...Selena Cotte [email protected] © 2023 Selena Cotte 2023 Selena Cotte Across the pond Forever I m losing shit like my earrings and my cool. My mother reminded me today how I lost her engagement ring, not that the marriage lasted very long; I think my father was out that year...

... [there even when I’m not], and you are the intake after rhyme:         silence, echo, wave in the wave of waves. If sorrow was a cup of pudding, if sorrow was the spike of light on the little pond, if sorrow was the pond and you were the spike of waves,              the little light...

... from their dark ditches, the girls fall into sleep like a deep pond and so they don’t see the hand- some carnie driving back in an empty car, or with a marriage certifi- cate in the glove box and the rest of his and his bride’s lives glittering like the fish that people win at night and find dead...

... in the mud beside its small pond and scooping tiny fish into Dixie cups stolen from your parents bathroom. You like to kick off your shoes and dip your feet in the water, cup cradled between your thighs as you admire your newest catch. Gray and shimmery in the sunlight, they remind you of looking down...

... whole consciousness like a stone which falls into the water of a pond” (Bergson [1889] 1913, 168). This new idea, then, comes about when, being immersed in the reading of text A (the water of a pond), I am interpellated by text B (the stone). Both stone and new idea arrive unexpectedly...

... took my money and made me clean the yolk and broken shells. I didn’t figure it out for years. I don’t think he and I ever really let me love him, and for years that was at the center of my world. The last time I saw him, ten years ago, he was kneeling in prayer on the banks of a pond...

...Anna Tomlinson Anna Tomlinson Island it grows wild in you, moss and swamp. twenty black goose heads turn toward you in twilight, speak your shivering to the moon-covered pond. it loves your tucked hems, ecked gourd of your heart bleating to the wrecked squashes plowed under in the eld. it knows...

... and bowlfuls to the bedroom. At least a husband should be able to drown inside his wife. I was a pond swelled past its meager banks. minnesota review 85 (2015) DOI 10.1215/00265667-3144318  © 2015 Jessica Plante 34 ...

...Cindy King Cindy King The Governor Asks Us to Pray for Rain The wind borrows its walk from a drunk, hot, wobbling. A car sets sail on a retention pond and actually goes pretty far. Stupid sunset. Stupid, spectacular sunrise. Succulents clinging to baked dirt, tumbleweeds letting go. It s no wonder...

... and the blade whistles I’m falling and unfalling asleep and the blade whistles I’m floating over the gumball tree over every snake bed in the county and the blade whistles the pond like a cup of water in a charred turtle shell and the blade whistles no, I’m being carried in a sinew-strung arm nestled like...

... in test tubes. I imagined birthing a small pond to drown secret keys, but it was just steam that appeared in magic tricks. I was punished for lynching dolls and calling it “Indian Rope Trick.” In bathtubs they all produced the same occu- pied stare whether lifeguard or murder victim...

... rising from the pond or pondered the smirr of autumn mornings when the whole world seemed grey minnesota review 88 (2017) DOI 10.1215/00265667-3786719  © 2017 Liz N. Clift 3 4 the minnesota review except for the starbursts...

... commute, wondering if it s the same indi erence put together the ice-puzzle on the farm pond. e dogs bark as if to tear me apart then sni my glove. ey must think I m white. Someone will hose hogs blood from the killing oor ten hours today, if you are reading this it won t be you. Let s drive to where...

..., the truck ducked through a birch shelter. They came to the edge of an algae and mosquito-plagued pond—beyond was an open field of excavations. "I remember this. They were going to build houses here." Kitty rested a finger on her chin like a buyer. "Houses for the field workers...

... in the foyer, the heirloom pieces, the slant-top desk with the bookcase. You tell me the golf course, the hole for your ashes. In the hutch in the room where we drink tea is everything I need when you are gone: lists and names, numbers, things left unsaid. In my dreams, the frogs by the pond are all...

... obses- sively circling its pond alone, and the stray cats lounging everywhere. But most of all, I recall the burst of sound that woke us daily, the multitude of birds we couldn t see. Year Fifteen I used to be the navigator, checking the route on maps impossible to refold, pointing out which way to go...

.... Augustine grass, the tops of orange trees poking over wooden fences, the unkept park with its two picnic tables and weedy retention pond all in the name of meeting boys to do who knew what. Anything could happen. Then she stops talking, as, looking up at the sky, she sees it: a star to the north blinks away...

..., the random verdure that spiked up along the banks of a shoestring creek that noodled through his property, the random veins of small rivers that snaked from drain- age ponds, stinky with hog seep, and blankets of purple flower, yellow ragweed, dandelion, just weeds, simply grass, errant wheat and oat...

... belongs to the Indians of every land and tribe. . . . We do . . . permit and allow any of our liege Subjects to barter for, buy, or procure of any of our said English Allies, Teas of any kin: PROVIDED . . . that they pour all the Said Tea into the Lakes, Rivers, and ponds, that while our Subjects...

... never notice is a bone until you see someone without eyebrows. She wore the same thin, dark blue gown, but this one was patterned in lotuses and budding f lowers, a s i f her body were t he c anvas of a c lear pond. Beneath the silk, I imagined her ribs caging a ghost, the vague outline of small breasts...