<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<rss version="2.0"
	xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"
	xmlns:wfw="http://wellformedweb.org/CommentAPI/"
	xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"
	xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"
	xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/"
	xmlns:slash="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/slash/"
	>

<channel>
	<title>Gris-Gris</title>
	<atom:link href="http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/feed/" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
	<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris</link>
	<description>An Online Journal of Literature, Culture and the Arts</description>
	<lastBuildDate>Mon, 20 May 2013 17:53:45 +0000</lastBuildDate>
	<language>en-US</language>
	<sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod>
	<sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency>
	<generator>http://wordpress.org/?v=3.5.1</generator>
		<item>
		<title>When I Lean Closer</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/uncategorized/when-i-lean-closer/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/uncategorized/when-i-lean-closer/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 09 May 2013 00:48:02 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Uncategorized]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=1194</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Allison Grayhurst &#160; Remember when we were falling, making hoops in the sky? When intelligence didn’t matter, only the desire to be alive? Remember when a different rank and inequality never blocked a friendship, when the heart was whole, and money never shamed us one way or another? Remember the light in our pockets, [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/uncategorized/when-i-lean-closer/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Dennis Sipiorski Paintings</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/sipiorski-paintings/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/sipiorski-paintings/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 08 May 2013 02:20:37 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>sbanville</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=1172</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/sipiorski-paintings/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Travail</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/travail/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/travail/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 17:12:37 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=1121</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jack Bedell &#160; Handling serpents doesn’t impress me. I’ve done it too often to feel any real breath on my neck from the act. I’ve come home too many spring mornings from the marsh at the back of my neighborhood with a pillow case full of snakes snatched from the water’s edge, thrown them [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/travail/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>11-6-10</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/11-6-10/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/11-6-10/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 16:14:51 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=1089</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jimmy Santiago Baca &#160; The morning on the day we invaded Iraq I received an email from an Iraqi soldier. He wrote about his reactions to my book A Place to Stand, commenting on the landscape, the horror of imprisonment saying his brother was in prison under Saddam, that he knew what hunger and [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/11-6-10/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>8-25-10</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/8-25-10/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/8-25-10/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 16:13:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=1086</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jimmy Santiago Baca &#160; I have been reading on Buddhism to deal with the dark in me. To be a good father to you and nourish the cactus blossom you are, Lucia. To teach you to keep your thorny spines intact and alert for unwanted intruders, to open your soul and heart to sun [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/8-25-10/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Every doorknob in the house is loose from Esai and Lucia</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/every-doorknob-in-the-house-is-loose-from-esai-and-lucia/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/every-doorknob-in-the-house-is-loose-from-esai-and-lucia/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 16:11:01 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=1083</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jimmy Santiago Baca &#160; Every doorknob in the house is loose from Esai and Lucia running and chasing each other and playing games like hide-n-seek. That’s how it should be, life should be used, things worn down, broken, mended and reused, fixed, handled, hit, bumped into, given to the world and the world’s traffic [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/every-doorknob-in-the-house-is-loose-from-esai-and-lucia/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Passing Thoughts on the Death of Don Francisco Pizarro</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/passing-thoughts-on-the-death-of-don-francisco-pizarro/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/passing-thoughts-on-the-death-of-don-francisco-pizarro/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 16:04:09 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=1072</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Juan Morales &#160; June 26, 1541 “Here is the skull of the Marquis Don Francisco Pizarro who discovered and won Peru and placed it under the crown of Castile.” &#160; In the after dinner ambush, you met death via rapiers and daggers: defense wounds, neck thrusts, nicked vertebra, damaged sphenoid, and an eye socket [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/passing-thoughts-on-the-death-of-don-francisco-pizarro/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Subterfuge</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/subterfuge/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/subterfuge/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 16:01:17 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=1069</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Juan Morales &#160; In the wreckage of mission accomplished, Pizarro, Almagro, and other leaders sorted gold and silver into equal shares. Seated, they became children devouring unknown delicacies described only by eccentric adults. They recalled how hopeless steps guided them through vacant stomachs and cracked lips to victory. Their gambles paying off. &#160; They [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/subterfuge/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Descendents Who Slipped Through History&#8217;s Fingers, 1539</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-descendents-who-slipped-through-historys-fingers-1539/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-descendents-who-slipped-through-historys-fingers-1539/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:57:11 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=1063</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Juan Morales &#160; In towns, the navel of the earth they emerge &#160; features of two continents born to laze together. &#160; Boys and girls molded in anatomies with Old and New World bloods &#160; unified through arteries and tiny hearts. The high cheekbones and tan complexions &#160; flare against fathers’ fair hair and [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-descendents-who-slipped-through-historys-fingers-1539/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Four Quarters, or Tawantinsuyu</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-four-quarters-or-tawantinsuyu/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-four-quarters-or-tawantinsuyu/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:55:38 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=1060</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Juan Morales &#160; Above the continent, Sun God and Sister Moon oversee the Four Quarters, calling down to Tawantinsuyu, settled in its hum, &#160; stretching southward along coastlines with mountains that segment the entire band. With its rivers, &#160; the Four Quarters thrust through deserts, tumble jungle vine to bend into the towns illuminated [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-four-quarters-or-tawantinsuyu/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Morgellons Syndrome</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/morgellons-syndrome/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/morgellons-syndrome/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=988</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Ann Keniston &#160; The afflicted body itches, then one’s fingers must pull out &#160; the series of narrow fibers lodged in the skin &#160; to be saved in a small container, a matchbox maybe &#160; evidence of the frailty of all defenses, emblem of the need to join with other sufferers though the doctors [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/morgellons-syndrome/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Breach</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/breach/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/breach/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=985</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Ann Keniston &#160; I dared myself to go past the breach until again some little or great thing prevented me &#160; and then sometimes without trying I felt a loosening, was giddy and free &#160; because to have survived means knowing what it is not to have survived and also the dumb luck of [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/breach/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Paper Doll</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/paper-doll/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/paper-doll/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=974</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Ava Leavell Haymon &#160; Afterwards, she looks in the mirror. She sees her own face, but no &#160; background. No wall behind her, no gesso white, no painterly landscape, &#160; nothing. She&#8217;d forgotten herself in the accident. Or was it an explosion? Maybe disease. &#160; And why is there no neck? She stands on [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/paper-doll/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Mrs. Calendar Backs into Chaos</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/mrs-calendar-backs-into-chaos/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/mrs-calendar-backs-into-chaos/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=971</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Ava Leavell Haymon &#160; Mrs. Calendar knocks on the door of Chaos. She has her Coach bag over one shoulder, car keys clipped on, monthly scheduler, &#160; a few bills she must remember to drop off at the post office on Bennington. She is on time. It’s 9:30 to the minute. &#160; Chaos is [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/mrs-calendar-backs-into-chaos/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Way We See It</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-way-we-see-it/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-way-we-see-it/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=968</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Ava Leavell Haymon &#160; Outsized head, knees curling into transparent belly. The sonogram fuzzes all edges, monotone gray. Right elbow tucks against a haze of ribs, back of hand twisted under chin— some of us sleep that way still. &#160; Healthy fetus, everything we expect, except the left arm floats out toward the sensing [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-way-we-see-it/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Raptor</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/raptor/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/raptor/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=965</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jack Bedell “It’s the story that makes us understand.”—Mark Jarman &#160; At the end of fall, the hawk sits on his wire overlooking the air field. He’s been there every season since the storm chased vermin out of the shadows and into town. &#160; I pass him on his post going to work each [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/raptor/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Namath</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/namath/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/namath/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=962</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jack Bedell “He moves like a human now. He did move like a cat.” —Bear Bryant &#160; I have a picture I bring with me to class whenever I talk about what the lyric can do even outside the world of time, how it carries story, holds movement, seals histories in one click. The [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/namath/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Bone-Hollow, True</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/bone-hollow-true/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/bone-hollow-true/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=958</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jack Bedell “Matisse with Doves” Henri Cartier-Bresson, 1944 &#160; In the photograph, the old man grips a bird in his left hand, clamps down on it, not to trap it but to set free what part eludes the eye. His fingers reach into its meat. He rolls its bones carefully under his thumb, bones [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/bone-hollow-true/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Red Center</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-red-center/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-red-center/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=955</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Ed Hammerli &#160; In the red center of the South, life is flat. From dark plows brick dust rises higher than the swamp-green forests. &#160; White cattle egrets descend like fingernail scratches to live off earth&#8217;s flaked, red skin, torn to blood by heavy tractors. &#160; Shallow cotton crop roots will stitch ripped flesh, [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-red-center/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Dump Dog</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/dump-dog/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/dump-dog/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=952</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#160;  by Ed Hammerli &#160; As if to take a nap or a long sleep &#160; that would help things make things better, &#160; or maybe thinking she would wake up &#160; somewhere else than a trash dump beside &#160; a shell road looking for lost gone taken puppies, &#160; she decided to curl up [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/dump-dog/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Negritude</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/negritude/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/negritude/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=942</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Yusef Komunyakaa &#160; I have also been left singing Careless Love but my negritude is nobody’s coonskin cap     on a mountaintop or down by the riverside. &#160; My negritude has sucked all the joy juice from the days of wild virginal forests     I made to kneel with axe &#38; crosscut. &#160; My [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/negritude/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Make-Up</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/make-up/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/make-up/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=803</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Nancy Devine &#160; &#160; &#160; Way Bandy highlighted the crests of letters in his new name, each a bone casting shadow he brushed under brows of beautiful women where it, too, became beautiful for Cosmopolitan covers. &#160; With sable bristles he dusted brown powder along Lauren Hutton’s nose for contour, for Vogue softened the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/make-up/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Two Kitchens</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/two-kitchens/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/two-kitchens/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=801</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Uche Ogbuji &#160; I was alone, but my hand took on my mother&#8217;s, Hovering over the pot with a command gesture, Smothering all thought inessential to the task, All distractions from the essences I&#8217;d ranged: Cinnamon, cardamom, and then, snake-charmed From coriander, cumin and turmeric I swelled to the stove, which sprang wormhole To [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/two-kitchens/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Rails, The Roll</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-rails-the-roll/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-rails-the-roll/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=799</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[ by Uche Ogbuji &#160; I palm this pocket blown with heat, The blast our breaths cajole; Caloric trove these heaving folds. The steel of rails, the stealthy roll. &#160; The red glow calls the hammer stroke, Sparks out on hammer down; The blow begets a crown of frets. We&#8217;re roused by wailing through the town. [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-rails-the-roll/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>It Is Not</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/it-is-not/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/it-is-not/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=796</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Allison Grayhurst &#160; It is not the hole in the wall I fear where the ants crawl through or the red tail in the wind that keeps me here, but it is the leaf over the grave stone and the cat on the small hill without a hope of going up any further that [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/it-is-not/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Turtles Watching the Stars</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/uncategorized/turtles-watching-the-stars/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/uncategorized/turtles-watching-the-stars/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Uncategorized]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=792</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Robert S. King &#160; Some say our eyes make everything smaller like looking down the wrong end of a telescope where watery lights of stars swim at the top of a well, light years away but liquid as dream, reflective bubbles orbiting far above our shell-shocked past. &#160; We do not want outsiders close [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/uncategorized/turtles-watching-the-stars/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Driver</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-driver/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-driver/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=785</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Frederick Pollack &#160; Some idiot blocking the intersection makes us turn to shake our heads with someone: me in the left lane, he in the right; he in his black Ford Fusion, me in my rented black Ford Fusion (I like to rent midsize, for some reason). And each of us sees that strange [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/the-driver/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Native Land</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/native-land/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/native-land/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:42:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=773</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Frederick Pollack &#160; The dream was exceptionally bad, exerting an undertow, so that I couldn’t leave it as quickly as usual, but kept looking back, to check if those cluttered, airless, disintegrating rooms were not, in fact, real. (What was that stripe of color in a crumpled quilt, those other touches of long-defeated liveliness [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/native-land/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Pity</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/pity/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/pity/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:41:20 