Posts tagged "Issue 110"

Nonesuch

For James R. Donaldson III

Your face flashes in the road when I cross nonesuch river.
What a stupid name, we might have said—one thought, our own.

Often Remembered

He is in the airport. Palm Springs. He’s finished a golf weekend with a buddy who was getting married. They were all old friends from school, and they’d had a time. He’s sitting outside on a small patio having a beer, reading the USA Today they left for him in the hotel room, and he...

You May Know Me as the E-Trader Baby

You may know me as the E-Trader Baby—the phenom that is the stock-talking infant from the commercials—but the name’s Thurman Hendricks. I know, Thurman. Thanks, Dad, like, sorry I turned out white and not linebacker-sized. But whatever, play the hand you’re dealt. And that’s what I keep telling myself lately, play the hand you’re dealt....

Drive-By Horoscope

Every morning on the way to his mother’s, Flanners drove past the local church. It was an old one, designated as a landmark because of the bell tower, and attended on Sundays by a few elderly parishioners who sputtered up in tank-like sedans. Flanners had never attended. He got everything he needed from the rectangular...

Full Remittance

My friend Alan asked me to kill his father. He was joking, sort of. There’s 200,000 already in an offshore account, he told me. He was smiling. Laughing. Joking, clearly. His father was a bad man. The rest of the family had been in litigation against him for a long time. Legal fees were running...

Sixpence

The first time Leo died before my eyes, he was two months old. I dropped him on a sidewalk in downtown Milwaukee as I exited a restaurant, the first consequential faltering of my lifetime. Holding a juice drink, clutching Leo between my forearm and chest, I missed a step, tossed the cup, and fell forward,...

There Isn’t Much Poetry

In this, my life
the back and forth
the running of yellow lights

Since Evolution Is Just a Theory: The Birth of Sex

so when A & E woke up one brilliant morning
in The Garden it dawned on them that they were
naked and they were hot and in shape but E

The White Moon

Some want love, and some to live again
the worn rosaries of the past.

But I want to sleep with the wood duck
The Art of Claudio Bravo

The Art of Claudio Bravo

On June 4 of this year, Chilean artist Claudio Bravo died at age seventy-four from complications of epilepsy at his home in Taroudant, Morocco. The following appreciation of the artist and his work, by New York University art historian Edward J. Sullivan, is adapted and updated from the essay “Claudio Bravo: Perceiving the Seen,” which...