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Monthly Archives: May 2008

Welcome To AULA Press, A Literary Uprising

Two Hawks Quarterly

Issue 1 – Number 4 – Spring 2008

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Between the Bells

Gina Maria DiPonio

Bugs

Morgan W. Strauss

Catch

Diana Corbin

Crawl, Toddle, Walk, Run

Darby Bailey

Dancing

Zachary Ash

Dead Man’s Nail

Dennis Fulgoni

Dichos, and the Things my Mother Told Me

Philip Barragan

Dining Alone

Darby Bailey

Emancipation of Self (Through Loss of an Other) & Others

Crystal Moore

I Have A Thumb Like Carl

Darby Bailey

I See Gay People

Dale Madison

Johnny

Loretta Williams

Making Movies

Martha Woodroof

Nobody Thought It Would Rain At God’s Funeral

Mike Rosen

The Art of Rush Hour Traffic — Private

The Art of Rush Hour Traffic

The End of the World Book

Alistair McCartney

the jasmine hedge is intoxicating

Gretchen Mattox

The Masked Boxer

Marykate Linehan

The Queen’s Greens

Darby Bailey

Time to Repaint the Barn

Darby Bailey

Untitled

Kurt Bloom

 

 

Index

 

Copyright Information

Don Doroteo Perez

 

 

A Thousand Sad Pieces

 

     Golden light created a soft waterfall through the dense canopy of trees in the mountain village, filtering through the early morning mist rising from the valley below, falling sporadically on the roof of his adobe home. It crawled gently down the walls looking for the window it knew everyday at this hour. It let itself in, Read More »

 LOS ANGELES, CA – “I was a sniper,” he said.

“But you’re out now?”

“Yeah. I did six years but I’ll probably re-enlist.” “Why?” I asked. “He’s got kids,” Galley-man hollered from his post.

I was charging my lap-top down in the galley and at the next stop in Chico, Sniper-man got off to smoke and Galley-man told me he’d cut off Sniper-man’s booze at 3am after he and another Iraq Vet drank most of Amtrak’s mini-bar. Read More »

It was those charged five minutes between 2nd and 3rd period when the courtyard of my junior high was suddenly thronged with twelve-, thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds of all shapes and sizes, all with backpacks dangling off their shoulders. Small groups began to form, halting traffic on the two narrow Read More »

You’re waiting for your best friend, Pablo Perez, to call. His father’s recently put in a pool, and you’re hoping for an invite. It’s already past noon, and no call, so the Poor Man’s Jacuzzi becomes your sanctuary, your oasis, on a hot afternoon. Read More »

Shielded from a westward sun that could burn
Through ripply glass circa 1899
Mandy the puppy buried open, no urn
Covered above in sweet pea vine Read More »

It was 13 years ago. I am 9 years old. It is a sweltering summer. The ocean breeze arrives right before sundown. The neighborhood children and I have gathered to play Flying Colors. We are choosing teams. A younger, filthy boy (resembling Pig Pen) walks up to me.

“ Girls can’t do anything!” Hunter says to me in front of everyone. Read More »

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