HAYDEN'S FERRY REVIEW
SPRING/SUMMER 1995 ISSUE 16
Table of Contents
Fiction
Steve Heller
The Ghost Killer [33]
Thomas Legendre
Shape and Ring [70]
Craig Lesley
The Sky Fisherman [81]
Michael Bugeja
Theorem of the Killer Instinct [102]
Robert Stubblefield
Hunting Rights [114]
Poetry
Roger Mitchell
Retirements in the Neighborhood [28]
Laughter in the Next Booth [29]
Marvin Bell
The Book of the Dead Man (#53) [30]
The Book of the Dead Man (#59) [31]
Ali Yuce
translated by Sinan Toprak and GerryLaFemina For the Road [61]
George Looney
The Possibility of Touch [63]
Dennis Schmitz
Egoist [66]
The Alien Corn [67]
Rick Madigan
Hurricane [92]
Doing Jannie's Wash [94]
Ruth Moose
The Potato Eaters [96]
Ice [98]
What Happened [100]
Edward Haworth-Hoeppner
Winona [110]
L.M. Abbey
Retarded Boy [112]
Carolyn Alessio
Jane Austen in the House of Mirrors [126]
Redeeming Coupons [127]
Edward Kleinschmidt
Anodyne of the Self [128]
Motion (Picture) [129]
Vivian Shipley
Stony Creek Granite [130]
Art
Richard Daehnert
Feather Relic [32]
Gina Meyer
Untitled [62]
Ezshawn
Graduation Day [68]
Showing off the New Car [69]
Joe Tyler
Tree of Knowledge [101]
Jeff Ward
Dream Repair [109]
Interview
Nick Norwood
On Language and Poetry: An interview with Andrew Hudgins [9]
Contributors [132]
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Issue 16 Staff
Managing Editor
Salima Keegan
Fiction Editors
Tim Schell
Amy Sage Webb
Poetry Editors
Erika Lenz
Jonathan Schouten
Art Editors
Amy Walston
Associate Editors
Shannon Dougherty
Radu Hadrian Hotinceanu
Jennifer Para
Kara Scanlon
Gary Walker
Editorial Assistants
Tina Durham
Gilbert Esparza
Nachammai Raman
Elizabeth Roleau
B.J. Segura
Copy Editors
Beth Anstanding
Kristen Hurley
Deborah Partington
Regina E. Tucker
Contributing Editor
Deborah Partington
Editorial Advisor
Melissa Pritchard |
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Poetry Selection – Roger Mitchell, Laughter in the Next Booth
I try not to listen, and when I can't
I try to listen to something else,
something that rises now and then
into a word, a word like "road,"
a phrase like "never know."
Something that then goes back
to a floating low rumble like the one
I remember through closed doors.
It was a long time ago, more years
than I know. It was in the mountains.
There was a forest you could always
get lost in. I remember putting my ear
to the wall, to the cold plaster,
and hearing a kind of music. It even
had music in it, a long umbilical thrum.
I never know what they are saying,
just that they are saying it. A kind
of water washes over something like
tongue in the ear. And then
laughter, the thing that crashes
into words, breaks them apart.
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Fiction Selection – Michael Bugeja, from The Theorem of the Killer Instinct
Jeff Riley generally ignores his year-old son Billy during weekend visits, stocking up on toys to distract the child so that he can sip gin and tonics and plot a reconciliation with Linda. She has not yet filed for divorce, though they are separated. Two months ago at Easter, his wife moved out, abandoning their split-level cedar home in the hilly terrain of southeast Ohio. At first she asked Jeff to leave, but they argued, fiercely, he now recalls, although most of that savage night is blotted out like light, like the neighbors' view of the patio-deck upon which Billy fiddles with an inventory of Fisher-Price.
Pine windbreaks line the property. Linda's unclaimed pots of hanging plants on posts of the deck serve as a leaf-curtain, a perfect place to drink and think.
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