Mar/Apr 2017 • Vol. XXXIX No. 2 FictionMarch 1, 2017 |


The old man was filling sandbags and stacking them along the curb in front of his house. He had built a wall, a kind of low pyramid the length of the house, and was working his way around the corner and along the other side up away from the bay. The house itself was mostly undamaged. Several blocks away the ruins began. Here there were cracks in the road and running up the sides of houses but none of the same tsunami damage itself. A small miracle. From the car, Gallagher could see the tidemark farther down the road, a littoral of wreck and rabble and household goods. He watched the man for a while, wondered what new disaster he was preparing for. Gallagher got out of the car and walked over. He had spent the morning driving between gymnasiums and school halls, temporary shelters for the survivors. Most often, he came across the elderly and very young. It seemed the others were out in the ruins or waiting in line for supplies or perhaps like him also off looking for loved ones

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece

Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More


Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.


With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.