Rappahannock Review | Issue 1.4
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Issue No 1.4
Walking the Dog by Jon Michaud“Walter didn’t know much about cancer…”

The Guide to Running Your First Marathon by Taylor Bostick
   “On the morning of The Marathon, you, The Runner, should wake three to four hours before the start of The Race…

The Princess, The Stranger, and The Suspension of Disbelief by Brian Oliu“This is the biography of someone who does not exist

Meme 12 by Dave Madden“I first walked as a queer into a gay bar in the summer of 2004

“Of Blood” by Ashley Bethard“We bob in the muddy green water of the Chesapeake Bay

Only Water, and the Stars by Sean Prentiss“When this boy [nineteen years old if a day] is drunk [and most dark nights he is always almost drunk]

Ineditability by B.J. Hollars“It was only a matter of time before we began eating our bodies

A Reception for Perloo by Matthew Gavin Frank“Rapt are the indignities of perloo

Saint Mary’s Dawn by Vanessa Stauffer
“Like the boy crying wolf, the trumpet repeats an old warning

A Raising by Christopher Citro
“We gathered at Niedermeyer’s house the next week

Hunger by Sarah McCartt-Jackson
“What was there left to do?

In Watching an Old Episode of A Cook’s Tour by Erin Smith
“In 2002, America was afraid of everything…”

Unless you are an aspiring laser beam, your microwave won’t teach you anything by Katelyn Kiley
“Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m eating & eating & nothing can appease me…

A Carol for Southern Christmases by Erin Smith
“The light above my mother’s couch should be enough…”

Jacinte by Jayne Benjulian
“We walked through the cemetery

Gale by Anne Shaw
“I shouted, take me further

A Note From the Editor:

I find solace in long drives. When I was an infant, my parents would spend an hour every afternoon circling our suburban neighborhood to alleviate my colic. When I was a teenager and we would embark on 5-day trips to visit family in New Jersey, the tense, cramped car rides were often my favorite part–a time when I could watch roads, homes, worlds pass by as I was still anchored to myself. As I got older, this longing for expanding the horizon grew deeper. I would intentionally miss turns on my way home from a trying day at work in Southeastern Virginia, opting instead to drive over the North Carolina border into the dusk and one-lane roads. During one of the most stressful weeks of my undergraduate career, I found myself going on hour-long drives around my University’s town every other night, aimlessly crisscrossing the grid of Civil War trenches, Revolutionary War landmarks, and run-down antique shops.

I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what it was that drew me to road trips and long drives. After a while, I came to realize that it was not the act of driving that appealed to me (although I enjoy driving immensely); instead, it was the possibility, the elongation that allured me. I was attracted to what I assumed waited around familiar curves and uncharted routes. I loved what, in that moment, I could not have. I loved the idea of not being satisfied.

When our editorial team decided upon “appetite” as the issue’s theme, several possible subjects came to mind: food, sex, money, connection, power. In this issue, we present works that use those primal desires as vehicles for exposing something greater and more deeply human. Many of our pieces deal with the longing for personal connection in forms as varied as reconciling a bad adolescent break-up and the tensions surrounding relationships with our siblings. Others grapple with the nature of desiring to belong to a community, and, occasionally, what it means to yearn for solitude. However, the truly unifying feature of the works is that they’re hinged upon the constant nature of appetite, the perpetual urge for more, for farther, for closer. They see fulfillment as a possibility, but not a finite end. They encourage exploration and rumination in their own right; they beg, for our own sake, that will we never be satisfied.

Moira McAvoy, Editor in Chief

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