March 27, 2013 | Interview
Barb Johnson worked as a carpenter in New Orleans for more than 20 years before entering the MFA program at the... more
March 26, 2013 | Fiction
Inside, in the unforeseen, where the sounds of dust susurrus, we glimpse rainbowed light above the shadows. Will we ever reach there, we ask?
Wonders I. Wonders we.
My boyfriend hit me in the face with a book. It was an... more
The twelve stories in Susan Steinberg’s stunning third book, Spectacle, limn the... more
Whatever crop and bung was leftover he burned in a large heap of muzzy smoke and lapping flame and when it was chopped down to ash and live glowing charcoal ember, he drug the spreader over the field, everything still burning and here and there little volcano puffs of flame and the iron wheels sizzling themselves...
Justin Lawrence Daugherty
Maria say she gon' tell me the future. She say she know. Mama taught her, but Maria had that gift, not her mama. The real kind. She'd seen all kinds of things 'fore they happen, like her brother shot dead in that parking lot, she'd seen it all four days before it happened.
What you gon' tell me I don't already know? I say.
“We’re playing Memory Palace. It’s a medieval memory technique. If you need to remember a list of things, you pick a place that you remember well, like your childhood home or your office or your apartment, and you make a narrative...
She said, during the commercial break, that she was a fan of westerns. I said, I loved the train... more