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So far cosmonautsavenue has created 859 blog entries.
29 10, 2017

Jaclyn Grimm | Paris, 1992


In July, the spare room on the second floor of their rental fills with flies. They try getting the landlord to do something—anything—about the flies, but they’ve only been in France a month and can’t remember how to say please. They keep the door to the Fly Room shut tight.

Jaclyn Grimm | Paris, 19922017-10-30T10:50:01-04:00
29 10, 2017

Madeline Gobbo | The Admiral


The test began. The students worked diligently to fill the bubbles they deemed appropriate. Livia watched one young man methodically draw frowny faces within each bubble and then cover them over with a flurry of graphite.

Madeline Gobbo | The Admiral2017-10-29T22:19:55-04:00
29 10, 2017

Chloe N. Clark | Other Names


His date had neon pink shellacked fingernails. Lance couldn’t stop staring at them. The glare off them from the overhead lights was almost blinding. It reminded him of headlight beams bouncing off a rain-slicked road.

Chloe N. Clark | Other Names2017-10-29T22:18:01-04:00
29 10, 2017

Rachel Gold | Half Things


My therapist says to remember that I’m young and only human. My mother in our last phone call said that I’m a narcissist. My father wants the money back from my wedding.

Rachel Gold | Half Things2017-10-30T16:08:48-04:00
29 10, 2017

Miriam Alexander-Kumaradoss | Everything is Fine


M takes it from him. It sits in her palm, a squat little thing that's very white at the top but bloody at the root. She tries to remember what the different kinds of teeth are and which one this is. Around them, the other kids are screaming and prancing but M and V are still, staring at the tooth.

Miriam Alexander-Kumaradoss | Everything is Fine2017-10-29T22:05:47-04:00
29 10, 2017

Chloé Cela | Nonfiction


This Skank Woman has no choice but to surrender to the hospital ambiance; the noise and patronizing nurses with good intentions, most of the time. The TV is showing the treatment of rhinos in Africa.

Chloé Cela | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:07:57-04:00
29 10, 2017

Dylan Carpenter | Poetry


What is the problem what is it I ask myself day after day it does not change / I walk through the rooms of my house I open the windows though it is cold

Dylan Carpenter | Poetry2018-12-27T01:45:38-04:00
29 10, 2017

Hannah Kucharzak | Poetry


Anxious Diva tells me I’ve lost what’s fun about me. She says I’m flatter than death. Diva, help me cut these onions, help me feel arrhythmia, tell me how alive I want to be.

Hannah Kucharzak | Poetry2018-12-27T01:40:03-04:00
19 09, 2017

Astro Spills | Leo


Complete the sentence, “Being a Leo is like…” Natalie Eilbert: ...It’s not like any one thing. A Leo collapses the metaphor, possesses her subjects as she is possessed of subjects. She [...]

Astro Spills | Leo2017-09-19T22:02:24-04:00
19 09, 2017

Gina Keicher | Nonfiction


Family legend has it that one day I walked into the kitchen from the two-car garage, my hands cupped piously as if carrying a communion wafer. I approached my mother slowly and opened my hands to reveal a mouse in my palms.

Gina Keicher | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:06:41-04:00
19 09, 2017

Lauren Turner | Nonfiction


You have to understand. Loneliness is both the white knight and the dragon. To outlive each of them, you must slash down from crown-to-kneecaps. I threw their hours away. They couldn’t thrive on time anymore, couldn’t ricochet my body with fear.

Lauren Turner | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:06:18-04:00
19 09, 2017

Interview | Ana Božičević


[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image="22273" img_size="600x400" alignment="center" style="vc_box_rounded"][vc_column_text] Ana Božičević in conversation with Vi Khi Nao Joy of Missing Out by Ana Božicevic. Birds LLC, $18 trade paper (100p) ISBN 978-0-9914298-7-5   VKN: [...]

Interview | Ana Božičević2017-09-19T21:08:18-04:00
19 09, 2017

Emma Claire Foley | Poetry


frogs of lead who bust up your skinny lip by agreement, the paradisiac fields excised, the empty spaces removed from our carapace. a better future for the region. international [...]

Emma Claire Foley | Poetry2018-12-27T01:40:49-04:00
18 09, 2017

Rebecca Givens Rolland | Fiction


. . IN THE MUSIC THERAPY ROOM Sound exposing floor tiles, drumming to ceiling, embattled floor. Recorded music—Tchaikovsky—wolfs me down. I shut it off and beg [...]

