Fall 1987 • Vol. IX No. 4 Fiction |

At the Center for Younger Mothers

The Living Room, as it was called, on the top floor of the house, faced south. In the windows, green plants turned their leaves to the light. They needed to be watered heavily; their stems were translucent and new growth was spurting in pale shoots. The room smelled of warm moist earth and moistened plant food. Near the windows, two couches, with yellow vinyl upholstery and tapered screw-on legs, stood beside a low, round table. On the table was a pile of magazines, worn, but neatly arranged, as in a waiting room. Glossy posters hung on the walls, showing models of the abdomen cut away to depict the various phases of pregnancy and stages of childbirth, and in one corner, on a wooden stand, there was a molded uterus, gray and lavender, with the walls folded back to display the fetus inside. In the opposite corner, on a bridge table, a big doll lay on its back in a plastic tub. It was five o'clock in the afternoon, Tuesday, in the month of March: Queens, New York. It was the

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The Secret Dog

By Peter Cameron

The Living Room, as it was called, on the top floor of the house, faced south. In the windows, green plants turned their leaves to the light. They needed to […]

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