Author: limestone-admin
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The Hunter Isn’t Coming and Grandma Is Dead
grandma is dead, hunter did come, poems, poetry, red riding hood dreaming, red riding hood poems, sarah blake, the hunter did come, the hunter isn’t comingThree Poems by Sarah Blake Before I die I dream about turning into so many stones that the wolf has to stay in this bed forever
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Naseeb or Not Naseeb
center for fiction, fiction, Hafeez Lakhani, hyderabad india, naseeb, naseeb or not naseeb, short storyFiction by Hafeez Lakhani In Rawalpindi, Anil lived downstairs. My father had kirana shop—small grocery—Anil’s father, dry fruit in same lane, and whenever I met Dad as he parted red dust of colony on scooter, it seemed he was offering me sweet dried dates from Anil’s father.
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Solstice
Nonfiction by Sean Prentiss Kingfisher Sarah’s birthday morning, she and her father in one canoe, casting into a stillwater lake. Blue dog and I in another, the solo canoe. Blue whining for land, whining to chase after frogs and snakes.
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For No One
Two Poems by Michael Brosnan In can’t-make-this-stuff-up detail, a three-year-old recalls his final hours as a World War II Navy pilot
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Lilm
Two Flashes of Fiction by Helen Phillips We like to sit on a rock. We like to sit on a rock shaped like a turtle. We like to dig holes in the sand and watch them fill with water. We like to drink rain. We like to sit in sun.
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Anatomy of a Woman’s Spine
Four poems by Leslie Harrison I applied to the sky for asylum applied for space for air I sought a way out of all the rectangles sought through forests then meadows with their secret dyes their busy insects the sky always there the sky never even close
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Daddy-o
Fiction by Whitney Collins Daddy-o, the optimist, always came to town in his fringed vest and yellow van for the months that ended in b-e-r. “I’m like a summer oyster,” he’d say. “Can’t nobody keep me down.”
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Bonding with Bad Mother
Bad mother, bad mother birthday, bad mother poems, bonding with bad mother, Kathleen Taylor, poem, poetryTwo poems by Kathleen Taylor I keep Bad Mother’s head well fed on wedges of black plums and half-smoked cigarettes which she eats right out of my palm.