Summer 1996 • Vol. XVIII No. 3/4 Fiction |

Dreaming of an Altogether Different Place

On her feet she put a pair of shoes made of stone. Until these wear out, she said, I will not cease from journeying. To an altogether different place where this time my grandfather will not have come from a landlocked country. He will not be any longer rooted in a dark wood waiting for the ax, petrifying until iron bites iron, no dog-bites-dog world, this time he will be a confluence of rivers flowing to the sea. The sea will spread itself before him inviting like a weave of silk waltzing in the light, and we will imagine that we can trust ourselves with all security on its waves just as we feel ourselves to be safe wrapped in dreams. My grandfather will be lithe as a salmon, he will be all his life a fisherman and will sew his pea jacket with sequins like the scales of the fish that leap into his boat recognizing one of their own. And the fish will not at all taste of barley; the taste of barley will not be in the sea. This time when he captures the Lorelei he will let her sing

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The Final Inning

By Thomas Glave

On her feet she put a pair of shoes made of stone. Until these wear out, she said, I will not cease from journeying. To an altogether different place where […]

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