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Showing results for November, 2017

Three Poems photo
November 22, 2017 | Poetry

Three Poems

Bryce Berkowitz

And somehow I’m supposed to get dressed in the morning / when most days arrive like a gold chain tangled in black chest hair.

Most of My Memories Age 5-11 (Abridged) photo
November 21, 2017 | Nonfiction

Most of My Memories Age 5-11 (Abridged)

Adam Voith

101.  A Christmas morning fight with mom. / 103.  The space shuttle exploding over and over on the TV in the school cafeteria. / 104.  My yellow v-neck sweater with key-shaped lapel pin which read JESUS.

 
The Drive-Thru photo
November 21, 2017 | Fiction

The Drive-Thru

Ashira Shirali

Aaina’s mom collects shiny things like a magpie. The one time Aaina sneaked me into her house, I walked past rows of gold photo frames, silver handicraft elephants and raindrop chandeliers.

Two Poems photo
November 20, 2017 | Poetry

Two Poems

Lindsey Warren

 Please, I need those thick markers from the craft store, you know, the ones that color far away from each other; you turn the corner into golden golden golden any night

Four Poems photo
November 17, 2017 | Poetry

Four Poems

Erica Bernheim

You will etch your name in the most lunar dust. This world / may be large enough for none of us, saddest darling.

Dreams About Water photo
November 17, 2017 | Fiction

Dreams About Water

Duncan Whitmire

“I saw you by the river last night,” Amy says, her eyes still closed and half-covered by strands of almond-brown hair. “Why didn’t you follow me?” 

Men Decide They Want Something photo
November 16, 2017 | Fiction

Men Decide They Want Something

Michelle Ross

They laid out their sweat-stained clothing while the geyser was quiet, placid. They backed away and waited for her to erupt. 

There was no doubt in Bea’s mind that they referred to the geyser as “she.” 

Four Poems photo
November 15, 2017 | Poetry

Four Poems

Hieu Minh Nguyen

 It’s simple, really. / You, like the other yous / are gone,            returned to the God of metals.

Too Tired for Sunshine photo
November 14, 2017 | Hobart Photo Stories

Too Tired for Sunshine

Aaron Burch

  Too Tired For Sunshine is a photobook by Hobart's own Tara Wray, to published by Yoffy Press... more

Three Poems photo
November 13, 2017 | Poetry

Three Poems

Jane Huffman

After being hospitalized in 1968 / for an aortic aneurysm, Rothko’s doctor / prescribed that he only paint and draw / on mediums less than three feet tall.

Jacques’s Garden photo
November 10, 2017 | Poetry

Jacques’s Garden

Anna Kelley

And what is essential for me to believe is that / the plants themselves were changed by Joan, / that bathing with her in the light and fragrance

Four Poems photo
November 9, 2017 | Poetry

Four Poems

Brionne Janae

spirits in the trees / hush love hush love / go’on fly home

The Great Iowa State Fair Haiku Contest photo
November 8, 2017 | Fiction

The Great Iowa State Fair Haiku Contest

Gary Britson

I am glad to report that the Great Iowa State Fair Haiku Contest was a roaring success. 

Near to the Wild Heart of Life photo
November 7, 2017 | Jukebox Happy Hour

Near to the Wild Heart of Life

Sean West

On this poorly planned excursion I had a bucket of coffee and exactly one CD – my brother’s copy of Death Cab’s then brand new Narrow Stairs.

Two Poems photo
November 6, 2017 | Poetry

Two Poems

Liz N. Clift

 how you came with shadows, / but not darkness, like the other person I love, / the type of darkness that lays like a quilt.

Four Poems photo
November 3, 2017 | Poetry

Four Poems

Mitchell Glazier

It’s bronzy August and I need this to be all over. / Most of my poems are shaped like crows, / so what’s eating you?

Three Poems photo
November 2, 2017 | Poetry

Three Poems

Talia Flores

A man spills a red solo cup down my shirt like hands. Hands bury in my skin. The speakers bury in my skin. I have never felt farther from the sky, or from my own spit.

Two Poems photo
November 1, 2017 | Poetry

Two Poems

Muriel Leung

The pinwheels of my mourning, having moved to a windless town.

Rarely do I think of death while gnawing the bottom of a vanilla cone.