Fall 2016 (Volume 20, Issue II): 20th Anniversary Issue




Dear Mother, Good thing we had Mr. Walter Finn, park ranger, to explain the growth of a tree! While he talked, I wished for a fur collar like Edith’s to ripple enticingly in the breeze. Alcatraz roiled out in the bay. Mr. Walter Finn pointed with his good hand, tight in a black leather glove. His cheek, a bit jowly but freshly shaved, shone wetly. You can’t call the air here humid. Edith says it is “heavy with anticipation or expectation.” If, among the trees, cars seem smaller than toys, what size are people? We are not used to being afterthoughts. That scrubbed pure feeling I get when I skip a meal started at the base of my neck. Edith was cranky because I wouldn’t loan her my patent leather pocketbook. She wanted to fry up pork chops, bacon, or thick slices of liver for Mr. Walter Finn, who never mentioned a wife. As he enunciated sapling, Magna Carta, old growth, I spotted gaps between his good clean teeth. Later, at the hotel, Edith and I argued about what happened in 909 A.D.

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