Borges's Desk
Stephen Beal
The things in Borges's desk were the only things that Borges could see. Thus Borges's desk held everything.
Beautiful Things
Misha Firer
Dream riding could be compared to soap bubble blowing. Or,
alternatively, to playing a musical instrument: something Kristine had never learned to do properly (she quit her violin lessons after four months).
It would be years before Kristine compared dream riding to love making.
Mikhail
Cedrick Mendoza-Tolentino
There had been a number of close calls, but most people assumed she simply really liked anatomy.
She pulled the plastic sheet back and looked down at Mikhail, the cadaver she had been assigned at
the start of the semester.
Reys
Sean Cunningham
Let me explain. I write on your property not because I’m malicious. Not vengeful, bitter, destructive or angry. Neither do I write on your property because I’m political, artistic, rebellious or romantic.
The Dollmaker
Grant Flint
"Cindy has a clitoris, don't you, Cindy?" Libby said, and she pulled down the doll's drawers, lifted up its dress and exposed its red velvet clitoris. Well. Interesting.
The Shadow Walked Away
Kevin Frazier
Everywhere, shadows were drifting loose. The shadow of a bus rolled through a
movie theater. The shadow of a house floated on a river. The shadow of a purse wandered
up a skyscraper.
Bare Knees
Lea Soranno
The cook came out and filled the pots with noodles that were thick like rope.
He started to twist the noodles into knots and loops. He was making a noodle noose,
and everyday he contemplated using the noose to hang himself.
Encounter With a Unicorn
Angela Payne
They don’t seem to be bothered by the fact that the writing on the
chalkboard is morphing into different things. First the chalk becomes a hamburger,
and the chalk-outlined hamburger begins to move toward me, quickly. I duck out of the
way and follow as it barely misses my head and flies through the window.
Good Music Tells a Good Story
Munir Muztaba Ali
It was a baneful disease that required not only extensive treatment, but also careful living.
It had a name, but I wouldn’t say it, because we Bangalis don’t call certain diseases
by their names; it’s kind of taboo in our culture.
The Man in the Orange Suit
Adam Graupe
I later sat down at my computer and typed a short story. The man in the orange suit’s name was changed to Scott, and Zelda was the woman he loved. They fell in love at first sight during college orientation.
Where Are They Now?
Steven Bryan Bieler
When I was a little boy I was given a teddy bear and named him Shortstop. He was
floppy, fluffy, and could hit the ball from both sides of the plate. He wore a short vest on which
I crayoned his number.
Name-Calling
Max Everhart
Nothing you can do will ever make you feel as powerful as bashing the hell out of a baseball. Not making your girlfriend come. Not snorting cocaine. Not running your car up to 100 mph. Not inching your toes up to the edge of a mountain. Nothing. Nada.
Colorado
Matthew Boedy
I spoke about baseball, about the purity of the game, like I spoke of her. Purity. Holiness. Like holding a white baseball in your hand, clean, with the seams raised.
The Perfect Game, the Invincible Record
Carl Schinasi
There it is. On June 21, 1964 I was ejected from one of the most spectacular events in the history of baseball and as history reminds us, one of the most astonishing accomplishments by an athlete in any sport.
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Rave On
July 27, 2008
Welcome to Slow Trains, where the postcards never stop.
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Slow Trains in print & Best Online Journals, guest-edited by Pam Houston
A live cat is better than a dead lion
Mary Patrice Erdmans
I was walking the Camino de Santiago, a 1000-year-old, 500-mile
pilgrimage route that traverses the north of Spain. Before I left, I prepared myself by walking two hours
every day for several weeks.
sophistication pales
against
the rhythm
of slow trains
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Annunciation
Elizabeth Aquino
Despite the enormous press of people, I felt alone when I stood in front of it, stunned by the gleaming stone, the towering force of it above me. The sun poured through a skylight above, illuminating David and washing out those of us around him.
Hope is a Dangerous Thing
Justin Ryan Boyer
After a while, when hope doesn't get its way, it dies. It doesn't turn the other cheek like love nor keep on trusting and believing like faith.
