Summer 2003 • Vol. XXV No. 3/4 Fiction |

Articles of Faith

Faith moved into the back yard. As broken bits of vodka bottle, as glimmering light amongst the shards, hope set up residence in the sarai next to the fishing rods and burlap sacks of potatoes, behind the shovels and rakes. "Not sarai," Irina corrected Evin when he tried to tell her how hope hauled up hard from beyond the neighbor's laurel hedge and inched into the broken-shingled structure. "Not sarai," Irina said, broadening her stance and placing her hands on her hips. "The shed." They were working on learning proper English, inclining their ears to subtleties of intonation patterns, pitch, and diction. Learning a foreign language would help them to make more sense of their own, they had agreed. But that was when they were married nearly ten years ago, and now it seemed to Evin that English was simply one more language to misunderstand each other with, a deliberate excuse to argue. The night before, they listened to the shattering noise of things breaking. And all night l

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Almost like Nowhere

By Bill Lamp

Faith moved into the back yard. As broken bits of vodka bottle, as glimmering light amongst the shards, hope set up residence in the sarai next to the fishing rods […]

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