Volume 16 Number 1


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Street View
by Cori Lynn Arnold

Ben’s day started out just the same as any other, except for his cough and sore throat. The naked man, the marching band, and Mrs. Naylor covered in blood, they would all come later. His wife wasn’t in bed when he got up. Her drive was long and she occasionally went to the school early to grade papers or meet with parents or students to go over issues they were having. Teaching, he knew, was never ending, but she poured herself into work to escape....

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Road to Wingo
by LaShonda Katrice Barnett

Edrow Bodine stared into his oatmeal.  From the small red box he shook loose a steady stream of raisins and stirred.  He thought oatmeal the perfect metaphor for his life: there were things you could add to make it taste better but in the end you still had oatmeal.  Growing up in Paducah, despite his preference for corn flakes or farina, mother always made oatmeal...

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It’s Not Natural
by Liz Betz

Lanny is older than his supervisor or anyone else in Campers Warehouse Direct and he often feels that he is on special probation in case he is too old. He makes sure he is steady and conscientious.  He keeps a mental tally of his work and compares it with his younger peers. Like an old workhorse in a field of colts; he pulls harness all day while they frisk about. ...

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Scavengers
by Dylan Gilbert
I tossed my Adidas bag onto the passenger seat and started the engine.  I couldn't wait to get to the gym.  I hadn't made it there once this week, but I would make up for it today—I had the entire afternoon. As I backed down my driveway, I glimpsed a beige form in the street through the rear view mirror.  Edging closer, I saw it was a dead squirrel splayed in the road....

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Breathing in Blossoms
by Margo McCall

Carla whisks off the black plastic cape and touches her sleeping customer’s shoulders. “All right, Mrs. Garabedian. You’re done.” Mrs. Garabedian opens her eyes slowly, appearing startled to find herself in a beauty salon. Carla doesn’t know where the old lady goes when she falls asleep in the chair like that. The other stylists roll their eyes, whisper about her behind the cupped shells of their hands...

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The Persuasion of Miracles
by R. A. Morean

Rosie Lucia Sanchez did not believe in miracles.
"Anymore," she would always add.  Because, you see, at one time she did. When she was young, very young, she played in the vegetable garden in soft warm dirt, squashing swollen tomatoes with her hands while her grandmother laughed.  "Rosalita, my baby, you dance like a wet puppy," Mama Ginnia said and laughed again....

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The Clubhouse Burial
by Adam Shafer

Charlie’s funeral brought damn near everyone from town traipsing through our house. It rained yesterday and no one planned to stay long enough to remove their shoes, so all these mourners tracked in mud and brown water. So now on top of everything else, I had a fair amount of mopping to do. I needed to clear my mind and maybe punch something and figured I could accomplish both outside, so I escaped down the back steps and out to a stand of willows set off from the property. ...

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Till Death Do Us Part
by Martha Clarkson

Until her cancer, my mother had an ambidextrous personality. During the day she was a kind, intelligent woman who bonded with animals and children. After 5:00 p.m., the drinking started, from a half-gallon jug of Smirnoff vodka hidden behind the onion bin. The booze, poured into a yellow Tupperware cup to sit like an innocent glass of water next to the sink...

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Shuffling Off This Mortal Coil:
A Tribute to Robin Williams

by Joseph Conlin

When an individual of renown dies, I take only a passing interest....The news of Robins Williams' death struck a different chord. I cared. More precisely, I cared that he killed

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From a Street I Was Summoned
by Patricia Heim

I’m a woman with an eye for detail that all but rules my life. Another way of saying this might be that I don’t tolerate chaos well, that ordering practically anything on the material plane temporarily restores my semblance of wholeness. The feeling of being “held by” and “in deep rapport with” an object in the environment ...

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The Funeral
by Amanda Meader
July 30, 2011: When the end came, he was alone.  Or at least I think it is extremely likely that he was, for two reasons:  First, if someone had been there when he’d crashed (slumped? slipped?) to the floor, they probably would have gone for help, unless they were too messed up to notice. (Such is the range of humanity in a facility built to house the most vulnerable of the chronically homeless.)  Second, and more likely, my father was alone because that was his preference....

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Sailor
by G.S. Payne
The breeze was twenty-five knots, gusting to thirty. Rain fell out of the gloomy sky in sheets of pelting drops pushed sideways by the cold November wind. The waves rolled under my thirteen-foot dinghy and I held tightly to her tiller as she rode from trough to crest, leaving a wake I’d never imagined possible from such a small boat....

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The Skinny Blond
by Bonnie Sedgemore
It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been so lonely.  Three years earlier I’d moved to a small mountain town in Montana in an effort to overcome my husband’s death and get my butt back off the ground.  Nothing was working.  The dear friends I’d always been able to make had not materialized.  Perhaps I was just too down. After two years I had a garage sale and towards the end of it, way past when I expected another looker, this skinny blond appeared...

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Josh Anthony:
Xinland Part 1,  
Hopeful, as Best, 
Petro-Economy

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I am so afraid of sleep
by Charles Bane, Jr.

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Rose Arrowsmith DeCoux:
Remember with the Fingers
in Case of Rain,
Smoke,
Cherry Jam (Measurable Wealth)

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Panika M.C. Dillon:
you knock the sunrise out of me,
the illusion of angelization (your fragmentary voice)

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Kennedy Gammage:
Fritz,
Stumbling Drunk through the Sierra

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A.J. Huffman:
Our Descent into Darkness,
With Vantriloquy,
Romans Used to Eat the Tongues

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Dan Leach:
Something Short,
Ceasefire,
A Long Winter,
Deaf

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Tamer Mostafa:
Apology to My Parents,
Catch and Release,
Fugue State

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Simon Perchik:
It's evening outside,
Though over the doorway,
As if you could untie each finger,
This feeble kitchen match,
Again this curve comes loose

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April Salzano:
Toothache,
The World Is Melting,
The Snake I Didn't See

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E.M. Schorb:
Twenty-First Century Moles,
A Second Childhood,
Wilder than Wilder

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Cheryl A. Van Beek:
Feline Friend,
Fruitful,
Postcard

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Morgan Nikola-Wren:
Yours, Our Mother's and Mine;
Wrapped and Wrangled;

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Howard Winn:
Tree of Sea Birds,
Florida to Die For,
Dining in the Big Apple

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Kobina Wright:
Evolution of Elindy,
Nightstand,
Neglect

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Summer 2014 Issue of SNReview (SNR) ISSN: 1527-344X--SNReview (SNR) is a literary journal of short stories, creative non-fiction, and poetry, founded in 1999. Member of the Council of Literary Magazines and Presses (CLMP), Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP), Academy of American Poets (AAP). This work, meaning SNReview.org, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.