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Editor's Note. [3] I cannot argue against a single sentence any human being writes. [4] You can take them one at a time but the house recommends putting on a pot of coffee—a weak instant you need a pound of sugar in to flavor it up—and scroll top to bottom until your eyes bleed. [5] This is both metaphor and plain speaking. [6] After Jorge Luis Borges. [7] For D.R.V. [8] Enjoy. [9]

(I) [10]

I was twelve when I moved to Mississippi and my silence was strengthened by KKK eyes. [11] Genesis, Exodus, all that. [12] Growing up was going to be much more difficult than I had thought, I remember, somewhat vaguely, thinking at that moment. [13] After all, it was still 1964. [14] I was a shadow waiting for my life to begin. [15] I was a girl of few concerns, and love was not one of them. [16] Here, in part, is what I wholly remember. [17]

In the house for sale, a 104-year-old photograph; the house, hitching post outside, nothing else for miles except a stone curb for the dirt street. [18] That old house with hollow planks and filthy couches. [19] The light barely glimmers through the old bedspread curtain. [20] Arcs over the house. [21] Deep down where roots thin to wisps, the still-growing hair of my ancestors twists into a braid. [22] A yellowed map hangs upon the wall. [23]

What about Mother, though? [24] The scent of oil in the room, her tangled hair. [25] Her dress looked like it was made of paper towels. [26] She had not slept in several days. [27] She had a thing about light—she wore tinted glasses in the house which made her look like someone from another decade, long since past. [28] All but invisible, she stands among the coats, smelling the night air on them. [29] A silver charm hangs in between the breasts. [30] She speaks and in her voice I hear the husky tones of years of tobacco and alcohol and suddenly realize how this young face has been structured and preserved through makeup that now looks too thick to be trusted. [31] Death hangs about her as if she were a train-wreck conductor who made it to safety — her story will be in the rumors of what was left on fire. [32]

Jesus, why did all this have to happen? she asked and looked at me as if I had known the answer all along. [33] Close up, her skin was pouched beneath her eyes. [34] But my hand was already holding the side of hers. [35] I want more love for her. [36] In these last years she has become so dry, so odorless, so slim, and so patient. [37] She just continues. [38] She was shaking and I could do nothing about it. [39] She cried. [40] This could easily be a theme: things that were once of utmost importance but are now lost to memory. [41]

(II) [42]

The moon shattered into a billion pieces. [43] I hear the dishes in the sink move. [44] Outside, some kids were torturing a wounded sparrow. [45] A box of cereal topples over. [46] Mother? [47] Gathering her things. [48] In bags. [49] This was done in a rapid fashion and continually. [50] Empty house as an index of possibility. [51] But my little-brother wasn't anymore alive enough to go away with us. [52] He is sinking, speeding up as he approaches the middle of the earth. [53] My brother is dead. [54] Kinship in some circles is not a perfect geometry. [55] Things would never be the same. [56]

I made sure all the windows were locked. [57] The lock on the door buzzes and clicks. [58] Leaving through the mist. [59] Very little was said. [60] There was already much sadness in this house. [61] The neighborhood was silent. [62] Not a soul outside. [63] There is a flashlight, also wearing yellow. [64] In knee socks and the rest I looked serious and quiet and warm. [65] Walking, my feet ached. [66] Gnarled roots break through ground. [67] My nails tore at the tenderest spot. [68]

I heard the rustling of the branches. [69] Forest illuminated by moonlight. [70] No one looks as good as they do at night, right next to the moon. [71] It looked like our hands had been dipped in stars. [72] The ground is covered with black and purple berries which pop under my feet like ripe pimples on a junkie's back. [73] O double exile. [74]

(III) [75]

Night. [76] More and more passengers getting on the bus. [77] The fumes are appalling. [78] My mother's purse along with everything she had left in her purse got us from Albion and all the way out of Oklahoma to Hot Springs and our start through Arkansas. [79] There was some cackle-cackle noise, and then the short sparks of rain. [80] When rain falls, something else is always going up. [81]

Red light reflected on the rain-slicked road. [82] The highway that hangs onto fog as if it were a ticket stub from an inaugural ball. [83] The air is full of insects. [84] Snails, crabs, and giant toads increase and multiply. [85] It’s raining hard. [86] The wet, partially-rotted smell of the world. [87] At the next stop, a fat pigeon chases another bird from a roost under an iron railing. [88]

