Artwork by Jeremiah Stansbury
In this Issue...
The Dying Art of Dishwashing
by Denise Kincy
With aging eyes, I witness modernization.
Lying against my antique headboard,
goose down pillows propped behind me,
I watch my new plasma TV,
strategically centered, magically connected,
constantly tuned in to reality....
Between Seattle and
by Daniel Shin
This scares me.
Our words circle each other
hungry for meaning,
yearning for response,
but not sure
what they want...
by Chris Abbate
Glassy September morning,
ripe bananas on a sun green porch,
candles in the shape of “32”
on a cake my wife baked.
She lights them and sings.
I make a wish,
blow them out,
pack shaving cream and a razor...
by D.J. Adamson
Let us come to the feast. Our Episcopal priest calls the Pasadena All Saints congregation together every Sunday to profess its faith. My family didn't attend formal church often, we were more on the Catholic C and E calendar; yet, spirituality was the main course at every Sunday meal at our house.
Sunday, the day Father stayed home from work, read the Oregonian column inch to column inch and napped under papery folds, headlines moving up and down in a levitation of exhaustion until Sunday dinner was ready. If company was expected, Mother would say: “Keep your ears open and don’t wake him until they get here.” My eyes were generally glued into my newest Nancy Drew but my ear-alarm would set on her order. This Sunday, however, with no company expected, I turned Nancy Drew tent-style and followed her outside...
When Joaquin Comes
by Ed Lynsky
Punching the gas, Ron Yarrow blew through a red traffic light. “Zack, what’s the time?”
“Nineteen-hundred hours,” replied Zack. “We’re way early, Dad.”
“Joaquin said eight,” said Mr. Yarrow. “We’ll grab a bite to eat and kill some time.”
“If some Blacksburg cop doesn’t pull us over before then, sure.”
Hearing that, Mr. Yarrow eased off the lead foot. “Yeah. No sense inviting trouble. I’m a little over-anxious, I guess.”
They rode in silence. “Is this such a smart idea, Dad?” asked Zack. “My going AWOL seems radical.”
“Different war, same lies,” said Mr. Yarrow.
Confused again, Zack took a moment to see the parallelism. He couldn’t. “Times were different back then,” he said...
Artwork by Ron Hudson
Watering little Flowers
by Ron Hudson
It is the first Sunday of the month. The church is filled to capacity. Everyone is attentive to the words Reverend Watkins is delivering to them and filled with the spirit.
“Members of the church, would you please turn to Isaiah forty-first chapter, tenth verse? It reads: ‘I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’ Listen to what this scripture says and think about what it means to you.”
As Reverend Watkins gives his sermon, there is another conversation going on in the back of the room.
“Iris, I need a drink of water,” Little Jasmine says to her older sister.
“You’re gonna have to wait till after church, Jasmine,” her sister whispers to her.
“I can’t. My mouth is dry.”
Annoyed, but compassionate, Iris replies, “Come on. I need a drink of water too..."