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	<title>The Blue Pencil Online &#187; The Archive</title>
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	<description>Writing &#38; Publishing at Walnut Hill</description>
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		<title>Figure</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/figure/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/figure/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 30 Jul 2010 19:49:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Elizabeth McClure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6789</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[For Aupa
If only I could witness the way you packed your suitcase that night, pulling
Worn denim and flannel shirts from the chest of drawers, folded by your wife’s
Own hands. Walls would whisper of a man who drove to Florida for a lover
The day of his daughter’s birth. A single windowpane might reflect a portrait
Of Christmas [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Painter to Her Ex-lover</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/painter-to-her-ex-lover/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/painter-to-her-ex-lover/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 26 Jul 2010 01:09:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Emma Stein]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6803</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[So you&#8217;re in love.
Most people wouldn&#8217;t be able to tell, you know.
But I&#8217;m not most people.
I can trace you like Degas
Traced ballerinas, in hazy recollections
Of peach pastel, so blended
You forget yourself.
But I am immutable. I don&#8217;t forget
What I had for breakfast
Or the state fish of Indiana.
Or that car&#8217;s carcass
I saw the other day,
Spread out on [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Nursery Rhyme</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/nursery-rhyme/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/nursery-rhyme/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 18 Jul 2010 12:48:41 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Marina Stevenson]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6772</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I.
A sign that reads “FOR RENT” has just gone up
At the entrance of the home inside the house.
The cat drags each claw clean through her teeth.
She has just devoured the head of a brown dormouse.
II.
The child observes the body of the cat he has killed.
It lies as motionless, as wooden, as a 2&#215;4.
He took it [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>11317 Jerusalem Plank Road</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/nonfiction/jerusalem-plank-road/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/nonfiction/jerusalem-plank-road/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 14 Jul 2010 19:11:05 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Kiyanna Hill]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Nonfiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6628</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[11317 Jerusalem Plank Road
An essay

by Kiyanna Hill

¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
The humidity rushed toward me as I opened the front door. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. My mother and I had stayed inside our air-conditioned living room all morning, watching episodes of The Real World. She’d chewed on ice cubes while I played [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>Backpackers, Beachshackers</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/backpackers/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/backpackers/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 08 Jul 2010 13:43:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Erica Berry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6606</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Pits of our feet pockmark the beach.
We are music—metal cups
Clip-clop, toes pebble-trip,
Dip between fists of rock.
Can you hear our marching hearts?
Watch us water-walk from pregnant tides,
The sun our bride and we are almost virgin too,
Sand whoring at our ankles.
We two-step sea stars—starfish—
Crayfish, spread-eagled along the brim,
Their bodies snarled in hollow
Driftwood beads.
We fear salt-swollen waves: pickled, [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>Off With His Head</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/plays/off-with-his-head/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/plays/off-with-his-head/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 08 Jul 2010 13:26:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Kelly Roderick]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Plays]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6557</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Off With His Head
A play excerpt
(Scenes 1–3) 
by Kelly Roderick

¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
 
Characters:
 
Alice: a young, lovely 1950s housewife. Her hair, makeup, and dress should be as exact as her personality.
George: a young man, husband to Alice. He should often be in a suit, and his general cleanliness should deteriorate as the play proceeds.

Betty, Kitty, Carol: young [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Missing Eyebrows</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/fiction/missing-eyebrows/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/fiction/missing-eyebrows/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 30 Jun 2010 23:39:15 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sarah Gleason]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6526</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Runner-up for the 2010 Bishop Prize in Fiction

Missing Eyebrows

by Sarah Gleason
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
Sarah had drawn a portrait of a woman and had forgotten her eyebrows. Funny, she thought, she tended to pay attention to eyebrows more than normal, as she had once (probably in sixth grade or so) had eyebrows so bushy that her mother finally suggested [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Citizenship Test</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/citizenship-test/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/citizenship-test/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 23 Jun 2010 13:24:31 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Haeyeon Cho]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6498</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Winner of the 2010 Bishop Prize in Verse
.
The Citizenship Test
He says he let go of the word.
It shook away from the coils
of his cuttlefish  tongue, left behind
a Greek prefix  and slithered
into the creaks  of textile foot pedals.
I tell him he might fail the test.
I passed mine because my mother taught me
how to [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/citizenship-test/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>For Ariel, On Her Birthday</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/fiction/for-ariel/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/fiction/for-ariel/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 16 Jun 2010 14:43:36 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Brett Kessler]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6430</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Winner of the 2010 Bishop Prize in Fiction

For Ariel, On Her Birthday

by Brett Kessler
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
In the evening, Ariel makes tea and shows me books about Fascism. We sit together on a thin mat at the foot of her bed, the day’s dying light floating softly through the naked window. There’s a small teak bookcase against the [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Play Girl Play Life</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/play-girl-play-life/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/play-girl-play-life/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 22 May 2010 00:47:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Nicolette Gendron]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6357</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Who am I? is a stupid question
for the girls who give favors
under the money veil,
evanescent in daylight. We are power.
I don’t associate myself with “we”—
the General’s broken broads.
I fucked Philip Markoff.
He didn’t kill me but
I burned his money,
Balconette ghosts, by the Eiffel Tower.
I read the newspaper. For once.
And after I dirty purity,
Sarah Palin ruining America
makes [...]]]></description>
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