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Ethan Joella Out in the Air On the night my wife’s mother died, we all walked from the hospital out into the city. January wind, people in hats heading back to their apartments after work, all the dogs coming out for their walks, the sun fading behind the buildings, the cable car to Roosevelt Island limping back and forth in the air. Stealing glances at my wife as she reached for our daughters’ hands, I looked for recognition from the faces of passersby of what we had seen just minutes ago in the stifling room, the tubes, the closed curtains. Now out in the air, holding Ann’s last bags, we staggered with no direction. I thought the earth would feel our death, cave from the weight of it. A few trees still had Christmas lights, some people stepped out of our path. Sometimes we waited to cross, and the cabs and bikes bolted by, and sometimes we heard an ambulance, its sudden startling cry.

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Profile for Mojave River Media

Mojave River Review spring/summer 2019  

The Mojave River Review spring/summer 2019 issue spotlights superb poetry and prose by brilliant contributors from around the globe. Enjoy 2...

Mojave River Review spring/summer 2019  

The Mojave River Review spring/summer 2019 issue spotlights superb poetry and prose by brilliant contributors from around the globe. Enjoy 2...

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