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Showing results for September, 2017

Come, Love photo
September 20, 2017 | Fiction

Come, Love

Miriam Cohen

He was at the window. I heard the tap-tap-tap.

Mema's Alaskan Taco Hut photo
September 20, 2017 | Fiction

Mema's Alaskan Taco Hut

Lauren Dostal

After, we slunk back to Mema’s Alaskan Taco Hut and I crawled into a booth and ordered with two fingers like we... more

death by holograms photo
September 19, 2017 | Poetry

death by holograms

Chance Dibben

I am trying to come out to my father / but all he wants to talk about / are the 1985 Chicago Bears

Like Mennonite Girls in the Bus Station Looking at Brochures photo
September 19, 2017 | Fiction

Like Mennonite Girls in the Bus Station Looking at Brochures

Laura Scalzo

  Our language is rapid and hard but we’re young so we giggle,... more

New Mother photo
September 18, 2017 | Fiction

New Mother

Brianna McNish

“I don’t like how her flesh looks,” my daughter tells me. According to Phoebe, this woman has the flesh of a winter peach.

2 Poems photo
September 18, 2017 | Poetry

2 Poems

Doug Paul Case

Self-Portrait as Zac Efron’s Butt Double What a feeling to find yourself wearing a nude thong mounting a green... more

Murmuration photo
September 15, 2017 | Poetry

Murmuration

ash adams

Before roosting in the city, starlings dive— five thousand deep in flock. Like cells they follow the law of localization.... more

Two Poems photo
September 14, 2017 | Poetry

Two Poems

Larry Narron

BROWSING FOR CHAINSAWS The carwash that neighbors the boarded-up hospital suddenly leaks back to life. A rust-eaten... more

Buddy photo
September 13, 2017 | Fiction

Buddy

Dana Diehl

“We made out once,” my sister says. I thought “I was in love with him for a night.”

Two Poems photo
September 12, 2017 | Poetry

Two Poems

Katie Foster

All i want is an apple but no one / is picking these days.

Exposure photo
September 11, 2017 | Fiction

Exposure

Kat Gonso

My daughter Lisbeth checks Missy’s gums for bleeders. “Sometimes the damage done takes generations to make itself known,” she says, nodding along with her words, agreeing with herself. 

Clown College photo
September 8, 2017 | Fiction

Clown College

Sophia Veltfort

By now Lena was supposed to be the version of herself at whom people looked twice, and whom Alec missed, at home, now that they lived together. But she was still just herself, in stockings and hoodie, her face half-done. 

Death Note / mother! / final movie review photo
September 7, 2017 | movie reviews

Death Note / mother! / final movie review

Sean Kilpatrick

Domo

After You Texted photo
September 7, 2017 | Poetry

After You Texted

Janet Frishberg

and a vague behind-the-eyes tired from reading about destruction until after midnight

Mail From The Person You Ate photo
September 6, 2017 | Fiction

Mail From The Person You Ate

Jennifer Fliss

At first Margaret went around whispering about the rape. The rape? Her rape? Did she own it? Did she have to keep it? Did she share it? 

After Laughter photo
September 5, 2017 | Jukebox Happy Hour

After Laughter

Christopher Gonzalez

But while I am nervous for what’s to come, I’ve always found comfort in Paramore—whether I was: 15 and head banging to “Misery Business” during anime club; crushing it on my Rock Band drum set to “That’s What You Get”; fucking up at my first publishing internship with an earful of “Ain’t It Fun”; or lip-syncing to “Still Into You” in my junior year dorm room, at 4 a.m., when I was in denial about how in love I was with a best friend.

Four Excerpts from Temporal photo
September 5, 2017 | Fiction

Four Excerpts from Temporal

Troy James Weaver

Don’t know whether I was really desperate for weed or just plain curious about that dude, Duffy, but for whatever reason, I found myself back at his trailer, on the couch, watching TV and smoking his shit.

260 Saturdays photo
September 4, 2017 | Nonfiction

260 Saturdays

Jody Kennedy

We wiped down, scraped, rearranged, shook out, swept, mopped, vacuumed, stripped, waxed, sealed.

Two Poems photo
September 4, 2017 | Poetry

Two Poems

Mike Soto

[The wind of that dream lasted a horizon] The wind of that dream lasted a horizon of years in my stomach, leaving a lone... more

Funeral photo
September 1, 2017 | Fiction

Funeral

Gwen Werner

We move next door to a gas station. The town is small. No stoplights. Small enough that beer is delivered from a single brewery in a single form: light.