Summer 2013 • Vol. XXXV No. 3 Fiction |

Calliope

Now she was alone; she must take care of herself. When you must do that, then you do it and you are grown up.   —Laura Ingalls Wilder, By the Shores of Silver Lake Hoot, toot, hoot toot, hoot toot, hoot toot Whoop whoop, whoop whoop   —Vachel Lindsay, "The Kallyope Yell" In addition to calico, muslin, oilcloth and canvas, we kept a bolt of blue Canton silk on a high shelf in our store. Sundays, while Mother and Father took their naps, Willie and I washed our hands with soft brown soap and sneaked into the shuttered store. I climbed up on the dry goods counter, felt deep into the top shelf, and worked my wrists beneath the bolt of silk. I let it roll back along my forearms. It was heavy and nearly my height; I tilted, it tilted; it drew me down like a current. Willie put his hands on my waist and steadied me on my way down. Mother had a wart on her index finger that never went away. She had a mole in the shadow of her nose. When she hunched over me to curl th

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Refuge

By Adam Stumacher

Now she was alone; she must take care of herself. When you must do that, then you do it and you are grown up.   —Laura Ingalls Wilder, By the Shores […]

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