Issue 4.2: Kathryn Hunt 01

Your Sister’s Children Always Disappear by Cathy Ulrich
“Your sister’s children are always disappearing when she closes her eyes….”

The Moons of Jupiter by Tara Isabel Zambrano
“When Ramirez starts moving inside me, I know I’ll be blind…”

Carnival of Death by Dale M. Brumfield
“Public opinion was slow to protest against the imbruting effect of public executions…”

Flame Test by Rochelle Harris
“For the longest time, I thought it was about the marble or the coolness of the water…”

Finding Roots by Kristan Uhlenbrock
“Settling into a window seat, I tuck the begonia cutting into the edge of my handbag…”

Conveyance by Michael Brokos
“Bas-relief your hand on a lamp pole in rain mine tracing the bus schedule…”

Stealing Clay From The Crayola Factory by Grant Clauser
“Bushkill Creek churned past the old plant where my Aunt …”

Reading Hamlet by Kathryn Hunt
“When the others were asleep she sometimes
in the silence…”

Water Children by Kathryn Hunt
“That awful thunk and suddenly the arrival of
the minus hour…”

Processing by Anna Kelley
“Kate didn’t say whether she was there for the gunshot…”

Cataloochee by Kelly Lenox
“In the woods back of Caldwell House, I rest on a mossy root…”

Reading Hamlet

Utterly empty, utterly a source…
— Seamus Heaney

When the others were asleep she sometimes
in the silence took Hamlet from the shelf
and read aloud the scenes where he
renounced poor staggering Ophelia
or stalked the predawn hours, consumed,
wild to know who spilt his father’s blood,
and I would yawn and drift and nod
until she sent me off to bed. “One kiss,”
she’d say and I’d begrudge her, who’d shown
my father out the door, the dark play of
that between us. In the moon-mown hours
of her dying, only the poems she’d given me,
the boundless anguish of a prince. Never
nearer, those far-off castled nights.

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