Additional Selections from This Issue

Of Our Vessel by F. Daniel Rzicznek

An invention for remembering
where it was I was going
through the house’s sun-flooded labyrinth—
you tell me it is possible.

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An Interview with Nicole Walker

Amy Wright: In your essay “Where the Wild Things Are,” you discuss the rules imposed by pregnancy and the ever-shifting lines we cross and redraw. What rules have you made to protect your life as a wr

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An Interview with Gerald Stern

Amy Wright for Zone 3: You mention in Stealing History being drawn enough to the title The Master of Lucid Dreams to order the book based on it. Do you dream lucidly? Gerald Stern: I sometimes do. Th

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An Interview with Dinty W. Moore

Amy Wright for Zone 3: Dinty, I just finished reading The Mindful Writer: Noble Truths on the Writing Life, and it made me cry. God knows why. Filled as the book is with insight and prompts for reflec

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An Interview with David Iacovazzi-Pau

Amy Wright for Zone 3: You have an incredible talent for capturing human expression in portraits. When did you realize you could read faces so well? David Iacovazzi-Pau: Thank you for the flattering

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Just Because There’s a Roof Over Your Head Doesn’t Mean You’re Not Floating Upside Down by Robert Rice

I remember it like this: I was twelve and we were at Arlee Piero’s funeral sitting in a pew near the front of the church when Uncle Harry glanced around at the crowd—the service was starting and the c

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Recovery by Matthew Jurak

The nurse at the front desk knows his face, so after signing in and clipping a plastic badge that reads Authorized Visitor to his jacket, Davie makes his way alone down the long, pastel-tiled hall to

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Skin of the Earth by Nicole Walker

In the winter light, streaming in from the obscured glass window, my face looks as cracked as the desert floor. The skin reads that there was once water there but that those days are over. The skin, a

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Of This Place by Mariflo Stevens

I have always thought of us as the last “niggers.” We are the people anybody can make fun of with impunity. Anybody can call us hillbillies and claim we’re stupid and nobody will object or argue our c

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Buried Alive by Dinty W. Moore

You can layer me under mud, silt, and soil when I die. You can bury me flat beneath the glorious weight of the sweet-scented earth. Leave me to the industrious earthworms. Let the tree roots have thei

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The Bike in the Ditch by Ivan Young

The wheels were buried to the axle, / and poison ivy twined the frame. / No one touched it, not even / maintenance men. It testified / to transience. Most of us knew waking to / a father solemnly

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Gall Harvest by Laurie Lambeth

It was a year before the hurricane took the tree, the season when red oak apple galls fall—summer, late spring. They rolled everywhere. I gathered them, put them in a jar next to the dog’s unused tram

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This Little Catalogue of Losses by Adrian Blevins

is an old burlap sack that I soaked in pee and stuffed under the bed so it could possess the fusty venom I / consider crucial for the remembering of / (1) my lost youth which was my innocence and

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