Twenty20 Journal Magical Realism Summer 2012
All copyright Š original authors 2012 Photo credit: Š Eleanor Leonne Bennett
http://twenty20journal.com
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Editorial: Welcome to the Magical Realism issue of Twenty20. This issue has unfortunately been delayed due to a changeover in editorship at Twenty20. Therefore, I have put together this special formatted release so that all the poets included within do not miss out on the opportunity to see their work published and reach a wider audience it rightly commands and deserves. To write a poem or short story in twenty words or less is, perversely given the brevity considered, an immense challenge. I feel each of the ten writers has answered this call superbly, and responded well to the theme. I hope you enjoy them: small words but big meanings. Regards, Colin Dardis, guest editor.
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"Illusion" by Shiriam Sivaramakrishnan
From the yellow horizon fell, a speck: becoming a plane.
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"We finally meet" by Terry Easley
A scratch at the door, like a cloth polishing wood. "Hello," she said. "I'm the voice in your head.�
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"Escape Route" by Eleanor Hooker
Dad set twelve ladders in the barren crusted earth. For his children. Our darkest ravens sky locked each top rung.
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"Floss" by Sarah Marshall
I live with a ghost who leaves messages for me on the bathroom mirror. Get out, usually, but sometimes, floss.
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"Offering" by Matthew Brennan
On her sixteenth birthday, the villagers left the king's firstborn outside the monster's cave, then returned home, watching their crops.
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"Bus Fare" by Katherine Ewell
The panhandling angel asked me for change; "Heaven's far away," he said, "and I need enough for a bus fare."
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“Stars� by Doug Hoekstra
We hiked to the highest peak in the park so she could put names to stars that no longer exist.
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“Theatre� by James Patterson
Disaster struck the small seaside town of Sardodledom with a precision unmatched since the author last decided to inflict it.
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“Dream” by James Meredith
I lay down beside my lover. A dream rose from her lips. I slept alone.
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“Feathers� by Brendan McCormack
My father killed all the birds one day. We stopped playing, covered our feathers and learnt to speak.
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