Spring 2020


by Lucy Ferriss

Jackson was already in a bad mood as he made his way through Concorde station. The klezmer band, which usually cheered him up, echoed through the corridors. Will trundled behind him with the grocery trolley. They’d been to the Marché Aligre, but Will hadn’t liked it. Will preferred supermarkets, where he could pick things out for himself and didn’t have to trot out his rudimentary French. As a result, since Will did the cooking, Jackson ate greasy chicken, rubbery steak, and vegetables picked weeks before they ripened. In France!

An American’s Babushka, R.I.P.

by Wallace Kaufman

Almaty, Kazakhstan, Saturday October 23, 1999

At 3:20 in the morning dark Lara knocks at the door of my simple room attached to the back of a one car garage.  The door is unlocked and I tell her to come in.  “Baba Shura has died,” she tells me.  She is speaking about her mother.  Baba is short for babushka which means grandmother.  She needs to find her mother’s passport and other documents in this room where Baba Shura lived until a month ago when she became too frail to walk and the force that had cut off her ability to talk finally made it impossible to swallow.  I ask if I can do anything at all.  “Sleep,” Lara says. 

Two Poems

by John C. Mannone


The last time I saw you
You were bent over Ankle
deep in a rice paddy
               Basket strapped to waist
Gracefully handling The spindly leaves Waving in the wind
               And in the distance
               Elephant grass and oxen
I suppose you were hiding
Smiles or tears
Under that blue nón lá
With ca dao words sewn into its cone