... velt Middle School, Anita, liked to say. Now the smashed cellophane package of cheap cigars was hidden under a game of Clue in her closet. She wouldn’t even tell Anita, much less her parents. The first night she watched until her digital clock clicked to 2:25, then reached for her flashlight...

... in waves why is there a barbie there who knocked over that thing full of cookies and then smashed them victoriously into the carpet fibers did i eat any of them after that happened minnesota review 85 (2015) DOI 10.1215/00265667-3144342  © 2015 Brett Elizabeth Jenkins...

...Terrance Owens © 2013 Terrance Owens 2013 Terrance Owens The Ones I Love They’ve always called me Ox. Now, some of them don’t. The moon raises cities in us as we go. One of us became nothing—a rookery of stars that smash-landed in the darkness. I don’t sleep well anymore. A glass...

... of his leg and snapped the bone neatly in two. He is also not afraid of this man next to him who sleeps with the wives of other men. In a fumble at the foundry my father’s finger was smashed flat as the thin word forever. Two segments had to be amputated. Now that finger becomes a tall...

..., the sun sets on your injury. You say I m going to hang up instead of bye. There s what s happening and what it does. Every angel full of treble clef. Autumn in the hemisphere and a smashed face in a storm. The driveway takes you away. I m all thunder and no light. What you can t explain you save...

... used as chum in the water, soapy as factory discharge. Like smashed plates, the broken slag, In these shadows of gulls and homeless women and children. At dusk even the salmon grew ravenous in the super-heated river. Bruised, festered, eyeless—faces blown half off. ...

... frame for remembering us or the room. But it captured enough: the implements of dislocation and the sound of that sad smashed camera is stuck to it. Just like your breath, just like your voice in this chair on this porch in this place you’ve never heard of and will likely...

...Carrie Shipers © 2009 the minnesota review 2009 the minnesota review Carrie Shipers War Stories Days, in the factory that killed his father, he blocked caps with crooked fingers, knuckles smashed flat or ridged from being broken...

... for lemons. There are no trains to carry me away from my insatiability. Have all that salty salami and blow my brains out on sake. A thirst that starts in the back of the brain where all my secrets are smashed-up cars. Some kind of desire that pushes me to the river, my...

...- hide. Eighteen, the two of you smashed again, the quarrel this time About the relative ineptness of two local boxers: Dad in his stiff plaid shirt, collar unraveling, wet looseness to his eyes, A hard drunk's steel. But you would not burn again. You knew the key, the cabinet...

... no mother or father remember. Vasto smash buildings. Vasto pound heroes. Vasto crush cars. Vasto not feel the hot sun in July or the cold wind in December. Vasto strikes out because Vasto impervious. Vasto craves scars. I wasn’t born the Manimal but spawned in a laboratory, human tester for a cologne...

... really mother and child have bonded beyond their bones. Cells eternal and directionless, pilgrims tessellating the body like the long tan throats of beer bottles smashed in the street by our home, the way my mother stepped through them to reach our duplex door, my head pressed to her hip, our...

..., smashing them to planets. I got paper bags of old beer cans. They make my house smell sour, but one day they’ll be tall black-eyed Susans jutting out from an old tire swing. I’ll run the chains bolted to the tire with ribbon, maybe nylons. Colored L’egg nylons —that​ kind that comes...

... shoves against your chest. Your fingers have branded her arms with blistering stripes, and her tears evaporate before they reach her cheeks. The lacquer of ice around the doorframe smashes as you stumble out and press your forehead to the ground. The back of your neck glows red, and when Gerda...

...: literary animal advocacy I cried for Piggy. His smashed glasses. It was the first time I cried over a character’s death: ninth grade, Lord of the Flies. Poor Piggy with his pudgy earnestness and his storybook name. It was like they killed Pooh. See, I grew up on animals in jackets: Peter Rabbit...

.... And here you are taking care of your mother who is destined for the testing She s fine! Kaju yells. Dot starts laughing. Oh boy. You don t learn do you. He walks back inside. Kaju looks up and sees the nest has been smashed. The brittle branches are crunched on the ground and the mangled bodies...

... in those black falls, smashed his own clumsy body into that lithe one? How often had he caught a whisper out of that velour throat, won a kiss from those hibiscus lips? Constantly, without pause, perpetually, he would have answered once. But now, his reply was bitter...

... left. I came out on the porch after his truck s head- lights disappeared and found her picking up scraps of the mandolin he d smashed against the concrete steps. She looked like a pale, skin- nier version of my mother, and while she walked to the metal trashcan in the carport, she paused to stare...

... inexplicable ram-head diagrams—my subgroup of XY chromosomes watched car safety crash test documentaries on the Health department film projector. We tittered and clapped after each forty-five mile per hour head-on smash-up. Miss Ross rolled her eyes but said nothing. Cartoons penciled...

... never missed having a boy. I was his son, sprinting after him, helping him in the fields, playing cricket with him, smashing mud pots with a catapult.” Sarla giggled. “Unlike other men, he didn’t desperately try to father a son. I was the only child. That was all he wanted.” Sarla...