The Flamenco Dancer

by Robert Pope -1- When my family moved to Frankfurt, Germany in 1960, Dwight D. Eisenhower was still the president of the United States, and the memory of the war against the German Nazi government lingered in pockets of unrestored destruction scattered throughout the city. We lived in military housing, a duplex on the furthest

Moose Hunt

by Tanya Bellehumeur-Allatt On the last day of moose season, Sylvaine’s father came scowling into the kitchen. He kicked a chair and threw his buffalo plaid jacket onto the upturned legs. “In the woods since five and nothing to show for it.” Twelve-year-old Sylvaine stepped away from the toaster to let him retrieve his coffee

Sunday Times

by Nicholas Johnson Flights to elsewhere are more necessary now that awakening itself is setback after setback as the mutual news sinks through: We both look through a single window after all. The view is bricked and bricked and capped by towers pushing back the sky. The more trustworthy, perhaps, can hold their tongues, but