The only sound beside the engine’s drone is the ringing echo coming from the cavity of my head, or the bus, or beyond that even. [89] Sometimes I can feel the inside of my head, right along the temples. [90] Bone bumps in the back of my neck. [91] Discomfort. [92] Victory of mind, I fail myself, my body: a page tattooed, black-lined wings down my back, a barbwire tree up my spine. [93] Here is my spinal column in a birdcage of plaster -- my back abloom red flower. [94] I spend a lot of time looking outside, but it is so dark that I can't see a landscape, only my reflection. [95] I consider myself beautiful. [96] Yet how uncomfortably do I play this role, juggling one too many faces at once. [97] I wish it was perpetually dark. [98]

I alone stubbornly disturb the other passengers' attempted slumber. [99] "Your nose is the best out of anyone's on this bus," I'd tell the passenger next to me. [100] My attempts at conversation were almost entirely ignored. [101] They can’t force me to turn the lights off. [102]

From a bus seat, one can stare out at a centipede of cars—their drivers occupied in their own bubbles of living space, picking their noses and taking exhaustive swigs from convenience-store cups. [103] I am always filled with a wave of regret when I pass by places at great speeds. [104] Many hours pass. [105]

(IV) [106]

Morning the breeze gleams, blows us ahead of ourselves. [107] Morning cleans the nightlight. [108] Hibiscus opens and drops its coral chambers. [109] Jagged pines cut their tips into the cloudless sky. [110] I look to the horizon and the sun is an endothermic orb of hickory-smoked cheese, still rising. [111] Mom. [112] She was reading the Bible to me. [113] We must be careful not to ruin this second chance. [114]

Exit 52. [115] First light turn left, go thru one stoplight. [116] After reaching the height of the hill, one could see for the first time the factory sitting whitely on a hill to the right, still about a half a mile away. [117] I point beyond the shimmering blacktop to a place in front of a weathered grey house where the ground drops off in a tangle of weeds. [118] This must be the place. [119]

The river was full of dead things. [120] A breeze sweeps up the sound of gardeners locked in combat with shoots. [121]   I watch a workman shearing the earth's head, revealing its timed skull, limestone time, soft and openly dead, not closed and alive like us. [122]   Gardens blossom where a hand digs deep. [123] The sun was high and hot; the rest of the sky was blank. [124]   Bits of ash flutter by butterflies. [125]   In town there is a tall bell tower. [126]   It’s dark in there. [127]   On the precinct walls there were eighty-three wanted pictures of black males. [128]

We come upon the town square, a small garden with a tall fountain in its center. [129]   No music is heard. [130]   The girl children braid and unbraid each other’s hair, weaving in ideas and memories. [131]  Nuns on black bicycles were everywhere. [132]   The boy children toss tapered balls in perfectly calculated arcs, over and over. [133]   The men whoop it up; the women keep quiet. [134]  They sit on stoops in streets and know that a block away, something awaits them. [135]   Everybody looks at everybody. [136]   Their sunglasses reflect a series of backward-moving pictures: weathered cabin, slanted scorched pines, rocks and dirt, the glary blacktop that winds like a river and disappears among the tall trees. [137]   Someone had left a heap of plastic forks and napkins on the shiny oak table. [138]   I'm a complete stranger here. [139]

One man had tree branches for arms and carried a treeful of apples that they were red ones and green ones and that they kept anyone else from catching it. [140]  His eyes are dead volcanoes, all dried up; he’s almost forgotten how to speak. [141]   His family was one of the first to get involved with iron ore, before the Civil War. [142]  As he leaves, I do not speak. [143]  His mouth is shut in an angry line. [144]   I stood there for a moment and told myself it was hopeless. [145]

The women sway expectantly. [146]   They live in cardboard boxes and eat potatoes with their hands. [147]   They link knotty arms. [148]   I acted as if I could do that. [149]   Then the women speak. [150]   "Rest it up awhile," they said, kneeling by the fire. [151]  Low. [152]   Pink juices oozed as the meat cooked. [153]   Anise oil, lemons, overripe tomatoes; almonds and grapes. [154]

Registered on their faces were looks of honor, or was that horror. [155]   They were old. [156]   Some of them smelled like ink and some of them smelled like marigolds. [157]   Each has tasted the bitter herbs. [158]   I had my own problems and didn’t ask questions. [159]

