Dad and I had each of us shot a buck and back at the truck we shared with quiet abandonment how it all had gone down. We were leaning against my grandpa’s Ford. Grandpa came up and congratulated me.
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.
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.
Eva would tell her father about the proposal herself.
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.
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.
- 1 of 5
- next ›
Wisconsin Academy Offices
1922 University Avenue
Madison, Wisconsin 53726
James Watrous Gallery
3rd Floor, Overture Center for the Arts
201 State Street
Madison, WI 53703
Phone: 608.733.6633 x25