Rebecca Givens Rolland | Fiction2018-12-20T12:59:57-04:00
18 09, 2017

Melissa Ragsly | Fiction


After the disaster, we were shuttled in busses to the elementary school. We were a soft-footed herd. They turned us towards the entrance, combating the mass distraction of our frozen thoughts. We were demagnetized compasses, nothing but spinning needles.

Melissa Ragsly | Fiction2018-12-20T12:57:19-04:00
18 09, 2017

Lisa Hanson | Fiction


. . A REWARD FOR WHIMSY I knew little about Brad when we arranged to meet. Demographics, mostly. He was thirty-seven, an adjunct with abundant graying hair. A childless [...]

Lisa Hanson | Fiction2018-12-20T12:34:02-04:00
17 09, 2017

Isabella Martin | Dwelling Place


[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image="22281" img_size="600x400" alignment="center" style="vc_box_rounded"][vc_column_text]The best thing about the city was the train home in winter, after she had spent the day behind the circulation desk at the public library. [...]

Isabella Martin | Dwelling Place2017-09-21T12:18:44-04:00
17 09, 2017

Kat Solomon | Save a Child


[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image="22280" img_size="600x400" alignment="center" style="vc_box_rounded"][vc_column_text]They get him on the way out of Trader Joe’s, with a bag of groceries in his hand thawing slowly in the summer sun. Some college [...]

Kat Solomon | Save a Child2017-09-17T23:41:27-04:00
17 09, 2017

Jennifer Lewis | Saturday Mornings


[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image="22297" img_size="600x400" alignment="center" style="vc_box_rounded"][vc_column_text]White knuckles knocked on the glass. Tanya flinched then looked up to find a thin woman with an angular face, watery blue eyes, and shiny coral [...]

Jennifer Lewis | Saturday Mornings2017-09-17T23:37:07-04:00
17 09, 2017

Sara Kachelman | How My Heart Really Feels


[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image="22274" img_size="600x400" alignment="center" style="vc_box_rounded"][vc_column_text]Every night at 8 p.m. I wait for the beautiful telemarketer to call again. Her voice has a radio liquidation. She’s lowered it like a man’s. [...]

Sara Kachelman | How My Heart Really Feels2017-09-19T20:57:04-04:00
17 09, 2017

Reno Evangelista | Fiction


The woman looks confused. She stares at the girl, who is the only other moving thing in the dark of the new year. She says something that sounds like the hissing of water as it falls to a hot pan. The girl has gone through more than half the matches now, and the woman looks old enough to be her mother. She strikes another.

Reno Evangelista | Fiction2018-12-20T12:55:04-04:00
17 09, 2017

Samuel Rafael Barber | Fiction


Oh how I longed for that excitement, oh how I longed for that feeling as I would wrap the helicopter in the dish towels given to us by Cousin Vitto and unwrap it again in a desperate attempt to capture the magic that now eluded me but had been powerfully felt not so long ago.

Samuel Rafael Barber | Fiction2018-12-20T12:54:41-04:00
17 09, 2017

Bailey Pittenger | Fiction


Luxury The narrative is only conflict or complaint. I ask my friends, If a vagina had a facial expression, what would you read? My friend A [...]

Bailey Pittenger | Fiction2018-12-20T12:47:10-04:00
17 09, 2017

Ali Raz | Fiction


Two boarding passes and I’m sitting on a sofa in this airport, waiting for a plane again. I feel my fear in the palm of my hand. The old exhaustion. Familiar churning in my gut. It’s time to leave. I can’t wait. Outside’s a massive, swamplike heat. Humidity. I want to dip my head in acid. Clean myself out. Shake the dirt that’s all over me. It’s time to leave at last and I can’t wait, but I think something’s happened, this blinding flash of light.

Ali Raz | Fiction2018-12-20T12:44:59-04:00
17 09, 2017

Kevin Chong | Fiction


My own mother wore the same handmade clothes until the day she never woke up. Try as I might, I am nowhere near the seamstress she was. So now I wear my daughter’s old clothes. She left a closet full of them, in perfect condition, after she moved out of the house. There are enough sweatshirts for me to live out my days in them.

Kevin Chong | Fiction2018-12-20T12:45:06-04:00
17 09, 2017

Naima Coster | Nonfiction


It was nothing more to me than a mantra, and I didn’t see then that the motto was the invention of a school run nearly entirely by black women—teachers, school safety officers, the principal and assistant principal—designed to help us, we hundreds of black and brown children, to affirm our own dignity, while we were young, while school still served as a kind of shield, however insufficient, from the rest of the city, its hard facts and violence.

