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    A Eulogy for LouCille by Joshua Swainston

    1989 LouCille, my grandmother on my mom’s side, works at Preston Scientific in Anaheim, California, wiring computer components for NASA. Her apartment on West Ball Road serves as our family’s base of operations for Disneyland trips. The apartment complex has a hot tub, and around the corner stands a Fosters Freeze. She’s kinda scary to me. A big woman, she wears gold bangles in her ears and on her wrists. I don’t think she likes children. Every year she buys a new car: a blue Camaro, a gray Cavalier, a white Impala. My mom, Carla, is LouCille’s only child. My mom did not inherit LouCille’s stocky frame. My mom looks…

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    Dearest the Shadows by Samuel Snoek-Brown

         All my nights here have been restless. Partly it’s these damned hotel pillows — They’re too flimsy, more rags than cushions. Also, I’ve been dreaming a lot. The first night at the conference, just into the hotel room and asleep in my clothes, I dreamed I was an animal wrestler, like bears and crocodiles, like at a country carnival. In the dream, I wrestle big dogs, Newfies and wolfhounds. I’m wearing one of those mucscle-man unitards from the ’30s and keep thinking I ought to feel embarrassed but I realize no one in the audience even knows me. And of course you aren’t there, either, which is somehow the greatest…