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Fiction

 

Hearts and Minds by Barry Basden

26 Apr 2017, Posted by Editor in Fiction

HEARTS AND MINDS This afternoon, using a broom cupboard scrounged from the shattered house, we buried a little girl who bled to death yesterday. We put in some blossoms and laid the girl’s leg in beside her. Then we lowered the cupboard into the damp…

Swish: Haibun by Rich Youmans

24 Apr 2017, Posted by Editor in Fiction

  SWISH Projects playgound— jump shot arcing from star to star   Evening shadows steal across the low concrete buildings, the cracked-slab courtyards, over fast-food wrappers and bottle shards. He feels the air on his face, cold and sharp, as he looks up at the…

you cannot turn: Haibun by Rich Youmans

24 Apr 2017, Posted by Editor in Fiction

YOU CANNOT TURN: HAIBUN BY RICH YOUMANS   the key. it is in the ignition, and your fingers tense around its pebbled casing. but you cannot turn it; you cannot move. you have stalled at a downtown intersection, late at night, in a downpour so…

FIRST VISIT TO CANYON COUNTRY BY RAY RASMUSSEN Friends, who on occasion join my outdoor adventures, suggest I should slow down, be in, not just move through a place. They complain that I hike too fast to enjoy the landscapes we passing through. And I think, perhaps defensively: Dervishes dance, Buddhists meditate, I…

Unsaddled: Haibun by Ray Rasmussen

12 Apr 2017, Posted by Editor in Fiction

UNSADDLED BY RAY RASMUSSEN Breakfast without a newspaper is a horse without a saddle. —Edward R. Murrow   I am six months into my experiment of not reading the daily newspaper. Instead I read essays, including one by E.B. White, who, in response to Murrow’s…

Two Weeks Later… By Barry Basden

06 Apr 2017, Posted by Editor in Fiction

TWO WEEKS LATER HE FLEW OFF TO AFGHANISTAN AGAIN It’s New Year’s Eve. Mark’s lying across the bed, not moving. “This is too hard,” he says. Poor baby. I love him and try to be a good wife. Johnny and Megan love him more than…

PTSD by Barry Basden

05 Apr 2017, Posted by Editor in Fiction

PTSD The woman stands in the doorway, looking through mist toward the lake and tall firs on the opposite shore. Behind her, a man wheels himself to the fireplace, takes an iron poker and strikes at the fire, as if beating back war rising from…

Bodensee by Barry Basden

05 Apr 2017, Posted by Editor in Fiction

BODENSEE They come for us just as we are leaving our lakeside villa, sold this morning for cash, a pittance in foreign currency. We escape by boat, all that we cherish in valises and sewn into our coats. We stand in the stern, watching tiny…

Vows by Barry Basden

05 Apr 2017, Posted by Editor in Fiction

VOWS He was in country four months when the letter came. He read it again out back of the radio shack. Down the hill afternoon sunlight glinted off the flooded paddies. They were everywhere and he wondered if he’d ever get used to the smell….

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