is no precipitating event for this elegy. No anniversary. No birthday. No cause whatever, other than personal need. Jesse Stroud lived, struggled, and died. I do not purposefully vilify nor vindicate. Neither do I celebrate. Certainly not regret.
By Owen H. PageApril 1980He abandoned desire. The flowers grew slowly around the hole in his chest. When his lover sighed, they trembled.
By Sy SafranskyApril 1980The photographs in this selection are available as a PDF only. Click here to download.
By Barbara DocktorJanuary 1980Our minds are made up of sentences to be liked by everybody: by the time we grow up we have to take them apart, by paragraph, chapter, and story, to find our own style, ’til finally the mind is random as alphabet soup, ready to make new combinations of feeling and thought.
By Cheryl SchillingNovember 1979Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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