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Showing results for March, 2019

March 31, 2019 | Nonfiction

B is for Breakfast

Alice Lowe

“I’ll be right up,” I said, seeking the comfort of the remaining parental arms. But no, he told me, “wait until morning.”

March 30, 2019 | Fiction

The Conquest of Bread

Joshua Hebburn

It tasted like apple cider — apple and something astringent — cinnamon, a strong cinnamon, warming, brown sugar, and sprinkled throughout the loaf, unadvertised, was some kind of dried fruit with a mild taste — raisins, probably — partially rehydrated by the thawing process.

March 29, 2019 | Poetry

Rapture

SP Mulroy

Evan, in a cheap hotel room...

March 29, 2019 | Fiction

Fable of the Everyman

Tucker Leighty-Phillips

My mother and father are stuck in an optic deadlock, her looking at him like she is trying to solve a puzzle or remember the name of a particular film, him looking like he’s just deciphered answers to both.

March 28, 2019 |

Don Giovanni

Michael Mungiello

Mike and I sat in our separate seats and waved to each other. I’d texted him the night before and asked “Wanna see Don Giovanni tomorrow night?” and he said “What the hell. It’s a good hump day

March 28, 2019 | Fiction

Work

Lily Wang

When I clock out at the end of the night my chit says I worked over 10 hours. Before I leave big brother tells me he has a great idea: walk like you need to get to the toilet. I see chef in line at a McDonalds. 

March 27, 2019 | Poetry

Two Poems

Soon Wiley

"Whipped" and "Kansas"

March 27, 2019 | Fiction

Rubber Mother

Adam Falik

I’m on a date with this dude, the guy’s gorgeous, and ripped, skin all sunburnt like a surfer with big white teeth and confident eyes.  It’s all too sexy.  But I’m on guard.  I want to deny him but

March 26, 2019 |

Ghosts of Summer

Stephen Seabridge

We are intrepid travellers hunting – or rather haunting – the square. We are exhausting the place of its details.

March 26, 2019 | Fiction

In Which You Fly Home For Your Brother's Funeral

Bridget Adams

You elaborate: Christmas just makes people emotional. "No," she says, raking at her hair with French-tipped nails. "I don't think so."

March 23, 2019 | Fiction

Aisle of Scary Preserved Things

Jeremy Kniola

We’re riding the red line south when Xue suggests stopping in Chinatown to purchase thousand-year eggs. I picture her cracking open an enormous egg and a pterodactyl flying out.  “They’re not really a

March 22, 2019 | Poetry

Marigolds

Sophie March

In the dark before sleep...

March 21, 2019 | Fiction

Muscle Memory

Michelle Ross

Also, every time they flew and he had that damn backpack on, he forgot that the space he occupied extended beyond his physical back. He whacked bystanders in the shoulders or the chest, and, at least once, the face.

March 19, 2019 | Fiction

Many Fathers Away

Babak Lakghomi

Before that, the father had been away. It was a time that many fathers were away.

March 19, 2019 | Nonfiction

The Woman Who Wasn't There

Nicole Hamer

The bracelet tells someone where she is, honey. But it doesn’t tell you why.

March 18, 2019 | Poetry

Three Poems

Juan Camillo Garza

"Poetry," "Cleaning the House," and "Leaving Again"

March 16, 2019 | Fiction

On the Yard (An excerpt from The Great American Suction)

David Nutt

They bang their silverware and take turns slamming the toilet seat. They drag their garbage bins too late to the curb and leave them abused by stark weathers all week. Shaker knows there is an awkward progenitor situation.

March 15, 2019 | Poetry

Two Poems

Catriona Wright

"Friendship & Other Unknowable Places" and "Diagnosis at the Walk-in Clinic"

March 15, 2019 | Fiction

The Runner

Noelle Rose

I have coffee in my cup. I could toss the hot liquid on her and rush through the revolving door to my appointment, make her the slug.

March 14, 2019 | Fiction

When She Leaves

Kyle Summerall

Dixie leaned against the door, feeling the blood rush to one side before pounding it against the wood.

March 13, 2019 | Poetry

Two Poems

Virginia Thomas

"Train People" and "Leaving Philadelphia"

March 13, 2019 | Fiction

Sour

Chelsey Grasso

The porn gets boring. The plants start to die. I call up the daycare and ask for a job that they will not give back to me. He doesn’t come again.

March 12, 2019 | Fiction

Here I Am Lord

Ifer Moore

I’d scratch them by stretching out my fingers wide like cheerleading jazz hands and rub them up and down aggressively along our itchy wall to wall carpeted floors.

March 11, 2019 | Fiction

In Preparation for Radiation

John Oliver Hodges

Being Jack’s a guy, he’s also tasked with the act of pulling my ass apart when needed so the Radiation Oncologist, Dr. Katz, a short petite woman of prissy demeanor who does her ass work in civilian clothes, even while wearing heels and a tiny purse strapped across her midsection, can insert her finger.

March 9, 2019 | Fiction

The Serial Shitter

Kyle Swensen

Four days after the initial shit, another pile of human shit was found, this time by the foreman himself, who was checking the inventory of an item located in an ill-lit and rarely visited corner of the warehouse. He immediately called a meeting.

March 8, 2019 | Fiction

Rubber Mother

Adam Falik

I want to deny him but he’s playin’ it natural and attentive.  He’s good but I ain’t sure if he knows he’s good or if he’s just as polite as he’s coming off.

March 7, 2019 | Poetry

Two Poems

Travis Tate

"First Letter to David" and "On Wanting to Be Loved"

March 7, 2019 | Fiction

Regrettable Head

Janna Brooke Wallack

She looked better and better to herself in his bathroom mirror as she washed up and got all ready to spend the night with him in his warm bed. 

March 6, 2019 | Fiction

Instructions for Mourning

Troy James Weaver

I put a stone at each corner of the paper to hold it still beneath the fan in our bedroom. The instructions were simple.

March 5, 2019 | Fiction

Hide and Seek, With My Nieces, In the Large and Empty Summer Home My Parents Just Bought

Alexandra Tanner

A furniture delivery arrives, as my mother warned me upon leaving for the store that it might, and two nieces who have hidden themselves in a cabinet come out at the sound of the doorbell to ogle the brightly-colored truck in the driveway.