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.

Cklara Moradian | Nonfiction2018-12-29T16:29:53-05:00

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.

Amanda Oosthuizen | Fiction2018-11-24T14:19:40-05:00

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.

Erin Kirsh | Fiction2018-11-03T01:37:44-04:00

Tiny Spills | Lynn Melnick

Tabs open on your screen right now: 2 email accounts, VIDA’s website, twitter, an article on theGrio about strippers in NYC going on strike to protest the ongoing racism

Tiny Spills | Lynn Melnick2017-10-31T10:17:42-04:00

Craig Ledoux | The Never Ending Beer Parade

A coat check girl with deep pockets sits across from me. She’s excavating the night’s ticket stubs, dropping them on the table next to the double-wicked candle that conflates

Craig Ledoux | The Never Ending Beer Parade2018-11-24T14:18:41-05:00

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

Elisa Luna-Ady2019-09-29T19:27:48-04:00

JoAnna Novak |Silent Friends

Silent Friends  The two men flail on the balcony. Sky glitters behind them. One with goalpost arms. The dork with a toilet bowl mouth. Not potty—who said that? Just

JoAnna Novak |Silent Friends2018-11-24T15:20:00-05:00

Geoffrey Line

GOODBYE, TINK GEOFFREY LINE Like a penny into a fountain, she fell from the top deck of a cruise ship into the black Caribbean.

Geoffrey Line2020-01-20T23:15:12-05:00

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

Marguerite Duras2019-09-29T10:51:28-04:00

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

Allison Grayhurst2019-09-29T10:53:44-04:00

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.

Dawn Promislow2019-09-29T10:44:29-04:00

Nina Murray

…and none of them useful or meritorious a much-scraped palimpsest of things–lives, maybe–

Nina Murray2019-09-29T10:44:25-04:00

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

Anna Halberstadt2019-09-29T10:43:27-04:00

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

Marius Burokas2019-09-29T10:36:20-04:00

John Colasacco

They can’t find a working lighter, so they take all the shreds of tobacco out of their cigarettes.

John Colasacco2019-09-29T10:36:09-04:00

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

Charles Finn2019-09-30T01:13:29-04:00

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.

Eric Freshtman2019-10-02T00:30:33-04:00

Maia Evrona

The moment has fallen and--what a shame!--it is forever. What a kind of distance! And at your shadow’s fingers.

Maia Evrona2019-09-29T10:34:26-04:00