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Fall 2013

Spaceship Mountains NYC
by Matt Crump

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Essays

Seeing The Inca Trail By JLSchneider

I’m watching Inca and pre-Inca walls that have been standing for a thousand years get torn apart in a day. They were built carefully, with a purpose, by hands whose descendants now carry our water, chop our wood, and backfill our sites when we leave. They were homes and courtyards and places of worship. And we’re joking and tearing everything apart like clowns….

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Fiction

For Love By Enid Harlow

Second Prize, 2013 Literal Latte Fiction Award.
The mother’s voice was loud. Too loud. The sound was startling. Her eyes were wide and bright. Frank wondered if she was taking drugs herself. A family thing. Or maybe she was plastered, had got herself appropriately inebriated for the occasion. Pickled. The word jumped into his mind, and he thought it apt. Pickled in mind and body for the occasion of her son’s funeral….

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With All the Trouble Jesus Went Through He Should at Least Get a Jelly Bean By Heather Tucker

Winner, 2013 Literal Latte Short Short Contest.
Dad’s taken Charlie ahead to ball practice while I continue to scour Sideline 22 for Mom’s uterus. Mom’s always losing something. I don’t mind being left to carry out search and rescue. I suck at ball. Besides, any minute now Lori Penter will be coming home from her piano lesson. She’s forbidden to talk to me on account of the holy war, but if she was allowed, she’d say hi — maybe.

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Poetry

As I Walked Into the Middle of the Night Squinting By Lucy Biederman

He says But you don’t know
You kind of love
When someone holds
The night by its toes and
All the adjectives fall out…

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The French Have A Word For It By Jack Miller

Winner, 2012 Literal Latte Food Verse Contest.
Only in the Mysteries room would
you show me what you’d hidden,
slyly pulling from beneath your shirt
those strawberries…

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Five-Course Noir By Jack Miller

Winner, 2012 Literal Latte Food Verse Contest.
D.O.A. begins near the end: Frank Bigelow, his blood bright
with luminous toxin, having solved the mystery of his own
murder. The rest is a dead man’s tale, an extended flashback….

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Toothache By Jack Miller

Winner, 2012 Literal Latte Food Verse Contest.
“I’ll meet you at the hotel,” you said, so I’d gone on alone despite the storm,
the wrong kind of sugar for the all-night drive. I gave up at 1 AM,
ice accreting on the windshield like rock candy on the string…

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