Belinda Hermawan

I tore up the paper. Coughed to cover the sound. Opened up my phone and played a video on YouTube of two service dogs chasing each other. The ad that played after was for cough drops.

2019-10-04T11:13:21-04:00September 2019|FICTION, Uncategorized|

Cklara Moradian | Nonfiction

I passed by dried limes, herbs, fresh cheese, honey combs, lentils, henna and walnuts. I stopped to ask for a sample of red plum paste that tasted so sour all the muscles in my face twisted up. The vendors laughed at me kindly. I wanted to disappear into everything. I wanted to run away.

2018-12-29T16:29:53-05:00October 2018|Uncategorized|

Amanda Oosthuizen | Fiction

I find the white-eyed bird with the red beak halfway up a column of rock, and although he is dazed by the gathering heat of the day, I manage to coax him into the cage without difficulty. He is around a metre in height. He has grown since we last met and takes up most of the cage. I would like to feed him but I haven’t seen any mice for a while.

2018-11-24T14:19:40-05:00June 2018|Uncategorized|

Erin Kirsh | Fiction

I search for a good sleeping posture as night edges closer to business hours. I lay on my side, then on my stomach. I hang an arm off the bed. I flip the pillow to the cool side and back. I think about Adrienne, how soft the blankets on her bed are. I try and try, but I can’t get comfortable.

2018-11-03T01:37:44-04:00June 2018|Uncategorized|

Elisa Luna-Ady

FLOOD DIARIES:ENTRY ONE there is still so much i cannot parse / while a blue-black wolf paces my bedroom window / the unfinished painting of a calavera woman behind

2019-09-29T19:27:48-04:00January 2017|Uncategorized|

Geoffrey Line

Like a penny into a fountain, she fell from the top deck of a cruise ship into the black Caribbean. Tink, poor Tink, prepubescent, precocious, ten-year-old Tink, the most

2019-09-29T10:51:11-04:00October 2015|FICTION, Uncategorized|

Marguerite Duras

Originally appeared in La Quinzaine littéraire, numéro 363, 16/31-1-1982. Translated by Madeleine Maillet It took a serious enough depression, lasting several months, for me to get past the first fifty

2019-09-29T10:51:28-04:00October 2015|Uncategorized|

Paal-Helge Haugen

TRANSLATED BY Julia Johanne Tolo Tired, unquenchable, taut against a blanket of warm wool. Jitter like heavy fire back and forth through my body, burning me dry. All this time

2019-09-29T10:51:43-04:00October 2015|Uncategorized|

Allison Grayhurst

I turn the corner and someone has been here, picking up clover, invading front lawns, rebelling against privacy. A rat’s corpse as slender as a leaf lies at my

2019-09-29T10:53:44-04:00August 2015|Uncategorized|

Dawn Promislow

The almonds I think grew slowly on a tree (a wild almond tree) along a curved road near a rounding hill, perhaps in Lebanon, but that may not be—no mind.

2019-09-29T10:44:29-04:00May 2015|Uncategorized|

Anna Halberstadt

MOSCOW SUBURB Blocks of gray buildings in Tyoplyi Stan a windy suburb in the southwest of Moscow where Napoleon’s army used to burn fires to try to survive the

2019-09-29T10:43:27-04:00April 2015|Uncategorized|

Peter Gajdics

For Tibor Gábor Gajdics, 1930-2014 Stewed plums in cottage cheese dumplings squirt sweet explosions in my mouth. I left my flat on Wesselényi utca beside the Dohány Street Synagogue and

2019-09-29T10:43:23-04:00April 2015|Uncategorized|

Kim Chinquee

Bills come in like falling leaves. They soothe me: a record of where I've been, as if the things I have might possibly define me. Sometimes I look at the

2019-09-29T10:41:00-04:00January 2015|Uncategorized|

Marius Burokas

Townspeople (the other side of an old poem) town carnivals and songs. no one waits for tomorrow. drizzle. packed streets. a jumble at your feet. we all depart our dwellings

2019-09-29T10:36:20-04:00January 2015|Uncategorized|

Charles Finn

HE WOULD LEAVE HIS APARTMENT IN THE CITY It is rumored in his later years he would leave his apartment in the city and drive through the night to arrive before

2019-09-30T01:13:29-04:00December 2014|Uncategorized|

Eric Freshtman

LITTLE SUNSLittle Dude looks out the window as we approach Orlando International, at the wash of winking blue lights that tell the airplanes where to land. “A story,” I suggest.

2019-10-02T00:30:33-04:00December 2014|Uncategorized|