Thursday, March 27, 2014

The American Prisoner

"Within days summer was over. One morning we heard the sound of airplanes and the next day too, then several days after. The droning of the planes soon became familiar in the early days of that autumn. Nobody knew what the lumbering planes were doing, except that everyone would feel like they had just walked out into a drizzle and felt a dampness on their faces. Everywhere it was damp. The thatch roofs were wet, the hammocks were wet and leaves began to fall, suddenly browned and withered, not the brown or red of autumnal leaves, and the grass yellowed like in drought. Then we learned about those C-123 planes and the chemicals they sprayed on the forest. The spray fell like mist, wetting the leaves, and the air smelled tart. On the morning we woke and saw a giant canopy of the forest cleared away; the mountain showed through as if the forest had moved overnight toward it. On that day Ian’s red-stem spinach died."

2014 Winter Issue
 (Available for Purchase)

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

The Afterworld of Samuel Rossi

"Papa thought Miss Thanh Hà had the most beautiful eyes. She was twenty-four years old, six years older than me at that time. It was a spring morning in nineteen sixty-three, airy
and cool, when she walked into the classroom."

(Available for Purchase)