Issue #13 of The Boulevard
Winter Hawthorne Fellows
Edited by Jennifer Lauck
11 nearly naked elderly people sat along the room’s edges. Six on one side, five on the other, they didn’t directly face one another; each sat in a wooden, high-backed chair. In plain underwear and thin towels, they might have been waiting for medical treatment. But these people, with their loose skin, mottled spots, slack muscles, and awkward lumps, were the attraction. Their tattoos were the display.
Robust Roast By Heide Island
“Now you try the coffee,” he says “Pick your favorite: American, French or Italian.”
We all stand, like eight Goldilocks before the three coffee presses of mild, medium, and robust roast. John pours a cup from each pitcher, setting the cups in front of their respective press.
“Try” he urges “All of them.”
Easter Weed by Bill Pence
We returned home with a brown bottle of Marinol pills and a giddy optimism. A favorite topic of conversation among prisoners of war is home cooking. It's the same for cancer survivors. Molly yearned to feel an appetite, to savor a bite, to digest a meal without nausea.
Pecorino in My Pocket by Diana Grappasonno
Like puzzle pieces, my mom’s martyrdom perfectly complemented my dad’s selfishness. This was pretty standard amongst long-married couples back then. The great part about being the martyr is that you will be remembered fondly for your sacrifices and it makes you feel superior, which is not a bad feeling to have. And the great part about being selfish is that you get to do lots of fun things.