But what I am saying, inside my head while their words move toward me like balloons, is that the minute of anyone having loved me is past, that my lucky youth, like that ill-fated town no one bothered to name, does not belong on the map of this small century. [160]   Teddy Bears would no longer satisfy, nor candy, nor mermaids painted on the walls, nor ties around the neck, nor six ballet slippers in the closet with silver tinsel all around. [161]   I am simply growing old ahead of schedule, I told them, and they nodded their heads as if they understood. [162]

(V) [163]

I pushed the door in and climbed up the dark stairs. [164]   I don’t know what kind of apartment I was expecting. [165]   The room measured 9' X 11'. [166]   Between the uncleared breakfast table and the unmade sofabed is a set of steps, a wooden ladder nailed into the shag carpet on one end and the untrimmed rectangle of the attic opening on the other. [167]   Shadow of my mother’s hair shaken over my brow stirs the air. [168]   The room lightened to brown—brown walls, with here and there a brown electrical outlet; a brown workbench stocked with a small electric heater, three cans of oil, and a terra cotta bowl half-filled with nuts and machine bolts mostly rusted past use. [169]   There are mice here. [170]

Every two rooms share a bathroom every bathroom has a toilet & sink & mirror no tub. [171]   The funky smell is always penetrated & acknowledged first. [172]   In the lavatory sink my hands grimaced, slick with liquid soap. [173]   I sat down at the kitchen table and wiped my hands on the rubbery tablecloth. [174]   I yearn for a biscuit. [175]   The rest of the day passed in a blur of golden light and dust motes. [176]   That’s how our first afternoon went. [177]

I brushed my teeth and took a shower. [178]   I leaned against the tile wall of the shower and smiled. [179]   Water pooled there. [180]   I took this as permission to shave my own legs, finding the cool, mentholated feel of my hairless calves a surprising comfort against unfolded sheets. [181]   I felt a little better. [182]

I slept for two and a half days. [183]   I can just block everyone out. [184]   My favorite part of being alive is being asleep. [185]   Around me heat rises, dreams. [186]   I sleep unmasked clasping a persimmon (wet in its dream among linen). [187]   In night's skin spread like a woman. [188]   Wake up thirsty. [189]   Is that a cherry blossom falling through the sky, or a fleck of ash? [190]   Here it is hot and getting hotter. [191]

(VI) [192]

Days became more days. [193]   Consider the opening of the curtains an ordinary morning. [194]   A tractor-trailer passes by the front yard, kicks up some dust, rattles back into silence. [195]

My mother worked. [196]   She was an accurate typist; they paid her a penny for every page completed without any errors. [197]   They made you sign a contract. [198]   Her hands were always dirty from fixing the sagging ribbon. [199]   It required concentration. [200]   She’d cashed the check instantly. [201]

She never questioned me about what my job entailed, and accepted what I told her, which was very little. [202]   I visualize my grandmother's ancient washing machine with its crank-operated rollers extruding wet laundry, or I remember the factory worker who once told me how an inattentive moment led to the crushing of his right hand in a similar device. [203]   I know the value of work. [204]

I was initially hired as a cook for lunchtime, but I eventually also cooked for breakfast. [205]   We take away the pancakes and replace them with pancakes. [206]   One morning I was making egg-and-cheese sandwiches. [207]   There was a lukewarm response. [208]   There are other confusing moments, where the message is perfectly clear, and I still can’t understand what the customer wants. [209]

I never used that back door that I can remember, but its presence there was essential. [210]   A place where we cannot have interiority. [211]   God if I were only just blood, an animal governed by appetite and piss—I'd go back to my hands around my own neck, legs like broken time pieces dangling below that stem. [212]

I am here inside a place enough away from any other, hearing all but only my breathing, or what my breathing might become, or what becomes out of my breathing up inside of what I say. [213]   Mom. [214]   Here you are beside me. [215]   What’s the problem, anyway? [216]   We know something is coming—we even know what it is; it’s the same every year—but we seem braced for a surprise, as if this year will somehow be different. [217]   We know. [218]   But…But… [219]   Be careful. [220]  

 

 


