STORY OF THE WEEK

Doing Good Work Together

Stories are places to live, inside the imagination. We know a lot of them, and we’re in trouble when we don’t know which one is ours.

POEM OF THE WEEK

Little Road

I forgot the pucker the lips must make so the air passing through them will bend and become rue and way and road.

NARRATIVE OUTLOUD

Betrayal

That evening I went to Charlotte's room to confess. Betrayal was written on my face, in my eyes, the movement of my hands, and I knew it.

NARRATIVE 10

Narrative 10

Best part of the day?

Definitely the early morning. I grew up on a dairy farm and so am physically incapable of sleeping in.

FICTION

FICTION

FICTION

FICTION

The Stroke

“I hated your secretary. I still resent how cowardly you were in her presence. Why didn’t you hire someone unqualified?”

FICTION

The Manzanos

My name is my grandmother’s: Ofelia Alma Zamora. I am eleven years old and too young to die, but I am dying nonetheless.

FICTION

hittingrod

His father said, What’s keeping your mother? His father’s face slack but coloring, his annoyance no parody now.

SHORT SHORT

DRAMA IN 150 WORDS

NARRATIVE 10

SHORT SHORT

Into the River Again

After my mother died, I understood about the river of grief that runs beneath everything, easy to access, easy to dip one’s cup.

DRAMA IN 150 WORDS

NARRATIVE 10

Narrative 10

Ten words you use most on the page? In life?

Cocktails! (The rest are irrelevant.)

NONFICTION

NONFICITON

NONFICTION

NONFICTION

A Real Writer

All tales of youth involve a large measure of folly, so I continue to be amazed that my brief career as a literary agent yielded any positive results.

NONFICITON

The First Eight Books, 1970–1985

Two basic questions the editor should be addressing to the author are: Are you saying what you want to say? and, Are you saying it as clearly and consistently as possible?

NONFICTION

Cuba Libre

History is fickle. No one long rules it, though Castro’s endurance invited an illusion of success. Cuban youth have a saying, grown tired and ironic, “Un año mas.” One more year.

POETRY

POETRY

POETRY

The Crossing

You cut through the surface impelling yourself buoyant and unresisting the water holding you as before the undertow of this war.

POETRY

Ghazals for the Body

My love has the lifespan of an Arkansas Black apple. Every time I unfold the paperclips their shear strength is less, is less.

The Children and Other Poems

I wasn’t made to live alone. One night there’s a sky with clouds by Magritte, the next you’re headed over the guardrail, and who do you tell?

POETRY

POETRY

POETRY

POETRY

Independence Day and Other Poems

The neighbor's sprinkler is set midday to soak the sidewalk and the dying summer grass, but it makes my daughter shriek.

POETRY

From the World-Womb of Our Impending Doom

What do we hope for, horse? What do we hope for at this point? There is nowhere to run.

POETRY

Two Poems

You were never a cadet, but understood the importance of angles, the heat of friction, how uncontrollable the atmosphere.

POETRY

POETRY

POETRY

POETRY

Electricity and Other Poems

I saw buildings shooting up into the air, skylines blossoming and wilting, the whole cycle running over and over and over: blueprints to rubble.

POETRY

Interior Design and Other Poems

It’s easier to say welter is the weight of the sea, to think every gibbous moon is waxing, every crescent moon remaining the same.

POETRY

If I Die in a Combat Zone

If I must be killed, I wish to be killed by a sniper. His efficient nail does not require a tree or an IED.

POETRY

IPOEMS

POETRY

Between a Cynic and a Romantic

We just hope someone will prove us wrong—as in reptiles have three-chamber hearts, but the crocodile is equipped with four.

Two Poems

Showering at night is short fiction, a history bulletin, a guidebook to invisible reservoirs of this region.

IPOEMS

No Apples, No Clover, No Hay, No Grass, No Carrots, No Maize, No Alfalfa, No Linseed, No Deep Bag of Oats

Just sugar cubes and a crop for you.

iPOEM

NARRATIVE OUTLOUD

NARRATIVE OUTLOUD

iPOEM

The Eclipse That Quenched the Ego

Draw me a map of your agonies, all the missing rivers you dried, a star-thread species nobody could keep in the grave.

NARRATIVE OUTLOUD

Two Poems

The author reads his poems “The Day I Fled My Twelve-Year-Old Life” and “Sail, Baby, Sail” at Narrative Night Santa Fe.

NARRATIVE OUTLOUD

Poetry Readings

The master reads five of his poems during our interview with him.

READERS’ NARRATIVES

READERS’ NARRATIVES

6 MUST-READS

READERS’ NARRATIVES

Goa, on the Arabian Sea

Ulrike swam in the gentle waters of the Arabian Sea. She seemed to find relief from her gloomy partner and subservient role.

READERS’ NARRATIVES

Hollywood

She said she’d sworn off men and was living with her transsexual female slave in a loft in downtown LA. She wasn’t accepting any new clients.

6 MUST-READS

We’ve chosen a miscellany—a great classic, a hilarious audio reading, a poignant photography portrait, one of the best dog stories ever written, poetry that will blow you away, and a marvelous send-up of Ayn Rand—to entertain and delight you. Enjoy!