A Certain Stretch of Road

By Ivan Young I held the V of a slingshot the length of the band, forearm tensed, eye closed. It seemed like all day I stood wondering about death, whether I could trust instinct, or had I failed already; in the ecstasy of release, I knew the truth. I set the stone tumbling, became an awkward periphery–the feathered body half in shadow, my boyish arms still stretched as if beseeching for something I couldn’t tell you even now. The rock... Read More