Additional Selections from This Issue

Where My Fathers Died by Sarah Blackman

When forced to imagine
I invent a vacant beauty. A stone wall,
an orchard gone wild.

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An Interview with Ellen Doré Watson

Amy Wright for Zone 3: Dogged Hearts is riddled with fascinating characters like Angry Ivy and Captain Left Brain, Speedboat and Chaz. Can you describe your process for populating poems? Ellen Doré

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An Interview with David Huddle

Amy Wright: Standing in front of Botticelli’s Magnificat in 1898, Rilke has an epiphany. After all the hours opining in front of other paintings, a “spell” of judgment is broken. He recognizes that th

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An Interview with Thomas Gibbs

Amy Wright for Zone 3: Your essay, “The Two-Headed Calf,” in addition to making a political argument, recalls an archetypal metaphor for decision-making, only instead of Janus with the two faces, I no

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The Game Changer by Deborah Sosin

Jay liked checkers the best. Well, that’s not exactly true. He liked baseball the very best. On sunny days, we’d walk to the field on the hospital grounds overlooking the pond, and I’d pitch. He’d thw

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What to Say About What She’s Got by David Huddle

She’s got one thigh-high white vinyl stiletto boot in my dreams. If I were a stronger man, I’d let her all the way in. Or maybe a weaker man, I can’t decide. Just half a glimpse of her snarling lip

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The Two-Headed Calf by Thomas Gibbs

I hadn’t thought much about her over the last five decades. My obstetrics and gynecology practice had kept me focused. But then, during a routine sonogram, I identified a fetus with two heads. The ima

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Assisted Suicide by Richard Spilman

One Saturday morning, early, while her husband was out jogging, Mary Beauchamp went through his pants, left in a heap on the floor by the bed, and on his keychain found a small silver key.

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Subtraction by Ed Bull

It was Mark Spaddon’s height that got him killed. Mark was walking home with his sweetheart—that’s what they called themselves, “sweethearts”—on the gravel on the side of the road because there was no

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I Held The Axe, by Nance Van Winckel

knowing it’s not / the right tool against / the tulips, the wild blooming / field. But still . . .

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Transcription Project by Billy Reynolds

I lay on my back for awhile dozing in the grass. / There was a lamppost on my heart casting dumb light. / I was left to chance. I made much of what I felt / and drank coffee standing up as a church

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The Visible by Bruce Bond    

We are from the same root, you and I. / The tree as I see it is invisible / to you. And it gets more that way. /

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