Postcard proseIssue 08 | February 2010


by Steve Edwards

Go to San Diego: first marriage, first love, the end of May. See the cliffs at sunset, the last of the surfers. Eat at restaurants, breweries. Fried calamari. Artichokes. Watch the Padres from a dangerous part of the bleachers, down the third base line, where during batting practice a ten-year-old boy took a line-drive in the eye. Watch the boy later—after medical attention, three dark stitches—as an usher leads him down to the bullpen for an autograph: that boy, smiling, beaming, fat purple shiner and all.

Think about pain, its direct correlation to joy. Look at your wife. Beautiful.

Worry about line-drives and time and feeling too good.

“We should sit somewhere else.”


“You see that kid?”

“He got an autograph didn’t he?”

Leave during the seventh inning stretch. Drive rental car—blue Skylark—down Highway 5 to the hotel. Re-consummate marriage. Even if it’s not comfortable, just for tonight: sleep with your arms around her.

Listen to her breathe.

Don’t think.

Next morning, drive to Coronado. Buy a boogie board. Pee in the ocean. Stay out in the high waves long after she’s gone back to sunbathe. Feel arms blistering with sun. Feel salt. Imagine everything in your life as preparation for this moment: F-14 Tomcats landing at the naval base across the bay, waves rising and crashing, the water cool and green and swirling all around you with motes of fool’s gold. Forget what the guidebook said about Santa Ana winds and San Diego’s June-gloom, a whole month of cloud cover and light rain. Today it’s sunny and calm. The ocean sparkles.

About the author

Steve Edwards’ memoir, Breaking into the Backcountry, chronicles the seven months he lived in the Oregon wilderness alone in 2001 and is due out in October, 2010. Steve has published poetry and fiction in The Cream City Review, Cutthroat: A Journal of the Arts, Passages North, and Sou’wester. Having just recently become a father, most of his travels right now are back through time—to his own childhood.

Read our current issue:


Two poems by Anne Babson
Vignette, Townhouse, 9 a.m. by Troy Cunio
Night Becomes Day Over the West by Megan Foley
Yukon River Aurora by D. B. Goman
Two Poems by David Havird
Cretan Love Letter by Emily Linstrom
Holland by Rick Mullin
Fear in Kenya by Kristina Pfleegor
The Lounge Lizard by Ed Shacklee
Two Poems by Sarah J. Sloat
Night Flight by Vicki Stannard
Koinonia Farms by Alina Stefanescu
Thessaloniki, Four a.m. by Anastasia Vassos
Imaginary Oceans by Jason Warren
Two Poems by F. J. Williams

Postcard prose

It’s Salty by Kelly Hill

Travel notes

Anchorage in the Great Land by Karen Benning
The Value of Small Money by Megan Hallinan
Screensaver by Sandra Larson
Thirty Cents by Tommy McAree
Gokarna by Kate McCahill
Going Places by Rachel Miller-Howard
Susanville CA: Notes From The Road by Susan Volchok