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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 1, March 2015

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Lynn Wohlwend
Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA


Mother Love

After 30 years and four kids, my stepmother is leaving my father. When can you visit? he asks me on the phone.

Dad's lawn is overgrown; the prairie fields beyond press forward in reclamation. The rental car bottoms out on an enormous rut, and I bite my tongue. Dad greets me still in his pajamas, his wispy gray hair at cross-purposes. Look! he says, excited, pointing.

Where the backyard seam meets the tall grasses, a dead coyote lies on its side. Caught her trying to sneak into the chicken coop, he says.

As I walk toward her, I know what I will see. A dark splotch of blood staining the pelt, the flies scattering and then falling back, her silvery teats shimmering with mother love.

splitting the wishbone . . .
Sunday dinner
alone

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