ISSUES | spring 1995
18.1 (Spring 1995): "The Beginnings… The Ends of Love
Featuring the winners of the 1995 Editors’ Prize and work by Michael Byers, Tom Ireland, Rick Lyon, Wendell Mayo, Winifred Moranville, Bin Ramke, Maximilian Schlaks, Steve Yarbrough, and Irene Ziegler, and an interview with Jessica Hagedorn.
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CONTENT FROM THIS ISSUE
Nonfiction
Mar 01 1995
Our Love is Like a Cake
This essay is not currently available online.
Nonfiction
Mar 01 1995
Welcome to My Country
Winner of the 1995 Editor’s Prize for Essay. This essay is not currently available online.
Fiction
Mar 01 1995
B. Horror
This story is not currently available online.
Fiction
Mar 01 1995
Andy Andy and the Wolfman
This story is not currently available online
Fiction
Mar 01 1995
The Unemployed
This story is not currently available online.
Poetry
Mar 01 1995
Poetry Feature: Bin Ramke
“Pretty Words, Parabolas”
“As You Like It”
“Enter Celia, with a Writing”
“The Weather”
“& The War in France”
“A History of His Heart”
Fiction
Mar 01 1995
Dressing it Up
This story is not currently available online.
Interviews
Mar 01 1995
An Interview with Jessica Hagedorn
Interviewer: Jessica Hagedorn, you’ve worked in such a variety of mediums: poetry, prose, theater, rock ‘n’ roll—with The Gangster Choir—and also film. What medium are you busy with right now?… read more
Poetry
Mar 01 1995
Stillwater
Poem by Mandy Dowd. Originally appeared in Issue 18.1 (Spring 1995).
Winner of the 1995 Editors’ Prize for Poetry.
Fiction
Mar 01 1995
The Rules of the Lake
This story is not currently available online.
Poetry
Mar 01 1995
Poetry Feature: Rick Lyon
“The Garden”
“Rue Des Deux Ponts”
“Crabapple”
“The Pond”
“The Dance”
“The Devotions”
Fiction
Mar 01 1995
The Incredible Appearing Man
I let myself watch his walk to the truck, gravel scattering under his boots. He looks improbably young, a gypsy cowboy with shiny black curls bouncing around his hat. Was there a streak of gray or not? His jeans are tight. When he reaches the truck, he looks back at me. One, two, three, I count and shut the door. Three is as long as I can look without looking too long. My hands are shaking. Nothing happened, I tell myself. But my hands are shaking, and there’s no denying it.
Fiction
Mar 01 1995
A Long Sunday
This story is not currently available online.