Naima Coster | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:06:08-04:00
17 09, 2017

Natalie Frazier | Nonfiction


My first sexual encounter with a woman was homecoming. It was a trip to Disney World after winning the World Series. It was prying the Oscar out of La La Land’s cold white hands and relinquishing it to Moonlight. It was a tweet going viral despite a typo. It was everything.

Natalie Frazier | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:05:54-04:00
16 09, 2017

Anna Kaye-Rogers | Nonfiction


Tendrils of dark hair dangle from her bun; refusing to be ordered and catalogued.  She is wrapped in a dark sweater that has no end and drapes over itself.  If she was a color, she would be lavender and the sky at dusk.  She does not contrast with the dusky oranges and sun-streaked pink tones.  She compliments them.

Anna Kaye-Rogers | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:05:30-04:00
4 08, 2017

Tiny Spills | Kaveh Akbar


Gmail, Twitter, an article on Coleridge called “Is the Ancient Mariner a Zombie?”, my Game of Thrones fantasy league score tables, Natalie Scenters-Zapico’s “Women’s Work” from the Boston Review, Wikipedia page for the singer Rebekah Del Rio, essay on the Punjabi poet Shiv Kumar Batalvi, Twitter

Tiny Spills | Kaveh Akbar2018-12-31T10:26:28-04:00
28 07, 2017

Tatiana Ryckman | I Don’t Think of You (Until I Do)


Months after using my camera, I developed a roll of film and found you on it. I thought of Sontag writing, “The sense of the unattainable that can be evoked by photographs feeds directly into the erotic feelings of those for whom desirability is increased by distance.” I felt obvious and became embarrassed.

Tatiana Ryckman | I Don’t Think of You (Until I Do)2017-07-28T17:21:13-04:00
17 07, 2017

Troy Onyango | Nonfiction


The sky is the colour of a sketch artist’s thumb when the bus sneaks its way out of the bus station, headed for the port town of Kisumu – home; a place so distant it requires at least a week of mental preparation and enough love for those whose existence make up that word.

Troy Onyango | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:04:23-04:00
17 07, 2017

Ayden LeRoux | Nonfiction


I never slept in this bed, though at one time I longed to. Instead it was left unconsummated. The summer when I imagined sleeping here, I went to have my tarot cards read over and over and over again.

Ayden LeRoux | Nonfiction2018-12-29T13:01:28-04:00
17 07, 2017

Marta Balcewicz | Nonfiction


“Guadalajara!” she said to me a couple more times in that locker room, with the showers thundering in the background and naked women slapping their suits down on wet benches. “Guadalajara.”

Marta Balcewicz | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:59:56-04:00
17 07, 2017

Lindsey Webb | Nonfiction


When I’m young, it’s the season of the rabbit—cute, horrible, skinny, sprinting under the sagebrush when a truck comes up the dirt road.

Lindsey Webb | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:59:20-04:00
17 07, 2017

Gabby Vachon | Nonfiction


He, on the other hand, actually did meth, which was less cool that I thought. He looked more like a coke guy to me, but what do I know about what a coke guy looks like? As a child I smelled pot on my street and wanted desperately to call 911, so I'm not exactly what you would call "street savvy".

Gabby Vachon | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:58:37-04:00
17 07, 2017

Corinna Chong | Nonfiction


“Sturdier than the old one,” my mum said, “and it’ll keep the draft out.” A new door to cover the evidence that our house was not secure, but permeable. Walls like sieves, find a hole and enter.

Corinna Chong | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:57:19-04:00
17 07, 2017

Tia Lucas | Nonfiction


I only remember my friends as having little teeth as so I can’t comment on their current state or the orthodontia sagas they may have endured. I should add here that I was also a thumb-sucker.

Tia Lucas | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:56:37-04:00
16 07, 2017

Natasha Young | Nonfiction


Post-coital tristesse (PCT) or post-coital dysphoria (PCD) is the feeling of sadness, anxiety, agitation or aggression after sexual intercourse. Its name comes from ...

Natasha Young | Nonfiction2018-12-29T12:53:21-04:00
14 07, 2017

Tiny Spills | LA Warman


I can stay calm during a crisis. But only if it’s very, very serious. Trivial complications provoke a totally outsized reaction from me. I can only handle catastrophes.

