When a stray dog broke into the family garden one afternoon, my cat chased him back out onto the street.
House of Animals by Tal Abbady
The Waiting Rooms by Michael Henry
My mother is in the bedroom, its atmosphere a fog of cigarette smoke. She works through the good book of crosswords, lying on her stomach on the creaky queen bed.
Good Intentions and a Bad Idea by Anjoli Roy
The thing is, I don’t even like dogs. In my world, dogs are either small, yappy things that gnaw your ankles or monsters that slobber on your sundresses.
I Am Still Here by Emily Brisse
A three o’clock school bus. Early autumn. Monday. The sun seeps through glass and sizzles against the black seats, burning the backs of arms and legs…
Period by Gretchen Clark
In sixth grade, I came home to find a book at the end of my bed. Its title, Period, was written in big white letters, punctuated by a bright red dot.
Cowboys Are His Weakness by Kim Steutermann Rogers
I twiddle with the radio during the four-hour drive from the airport in Midland, Texas, to Big Bend National Park… Now, the airwaves match the landscape: vacant.
My Barber Ben by Barth Landor
My barber Ben cut hair in Auschwitz. He spent three and a half years in a darkness in which it would seem impossible for anything to have grown, including hair.
Review: This Is Not a Confession by David Olimpio
David Olimpio’s This Is Not a Confession (Awst Press, 2016) is at turns eloquently self-conscious, wry, and lyrical.
Review: A Backpack, A Bear, and Eight Crates of Vodka by Lev Golinkin
“Did you hear? America is closing the border. The U.S. Congress will stop accepting Soviet Jews: anyone who’s not registered in Vienna won’t be able to go to America.”
The Writing Life: “Word-Hoard” by Stephen D. Barker
Wordhoard is an Anglo-Saxon epithet for the mind in the chest, seat of reason and emotion—we still speak of getting things off of our chests.
