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Showing results for September, 2019

September 30, 2019 | Nonfiction

500 Words on Immortality 

Dimitry Saïd Chamy

Only 498 words remain. So, let's turn to death.

September 27, 2019 | Nonfiction

The Contest 

Margaret Sherwin

From the time I was seven until I started taking Seroquel, an anti-psychotic, I had this unending feeling of doom.  ‘My go to’, be that of death.

September 26, 2019 | Poetry

Three Poems

Fiona Helmsley

I kept my thoughts about Bitchface Becky to myself

 but then Beyoncé did something magical

September 25, 2019 | Nonfiction

The Night I Could Have Met the Real Matt Damon

Sarah Broussard Weaver

Our waitress bustles around smiling a strangely huge smile for this boring work night. My boyfriend Nick and I don’t follow football and weren’t invited to any parties, and since most Texans are either holding or attending parties the place is pretty deserted. After the waitress brings our waters she follows her normal script and asks if we want to try a signature TGI Fridays drink, but her eyes keep dancing to the bar behind us.

September 24, 2019 | Fiction

Delete All Future Events 

Brian Bartels

Perhaps we are simply trying to figure out how to stay inside a relationship – our relationship – and figure out how to physically exit the space we currently inhabit and enter another. 

September 23, 2019 | Poetry

Two Poems 

Carlo Matos

Orange

It’s a child’s color                        or it should be             tasting like early summer 
before it fades to the broom-sweep coat of the dog days.
But now our nightmares are

September 21, 2019 |

My First Game Console: Nintendo Entertainment System

David Armand

My wife and kids and I are driving around in New Orleans, not too far from where I spent the first years of my life and then the occasional week during the summer when I stayed with my grandmother

September 20, 2019 | Interview

‘Getting Cancelled Means You Are Permanently Working Class’: Elizabeth Ellen Interviews Brian Allen Carr

Elizabeth Ellen

When I was younger, if you had a hard time following rules, you became an artist.

Now, if you have a hard time following rules, you become an entrepreneur.

People in the literary world follow rules the most.

September 20, 2019 | Fiction

Quick Stop

Christina Drill

I was seventeen, so he was a man — had I been older, maybe not.

September 19, 2019 | Fiction

Life Selector: You Take Control

Sasha Graybosch

Show her face to the camera. Put your finger in her mouth.

September 18, 2019 | Poetry

Three Poems 

Brody Parrish Craig

Bible | Vers

Top to Bottom | scan my profile | For Christ’s Sake | Sing Jesus’ Name | I gospel & apostle | Book of Vers | My rural bottom’s up | My crop /top | down along the road | a hym(n) in

September 18, 2019 | Nonfiction

The Red Table

Kelly Hevel

I felt as cold and empty as that body lying in that casket lined with fabric smooth and silky white, so different from what usually cradled my grandma’s skin, those soft, oft-washed dresses always topped with a floral apron.

September 17, 2019 | Fiction

neighbors

Aliceanna Stopher

Here is your neighbor, blood forking from her nose, catching on her lip. 

September 17, 2019 | Poetry

Letter Home from Hyperspace #2

Zoë Ryder White

There’s a song in my figurative head 
that I can’t shake loose. 
When I was a body, 
I did so many things with my hands, 
I can’t count. 
Around here it smells like lightning, 
like plasma.

September 16, 2019 | Nonfiction

Coming Home

Suvi Mahonen

05:05 am. My eyes open. A faint pearly blade of light squeezing past the blind. The distant metallic scrape of a moving tram.   

September 16, 2019 | Poetry

Two Poems

Sebastian Hasani Paramo

Portrait of Boy Refusing His Father's Music

The kids talk about Posh Spice. 
They sing Top 40 hits.                Mother drops me off.  

High volume on, the ballads sung by her 
are

September 16, 2019 | Nonfiction

i fuck who i want with a mutual understanding

nooks krannie

i’ve never attended a wedding and i wasn’t going to start now. my muscles were aching and my jaw was carrying a million bees, terrorizing the sides of my ears and throat. 

September 14, 2019 |

My First Car: A Melted Ford Explorer

Cordelia Wilks

By the time the keys were in my eager teenaged hand, this car had been through some shit. Even ignoring the holes burned into the driver’s-side door, the missing half of the left side mirror, and the warped, discolored metal down the rest of the vehicle, the car was 13 years old already, and it looked it.

September 13, 2019 |

The Bottom of the Order: Snap, Go, Fling

Andrew Forbes

The cherry and strawberry seasons have passed; the apples are reddening. Only a few games remain. A Pit Spitter lays down a bunt, and the runner on third crashes in: a perfect suicide squeeze.

September 13, 2019 | Poetry

The Worshipping Beast

Brian Clifton

All that whimpers isn’t want.

One spring, I pulled
a reed from an oboe.
I planted it by a pond. 
Instantly, it grew 

dense at the water’s edge. 
The wind told lie after lie—

black

September 12, 2019 | Poetry

You Cannot Save Here

Anthony Moll

Morning gets angry and destroys a city
not New York, too obvious, but suppose
it’s on the coast. Suppose we’re the first to go

I picture Goya’s Colossus and my empathy
runs threadbare. Suppose

September 12, 2019 | Nonfiction

Layover

Paige Thomas

There is snow that falls like a snake. It comes from the sky hissing and finds a bush to hide beneath. The leaves on the branches of the River Birch are alive, again, vibrating. They are brown and

September 10, 2019 | Fiction

Paper Wasps

Joseph Worthen

He’s soaked in sweat already and all he’s done is drive. He must know what they are here to find.

September 10, 2019 | Nonfiction

Trendsetter 

Ryan Matthews

“Well, just be careful you don’t get caught with your pants down at the wrong kinda toilet.”

September 9, 2019 | Poetry

MY SUPERPOWER

Amie Whittemore

                             in response to a student evaluation for a science fiction class, Fall 2018

Student, it’s true—I prefer women
to lentils, to crossfit classes,
to retirement plan

September 9, 2019 | Nonfiction

Egg Face

Hea-Ream Lee

Sometimes I want to take the industrial strength green Korean loofah, my sandpapery mitten, and just scrub at my face until huge chunks of flesh tear away and roll into brown fleshy noodles and fall to the floor. Afterwards, I won’t be bloody and flayed, all raw nerve endings and hamburger meat, I’ll be smooth as a peeled egg, soft and firm and pliant to the touch.

 

September 6, 2019 | Nonfiction

The Pastor and Marguerite

Melissa Mesku

My heart is open. I can feel it. It’s never open. This can’t be a coincidence. This—

September 6, 2019 | Poetry

Two Poems

Kevin Latimer

this poem starts on a tuesday in Kansas

a twister settles in. there is a twister dancing 
in the night like a blight on the sky’s eye & 
the people are afraid. someone yells: there is a

September 5, 2019 | Nonfiction

Magic Booth

Chris J. Bahnsen

My father’s disjointed rage has shocked him—I’ve seen that look before. He no longer draws from his beer even as Dad tilts his own way up.

September 4, 2019 | Poetry

Cultured Meat Pastoral

Lucian Mattison

Goats and cows’ dreams have little pull yet. Cheese
is still cheese, piston driven milkers likely painful. The future
of sirloin strips it of skin, legs, bones, grown without 

the cortex of