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Errata

In our Spring issue, we mistakenly omitted Terence L. Day’s biographical note. Our sincerest apologies. 

There was also a mistake in the printing of James Goldberg’s poem, “The Feather Pen.”

“Questions at the Veil”

In the months after September 11, 2001, essayist and poet Frederick Turner crafted an unpublished tale entitled “The Terrorist Goes to Paradise.” 

Told in the first person by the terrorist himself, the story recounts the glories and privileges that greet an operative who helped fly a jet into New York’s towering World Trade Center. Upon his arrival in heaven the terrorist discovers to his pleasure that, for his heroism, as he presumes, Allah has provided him with all his fantasies and more: movement without restriction, un encumbered by time; scenes of beauty surpassing mortal ability to express; seventy-two voluptuous virgins enacting without restraint his every whim; infinite, incomparable food without satiation; a ministering angel attending to his every request and answering every query. It is all . . . heavenly.

Dark Watch

“And thorns shall come up in her palaces, nettles and brambles in the fortresses thereof: and it shall be an habitation of dragons, and a court for owls.” Isaiah 34:13 “I will make a wailing…

Trying to Keep Quiet: A Poem Constructed Around Fragments of Leslie Norris’s “Borders”

The border I knew best as a child was halfway over 
the swinging bridge in Provo Canyon, between the shade
of Wildwood and the Sundance road, just opposite
Dr. Weight’s place. Beneath it, white-cold waters from
the diminishing glacial edges of Mt. Timpanogos fell,
jumbled along the North Fork, then moved on to mark
other boundaries further down stream. 

IRRELEVANT—RELEVANT

PROPHETS PONTIFICATE; 
APOSTLES BLUSTER— 

BUT A CERTAIN WIDOW: 
HOW TOLERANT,

For Margene

The intensive care unit had never seen such a hostess
How was the show? And what did they serve? 
We brought her primary stew 
A fresh fruit bouquet 

About Half

“How much time do you spend gardening?” 
I say— 
My back fence neighbor’s eyes are placid, patient
Riddled with cataracts, half blind 

evidence of things not seen

Through an igneous erosion of stone has grown
a single Ponderosa, straight as an unthreaded lace
and tall against this clarity of Sierra Nevada sky.