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John Benditt in conversation with Nancy Pearl - University Bookstore Wednesday, February 25th, 7:00pm
Baby turtles are hatching in my house.
I hunt and kill and butcher with arrow and sword, hound and falcon, ear and arm. I sight and take aim.
In the spring, the dogs stopped barking. By then our windows were held open with tomato cans or washed-out jars of jelly
He mounts the shaking platform, lays the weight of his fingers on the delicate wings.
He told me to mute the Taxi TV.
It’s twenty degrees and my toddler Iona’s parka is so stiff she’s liable to fall, so I carry her up the steps onto the green metro bus. She squirms until I put her down, then stomps her boots and grins at her freedom while I pay the fare. She’s happy when she can get what […]
Mariela waited for the American boy in his bedroom. The bedroom had been Mariela’s once—hers and Hector’s—
In this bizarro teenage summer, outdressing the park rangers had become a means of rebellion.
On the terrace of the Presidential Palace you lay glued to the scope for less than an hour before you have to take the shot. Tourist or terrorist: It was always going to be your call. You are applauded for taking the shot and saving the nation, although you are not allowed to rise off […]
Her profile said she LOVED CATS and HATED MEAN PEOPLE, but she looked so sexy in her profile photos.
A head on collision, license plates smudging together. He was smiling before the steering wheel warped his jaw . . .
Ma always said that my father hadn’t been a real soldier.
In those days, I liked watching bus crowds.
Shit tends to disappear.
The cold blade lodged in my throat like it always did, the glare of the spotlight hot on my face.
On our walk to preschool lately we’ve been passing the carcass of a headless bird, just lying there on the red-brick sidewalk, rotting.
It wasn’t a city meant for walking, but she walked.
“You’re apologizing to garbage,” laughed Carlos.
Year I turned foreman, a guy I used to know by Cocaine Tommy calls me up and asks can I get him a job.
The lake looked wasted by overly green algae while the mermaid’s skin—or, rather, the skin of the actress playing the mermaid—gleamed sallow and sickly.
Many of the male patients present with a sexual dysfunction we call the Errol Flynn disorder, after the actor who developed similar problems late in life.
We are thirty-four years old and talking about the time we had sex…
A rusted mess of barbed wire nearly stripped Debbie of her torso in her first and only car accident.
She asked him, “Does English have a term for a doomed love affair?”
It is what it is, and before that, it was what it was: night, the marks of your hooves in the lawn, the vegetal burst of daylilies between your teeth and on your tongue.