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=991</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Ann Keniston &#160; Toward the end when we sat in our chairs, tenderness rimmed us and pity &#160; like the dark around a lit place or a sewn border, the little stitches too tight, pulling the cloth &#160; or sparrows at the feeder, never close enough to touch &#160; because from her weakness, she [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/pity/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>A Small Space</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/a-small-space/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/a-small-space/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 15:41:20 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=918</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Tony Morris &#160; I pared some pieces down, whittled ends to nubs then stepped away— &#160; the needle rasp, the riffler, jigs and hasps all splayed across the bench—then walked &#160; the hill back home where she&#8217;d buckled, bowed and fell between &#160; the sink and kitchen table, her floral apron spilled like paint [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/a-small-space/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Pheromones</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/pheromones/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/pheromones/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 06 May 2013 23:44:18 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=760</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jacob Mercer More than anything, he was hooked on Leslie McGarrigle because she smelled like a can of tennis balls freshly opened. Sharp. Chemical. And stunningly, thrillingly new—not pristine necessarily, but novel, new in the sense that this scent hadn’t existed long: a matter of decades, he calculated, in one of his more fanatical [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/pheromones/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Junko Miyashita</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/junko-miyashita/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/junko-miyashita/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 06 May 2013 23:39:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=726</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Robert James Russell &#160; She stands in the doorway twirling her fingers in the air above her head as if it’s some universal signal I should recognize. I tell her I don’t, and she stares at me, lips puckered, leaning against the door frame, robe half-open, exposing a slit of milky white skin. I [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/junko-miyashita/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Cuckoos</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/cuckoos/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/cuckoos/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 06 May 2013 23:39:37 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=718</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Robert James Russell &#160; And here she is, in the night, in this house not her own, sneaking and creeping in the dark, her hair pulled tight into a ponytail, makeup smeared on her cheeks, wearing her husband’s Detroit Lions sweatshirt, the one she kept after he left, her breath smelling of Cool Ranch [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/cuckoos/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Mosaic</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/mosaic/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/mosaic/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 06 May 2013 23:27:34 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=752</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jennifer A. Kuchta &#160; In Bellagio, Gustavo stands beside the Mercedes, my bags in his hands, alert and ready to take them into the hotel, but above and behind him I can see her. Seimone stands on a second-floor balcony looking across Lake Como towards the villas on the opposite shore. She is surrounded [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/mosaic/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>One Night, One Afternoon, Sooner or Later</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/one-night-one-afternoon-sooner-or-later/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/one-night-one-afternoon-sooner-or-later/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 01 May 2013 02:24:52 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>kconner2</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 2]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue Two: Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=733</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Karin C. Davidson          &#160; In the uptown Canal Villere we are standing in front of the wine shelf, looking for the Bolla Valpolicella. It’s late on a Saturday night and we’ve nothing better to do. Micah says his brother’s out of town, so we can go to his apartment and watch movies. Jude [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-2/one-night-one-afternoon-sooner-or-later/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Union Square</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/union-square/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/union-square/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 16 Oct 2012 21:26:26 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=517</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Danny Goodman Elizabeth watched the old man in Union Square. He was tall, she could tell, although he sat on a makeshift stool only a foot or so off the ground. His silver hair, connected to a beard, rounded the circumference of his mostly bald head and reminded Elizabeth of Jean-Luc Picard. So did [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/union-square/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Chicken Yard</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/chicken-yard/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/chicken-yard/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 16 Oct 2012 21:07:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=511</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jan Lamberg &#160; It&#8217;s August in the Garden State, steamy South Jersey where new in May, my shoes rub at the toe. Farm clod-hoppers thwart ring-worm, rusty nails&#8211; for these feet, nightfall&#8217;s pond, crickets, can&#8217;t sing soon enough. Compost bowl pail clanging, I reach the chicken yard; Every step a dong&#8211; their signal-alarm, Indian-file [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/chicken-yard/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Burning</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-burning/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-burning/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 