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Fiction

Jelis stopped digging. She shrugged her harness off, letting the old-fashioned Exo-Shoveller drop to the ground. Who cares, anyway. It was obsolete. It only moved up and down, and then only a maximum of fifteen inches.

Photo: Kwon Junho

Before I step through the doors of the cigar factory, I smell the aroma that has followed my sister, Rosario, home since she started working here.

Country Road with Sunset

It happened on graduation night after the ceremony was over.

Vintage photo of meat counter

Eva would tell her father about the proposal herself.

Closeup of purple carnation

The woman stands in a yellow sundress and sandals, snow circling her blue ankles. It’s January in Milwaukee, and she’s out on the street half-naked.

Illustration by Laura Ovberg

My father eats braunschweiger sandwiches, thick ones he squeezes tight to hold together. He holds them with the hand that’s missing a finger.

Dr. Merton gave Shelby Aronowitz bad news. The pain in her knee was osteosarcoma. They would have to amputate.

The voices were never voices, but more like the memory of sound—an echo off cavernous, sweating walls.

From his kitchen window, Nathaniel Foxx counted six bulldozers in the neighboring cornfield. Or what was left of the cornfield. It began with a For Sale sign that Foxx drove by for months, but ultimately ignored.

Your side lost, and it’s very possible it was your fault. But then again, it’s always your fault. 

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Madison, Wisconsin 53726
Phone: 608.733.6633

 

James Watrous Gallery of the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts & Letters
3rd Floor, Overture Center for the Arts
201 State Street
Madison, WI 53703
Phone: 608.733.6633 x25