[1] Vadnais, Matt. “Ben Halverson’s Soon To Be Written.”  5_Trope, 21 (2006).  The title, like every other sentence in this story, has been taken verbatim from the writings found on 5_Trope’s on-line literary journal.  My singular contribution has been to rearrange the material.  The sentences and fragments appear as they were originally written, which is to say that I have avoided adding to and/or cutting them down in any way.  The possible exception to this concerns my use of poetry.  As punctuation was at times lacking, I faced three choices: quote the poems in their entirety, which would’ve destroyed the narrative I was attempting to construct, avoid using any poems that lack periods, which would’ve rendered mute those artists working in an already understudied area, or make a good faith effort to extrapolate only those sentences and/or fragments that cohered together in the original poem.  I chose the latter option.
[2] I mostly composed this story during my residency at Skriduklaustur in Eastern Iceland from April 6-May 4, 2007.  I thank the Institute of Gunnar Gunnarsson for giving me so much time to focus on my ‘writing’.
[3] Markus, Peter. “Fourteen Stories.”  5_Trope 10 (2001).
[4] Marinovich, Matt. “Believer.”  5_Trope 4 (1998).
[5] Markus, Peter. “Fourteen Stories.”  5_Trope 10 (2001).
[6] Powers, Magdalen.  “Page Six.”  5_Trope, 20 (2006).
[7] Denton, John. “The Boundary.”  5_Trope 16 (2003).
[8] Kasper, Catherine. “Earnest’s List.”  5_Trope 7 (2000).
[9] Markus, Peter. “Fourteen Stories.”  5_Trope 10 (2001).
[10] Hayes, Nicholas Alexander. “Text.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[11] Waldner, Liz. “Ways, Truths, Lights: Leaves of Grass.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[12] Jones, Stephen Graham. “Exodus.”  5_Trope 16 (2003).
[13] Kasper, Catherine. “Earnest’s List.”  5_Trope 7 (2000).
[14] Martin, Doug. “The Contrapuntist Counterpointing a Way for the New America.”  5_Trope 7 (2000).
[15] Thomas, Heather. “The Fray.”  5_Trope 8 (2001).
[16] Marinovich, Matt. “My Chinese Mother.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[17] McLendon, David. “A Becoming Throughout of What Remains in Between.”  5_Trope 15 (2002).
[18] Taylor Jr., E. F. "Buffalo.”  5_Trope 5 (1999).
[19] Humphrey, Jenna. “Ketamine.”  5_Trope 22 (2007).
[20] Silliman, Ron.  “From You.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[21] Thomas, Heather. “The Fray.”  5_Trope 8 (2001).
[22] Thomas, Heather. “The Fray.”  5_Trope 8 (2001).
[23] Buuck, David. “Le Siecle de Fin de Siecle.”  5_Trope 5 (1999).
[24] Lipsyte, Sam. “The Morgue Rollers.”  5_Trope, 5 (1999).
[25] Esteban, Cooper. “Chrism.”  5_Trope 7 (2000).
[26] Sampsell, Kevin. “Photo of Deformed Fingernail.”  5_Trope 15 (2002).
[27] Levine, Sara.  “Misgivings.”  5_Trope 10 (2001).
[28] Derby, Michael.  “Instructions.”  5_Trope 3 (1998).
[29] Lock, Norman. “Pieces for Small Orchestra.”  5_Trope 17 (2004).
[30] Unrue, Jane. “Zulu.”  5_Trope 11 (2001).
[31] Silliman, Ron.  “From You.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[32] Vadnais, Matt. “Ben Halverson’s Soon To Be Written.”  5_Trope, 21 (2006).
[33] Raschke, Eric. “Laser Surgery.”  5_Trope 12 (2001).
[34] Germanacos, Anne. “That’s the Boy.”  5_Trope, 21 (2006).
[35] Jones, Stephen Graham. “Exodus.”  5_Trope 16 (2003).
[36] Eldon, Annmarrie. “Codifiers.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[37] Chapman, Maile.  “A Positive Outcome.”  5_Trope, 20 (2006).
[38] Chapman, Maile.  “A Positive Outcome.”  5_Trope, 20 (2006).
[39] Harvey, Kevin. “O’Connor Continues.”  5_Trope 12 (2001).
[40] Jones, Stephen Graham. “Exodus.”  5_Trope 16 (2003).
[41] Powers, Magdalen.  “Page Six.”  5_Trope, 20 (2006).
[42] Hayes, Nicholas Alexander. “Text.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[43] Markus, Peter. “Mud & Feathers, or, the Moon Is a Feather: Revisited.”  5_Trope 16 (2003).
