..., then retched the saliva he’d swal- lowed in his sleep, the blood he’d just taken in. It pooled in a foamy reddish mass and floated away. Fish, crappie and bluegill, came up to the blob and took it apart, their ovoid mouths hungry and probing. Without thinking, John Barry let go of his bladder, his...

... Mana thought she was auditing him. They could be sitting in a restaurant or a coffee shop in one of those pauses when the conversation died, and Mana would start looking around at the other diners, wondering about their lives, and then glance back to find Ting quietly watching him. He’d...

... —​rabbits usually, but maybe he’d been lucky and bagged a fox or a weasel or a skunk. Their skins brought more. Oscar’s fur check from Peterson’s Premium Pelts amounted to maybe ten dollars every three weeks or so, and he still had a long way to go for minnesota review 77 (2011) DOI 10.1215...

... to help her but thinks back on the time she stole their cat, and on the time she called the cops on him for drinking on his own front lawn, and on the time she gypped him on the paint job he’d done on her house, which is why her fence is still corroded and splintering flakes of off-white...

... ears were small. Once, he’d scooped a spoonful of bacon lard from the pan and eaten it, thinking it would help thicken his chest and arms. Eliot rubbed his hands together, pulled the blanket off his brother. “What in the Sam Hill?” Hilton sat up, anger sharpening his face. There was never...

... by his machine-pounding heart. I could move Dad from Wednesday to Fri- day, add wheels. Some days he’d offer to make me a sandwich, his talons poked holes in the bread but it became a better, latticed bread and the tomatoes shined through like Swiss glass. Dad had skills, could work any saber...

... (2013) DOI 10.1215/00265667-2331859  © 2013 Jacob Newberry 54 Newberry  55 no point in shouting. A few of the other times it had happened he’d apologized to me, but this time he didn’t. I knew the drill. He drove up to the emergency room, and I ran...

... —​   a child rapist arrested down the road in Monument Park,   who twice a week sits nervous & cross-legged in wire-rim glasses, glancing up the hallway, down at his watch, tapping his feet until Vickie shows up, takes him back to the office to talk. He’d called it a ringing in the ears...

...-2781596  © 2014 Matthew Neill Null 34 Null  35 Eric didn’t speak to him after that. It made Sull bite his lip to think it now. But Sull was calm, even as the doe’s stormy eyes slid over his body. He’d killed enough deer to hang every hook...

... to think. By day he’d wear us into onionskin. At night, he’d flee to the driveway where he lived in unkempt hair. He was the phantom weeping powdery tears into the ashtray. He tattooed legal pads with a furious manuscript about the world’s petty campaign...

... the spectral movements of residents who lived there, the quotidian contrails of their transitory to's and fro's? Or if he'd painted figures on the glass, say, a doorman, an old woman and her Pekinese? Would we then see art, not as something worth salvaging but as our...

...Bradley Harrison © 2013 Bradley Harrison 2013 Bradley Harrison Miniature Horse Gorilla man choked my brother in the pantry. For clinking a spoon on his teeth. Every day Blarney killed a coon and carried it up. To the deck where he’d ripped Adam’s leg to the marrow. Polaroids milky his...

... the Formica countertop with flour. We’d roll out the dough together, and he’d dab butter onto its surface, let me spread it like finger paint, before he spread globs of applesauce with the back of a spoon, then helped me wash the grease from my hands, and maybe he worried...

... with the cigarette he’d forgotten was in his hand, and rolled back into his corner, whimpering and cursing. “Te quemaste, ¿eh, ancianito?” She chuckled from the doorway. You burned yourself, huh, old man? Little ancient man. The woman’s bare thighs rubbed together under her skirt...

... that be better than letting digested meat rot in his insides? & Buddy Holly,   would we love him as much if he’d stabbed himself in the heart? Would we love more? For a kid, dead at 22, who sang of love & the day he’d die, it’s not about just getting out. It’s about staying out. It’s about being...

... more stops to go. the minnesota review Ollie was Hals uncle and the Hood Dairy plant manager—he'd wrangled him the job in the first place. But now he was yelling into the phone. "Christ Hal! Why'd you skip the Oysterbake?" "I didn't Ollie. I swear! I just dropped a case of creamers...

... decided to call my buddy Kevin from HR. He’d been cyber-stalking his ex-girlfriend for over a year and was always game for a relationship autopsy. “Bipolar or ADHD,” said Kevin. “I didn’t want to say anything at the Christmas party but she seemed pretty damaged.” “Not a word, nothing...

..., certain that he’d passed over to the other side. Once, Camilo, the large knot protruding from his back, cradled Rodrigo in his lap and minnesota review 85 (2015) DOI 10.1215/00265667-3144210  © 2015 Julian Zabalbeascoa 6 Zabalbeascoa  7 cooed...

.... “You’ve seen what goes on,” I told him, wishing he’d just leave it alone like he used to. I had a foggy head from all the anti- depressants the doctors pumped into me when I got to the hospital. I was on a suicide watch, with my arms and legs strapped to the cold bars on the sides...

... 37 38 the minnesota review tenured teaching job, he’d organized his life into Excel spreadsheets. “7:45AM —​Make Cam his breakfast.” “8:15AM —​Leave for school.” “8:30 —Arrive​ at school.” “9:12 —Homeroom Even right after he got fired, he came downstairs every morning dressed for work...