A lot of people live in New Jersey, New York, the tri-State area, and many of them are fine, and by fine, I mean getting by quite all right, eating meals, working the… Continue reading
While the fire is snapping and roaring, I should stay out here with the grackles who dropped in this morning to investigate the bird feeder. I should stay to watch the leaves fall… Continue reading
Let’s start under the tree. My braids pinned around my skull—an intimate hairdo I only sport in domestic settings. No make-up besides lipstick. I am holding my morning cup of coffee. My son… Continue reading
As we came up the sideroad, they could have been mistaken by morning rain for tufts of cloud left on a knoll, white as heaven, if heaven exists, standing there to practice a… Continue reading
ROLAND, uncouth, thirties, stands at the door. He is near MERRY, more refined, also thirties, whose place it is. ROLAND I just want you to know: I’m not the kind of man who… Continue reading
My left hand, raised above me holding a paperback novel, is missing my wedding ring. An indentation remains, ghost-like, on my skin, a reminder of allegiance and duty. My hands swelled at eight… Continue reading
She was the kind of woman who brought her lunch to work in a Victoria’s Secret bag. Its pink and white stripes perched sex next to the other refrigerator sandwiches. She was also… Continue reading
you could find yourself in cold rain on a hot night where raindrops, rain boots, and streetlights combine in the puddles where you take your longest strides — the water shakes, shatters, breaks… Continue reading
Click Images to Enlarge. *** Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The… Continue reading
Royce Demarco hadn’t seen his parents in over two months. He was out of work and had some time on his hands, so he decided to pay them a visit. On a Thursday… Continue reading
She rested her arm on the window ledge, stared out the rain-splattered window at the wet streets below, and wondered aloud how anyone could be persuaded to go out on a day like… Continue reading
Soft-shelled, softer than a turtle’s, it hums in a nest of rags and yarn. You have to humble yourself to hear it. You have to kneel and cup an ear to catch the… Continue reading
You think the shards are all the same: Look again. Glass shards in a room of glass. Orienting north, south. Reflecting bodies darker, lighter. Death can’t erase every difference. Glass shards illuminate our… Continue reading
Space Invaders by Nona Fernández Translated by Natasha Wimmer Fiction, 88 pages ISBN: 978-1-64445-007-9 Publication Date: November 5, 2019 Publisher: Graywolf Link: https://www.graywolfpress.org/books/space-invaders In Nona Fernández’s Space Invaders, a group of friends remember… Continue reading
I put the tiny boat in the water and watch it float away. Somewhere, someday, someone will pull it out of the water, either intact or as a sodden, soggy newspaper mess, find… Continue reading
These new works return to my foundation in figure drawing to examine the rituals, trials and furies of childhood and sisterhood. Created from a combination of live models and memory, these… Continue reading
I have been on a string of so many days hung low. The truth is I am often tired of being alive, of daylight streaming through the translucent glass of my body, my… Continue reading
The Bull The woman sits at the bar. Next to her a man plays pool. She admires his flanks as he bends over the table. She’s trying to quit smoking so she’s sucking… Continue reading
Where fat doesn’t matter, or bones, bodies ideal and folded into the murk, skins unfamiliar under the sludge patted into wrinkles, over scars and freckles. Take the healing of it, years stripped down… Continue reading
*** Lisa López Smith lives and writes from her home in central Mexico. When she’s not wrangling goats or rescue dogs or kids, you can probably find her riding her bike or painting.… Continue reading
Park Row is an alley. Beneath the day-lit zenith, visibility is ten miles. If my city vanished, I’d see a quarter million acres: bare ocean, alluvial plain. But Park Row is an alley,… Continue reading
With its immersed perspectives, AM : PM occupies the space we hold between each other. Drawing through the multiple realities of a view on today’s China, it evokes a sense of being… Continue reading