01:54:51 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=429</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by N. Scott Momaday &#160; In the numb, numberless days There were disasters in the distance, Strange upheavals. No one understood them. At night the sky was scored with light, For the far planes of the planet buckled and burned. In the dawns were intervals of darkness On the scorched sky, clusters of clouds and [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-burning/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>American Ballad</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/american-ballad/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/american-ballad/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 01:53:28 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=428</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by N. Scott Momaday &#160; Where do you come from, And where do you go? Where do you come from, My cotton-eye Joe? &#160; Well, I come from the darkness, And I come in despair, I come from the darkness And again will go there. &#160; Black smoke’s arisin’, Yonder comes a train. Winter’s comin’ [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/american-ballad/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Passage Between</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-passage-between/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-passage-between/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 01:51:52 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=427</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by N. Scott Momaday &#160; Because it’s there. —G.H.L. Mallory —a passage outside the range of imagination, but within the range of experience. —Isak Dinesen &#160; The sheer face lay opposite, Both over and under him. His lungs burned in the ascent. His eyes congealed in the cold, And at last he could not see. [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-passage-between/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Snow Mare</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-snow-mare/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-snow-mare/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 01:49:33 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=426</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by N. Scott Momaday &#160; In my dream, a blue mare loping, Pewter on a porcelain field, away. There are bursts of soft commotion Where her hooves drive in the drifts, And as dusk ebbs on the plane of night, She shears the web of winter, And on the far, blind side She is no [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-snow-mare/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Middle Distance</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-middle-distance/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-middle-distance/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 01:46:09 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=425</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by N. Scott Momaday &#160; Imagine the space between here and there. Vision holds upon an aura of the earth, And on that nebulous band a bird appears. &#160; It takes shape in the vagaries of light, Becoming wholly its own definition. It hangs inherently there, opposite the air. &#160; Less the image, more the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-middle-distance/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Lemon Juice Alphabet</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-lemon-juice-alphabet/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-lemon-juice-alphabet/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 01:23:32 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=406</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Julie Kane &#160; Every time it was the same: the moment she realized she was holding and reading the page she’d been trying to bring back all her life, it would suddenly catch fire like the secret messages she and her best friend had penned to each other in fifth grade with a watercolor [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-lemon-juice-alphabet/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Dollhouse</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/dollhouse/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/dollhouse/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 01:22:56 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=403</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Julie Kane &#160; She was no longer a child when they gave her the dollhouse she had always coveted in childhood: three stories high, with the front wall shorn off so that she could see into every room at once.  Right away she began furnishing it with tiny books of fairy tales and nursery [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/dollhouse/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Burgers Fried in Salt</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/burgers-fried-in-salt/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/burgers-fried-in-salt/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 01:19:28 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=405</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Julie Kane &#160; Once upon a time there was a wicked Queen who fried hamburger patties in salt: a giant patty for the King; a medium patty for herself; and three eeny-weeny patties for the three princesses. The burgers came out of the pan as black and as hard as lava rocks, because the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/burgers-fried-in-salt/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Voice</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-voice/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-voice/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 01:18:23 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=404</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Julie Kane &#160; Walking by the Polish church in Vilnius one Sunday morning, she is arrested by the sound of a male voice, singing over the choir. So deep, so resonant, so mournful: surely it must belong to an opera star. She stands transfixed outside the buttercream stucco façade, then pushes a heavy wooden [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-voice/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Bone</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/bone/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/bone/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 00:32:48 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=395</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Anne Marie Macari &#160; &#160; I know what it’s like to dig but not find the bone you are looking for. Buried &#160; deep and tight as a knuckle beneath the garbage and rubble. If the tongue &#160; had a bone, or if breasts had artifacts buried inside, beyond the milk &#160; and