Stories

poetry



by Katharyn Howd Machan

The first problem is the carpet bag.
When asked to open it for inspection
she smiles her practically perfect smile
and pure pink appears on her cheeks.
When — spit-spot — in less than two minutes
she’s filled no fewer than thirteen bins
overflowing with dusters, lampshades, soaps,...

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by Andrei Guruianu

Legal for one more year, my father’s voice
like an excited child on the phone
tells me his papers have come,
the papers, the papers,
all I ever heard growing up
with the weight of expectations,
playing the good immigrant son,
learning to anticipate
those envelopes from the government
more...

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by Andrei Guruianu

This morning’s letter read over tea and toast with jam
was fat with bank transaction pages, but nothing new.

Soon the belt would have to inch just one notch closer,
a coiled snake at rest, until one end meets opposite end

leaving little room for music, for parties, cheap bottles
of cabernet draining deep red to...

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They’ve arrested that father in Romulus,

charged him with arson and murder.

On the news, he’s yanked away in handcuffs,

angular with anger and grief.

 

Paul, burly in a cardigan, reads about a dying man.

...

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We have become more intimate with you

Than lovers, had more mastery of your limbs

Than childhood taught you. Once you looked inside

Your spirit, offered your heart to someone dear.   

Now you have let us strangers heft that heart

And...

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