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Fall 2014

La Luz (2011) (detail) charcoal & pencil on paper

La Luz (2011) (detail) charcoal & pencil on paper
by Laurie Lipton

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From The Editors

Celebrating 20 Years of Literal Latté at KGB Bar on Nov 9, 2014 By The Editors

Literal Latte turns 20 this year! We’ll be celebrating our 20th anniversary on Sunday, November 9th, from 7pm to 9pm at the famous KGB Bar in the East Village. Come join our celebration of two decades of great stories and poetry! There will be booze, and there will be words….

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Essays

A Certain Sound in the Oasis By Stacie P. Leone

Lying belly down on the floor, I slid almost completely under the bed to reach my suitcase. Our bedroom loft was the driest place in the house, still, green velvety mildew had sprouted all over the bag since I returned from Leyla’s house on the Aegean the week before. Matt’s canvas duffle somehow resisted mold, but I didn’t want to ask to borrow it. We lived in Istanbul, in a one-room house on a hill where the Bosporus merges with the Black Sea….

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Fiction

The Book of Fishing By Mark Holden

Third Prize, 2014 Literal Latte Fiction Award.
1961: The river ran cold and clear, alive with minnows. He waded in until the water reached his knees. Above him, the sun. Around him, the minnows: churning, flashing, crashing into his legs and bouncing off, each with barely the force of a fly. Yet there were hundreds, thousands, of jittery fish passing him wave after wave until white-crowned, gray-bellied clouds shrouded the sun and stole its power, and stole whatever had made the fish a moment ago vital….

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Kaplan By Jeanne Levy-Church

Kaplan left for work yesterday morning holding a glass of grapefruit juice in his left hand.

“Why are you taking a glass of juice?” I shouted out the window.

“What?” he shouted looking up at the sky.

“The glass!” I shouted back….

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Affection By Shannon Sweetnam

Second Prize, 2014 Literal Latte Fiction Award.
They moved into the squat brick Georgian in June. They bought trash cans and cleaning supplies, a plastic patio table and chair set, a shiny red front-propelled rear-bag lawn mower, three combination carbon monoxide detector fire alarms, two fire extinguishers, a fold-up escape ladder, a battery-operated weather radio, a gas grill, and — just in case — a wooden baseball bat Jake planned on keeping under the bed…

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An Original Sin By Colin Brezicki

First Prize, 2014 Literal Latte Fiction Award.
We have heavy weather in Muskoka on this Saturday afternoon, a big winter storm coming through. I’m backing out of my drive, heading to the convenience for propane, a few perishables, some beer. We’re okay with wine. Steaks are marinating. Life is good.

Snowing for an hour already. Best to go before the roads are a problem, even for four-wheel drive.

Beth and Ciara are inside the cottage, a fire blazing in the grate. Another long weekend together, away from the city.

But I’ve forgotten my wallet….

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Poetry

Frida and Frankenstein By Susan Erickson

Frankenstein, poor fellow, is a piñata
molded and pasted from bits and pieces:
brown leather boot, stick of dynamite…

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When Will the War Reach the Suburbs? By John Randolph Carter

The road is shrouded in fog.
Warriors are gathering in clumps.
Unwanted news is spreading
like refrigerated peanut butter….

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Danse Macabre By Susan Thomas

First Prize, 2014 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
Again, the raccoons got it all, the corn,
frilly and long-limbed, so full of silken
rattle in the sideways-shifting wind….

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Dinner in the Branicki Palace By Susan Thomas

First Prize, 2014 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
We stroll under beech trees,
all elegance and pleasure,
our fat babies in their lacy
bonnets, their fancy prams
just the same as Polish babies….

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Hamlet as Rhinestone Cowboy By Cody Todd

In a parking-lot made of dust and stones at Yorrick-Deuce’s,
y’all kiss as still as cacti hidden in your ex-
husband’s front seat. His ghost hovers the mechanical-
bull…

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Azzuro della Magna By Katharine VanDewark

When the trumpet bellows
a platoon of fountain pens leap out of bed
lace up their high top boots and stand at attention….

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Singing By Sara Wallace

A woman in the kitchen in a stained bathrobe
singing, her voice raspy as blowing leaves,
singing, her voice dry but the song sloshing, filling the illuminated room….

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