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GLORIA TIPENE by Kaye Gilhooley

Really? Is it? Gloria Tipene in layers of dirty designer dresses? Gloria Tipene with hay-thatch hair and farmer’s cheeks? Gloria Tipene who is watched and wondered about aloud, shuffles along the street stopping at each bin and lamppost and shop window that catches her magpie eye; carries her life in…

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AT NIGHT by Craig Rodgers

The clock reads 2:04.  The bedroom door is closed.  He stares. He closes his eyes. He opens his eyes.  The clock reads 2:09.  The bedroom door is open.  He closes his eyes. He opens them.  He stands and reaches out and he closes the door.  He gets back into bed….

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TO CUT A WIDE SWATH by Therese White

I smell ammonia. Old people. We visit Great Aunt Alma for no reason. It’s Sunday, reason enough. Her room: a single cell, a single window. The bed backs into a corner. Her white bedspread, a canvas. Little blocks, cut from her underwear, lay stacked: pastel patches. Her arthritic finger points…

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