ducts. [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/bone/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Headlamp</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/headlamp/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/headlamp/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 00:32:14 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=394</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Anne Marie Macari &#160; Carrying little, wearing a weak headlamp, a mile in, stumbling and wet, the cave walls like my own insides and I an animal painted there. Darkness filling in my cartoon lines, my blank self. &#160; Dear Friend, I am inside a hole in the earth, with pots of ochre and [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/headlamp/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Other Side of the Tracks</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-other-side-of-the-tracks/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-other-side-of-the-tracks/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 00:28:27 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=387</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Karen Head &#160; What if I chucked it all, began calling myself Candi, (with a heart over the “i”) stopped in at Wal-Mart to buy a jean-skirt, a tank top, and a can of Aqua Net, hitchhiked to a small town just outside Birmingham, AL taking on a part-time waitress gig, mornings at the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-other-side-of-the-tracks/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Proximity</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/proximity/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/proximity/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 00:26:54 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=386</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Karen Head &#160; The young possum foraging outside my office window seems unconcerned by my presence— after all, I am the one who’s trapped. I snack on almonds, watch it nibble whatever it finds, and though I am inclined to share, I know that opening the window will change the world.]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/proximity/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Mid-Autumn&#8217;s Eve</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/mid-autumns-eve/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/mid-autumns-eve/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 00:21:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=377</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Howie Faerstein &#160; It happens in the dark, reeling under the rotted eaves, staring into blankness. It happens carrying coffee grounds to the compost. What an odd hour to be pressed by love. &#160; It happens when the wind picks up and unseen trees rustle as contradiction takes the place of stars in an [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/mid-autumns-eve/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Difference Between Two Readings</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-difference-between-two-readings/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-difference-between-two-readings/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Oct 2012 00:21:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=378</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Howie Faerstein &#160; Between the time I first climbed the Parabolic Dunes and the next the world shifted but because blue-white Vega remains constant I can make my way home. Because of the gap between who I think I am and who I very well may be, the difference between two readings may resemble [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-difference-between-two-readings/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Song He Left Behind</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-song-he-left-behind/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-song-he-left-behind/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 23:58:05 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=342</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Darrell Bourque &#160; I can&#8217;t recall just when the song began to take its shape inside my head. I found myself some nights all alone with nothing but this sound from who knows where, a cape making a place for itself inside a bay. Some little thing I&#8217;d done &#160; or heard come back [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-song-he-left-behind/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Beausoleil Leaves Saint-Domingue</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/beausoleil-leaves-saint-domingue/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/beausoleil-leaves-saint-domingue/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 23:53:09 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=341</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Darrell Bourque &#160; There was nothing he saw here that he did not love, the way the sea was always near, how in the higher elevations the air thinned and clarified itself, how blooms and fruits of blooms grew everywhere and touched everything, how the ear was filled with a hundred tongues he understood, [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/beausoleil-leaves-saint-domingue/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Evangeline Speaks</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/evangeline-speaks/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/evangeline-speaks/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 23:51:19 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=340</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Darrell Bourque &#160; That girl you think you see beneath the oak beside the Teche, she is other than the girl I was. I was surely with all those other women forced to leave a life they had grown into, but I was never what they were, never a mother, never even married. When [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/evangeline-speaks/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>How We Became New World People</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/how-we-became-new-world-people/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/how-we-became-new-world-people/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 23:49:39 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=339</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Darrell Bourque &#160; Before the world we&#8217;d always known became a place we hardly knew at all, we lived at ease with whatever came our way. What had been ours then was ours no more &#38; ships carried us away into a world so new we could not have dreamed it: this land the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/how-we-became-new-world-people/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Megan&#8217;s Guitar</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/megans-guitar/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/megans-guitar/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 23:48:17 