BRUEGEL’S THE PARABLE OF THE BLIND
BY MARK ANTHONY KAYE
WHY MEN ARE BETTER VILLAINS THAN WOMEN
BY GRAHAM DASELER
BY HANNAH KLUDY
PERMANENCE IN CHANGE
BY UTE CARSON
THE MEANING OF CICADAS
BY WENDY RITCHEY
WE ARE AT THEIR MERCY
BY PATTY FISCHER
JE SUIS UN ARTISTE
BY KYLE MANGAN REPRINT ISSUE 08
34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 49
BY MARTIN CHIPPERFIELD
There are no atheists in foxholes but what about fallout bunkers?
Once, when I was sad over some boy you laughed and asked me
if I wanted you to do some Hail Marys for me and I laughed too.
But who will pray for you? Do you remember, Mother,
remember when I was little and you taught me how to slow dance
to Lawrence Welk and I was never any good but we did it anyway?
Who will know? There is nobody left to tell.
In Pripyat there are still abandoned dolls, and dinner plates
and briefcases and photo albums and nobody wants them back now.
But they used to. Would you want me back, Mother?
After the end, would you want me to come back?