Amarillo Bay Contents
Volume 2 Number 4

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Welcome to the final issue of our second year, published on Monday, November 6, 2000. We hope you enjoy browsing through our fiction and poetry!


The Myth of Loneliness
by Jason Gurley
"Look at me, Daddy!" the little girl in the pink dress cries, and Ray looks, yes, he looks and watches as his daughter Cindy dances clumsily around a swing set with a stick-horse, and then, as he knew it would and without him there to stop it, the swing on the left comes forward and the little boy, his feet out and his head back with joy, crashes into Cindy and her horse and sends her sprawling, a new scratch spreading patches of red through her white-blonde hair.

A Wild Pig
by John Palcewski
Green shutters are propped open, diaphanous white curtains wave. The Mediterranean laps softly on the pebbled shore immediately below my window.

Creative Nonfiction

The only submissons we received in time to appear in this issue were not appropriate for a literary magazine. We have one piece that we expect to be in the next issue, and we solicit your work as described on the Submissions page.


Blue Field
by Sybil P. Estess
The day I sat down among someone's field
of bluebonnets in Texas last April was a Friday
near a place named "Roundtop." That clear air
was mostly like any other late in that month

The Dr. Seuss House
by Jerry Hamby
Our first year of marriage we lived
in a white stucco house, four cramped rooms
connected by a three-foot hallway.

by Jerry Hamby
She lounges by the pool, a slender blond
in her mid-twenties, chair positioned
for maximum exposure to the sun.

by Jerry Hamby
Thoreau lies buried
on Authors' Ridge

by Jerry Hamby
The mandrake is surreal, defies gravity, suspended
above the chair, extension of the back post.
Smooth and leafless, the tree stretches
tapered limbs, like a naked woman spinning
with open arms.

by Jerry Hamby
I cannot remember your face, just your name
and the single hour we spent together.
You were the kid who talked to me
at Sunday school, showed me the ropes

by Rose Kowaliw
I still yearn for
open seas

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