January 2, 2023 | Poetry
An Ordinary Hour
Stephanie Yue Duhem
You must stop dating
physicists, that sere barnacling across
the cold, leeward faces of rocks.
January 2, 2023 | Poetry
simone says
Anna Dorn
writing fiction in which people google things,
suffering in a very abstract way
trying very hard to shut the fuck up & failing
December 6, 2022 | Fiction
Back to School 2
Matthew Davis
At the head of the conference table sat a man scrolling on his phone, whom Michael intuited was the leader of this secret society.
November 9, 2022 | Nonfiction
Year of the Buffalo by Aaron Burch: a Review
Elizabeth Ellen
Becca, Ernie’s wife, estranged wife most of the novel until finally she is his ex-wife at the end, based on the author’s, based on Aaron’s, ex-wife, Elizabeth Ellen, who is, oddly, metally, writing these words, typing them into a Word doc at nine in the morning
Hierarchy of Fear (most fearful to least fearful*) in the Literary World
Elizabeth Ellen
-Editor at a literary journal attempting to be good, moral ppl (see: 1990s Christian Right)
Letter from the editor
Elizabeth Ellen
I never wanted to run this ship. Frankly, I’d rather spend my time writing.
Party Poems
Miss Unity
The other thing Belle did
Was burn three holes in my thigh
With her cigarette
Revenge for the chaos I’d caused
A LOW-HANGING TOWEL
Garielle Lutz
He had a little radio, and on the mornings it snowed, he listened over and over to the lists of school closings until he knew them by heart: Kellerville area, Longstead area, Mount Holly area, all the outlying place-names, all the Our Lady of’s. Sometimes there was only a two-hour delay, and he wondered what it must be like, to have the boon of two extra hours like that.
I'm Really Really Really Sorry
Sam Berman
Above the tree line, the sky has turned the color of a day-old bruise. The reception has begun to clear. Whichever uncle had parked his motorcycle in the driveway was now gone.
Start Over, But With Luck This Time
Sam Berman
Our dad knew about Surface-to-Air missiles. Our mother knew what we told her.
Can’t remember the last time I had a hard-on
Kristian O'Hare
Now I bake bread to stay busy, to not think about dying.
The Beautiful Home of Emma Valdesto
Sam Berman
I’m trying to lose my ego before Coachella.
I Could Signal Dominance in Email Correspondence as Trained but the Concept Is Offensive and I’m Baby
Sarah Lyn Rogers
I, I, I, I, the angel speaks herself
The Origins of Earth's Second Wave
Lily Arnell
And sure, not all moths were so blindly abiding, but that these grand ideas remained a possibility was often enough to console or comfort the moth. You see, the moth, culturally, was keenly aware of toxic attachments—meaning, they were rigidly open to all possibilities in an effort not to favor one delusion over another.
Another Day at the Museum of Forgetfulness
Todd Campbell
I finger a ring of keys and wonder what doors they might unlock.
Saturday Night
Ellie Lynch
He tells me he bought an ex girlfriend a $500 original copy of The Bell Jar. I say oh wow.
Best Debut Short Stories 2022: The PEN America Dau Prize INTRODUCTION
Yuka Igarashi & Sarah Lyn Rogers
Celebrating the publication today of this year's Best Debut Short Stories: The PEN America Dau Prize, including—among many other amazing and wonderful and brilliant stories—our very own "Them Bones"
I knew a terrible man once
Jennifer E Brown
There I was on Clement Street in the morning, trying to grow another body.
The Old Dog and Eternity
Lily Arnell
Sure, he’d miss chewing certain types of wood, the smell of garbage disposal, the indescribable pleasure of being shaded by a tree or large shrub. He could wait until spring, he supposed, to die among the scent of lilacs, one last taste of sweet pansy, a final sting of bee balm.
I Never Slept In My Bed On Ambien
R. Jones
Hello,
the worst thing about stopping Ambien was that I never did it with anybody else.
I did it alone in my bathtub.
I did it alone, smoking in the water, & when it kicked in I’d let the
The Doctrine of the Mean
Yejun Chun
As soon as I looked into the faces of my fellow classmates, I realized that we all arrived here by the same road. The most enthusiastic people had their cameras turned off.
Three Tales
Tetman Callis
I didn’t hurt him, except maybe his feelings.
Sonnet for the Physical Therapist Who Told Me This is Just the Way the Good Lord Made Me
Billie R. Tadros
It’s a sin,
to desire different architecture, I’m told
my beloved forgets how to pray
Anthony Thomas Lombardi
in a cellar not far from here, wine waits years to peak
before a bottle is cracked open only to empty
a bruise.
A Toddler Unmakes His Father’s Laundry
Geoff Anderson
Burying me # alive
in training pants and # rags is my son’s
# gift of sorts
How I Remember It
Sammi LaBue
1.
Remember when you would sit on the floor of my lavender painted room when I was 15 and you were 21? You’d twirl a dreadlock around your finger looking up at the wall of Teen People Magazine
Stir It Up: Katie Gutierrez talks about family recipes, writing with limited childcare, and her new novel More Than You’ll Ever Know
Hannah Grieco
Once upon a time, long before she was on Good Morning America, I met the kindest writer on Twitter. Not only was she a relatable mother-writer, but she also understood Scrivener. This was absolutely




