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We are teachers so maybe we can help something change, tap into something.

An in-depth audio interview with Ann Beattie on her writing.

I have already begun the life-long work of hating my father.

Getting over being drunk makes you wonder why the hell you did that.

Pigeons are born knowing where they belong, with whom they belong.

If all along we all had known the leaves we leafed would leave us

I pass my hands over my eyes, mired by the miti-
gation of routine.

“Come here, my good child; sing me Pergolese’s Salve Regina.

The school’s committed to an all-sterile facility by the year 2025.

It is our nature to conform; it is a force which not many can resist.

Do the work. Every day. Take a step back and see if you love it.

Heat heat and the sky a flame of sapphire, even rocks blazing.

Early on, Castro learned and opposed the unfairness of things.

Tonight these writers lower their eyes and silence their words.

There is a pure fear, in waking somewhere you have not lain down. She runs until her blisters bleed. Then, she runs some more.

Let the public do itself the honor to read and follow in my footsteps.

She wondered if tomorrow would fill her with so strange a stirring.

If I had been blessed that afternoon, why did I lose my tongue?

I was tracing my finger along his hoodied back, to draw the route.

How many times had I passed it in a taxicab or walked within sight of it?

Of the sixteen candidates only eight would make the final cut.

Soon I will walk up those same back steps the police took by force.

The mistake you make with this man is, you wait around for him.

Her father is important in his village and has three wives.

Atomic bomb. How could those two words be said together?

I felt nothing, which was cool, totally cool with me. For my blood was cola.

Diane Kirsten Martin

Close mist around window. I attempt gender. Deposit each letter.