Time To Get High
Scott Larson
I finished fourth at the 2000 U.S. Olympic Marathon trials: all those 140 mile weeks, all the lung-searing interval sessions, only to come up short. I was a reservoir of pent-up anger, frustration and energy with no outlet.
Ten Bucks if You Hit One
Daniel Cavallari
If that would take away the guilt I felt for not being there the one time he needed me,
I would swing at a thousand pitches, break a million bats. I would give him the ballpark.
To Parker at Short
M. P. Aleman
Missing a two-hop grounder / with a sister watching from a green park bench / can wrench
tears from the stoutest of hearts.
The Atlas Show
John Walker
I hadn't set foot on campus in three weeks. Atlas already had tickets to the first game,
but I had no guts to tell him straight that I'd been kicked off the team.
Our continuing section on peace & politics during these critical times
All material in Slow Trains is copyrighted to the original authors and may not be reproduced without permission. Violators will be prosecuted.
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Another Fantasy
Penguin Football
Robert Wynne
Karl Marx would be so disappointed / in what the free market / has done to intimacy. /
I miss you like the future misses the past.
Letter to Trey Anastasio
Rick Marlatt
immaculate color sting tips of ocean / sky blue orange berry pond water teal / green, evergreen with its /
dark hints of wind-crazed memory
Sitting Crowded on a Velvet Cushion
Christopher Thomas
I've heard that Muslim soldiers are taught that if they
die an honorable death they / will be given 72 virgins when they get to heaven /
Let my crowded cushion be my heaven, let all 72 / be thin in the waist,
cute in the face, firm from stem to stern
Homage
James Anderson
no lesbian ever loved women / as I have /
no man ever gazed / into more faces / or floated down Hennepin / Avenue to wait in cafes / as I have waited
Poems
Brent Calderwood
On August 4, 1975, thinking I looked Chinese / you immediately told the attending nurse / "Excuse me,
but this is the wrong baby. Please / take this one back and bring me my son."
Buddha Woman Speaks and Surrenders, Again
Rachel Kellum
We never agree. You say throw the plates! / I say make them gleam / I am tired of our existential arguing /
Of cutting myself in pieces for your uses: Mother, writer, sister, teacher, lover, painter, blue.
Eagle Lake
Ten Things About a Piano
Beth Paulson
In a packed Chevrolet station wagon / we rode there in one day / through Michigan small towns / to
cabins clustered by a lake
Spirit House, 2
Martin Willitts Jr.
This house assembled itself / using wood not native to the land / This house has rooms leading nowhere /
When you get there, you are lost
Man Standing in Louisiana
A Little Background Music
Steve De France
turning the blues
my mind working back through time until / you are an African Runner / standing alone in sun baked Kraal /
& in your eyes the sky reflects / a terrible primal red
bullroarer (choka)
word problems
PJ Nights
mathematics parades the way the world vanishes / after love letters are delivered wet via /
song of salt on rain
Cypress Forest Circling Hornsby Springs
The Trouble With This Poem
Eric Diamond
The cypress knees genuflect upward like a chipmunk choir / chanting the Adoramus Dei
Meagan's Motorcycle
Efficient as a Clipboard
William Doreski
Your T-shirt clings like a debt / and your blue jeans assume a life / of their own. We slog through rubble /
and laugh away the cant and orgies / of lives we shouldn’t have tried to lead
I'm Not a Spiritual Person
John Eivaz
i'm not spiritual, not even myself, this i know / so many whorls of crumbling dust, and i'm my own
Rome
There's an Elephant in the Room
Bob Bradshaw
Nearby the Piazza Venezia / lures Vinny. The Palace, once prime / real estate in 1455, is still / about location, location, location
Melancholy's Architecture
David Chorlton
The trains that are burdened with memories / make up lost time on the run / with the
ease of a dream / repeating itself
Books from Slow Trains writers
Send comments to: editor (at) slowtrains (dot) com.
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