[44] Marinovich, Matt. “Believer.”  5_Trope 4 (1998).
[45] Kennedy, Christopher. “The Fourteen Resurrections of a Normal Life.”  5_Trope 17 (2004).
[46] Marinovich, Matt. “Believer.”  5_Trope 4 (1998).
[47] Duff, Stacey. “Johnson County Poem #8.” 5_Trope 4 (1998).
[48] Sarki, M. “Why, Then, Do We Vacuum This Carpet?”  5_Trope, 2 (1998).
[49] Sarki, M. “Why, Then, Do We Vacuum This Carpet?”  5_Trope, 2 (1998).
[50] Wagner, James.  “Language Games.”  5_Trope, 20 (2006).
[51] Silliman, Ron.  “From You.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[52] Kimball, Michael.  “The Whole Way We Got There.”  5_Trope 2 (1998).
[53] Stewart, Steven J. “Vortex Postulates.”  5_Trope, 21 (2006).
[54] Stewart, Steven J. “Vortex Postulates.”  5_Trope, 21 (2006).
[55] Schultz, Susan M. “Out Right Plants.”  5_Trope 15 (2002).
[56] Sherman, Rachel.  “Pep Rally.”  5_Trope 3 (1998).
[57] Raschke, Eric. “Laser Surgery.”  5_Trope 12 (2001).
[58] Marinovich, Matt. “Believer.”  5_Trope 4 (1998).
[59] Sarki, M. “Why, Then, Do We Vacuum This Carpet?”  5_Trope, 2 (1998).
[60] Marinovich, Matt. “My Chinese Mother.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[61] Sarki, M. “Why, Then, Do We Vacuum This Carpet?”  5_Trope, 2 (1998).
[62] Melbye, Eric. “The Last Words.”  5_Trope 7 (2000).
[63] Harvey, Kevin. “O’Connor Continues.”  5_Trope 12 (2001).
[64] Waldner, Liz. “Optic as Haptic.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[65] Bernheimer, Kate. “Ketzia in the Burlap Sack.” 5_Trope 4 (1998).
[66] Wright, Mandee. “We Three Will Ride.”  5_Trope 16 (2003).
[67] Thomas, Heather. “The Fray.”  5_Trope 8 (2001).
[68] Thomas, Heather. “The Fray.”  5_Trope 8 (2001).
[69] Chinquee, Kim. “Driveway.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[70] Silliman, Ron.  “From You.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[71] Wells, Christopher.  “Gula and Mammon Over Dinner.”  5_Trope, 20 (2006).
[72] Markus, Peter. “Fourteen Stories.”  5_Trope 10 (2001).
[73] Buuck, David. “Le Siecle de Fin de Siecle.”  5_Trope 5 (1999).
[74] Foley, Jack. “Catherine Pozzi: Paraphrases.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[75] Hayes, Nicholas Alexander. “Text.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[76] Cho, Elizabeth B.  “Lillith.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[77] Lehmus, Jukka. “Days.”  5_Trope 17 (2004).
[78] Chao, Geneva. “Magic Ballet.”  5_Trope 11 (2001).
[79] Kimball, Michael.  “The Whole Way We Got There.”  5_Trope 2 (1998).
[80] Sherman, Rachel.  “Pep Rally.”  5_Trope 3 (1998).
[81] Derby, Michael.  “Instructions.”  5_Trope 3 (1998).
[82] Silliman, Ron.  “From You.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[83] Vadnais, Matt. “Ben Halverson’s Soon To Be Written.”  5_Trope, 21 (2006).
[84] Thomas, Heather. “The Fray.”  5_Trope 8 (2001).
[85] Buuck, David. “Le Siecle de Fin de Siecle.”  5_Trope 5 (1999).
[86] Scroggins, Daryl.  “The Ex-Husband.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[87] Mulcahy, Greg. “Reply.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[88] Hayes, Nicholas Alexander. “Text.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[89] White, Derek.  “The Carnage Between Animas and Malpais.”  5_Trope 20 (2006).
[90] Derby, Michael.  “Instructions.”  5_Trope 3 (1998).
[91] Kendall, Jessy. “Windowsill Bang.”  5_Trope 14 (2002).
[92] Hayes, Nicholas Alexander. “Text.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[93] Hayes, Nicholas Alexander. “Text.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[94] Burns, Megan. “Kahlo’s Self-Portrait with Hair Down.”  5_Trope 17 (2004).
