V3E2 : February, 2001

POETRY

John Amen Portraits of Anne #11

Rachel Dacus At the Thousand Cranes Auto Repair

Christina Wos' Donnelly Creation Myth

Jeremiah Gilbert Constructing the Nativity

Richard Hillman When Two Poets Collide

Dorianne Laux The Student

Christopher Major Taken Away (for DL)

Frank Matagrano Something about Milk, Something about Meat

Kris Raido For Teeth

Fiona Robyn Jam

Diana Rosetti Woman Flashing

Leonore Wilson Amoroso

PROSE

Karin L. Becker Autumn Rain

I didn't notice the old maple tree in the campground until I backed up into it. He came running out of the tent wearing nothing but a shriek. It's not that I didn't see the tree, it's just that I was looking at another part of it, it's starry brick red leaves blowing across the windshield.

Alison Daniel Nurses Who Love Too Much

She muttered something about perfect foreplay as she flexed her body into a sleek cat's back as if she contained within her all the mystical secrets related to extensive yoga experiences like the time she spent at a retreat twisting herself on the meditation mat of her dreams until, straightening herself out, she woke up to fall in love with something other than cigarettes and kalamata olives, something other than to simply exist in the saffron colored rice in the begging bowl of her sad single life.

James Lineberger Ev'rybody's Somebody's Fool

One of my first jobs after college was servicing a weekly premium route for an old-line insurance company. Most of the customers were cotton mill workers who got paid on Friday and doled it out according to how far they had got behind, or to whoever, at the moment, seemed the most important.

Norman Lock A Discourse on History

When the Bishop entered my dreams, I had to kill him. Surely you can understand that! Consider how he dogged me through the streets of Mombasa, howling anathemas after me for my "licentiousness." He was referring to my shameless pursuit of Mrs. Willoughby, whose charming house on Prince Albert Street drew me, as it had drawn Kong to her very bed.

M.L. Roth The New Haggadah

He sits at our table, elbows up, gesticulating with hands and fingers, shooting the breeze, shouting bravura about sandlot baseball, picking up girls on the east side, sock hops, car-hops, and making out. Later he be-bopped at U.S.O. dances, and once, "I even shook hands with Ike!"

PHOTOGRAPHY

John Running Donna & Kelsy

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POETRY
John Amen	Portraits of Anne #11
Rachel Dacus	At the Thousand Cranes Auto Repair
Christina Wos' Donnelly	Creation Myth
Jeremiah Gilbert	Constructing the Nativity
Richard Hillman	When Two Poets Collide
Dorianne Laux	The Student
Christopher Major	Taken Away (for DL)
Frank Matagrano	Something about Milk, Something about Meat
Kris Raido	For Teeth
Fiona Robyn	Jam
Diana Rosetti	Woman Flashing
Leonore Wilson	Amoroso

PROSE
Karin L. Becker	Autumn Rain
	I didn't notice the old maple tree in the campground until I backed up into it. He came running out of the tent wearing nothing but a shriek. It's not that I didn't see the tree, it's just that I was looking at another part of it, it's starry brick red leaves blowing across the windshield.
Alison Daniel	Nurses Who Love Too Much
	She muttered something about perfect foreplay as she flexed her body into a sleek cat's back as if she contained within her all the mystical secrets related to extensive yoga experiences like the time she spent at a retreat twisting herself on the meditation mat of her dreams until, straightening herself out, she woke up to fall in love with something other than cigarettes and kalamata olives, something other than to simply exist in the saffron colored rice in the begging bowl of her sad single life.
James Lineberger	Ev'rybody's Somebody's Fool
	One of my first jobs after college was servicing a weekly premium route for an old-line insurance company. Most of the customers were cotton mill workers who got paid on Friday and doled it out according to how far they had got behind, or to whoever, at the moment, seemed the most important.
Norman Lock	A Discourse on History
	When the Bishop entered my dreams, I had to kill him. Surely you can understand that! Consider how he dogged me through the streets of Mombasa, howling anathemas after me for my "licentiousness." He was referring to my shameless pursuit of Mrs. Willoughby, whose charming house on Prince Albert Street drew me, as it had drawn Kong to her very bed.
M.L. Roth	The New Haggadah
	He sits at our table, elbows up, gesticulating with hands and fingers, shooting the breeze, shouting bravura about sandlot baseball, picking up girls on the east side, sock hops, car-hops, and making out. Later he be-bopped at U.S.O. dances, and once, "I even shook hands with Ike!"

PHOTOGRAPHY
John Running	Donna & Kelsy