Grass Fire

C.N. Bean When children burned in Ben-Hinnom’s valley was it like the hell of fiery red sparks that lit black plate glass and a tired man’s face? Only twice did he race forth barefooted, once the night that followed a day of heat, dry grass burning right up to our door step, the other the… More

Twenty-Four Years After the Refugee Camp, A Renunion

Catherine Strisik Fireworks explode over the Mekong. The restaurant balcony is a pop-eyed gecko damp with pity. Friends drink a second Angkor Beer each. The Khmer puts on his glasses, continuously. Mind wanders between this world and the world. Tonight, the baffled city soothes itself with curious costumed dancers. The American doctor’s heart grasps for… More

Coming Attractions

Howie Good As mourners do, I’ll cover the mirrors before I go out and still arrive in time for the last showing. The seats around me will all be empty, but toward the end, when even the music stops caring what happens next, the heavy-set usherette will prowl the aisles of another gloomy day. She’ll… More


Catherine Strisik The famous Khmer artist has placed his palm on a murderer’s upper back near the neck, has pushed him toward the painting on the prison museum’s wall. Outside the perimeter the mother is mute on her knees. Her hands cradle a beautiful fatigue as if she has just remembered why: a bayonet blade… More

Real Life

Dominae Cole she tells me this is real life as she slides the drink across the bar, and I take a sip and tell her that perception is reality and that she, along with the drink in my hand, are merely figments of my overactive imagination and that I`m really a 54 year old man… More


Bruce Bromley She thought that she wanted him to stay in the same place, but she did not know where that place was. She wanted to be able to return to him, to come back with bags of vegetables, coffee, and cheese, to open their apartment door and smell the rosemary soap he showered with… More

Me and Henry Miller

John Hemingway I was reading a novel about every three or four days in the beginning and if I had any time between lessons I’d spend it at the Feltrinelli near the Scala. They had a good selection of American and English titles and as I bounced from stories as different as Endo’s The Sea… More