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Volume 4 Number 4

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We are pleased to present our current issue, published on Monday, November 5, 2002. We hope you enjoy browsing through our more than 140 pieces of fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry! (See the Previous Issues list to learn about all the works in our collection, including the ability to search through the issues.)


Mrs. Esserman's Eggs
by Ellen Meister
I borrowed an egg from Mrs. Esserman.
Marcy thinks this is a great opening line for a novel, the kind Richard Lalor, her favorite writer, might use. And maybe one day she really will write a novel. Or, for that matter, borrow an egg from Mrs. Esserman. But right now, she has to decide whether to just pull the door shut and go home or walk inside and make sure the old bird is still breathing.

The Duck Charmers of Moorhead
by Lisa Polisar
The first time I saw my father in years, who knows how many exactly, twenty, maybe thirty, I realized that I'd almost forgotten him--the rheumy eyes set deep in an asymmetrical face, doubly crooked nose, hair that grows like reeds near a swamp. Then again, nobody who ever met Garth Danner, or Gart as he was called, ever forgot him.

Scoring with the Saints
by David Quinn
My brother Ray's gonna get canonized, I'm sure. He's made all the right moves while with me the Ref's always been quick on the whistle. Back then, maybe, there might've been a chance for us to keep on scoring for the same team. To share in the applause at the end.

Creative Nonfiction

The only submissions we received in time to appear in this issue were not appropriate for a literary magazine. We solicit your work as described on the Submissions page.


Ornithorhynchus anatinus
by Arlene Ang
that's how you called me.
Feet always
webbed in slippers
that fall pitter-patter
on the floor.
Blue-grey bill
always ready
to sift mud
for shrimps to lay
on your plate.

The Girl Who Couldn't Wait
by Theresa Boyar
The girl who taught me
how to preheat a griddle
in the trailer park
isn't in the trailer park

Red Eyes
by Janet I. Buck
The elocution of torn rags,
petty squabbles over land,
loaded rifles, tracks of tanks
like asteroids gone crazy
in this hemisphere
brought us to this tired fork --
where buses could be
bombs on wheels, where roads lead
straight from fence to fence.

New World Order
by Steve Schroeder
new facade
ancient depths
cities scrawled
on undead bones
rattling silent

My Beautiful Frankenstein
by Mark Shirley
Sewn lines of souls
In a stitched possessive style
A Theatre of dreams
With reflective guile

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