A Tidings of Magpies

by Sabine Miller Tell me the one about the sick girl — not terminally ill, just years in bed with this mysterious fever — who hires a man to murder her — you know, so the family is spared the blight of a suicide — and the man comes in the night, a strong man, and nothing is spoken —he takes the pillow to her face — tell me how he is haunted the rest of his life — did he or didn't he do the right thing — tell me how he is forgiven, and marries, and has 2 daughters, and is happy — no, tell me she doesn't die, but is cured and gives her life to God, and becomes a hand-holder for men on death row — tell me the one where the man falls in love with the girl and can't do it, or the girl falls in love with a dog and calls the man to tell him not to come, or how each sees their pain mirrored in the other's eyes — tell me how everyone is already forgiven every story they ever told themselves about living or not living — tell me, oh tell me the one where love wins, again and again...

by Meg Kearney When I got my head stuck between the porch rails I didn't know enough yet to hate my body, but I knew a thing or two about smoking my father's cigars with Patrick Dunn under the pines behind his house, and puking while my brother rolled joints and stacked 45s on the record player in his room. My sister turned me on to Carole King and JT, swore her friends would die in Vietnam because her peace medallion was flammable. She tried to teach me to dance, but I was never graceful—it wasn't a surprise, me wedged in that railing. How did they get me out? Nixon was president; Martin Luther King was dead. The whole country was in a fix, my father said, though he never said a word about the cigars. His heart was a shooting star; I thought he could fix everything. My mother believed she could fix his failing heart with home- made tomato sauce and a Manhattan on the rocks. My mother rose with the fish; she was unable to cry; she put her hand to my father's cheek, the...

"It's all fun and games till someone gets their eye poked out with a stick. Then it's just fun." Just a quickie this morning and hopefully will be back to write later. Up at the crack of dawn to drive HoneyHaired to an SAT test. She's exhausted--Homecoming game was last night(they lost, like 34-14) and Homecoming dance is tonight. I'm exhausted from the past two days of heavy hauling and lifting Of Human Poundage. But, it's a beautiful weekend and I have plenty of Advil at home and pilates scheduled for tomorrow. Must read my assignments today--a study on decreasing violence in the ER, something about too much noise in the workplace. Say what?? And, firefighters and cardiovascular disease. One's good and one's bad, but I'm not going to spoil the ending for you. And somehow, despite the fact that Hubby and I worked the last two days and Honeyhaired was at school, there's two sinkfuls of dishes. I'm not naming names, but I have my suspi...

by Howard Nelson My father told me once that when he was about twenty he had a new girlfriend, and once they stopped by the house on the way to somewhere, just a quick stop to pick something up, and my grandfather, who wasn't well— it turned out he had TB and would die at fifty-two—was sitting in a chair in the small back yard, my father knew he was out there, and it crossed his mind that he should take his girlfriend out back to meet him, but he didn't, whether for embarrassment at the sick, fading man or just because he was in a hurry to be off on his date, he didn't say, but he told the little, uneventful story anyway, and said that he had always regretted not doing that simple, courteous thing, the sick man sitting in the sun in the back yard would have enjoyed meeting her, but instead he sat out there alone as they came and left, young lovers going on a date. He always regretted it, he said.

by Steve Kowit The California tuna fisherman who bought my van in Puntarenas had a son who'd been killed in the war. I remember sitting in the heat & listening. He was a bald guy with a bulbous nose, & a talker. He made his wife bring in Mike's photo. Then he started in on the Chinese, how they were going to take over the world. "William, don't... please... no one's interested..." The coffee cup rattled in her fingers. Afterwards we bussed back along the coast road, a thick fog rolling in off the Pacific like a Sung scroll: small boats disappearing into the mist.

October by Robert Frost O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; To-morrow's wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; To-morrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow, Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know; Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away; Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes' sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost— For the grapes' sake along the wall.

by Matsuo Basho Days and months are travellers of eternity. So are the years that pass by. Those who steer a boat across the sea, or drive a horse over the earth till they succumb to the weight of years, spend every minute of their lives travelling. There are a great number of ancients, too, who died on the road. I myself have been tempted for a long time by the cloud-moving wind — filled with a strong desire to wander. It was only towards the end of last autumn that I returned from rambling along the coast. I barely had time to sweep the cobwebs from my broken house on the River Sumida before the New Year, but no sooner had the spring mist begun to rise over the field than I wanted to be on the road again to cross the barrier-gate of Shirakawa in due time. The gods seem to have possessed my soul and turned it inside out, and roadside images seemed to invite me from every corner, so that it was impossible for me to stay idle at home. Even while I was getting ready, mending my to...