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NONFICTION

When a Yooper goes back home for a race across the Mackinac Bridge, he is confronted with childhood memories of jumping off bridges. His relationship to risk has changed, and now he wonders which side of the bridge he should call home.
What do Lady Gaga, the Pittsburgh Steelers, fair use, gender roles and Marxism have in common? More than you might think. Essay by Greg Barnhisel.

POETRY

Jim Daniels

A field trip to Greenfield Village,
Henry Ford’s outdoor museum. Henry, one
of Detroit’s gods ...

By Kathleen McGookey

Buy it a one-way ticket to Iceland; sew it a black velvet cape; tape its mouth shut and shave its head ...

Jim Daniels

My children, five and four, built
cushioned forts from matching love seats
in our company apartment in Marquette ...

THE WAKE BLOG

I once spent a brief stint working at a certain bakery-café (which will be referred to as a “bakery-café" to ensure no feelings are hurt) that also served soups, salads, and sandwiches. My job on the line was to prepare these lunch items. The chicken used in the salads and sandwiches was labeled “Antibiotic Free,” and even on the call screens was denoted as “ABF CHX.” A nationwide restaurant chain that cares about healthy chicken? Was it too good to be true?

FICTION

By Steve Amick
It was because of Jaws that she never went back to the water, ocean-wary at nine, turning away from the beach to the sweatier sides of summer: pumping down back roads on a banana seat bike, clinging to the sliver of shade tilting between the Dairy Twist and the clam shack, her back to the wall, safe against the cool cinder blocks, staring out at the distant shore and the tiny, happily fat. And, of course, there was always the library.
By Ilse Munro
                        “Stop it,” I said, but no one heard me. My mother had insisted on installing parquet floors immediately after moving into the drab Worden Street duplex, bought so we could live in one side while paying the mortgage with money made from the other. My father had agreed to her impractical project to preserve the peace. So there they were, banging nails into boards every moment they were free of their factory jobs. Once they had finished the rental side, they started on ours, making it clear to everyone within earshot we’d never return to that apartment on Ethel Street I loved so much.

ABOUT WAKE

Wake is a journal focused on work that evokes the broad culture of the Great Lakes. We publish a variety of articles on Great Lakes subjects. Please read our mission statement and submission guidelines for details, and check back often as we continue to add content.

Opinions expressed in the content are the authors' own and do not necessarily reflect those of Grand Valley State University or its representatives.

Wake is a publication of Grand Valley State University.

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