Fall 2014

Edited by Andrea Spofford | Barry Kitterman | Amy Wright



Poetry

Remarriage

Andrea England


Half-way through July, three ceases to be a magic number. Sibling rivalry is as natural as the desire to throw your inconsolable toddler out the second story window. Even the social worker says as much. My mother’s handed down adage: There is no such thing as boredom, only boring people, always met with contorted faces and the rolled whites of eyes. By three o’clock the summer parent slips into voyeur. We crack open the curtains, we pretend we are reading, folding, preparing dinner, all of this accumulation, just to let it pass. Our children choose their calling when pushed. Into the great outdoors, doors locked, snacks on the front stoop, there we are, watching three not-so-little girls in disguise: Two maimed wolves chase the meat-horse. Eventually the meat-horse falls to the ground, out of breath with laughter and the licking begins, a two on one on the front lawn until she grows tired of tongues and hands. To have sisters was all I ever wanted. On the savannah, after a cheetah stalks and dines, she’ll abandon her own to lick her prey’s offspring in consolation. At night, three dirt and saliva-streaked girls climb into our bed. I don’t know what, or which one, to hold onto tightly.




Back to the Issue Catalog


Related Selections

Interview

The Thread That Makes the Cloth: An Interview with Brandon Lingle

As my life becomes more intertwined with conflict, I find it more complicated to write about war.

continue reading >

Nonfiction

I thought you were in Afghanistan

Years ago an invading army built a bridge across the Tigris out of Iraqi books. They turned the river red with ink.

continue reading >

​Nonfiction

The Stronger One 

It used to be that her father was the most important fact about a girl like me. 

continue reading >