POUI | CAVE HILL JOURNAL OF CREATIVE WRITING

not saying what I mean), then we're off to bed and that's where our children will happen in whatever ways they do, I'm only 10, what do I know about life much less birth, the way of coming into it, she'll show me will Miss Hooker, she's one Hell of a good teacher but anyway after Sunday School today I dropped down to one knee as seen on TV and proposed to her or was about to when suddenly she dropped to one of hers , it's bonier than I guessed it would be and before I could ask her to make me the happiest guy in the world she said You read my mind and Let us pray and before I could close my eyes she started into the Lord's Prayer so I joined in and after Amen -ing together we opened our eyes and there we were, divorced and rising, rising to our feet and then she said Gale, go home so I tried. I'll never get married again.

J. B. Toner

The Key of the Khazilim

We are not elves. Small, bearded craftsmen who dwell in the Arctic mountains. How you

people mistake us for the long-ears, I cannot say. It may be that the man Moore could find no

better rhyme to precede “ And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself,” and so it began. But

there was no need for slanders. We have rhymes. “Wharf.” No others, perhaps. But “wharf” is a

good word. A strong word. Though not the right word, for the Red One is not fully of our blood.

Of his kind, there is only one.

I am Groth. I came to your lands because a grave dishonor was done. Not by mortal men.

I sorrow that your people suffered for dwarven transgression, but in all worlds justice is in scant

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