Author: Marilyn Stachenfeld
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Hunger
Trapped in the fragments of a dream, he shrugs into a jacket, meanders into the parking lot behind his condo, sleep-sentience like tingling fingers keeping him awake. An ochre moon slides across the night, gilding a mountain lion on the slope before him, head turning as she combs the air for scent. For food,…
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Joy
I showed my student a photograph of you, Dad, and asked, “What do you see?” He studied the old black-and-white: you in a well-cut summer suit, hands on your lap, light socks and polished shoes— and said, “I see a man who wants to have fun”— not the dutiful school principal I knew, but hands…