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Wesley McNair

Winter 2002

Town Limits

By Wesley McNair

1. How shy she became when she saw them outside her kitchen window—her young, married sister leading the minister's wife straight up the front walk. How the two of them, […]

Summer 1988

Ghosts

By Wesley McNair

When we went there the TV with the ghosts would be on, and the father talked and called out every now and then to him, sitting in that space we […]

Summer 1988

The Hand

By Wesley McNair

Her small life as a daughter and sister and aunt was a story of hands, the one which they knew her by, high up at her side like a fin, […]

Summer 1987

Seeing Cooch

By Wesley McNair

Most winter days,passing thatwreck of a houseall wrappedin plastic,you do notfind him. It justsits by the rampto 89 likea great loafof bread. Yetthere are timesjust beforeyour mind closeson the traffictoward […]

Summer 1987

What It Is

By Wesley McNair

It is not what,carrying thatafterthought of legs,he runs to, and notwhat his interrogative, foldyface detectson the floor, becauseit is always changing, alwaysturning out to besome other bugor bush his nose […]

Summer 1987

The Name

By Wesley McNair

At the end of her life,when the firelifted her house away,and her left sidevanished in a stroke,and she wokein that white roomwithout apron or shoes,she searched each face,including his,until she […]