Found

The Guild By SHARON OLDS Every night, as my grandfather sat in the darkened room in front of the fire, the bourbon like fire in his hand, his eye glittering meaninglessly in the light from the flames, his glass eye baleful and stony, a young man sat with him in silence and darkness, a college boy with white skin, unlined, a narrow beautiful face, a broad domed forehead, and eyes amber as the resin from trees too young to be cut yet. This was his son, who sat, an apprentice, night after night, his glass of coals next to the old man's glass of coals, and he drank when the old man drank, and he learned the craft of oblivion-that young man not yet cruel, his hair dark as the soil that feeds the tree's roots, that son who would come to be in his turn better at this than the teacher, the apprentice who would pass his master in cruelty and oblivion, drinking steadily by the flames in the blackness, that young man my father.

Paintings by French Post-Impressionist Henri Ottmann.

Paintings by Algerian artist Houria Niati.

In Response to a Rumor That the Oldest Whorehouse in Wheeling, West Virginia Has Been Condemned By JAMES WRIGHT I will grieve alone, As I strolled alone, years ago, down along The Ohio shore. I hid in the hobo jungle weeds Upstream from the sewer main, Pondering, gazing. I saw, down river, At Twenty-third and Water Streets By the vinegar works, The doors open in early evening. Swinging their purses, the women Poured down the long street to the river And into the river. I do not know how it was They could drown every evening. What time near dawn did they climb up the other shore, Drying their wings? For the river at Wheeling, West Virginia, Has only two shores: The one in hell, the other In Bridgeport, Ohio. And nobody would commit suicide, only To find beyond death Bridgeport, Ohio.

Paintings by Colombian artist Enrique Grau.

Paintings by American artist Clarence Holbrook Carter.