Flora and Fauna (detail), 1973
Felt pen on Bristol board, 23.5 x 28.5 in.
“LADIES FIRST!” This phrase today, perhaps more
than the custom it refers to, sounds off, ill-advised,
antiquated at best. One can hardly imagine a native
speaker — and it would be a man, wouldn’t it? —
uttering it at all, except humorously or with thinly
veiled hostility. . . .
Loud, a story by Elizabeth Denton
I admit it: I wrote a story that was kind of about my
sister-in-law, Sue. Story got published in a pretty good
literary magazine. Who knew it would also be available
online for my brother and parents to see? . . .
Food Work, an essay by Siobhan Phillips
I’ve been through two food movements now. I keep
mixing them up. I keep getting mixed up in them.
Which is my mother’s and which is mine. Whether they
might be both and whether they can be neither. . . .
Time Merchants, a story by Daniele del Giudice,
translated by Elizabeth Harris and Louise Rozier
Yesterday I witnessed something I’d never seen before,
a business transaction concerning time. Or at least that’s
what I think I saw going on in a small shop, a little hole-
in-the-wall on the west side of Medina that you get to from
Rue des Consuls. . . .
One half-lit street
heading into night: now . . .
The Vermin, a story by Amir Ahmadi Arian
This morning you came to visit me in prison for the fifth time
and I rejected your services again. I am writing this so that
you stop wasting your time. . . .
Clemente’s Overzealous Romp: Roberto Clemente
and Baseball as Theater, an essay by Martín Espada
On july 25th, 1956, Roberto Clemente did a terrible, wonderful
thing. In his sophomore year with the Pittsburgh Pirates,
Clemente came to bat with the bases loaded, nobody out, and
his team trailing the Chicago Cubs 8-5 in the bottom of the
ninth at Forbes Field. . . .
On Dorothy Iannone, an essay by Trinie Dalton
Dorothy is my education — I place myself in her path and
experience beauty each time, am changed by that beauty.
I’ve been attempting to write an essay of reasonable length
about Dorothy’s artwork for eight months, since I went to
Berlin to studio visit and interview her about art for an
upcoming book project. . .
Advice, a poem by Kristin Latour
A dog will not bite your hand
if a window is half open to the rain.
He will sit facing a breeze, drops of water
on his nose. Wise is the woman with open windows, . . .