About fifteen years ago, Maureen Ursenbach Beecher invited Franklin Fisher, a young and aesthetically bearded professor of English at the University of Utah, to read from his novel in progress at a gathering of the…
[…] my biceps with her large fingers and rolled them like bits of leftover dough. “Chicken bones. Liliuokalanimoa feed you some pork.” I smelled her freshly washed hair, loose black loops caught up by two […]
[…] left school an hour early each day to go to our field and finish the harvest and feed the beef cattle and horses. I often put my .22 rifle in the pickup and, after […]
When I was twenty and dewy-eyed, I visited Auschwitz. I found ghosts there. The red bricks of the camp were gritty with the black soot which was all that remained of four million people, gassed…
[…] I hope so. While Lehi saw his visions, his wife Sariah saw hardship and heartache, mouths to feed, and bitter fighting among her children. She had spirits to raise, egos to soothe, and the […]
[…] Be Like This,” a woman alone and ill “turns the electric blanket higher / wonders who will feed her birds—” (p. 134). The pages turn, and the women we meet grow more feeble: a […]
Pancha Robinson was doing dishes at her mother’s sink and watching her husband Rick, who was out in the backyard with the children. Gloria, Pancha’s sister, was sitting at the kitchen table fiddling with a…
[…] shadow. I guess he sensed the seriousness in my voice, because he put down the bucket of feed and sat on the upper rail of the fence while I unfolded the dilemma of my […]
[…] to the sides to keep his hands from his fresh stitches. The nurse told Mom she could feed him his bottle which, instead of a nipple, had a long skinny tube. Cory was only […]
On the second Sunday of December 1976, Cloyd Mullins and his two sons, Lynne Whitney and her four children, Bill and Ellen Lilley and their two small children, a pair of missionaries, and Karl Tippets…