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Author: Dual Coast Magazine

Lentil Soup by Bill Melton

3          tbsp. olive oil 1          cup chopped onion 1          cup chopped celery 1          cup chopped carrot 1/3      cup chopped parsley 2+        qts. chicken stock 1          lb. brown dried lentils 1          smoked ham shank 2          cloves garlic, chopped 8          sprigs fresh thyme, tied with bay leaf 1          bay leaf, dried 1-1/2  tsp. Balsamic vinegar ½         tsp. salt (or to taste)             pinch crushed red pepper (optional)   In 6-8 quart saucepot, heat oil on medium.  Add onion, celery, carrot and parsley.  Cook 8-10 minutes or until vegetables are translucent and beginning to soften, stirring occasionally. To saucepot add the following:...

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The Dream by Mary Crane Fahey

  Practice! Hide under bolted, wooden desks… Hands over ears. Hunch to the wall. Head to a shelter. The dream begins, then fades.   Kennedy…Krushev Cuba…crises The dream returns.   In the grayblack silence The yellow sun expands While catapulting toward me, Mutely enveloping all. In its incendiary yellowness, there is no escape.   An ominous silence awakens me. Sitting straight up in the twin bed, My heart pounds.  The nape of my neck Is drenched.  Like lint to a navy wool suit, Fear sticks to my tongue. Where are they all? Have they fled, leaving me behind? The...

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At sixteen on a balmy August day by Richard Fox

  I gallop bareback, a filly named Sally, matching her movement—weightless, face whipped by mane, nose filling with musky sweat, leather, manure. Sally’s hooves, throbbing claps. Blinding sun—                   My shoulder bounces off rock, face splays in nettles, nose bleeds. Still. People stand                 in horseshoe around me, lips moving.                                                                   Sally saw coiled snake, bucked.   Dragged to feet, let go, caught when knees betray. Tossed on Sally’s back behind trail boss Cindy. Hug Cindy around breasts. Clip-clop back to stable. Lean against manure heap, nap. Cindy hands me bourbon, bug juice, 3 Musketeers. Walk arm-in-arm...

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Jax and Alma By Carol Jones

Jax saw Alma’s head resting on her arm, flat on the cool surface of her desk. Her hair covered her face and spilled over the edge like a soft black waterfall. She normally came to school with a thick multi-strand plait that fascinated him, especially as he always sat behind her. He wondered if she was tired, or having a bad day. He dropped his three-ring binder flat on his desk and swung himself into his seat. He meant the sound to rouse Alma, but she didn’t take his bait. She barely shifted, turning her head from one side...

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My Aunt Knew Something by Anita Gorman

My aunt knew something—I was sure of that. But what did she know? I was only ten, and I knew very little. She lived a train and bus ride from Grand Central Station, in Lake Peekskill, New York. Getting to her house was so difficult—the trip ended in a long walk from the bus station—that it made the goal, her home on Tanglewylde Road, seem that much more precious. My aunt, whom I called Moster Malin—in Swedish moster means mother’s sister—lived with Uncle Otto in that home, surrounded by gardens and woods, until his sad death. He was fifty...

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Intrinsic by Heikki Huotari

  Maybe there are two of you and you have yet to separate or you’re disoriented, morally opposed to gravity and gender neutral in a unitard and showing evidence of neither pin nor stitch nor seam and maybe someday you’ll be fully centrally symmetric, warm and sleeping peacefully – through bending, stretching, twisting, your geometry may be intrinsic, rain resistant, and may never...

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