Month: November 2018

101: Higher Education by Jeffrey Harrison


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Antioch, Berkeley, and Columbia were the ABC’s of colleges my father said he wouldn’t pay for— breeding grounds for radicalism he called them, as if their campuses were giant Petri dishes spawning toxic cultures. Our own pathology was pretty toxic at the time, both of us stubbornly refusing to learn anything about each other, or

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100: Admission by Mary Jo Bang


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My mother was glamorous in a way I knew I never would be. Velvet belt buckle. Mascara lash. Miniature crimson lipstick alive in the pocket of a purse. Her bow mouth was forever being twinned to a tissue. I never would wear that black windowpane see- through blouse, mother-of-pearl buttons tracing the path down her

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99: Subject to Change by Terence Winch


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Let us shove the last 73 minutes down the garbage disposal and vacuum up all traces of the past 17 years and stuff them in a plastic bag and be done with them. Let’s scrape our alternative versions of everything we have learned since 1981 off the ground and flush them all down the toilet.

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98: Leaves by Ursula Guin


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Years do odd things to identity. What does it mean to say I am that child in the photograph at Kishamish in 1935? Might as well say I am the shadow of a leaf of the acacia tree felled seventy years ago moving on the page the child reads. Might as well say I am

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97: Memo to the Former Child Prodigy by Susan Terris


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by the age of nine     you knew everything     tra-la had met two Presidents     tra-la     could explain pi memorize Shakespeare soliloquies or checkmate anyone blind-folded     child’s play violin     oboe     harpsichord     duplicate bridge so what     then     was left to do cut corners     fit in     marry someone polish silver     slap your children     or go back back to one    

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96: So Early in the Morning by Charles Simic


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It pains me to see an old woman fret over A few small coins outside a grocery store – How swiftly I forget her as my own grief Finds me again – a friend at death’s door And the memory of the night we spent together. I had so much love in my heart afterward,

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95: Other Things, If Not More Urgent Things


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How to get close without going over. How to feign lust for whatever’s on offer. How the largest possible quantity of anything is a lifetime. A lifetime of oat bran. A lifetime of timing belts. A lifetime of saying, sure, why not, i’m only on earth x number of years, and not knowing what to make

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94: Say This by Lucia Perillo


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I live a small life, barely bigger than a speck, barely more than a blip on the radar sweep though it is not nothing, as the garter snake climbs the rock rose shrub and the squirrel creeps on bramble thorns. Not nothing to the crows who heckle from the crowns of the last light’s trees

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93: Man at His Bath by Natalie Shapero


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Six years ago, the big museum sold eight famous paintings to purchase, for unspecified millions, Gustave Caillebotte’s Man at His Bath. Now it’s hip to have a print of it, and whenever I see one hung for decoration, I’m almost certain that this is what Caillebotte had in mind when he broke out the oils in

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92: Test by Jessica Goodfellow


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Mrs. Yeager’s handout of college prep vocab words was meant as an onerous task for a neophyte, a germane lexicon, but I ascertained first what had been my uncle’s initials: S A T. I heard no more of the lecture, repeated silently his moniker. Was this (a) auspicious; (b) ominous; (c) merely benign?   My

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