The Intolerable Nature of Yearning | Katie Kidder I have been searching for you, as the mornings and the evenings scroll by in a mad collage of letters that want to be your name. I have looked in the phonebook and in Japanese. I found you thinly veiled in Freud’s Illusion just to lose you down a page of long division. I watched my goldfish mouth you out a thousand times in spheres that ascended slowly to the surface and then popped. I have seen your name almost complete itself in my husband’s dirty socks. I nearly licked you off a whiskey label— If I could swallow what you are I would. My friend, my friend who feels prettier in her skull’s long grin, accused your terms of catching me like a fish bone in the throat. She laughed at me, smoked and puffed, “A man who writes knows too much.” “A man who writes knows too much” — from “The Black Art” by Anne Sexton.  read about the author Contributors.htmlshapeimage_2_link_0
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commentary | poetry | fiction | chicago | autumn 2007  
Household Poisons | Thomas King It Begins when the Leaves Turn | Grace Wells The Intolerable Nature of Yearning | Katie Kidder Figure 2 | Lindsay Bell Egressive | Amy Groshek Kampala 2012 | Damian Dressick Today, October the Ninth | Allison Shoemaker This House | Edward Mc Whinney Contradiction | from the editor Reviews On the Contrary Archives | Search Sponsor a WriterPoisons.htmlBohreen.htmlFigure.htmlEgressive.htmlKampala.htmlToday.htmlAutumn-2007.htmlContradiction-1.htmlReviews.htmlContrary.htmlArchives.htmlWritersFund.htmlshapeimage_6_link_0shapeimage_6_link_1shapeimage_6_link_2shapeimage_6_link_3shapeimage_6_link_4shapeimage_6_link_5shapeimage_6_link_6shapeimage_6_link_7shapeimage_6_link_8shapeimage_6_link_9shapeimage_6_link_10shapeimage_6_link_11shapeimage_6_link_12