The Path of Marigolds
by Isabelle Carruthers
Concepcion waits near the end of the line, and sneers as Solana approaches the door. "Your pathetic offerings will not bring Agustin back. You would do better to make a shrine to Tlazolteotl. She alone answers the pleas of witches and whores."

Are You Writing About Me?
by S.A. Augustine
Most of the time she was quiet as we drove toward the ski resort. This terrified me. Caution be damned, I had to know.

Duck Duck Goose
by James V. Emanuel
One of the ladies has long dark curls. She holds an infant that suckles at the nipple of a baby bottle. Leonard wants the lady to notice him. He clears his throat and speaks in a low, steady voice. "I hate milk," he says evenly, pointing to the bottle. He tries not to smile so she won't see his missing teeth.

by Marlene Mason
The words day trip to Morocco should never be used in conjunction with do you want to go on a. No, the words no fuckin' kinda' way will I go on a should always proceed the words day trip to Morocco.

Thirteen Channels
by Karl Krausbart
Henry, alone. Behind the half-opened louvers of Alice's bedroom he moves slowly. He is carefully and thoroughly looking for something. He opens and closes drawers. Occasionally he holds up a blue sheet of note paper, a notebook, or an envelope to the single room light, scans it quickly, and carefully replaces it.

On Baseball

The Final Summer
by Tom Sheehan
The jock writers picked it up, then TV. "Forty-two year old old rookie is signed up!" "Hope blooms eternal for the carpenter!" "The Hammer hopes he can pound a homer!" "Thor to get chance to bat in Majors!"
by Susannah Indigo
God is handsome. I can't help it. He's wearing a tux, and I have a weakness for men who can dress. God looks tall and strong, but he's bald. God's bald. My mind can't quite wrap around this concept.

compass azimuth
On September 11

The enduring freedom of speech and art

Voices from around the world


Rave On
Fall 2001

Welcome to Slow Trains, where the postcards never stop.

Got Silk?
by Ron Porter
Having returned to the south after a two year stint in Seattle, I have found it difficult to continue my love of an espresso. Coffee in Seattle was a lifestyle. My wife and I spent an average of five dollars a day on coffee -- to spend less than two hundred a month for espressos was unusual.

The Ugly Gaijin: Love and Lust in the Land of Princess Disease
by Aaron Paulson
In the mid-90s, stories about the expat lifestyle in Korea and Japan were conflated into a single escapist fantasy -- millionaire English majors, who'd made fortunes teaching overachieving salarymen, horny housewives, and liberated cherry blossom brides.

sophistication pales


the rhythm

of slow trains

The Persistence of Memory
by Brian Peters
I wondered, as I walked, about the persistence of memory. It's the primary monument most of us leave behind -- those effects that we've had, for good or ill, on the lives of family and friends.

What Was I When?
by William Dean
They say when you come to a wide river where there is no bridge, you have to swim. The other alternative requires the patience of a holy man: to sit down and wait for the river to dry up or change course. The Zen Master does none of these.

Maria: A Test of Character
by Sam Garcia
"It's OK, Maria." What else could I have said? She lied to me, but here she was in front of me apologizing, and watching, to see what kind of man I was. What kind of a
man was I?

Bob Dylan's Love and Theft
by Jeff Beresford-Howe

Bob swings!

All material in Slow Trains is copyrighted to the original authors and may not be reproduced without permission. Violators will be prosecuted.


Art, Hope
by Richard Evans
Hope Star I

Blue Highways
by William Sovern
someone once said the test of true friendship is a 200 mile trip with the radio off

Prose Poems
by Robert Gibbons
Her lack of modesty, the exact opposite of the Indian girl in the crowded Oaxacan market, almost invisible under the awning just down from one of the chocolate stalls, who turned my head so quickly Manuel Avila Camacho whispered, "Virgin!" which warned, "Do not touch, even with your eyes!"

Selected Poems
by Jessy Randall
The ruby slippers of the Amtrak ticket click and click together in my purse. Wishing is useless. You have to be left alone to get home.

Destiny Train/ New Millenium 2000

Internet Heaven
by Robert R. Cobb
Dear Lord of All above / beyond infernal, etheral space / through Your eternal love / please prepare me a place / where I may receive and send / e-mails as I rest in peace

Free Books
by Lawrence Schimel
I began to know / the frustration Hercules felt each time he chopped off / one of the Hydra's heads, and two more grew / to take its place.

exile of the sun
by Derek Kittle
i fear i shall never regain my place on the sun / the climb is much too high / and where could i ever find the ladder

How I Became a Single Woman
by Magdalena Alagna
I became single by stomping on / Myself with the unerring grace of / A flamenco dancer

Grapevine Dream Supply
by Harold Janzen
the next night / we made wine in my sleep / i recognized you by / your bare feet / and you by my expertise / coffee and cream / i told you the dream

Poverty, My Friend
by Jon Blackstock
when we sat in the cafes / with our French-fry meat and our ketchup vegetable -- our existential smugness and Marxist excuses

An Ongoing Journal

Entering the Monastery
by Judy Bunce

I quit my job yesterday. I've been selling real estate in San Francisco for sixteen years, six months, and fifteen days, and I quit. I did it because I'm preparing to fully enter San Francisco Zen Center.

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