Tiny Spills | LA Warman2017-08-04T13:43:45-04:00
14 07, 2017

Olivia Mardwig | Practice


After rereading it you feel a weakness that draws out of you like a low tide until there are only raised boats in the mud and incredible want. Why didn’t the character in the story predict that? What did she know that you don’t?

Olivia Mardwig | Practice2017-07-17T01:57:34-04:00
14 07, 2017

Thomas Molander | To See Abundant o


He reached into his briefcase, pulled out an apple, wiped it on his shirt, and took a large chomp. He watched himself chew in the rear-view mirror. He ate the apple’s core too because he had nowhere to dispose of it and he didn’t want to chuck it out the window in case the client pulled in at exactly that moment.

Thomas Molander | To See Abundant o2017-07-17T16:14:54-04:00
14 07, 2017

Lisa Piazza | The Beat Between


If you think I see Sibley, if you think I see Ruze, if you think I see Gran or my mom or Ms. K – sorry, you lose.  In Gran’s town, the streets don’t care if you are desperate or sad – the streets, like the dark houses, like the faraway sky, like the trees, do what they’re gonna do.  They keep quiet.  They keep calm – each intersection on auto-light: red, green, yellow.  Stop, go, slow.  Green, yellow, red, green.   Go slow, stop, go back…or go home. 

Lisa Piazza | The Beat Between2018-11-24T14:19:33-04:00
14 07, 2017

Katy Kim | Poetry


We all slept in the same bed— bodies curved like mandibles. I was plume and warm feathered by your ginseng breathing,

Katy Kim | Poetry2018-12-27T01:41:42-04:00
14 07, 2017

Nadia Choudhury | Poetry


     desires to toss them to the ground      desires to read the shards’ constellation of fates      desires to know if his is lost somewhere in her

Nadia Choudhury | Poetry2018-12-10T22:18:56-04:00
11 07, 2017

Alexis Pope | Poetry


The wet of the day I announce to nonspecific Bodies fill a space to watch Words make up a language I’m not sure I completely

Alexis Pope | Poetry2018-12-10T22:35:24-04:00
11 07, 2017

Ethan Feuer | Earjob   


Under her keyboard was a faint eeee. Feeble warble weakly insistent like a dog shut outside. The eeee was deep in her laptop’s guts. Her brother Mark was on video chat, her famous and handsome brother, mouth-breathing due to his rhinoplasty and making tattoo suggestions. But she could hear it between his sentences, the eeee.

Ethan Feuer | Earjob   2017-07-14T17:31:04-04:00
11 07, 2017

Bonnie Chau | Poetry


1. Eat so many almonds, eat them until you are full to the brim with roasted almond skin pieces and tiny chewed up almond pieces, and then look in the mirror and see if your eye resembles the nut.

Bonnie Chau | Poetry2018-12-10T22:37:36-04:00
11 07, 2017

Cathy Ulrich | This Is Not Your Beautiful House


There’s nothing wrong with your life, other than the obvious things. The other girl is rich, though, the kind of rich with soft hands and chauffeurs. You meet her outside her mansion, a baseball cap tipped over your face to hide it.

Cathy Ulrich | This Is Not Your Beautiful House2017-07-17T01:53:56-04:00
11 07, 2017

Leah Bailly | Paradise, NV


I also occasionally fell into a coma. I would dream of Las Vegas past, when I was a kid, when I flew down with my grandparents and we could still go to the Sands and the Silver Slipper and the Stardust. They would spend six weeks in the desert every winter in a motel two blocks off the Strip with a pool and a large Yiddish clientele.

Leah Bailly | Paradise, NV2018-12-20T12:40:19-04:00
11 07, 2017

Alexandria Narae Young | Miyoung in April


Within a few minutes a woman in a red sweatshirt came to collect Tammy. Anisha left soon after, and then, to my consternation, so did Daniel Park. By lunchtime half the class had gone home. At the time I had a strange fondness for carrots dipped in ketchup, and it was this I was enjoying when my father appeared in the doorway.

Alexandria Narae Young | Miyoung in April2017-07-17T11:53:55-04:00
11 07, 2017

Justin Brouckaert | The Grandmothers


The grandmothers walk through the front door, two and three at a time, bonding over talk of the weather. They lower their umbrellas, brush raindrops from their shawls and smooth their sheen grey hair, propped up in helmets or draped over grandmotherly shoulders. Cats and dogs, they say. Absolutely cats and dogs.

Justin Brouckaert | The Grandmothers2017-07-17T11:59:12-04:00