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Volume 5 Number 1

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We are pleased to present the first issue of our fifth year, published on Monday, February 3, 2003. We hope you enjoy browsing through our extensive collection of fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry! (See the Previous Issues list to discover the works in our collection, including the ability to search through the issues.)


Black Lights and Breast Milk
by Keith Cronin
Black lights and breast milk were two of my biggest disappointments. Not because they weren't good (although breast milk would definitely have to be considered an acquired taste), but because they weren't what I had expected.

Pigeon Feed
by Irving A. Greenfield
Steven Edwards settles on to the rear seat of taxi on the corner of Eighth Avenue and Fifty-fourth Street.
Eleventh and fifty-seventh, he tells the driver.
It's a short distance away. No more than a twenty minute walk if he felt up to it. But he doesn't. His stomach is balled into a knot.

by Martine L. Stephens
"Some mornings you wake up and know exactly how the day is going to turn out," Susan thought glumly as she trudged to the crest of the wooded hill behind her house, "and other days you just can't even guess." Today had started out pretty much like every other day this summer, with a quick breakfast of buttered toast with jelly, then the knock at the door and Kathy standing on the porch, her green eyes flashing with yellow, looking as if she had dreamed up the best adventure yet. And now here Susan was, out by herself in the woods almost at dark, hiking up the side of a hill to go rescue stupid Meredith, who didn't have enough sense to know a joke when she had one played on her.

Creative Nonfiction

House Hunting
by Patricia Valdata
The two ducks flapped into view and stretched out their legs to land on a thick gray limb of the beech tree near the window where I stood daydreaming. Astonished, I dashed for my binoculars to confirm that I really had seen a pair of ducks land in a tree. Ducks they were indeed--wood ducks, the male a cubist vision of geometrical shape and color; the female, with her blue wing patch and white teardrop eye patch, dowdy only in comparison to her overdressed mate.


Now that lilacs are in bloom
by Arlene Ang
I'll have you coagulate the lilacs
a scarlet which clogs the atria

by Carol Parris Krauss
I remember from all the men--the hands.
Hands marking moments whether
coming or going. First there was Juan, . . .

Red Cotton
by Michael Ladanyi
When we were young our days were skeletal,
the concrete-gray of metal framed
apartment steps, an empty
in-ground pool filled with thin
January air as frigid as any water ever was.

by Ian Randall Wilson
From the white wood boxes out back
a million wings flap to cool the hive.
All afternoon the low hum of change
and me, reading on the porch.

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