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=338</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Darrell Bourque &#160; for Megan Barra after her textiles Woman with Guitar, I &#38; Woman with Guitar, II&#160; I You’ve curled nearly every line in this piece you made. You live inside a curved world. Within the frame you’ve silked a guitar &#38; its bifurcation holds us to your intent: one half of the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/megans-guitar/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Turtle Dreams</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/turtle-dreams/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/turtle-dreams/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 23:45:05 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=337</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Darrell Bourque &#160; I am trying to understand turtles and how they work their way into my dreams. On some nights I am a hermit in a play. A tortoise standing for slowness in an equation about relativity and time has a bigger part than I do. One night I am hand-fishing for turtles [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/turtle-dreams/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Standing Water in the Yard on the Feast Day of Saint Medard</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/standing-water-in-the-yard-on-the-feast-day-of-saint-medard/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/standing-water-in-the-yard-on-the-feast-day-of-saint-medard/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 23:43:13 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=336</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Darrell Bourque &#160; We feared the rain would never come and then it came without relief. The clouds thickened and knitted themselves over windows and doors. It was as if they wanted to come in, to be with us. &#160; We pulled books off the shelves we thought we might never read. We spent [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/standing-water-in-the-yard-on-the-feast-day-of-saint-medard/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Wash House</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-wash-house/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-wash-house/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 23:41:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=335</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Darrell Bourque &#160; Time collapsed in my grandmother’s wash house. In another time there would have been rooms and  even separate houses to bank those things she banked in here. From the rafters hung grasses, dried, and green and purple basil dropping seeds, on the floor, garlic braids hanging next to harnesses. Boxes of [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-wash-house/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>A Conversation with Darrell Bourque</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/a-conversation-with-darrell-bourque/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/a-conversation-with-darrell-bourque/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 22:51:11 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Nonfiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=317</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Jay Udall: The poems of yours we’re featuring in this issue are all drawn from your new book, Megan’s Guitar and Other Poems from Acadie, which will be published by University of Louisiana Press, Lafayette, early next year. What’s the focus of this book, and how did it come to you? &#160; Darrell Bourque: I [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/a-conversation-with-darrell-bourque/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The True Sorrows of Calamity Jane</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-true-sorrows-of-calamity-jane/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-true-sorrows-of-calamity-jane/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 22:39:47 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=318</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Joseph Boyden &#160; The night Bill Hickock was shot in the back of the head at a Black Hills poker table by the coward Jack McCall, my mother indeed grabbed a meat cleaver to take her revenge on that fuck.  She ran barefoot through the streets, a buckskin jacket slung over her nightgown, the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-true-sorrows-of-calamity-jane/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Cultivation</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/cultivation/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/cultivation/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 22:37:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=301</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Forrest Anderson Little Brother hides the carboys, airlocks, and racks inside the crumbling brick foundation of his tenant house where he makes Pink Panther 1, Pink Panther 2, and Wild Night in Rocky Mount. It’s cool all year round. He keeps it sweet by adding granulated sugar and juice from dandelion petals, scuppernongs, or [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/cultivation/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Sisters of Dudda</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-sisters-of-dudda/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-sisters-of-dudda/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 22:34:38 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=311</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Jessica Pitchford You can’t help it. The town is called Dudda, and as you walk through it—somewhat gingerly, for the slow ache that’s already started creeping up your body—you can’t resist thinking, I bet my money on a bob-tailed nag. Somebody bet on the gray. You’ve spent the day on a bike tour of [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/the-sisters-of-dudda/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Piggybacking</title>
		<link>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/piggybacking/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/piggybacking/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Oct 2012 22:20:42 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>cloperfido</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Issue 1]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Issue One: Fiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/?p=300</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Reggie J. Poché Ronnie entered Star Grocery, the town of Remyton’s only such store, and as had always been the case his wide reflection was cut in half, slenderized by the sliding glass door. He had to pass Flick, who solicited just outside, pacing under the door’s electronic sensor as if he were teasing [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.nicholls.edu/gris-gris/issue-1/piggybacking/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
	</channel>
</rss>
