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STORY OF THE WEEK
By Meg Serino
It would be difficult, the hardest thing, perhaps, she had ever done. Because she does love Aaron, even now. Even after Ted; even after this one week.
POEM OF THE WEEK
By Ha Jin
You can’t go home anymore and will drift on the wind of chance—wherever you land you will be an outsider. Accept the role of a wanderer.
FOR WRITERS 30 AND UNDER
A contest for writers, poets, artists, photographers, performers, and filmmakers between eighteen and thirty years old.
Please see the
OPEN TO ALL WRITERS
We’re looking for short stories, essays, memoirs, photo essays, graphic stories, and excerpts from long fiction and nonfiction.
Please see the
No One Knows the Way to Heaven
By Ocean Vuong
You will look & look—& see only the world. Well here’s the world, sweetheart. One little word as small & large as a father.
By Peter Taylor
The first one, two, three steps I take across the room are taken with trepidation. And, so to speak, in midair.
Peter Taylor’s “Allegiance”
By Ann Beattie
Peter Taylor’s stories are jigsaw puzzles of nuance.
When Enough Is Enough: Age and the Creative Impulse
By Lynn Freed
Some writers persist into old age; others,
others, run out of heat.
A Vacuum Is a Space Entirely Devoid of Matter
By Sherman Alexie
In jail, or on my reservation, you’d get your teeth loosened for lying like that.
She’s the Bomb
By T. Coraghessan Boyle
The words she can’t say are looping over and over like a short circuit in her brain:
There’s a bomb in the Bank Center quad. A bomb, you hear me?
By T. Coraghessan Boyle
What you see, right off, is that this isn’t the sort of hero who’ll turn the other cheek or out of some misguided notion of fairness or love.
The Storm of
By Mary Morris
He wants Rebecca to tell him as if she holds the piece of the puzzle, the key to the secret. And, of course, she does.
By Tina Nettesheim
We’d like to talk to you about her relationship with this kid, Gage,
a policeman said on the phone, as if Ms. Bell and Gage had a connection that wasn’t sex, sex, sex, sex, sex.
By Julia Scheeres
My adopted brother died in a car crash not six miles from this room when we were twenty, and my life was ripped in two: before and after.
By Pablo Neruda
Almighty death invited me many times: it was like the hidden salt in waves, and its invisible flavors tasted like collapsing shipwrecks.
Bleecker Street, Summer
By Derek Walcott
It is a month of street accordions and sprinklers laying the dust, small shadows running from me.
By William Butler Yeats
We sat together at summer’s end, that beautiful woman, your close friend, and you and I, and talked of poetry.
All My Pretty Ones
By Laura Kasischke
A man lets loose his hounds, or he ties up his hounds loosely. He lives in a nice house, for a few years, blamelessly. Or he lives in a white house.
By Sarah Mandl
Is my body blameless? Imagine drowning in yellow lilies or being born twice mallow-soft like a drying kiss of dew. Hades, I am your mother too.
At the Sunoco in West Virginia
By Catherine Pond
My father is dreamy, forgetful, aloof. But I’ve never actually been left behind before.
Summer, Rhode Island and
By Sarah Ruhl
It wasn’t until you saw blood in the toilet and saw the red unfurl, you let the sadness in.
By Nicole Cooley
Loss: as if you could lock your teeth against it. Or slam the front door to keep it out.
Adventures of a Would-Be Filmmaker
By Huguette Martel
I am a painter, but I’ve always dreamed of making movies. Since I am in my seventies, it is now or never, and I know it.
By HC Palmer
Five klicks south of Phuoc Vinh, Val at my side and my first visit since the war, I’m searching the old firebase—grown back to jungle after thirty years.
Reading Three Poems
By Donald Hall
Great blue mountain! Ghost. I look at you from the porch of the farmhouse where I watched you all summer as a boy.
Cartoon Art Volume 2017-09
By Various Artists
Great new toons by Pat Byrnes, Nathan Gray, David Sipress, Rich Sparks, and Julia Suits.