[95] Cho, Elizabeth B.  “Lillith.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[96] Cho, Elizabeth B.  “Lillith.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[97] Cho, Elizabeth B.  “Lillith.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[98] Cho, Elizabeth B.  “Lillith.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[99] Cho, Elizabeth B.  “Lillith.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[100] Wright, Mandee. “We Three Will Ride.”  5_Trope 16 (2003).
[101] Marinovich, Matt. “My Chinese Mother.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[102] Cho, Elizabeth B.  “Lillith.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[103] Wright, Mandee. “We Three Will Ride.”  5_Trope 16 (2003).
[104] Cho, Elizabeth B.  “Lillith.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[105] Peale, Samantha. “Düsseldorf Red.”  5_Trope 17 (2004).
[106] Hayes, Nicholas Alexander. “Text.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[107] Thomas, Heather. “The Fray.”  5_Trope 8 (2001).
[108] Murphy, Sheila. “Six Seasons.”  5_Trope 5 (1999).
[109] Thomas, Heather. “The Fray.”  5_Trope 8 (2001).
[110] Wallace, Anthony. “Time Portal.”  5_Trope 11 (2001).
[111] White, Derek.  “The Carnage Between Animas and Malpais.”  5_Trope 20 (2006).
[112] Germanacos, Anne. “That’s the Boy.”  5_Trope 21 (2006).
[113] Jones, Stephen Graham. “Exodus.”  5_Trope 16 (2003).
[114] Kessler, Jonathan. “Husbands Anonymous.”  5_Trope 15 (2002).
[115] Cho, Elizabeth B.  “Lillith.”  5_Trope, 6 (2000).
[116] Vassilakis, Nico. “Pockets.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[117] Wagner, James. “At a Factory.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[118] Wallace, Anthony. “Time Portal.”  5_Trope 11 (2001).
[119] Beatty, Brian. “How to.”  5_Trope 8 (2001).
[120] Sparling, Ken. “My Deepest Regrets.”  5_Trope 9 (2001).
[121] Eshleman, Clayton. “Five Queasy Pieces.”  5_Trope 10 (2001).
[122] Eshleman, Clayton. “Five Queasy Pieces.”  5_Trope 10 (2001).
[123] Rothenberg, Jerome. “A Town Without a Name.”  5_Trope 17 (2004).
[124] Melbye, Eric. “The Last Words.”  5_Trope 7 (2000).
[125] Chao, Geneva. “Magic Ballet.”  5_Trope 11 (2001).
[126] Berg-Seiter, David. “Par Excellence.”  5_Trope 2 (1998).
[127] Unrue, Jane.  “The Mouth: ‘I’d Be Ashamed’; the Eyes: “When Shall We Meet Again?”  5_Trope 20 (2006).
[128] Raschke, Eric. “Laser Surgery.”  5_Trope 12 (2001).
[129] Buuck, David. “Le Siecle de Fin de Siecle.”  5_Trope 5 (1999).
[130] Berg-Seiter, David. “Par Excellence.”  5_Trope, 2 (1998).
[131] Maholtz, Branda C. “Prerequisites: People of the City.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[132] Grumman, Bob. “Her Willingness.”  5_Trope 10 (2001).
[133] Maholtz, Branda C. “Prerequisites: People of the City.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[134] Knott, Kip.  “Elemental.”  5_Trope 3 (1998).
[135] Maholtz, Branda C. “Prerequisites: People of the City.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[136] Wallace, Anthony. “Time Portal.”  5_Trope 11 (2001).
[137] Wallace, Anthony. “Time Portal.”  5_Trope 11 (2001).
[138] Marinovich, Matt. “My Chinese Mother.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[139] Duplessis, Rachel Blau. “Draft: 35, Verso.”  5_Trope 10 (2001).
[140] Kimball, Michael.  “The Whole Way We Got There.”  5_Trope 2 (1998).
[141] Belltower, B. “Where All the Ladders Start.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[142] Vadnais, Matt. “Ben Halverson’s Soon To Be Written.”  5_Trope 21 (2006).
[143] Hayes, Nicholas Alexander. “Text.” 5_Trope 18  (2005).
[144] Peale, Samantha.  “From the Colonel.”  5_Trope 20 (2006).
[145] Marinovich, Matt. “My Chinese Mother.”  5_Trope 18 (2005).
[146] Berg-Seiter, David. “Par Excellence.”  5_Trope 2 (1998).
[147] Davies, Jon. “Debra Does.”  5_Trope 9 (2001).
[148] Thomas, Heather. “The Fray.”  5_Trope 8 (2001).
[149] Williams, Diane.  “It Is Possible to Imagine a More Perfect Thing.”  5­­_Trope 2 (1998).
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salty metal and it smells like america
[1]

 

 

d. seth horton