Nov/Dec 2020 • Vol. XLII No. 6 NonfictionNovember 1, 2020 |

Excerpts from

On Eighth Avenue, a young man stumbles toward me, something dark and feathered bundled in his arms. He looks up — red eyes, distillery breath: “You know anything about pigeons?” “No,” I say. “I love animals, the ones on the farm when I was young.” He holds the pigeon out to me. “What’s wrong with him?” “Looks like he’s dying,” I say. “Why?” “Things die. I’m sorry.” “I love animals,” he says. “I’m sorry.” “I love you, too,” he says. • • Three days before the 9/11 attacks, we’re sitting at the breakfast table, the cat Leila curled on the chair between us. Donald has almost finished his bagel, but I’m still groggy (the second cup of coffee hasn’t yet kicked in), and I’m staring at the living room window admiring, in a bleary sort of way, the white gauze curtain we recently draped across the top. I look around the room, studying the few possessions we brought with us from North Carolina: the theater posters, my

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Rebecca McClanahan
Rebecca McClanahan has published ten books of nonfiction, poetry, and writing instruction. Recipient of the Wood Prize from Poetry Magazine, a Pushcart Prize, and the Glasgow Award for nonfiction, McClanahan teaches in the MFA programs of Queens University–Charlotte and Ranier Writing Workshop. She was the 2015 writer in residence at Hollins University. 

Website:
www.RebeccaMcClanahanWriter.com

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