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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 4, December 2015


Theresa A. Cancro
Wilmington, Delaware, USA

Penelope’s Cloth

The gift lies unopened on the kitchen table. I can't bring myself to untie the neat ribbons, tear into it, too much like allowing this new guy into my weary heart, but the spark of curiosity won't let go. It's probably just a box of candy or some trinket, though it pushes the door ajar.

Seven years is a long time to wait, even for an AWOL marine. Did he go mad, tormented by what he saw and heard, all that blood on his hands? Maybe he's come back, found someone younger, started a family deep within a picket-fence suburb, dogs barking as the sun sets.

spring dusk—
a horned lark unravels
her nest



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