Stories

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Poem of the Week

Here’s where memory, where waves of light washed over him.

First & Second Looks

I knew it was Bible hell she had in mind, hell that went on and on.

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Story of the Week

He ended every year in this manner, writing and dreaming.

Editors' Note

Narrative offers any reader a modern pocket library.

Story of the Week

Chess was a humiliation that hung over him like a leper’s bell.

Short Shorts

Our house sits alone out in the country, seven miles north of town.

Winter Contest Winners

I can see on him how things are changing for and against us.

Story of the Week

Lorenzo and me, we’d squat our own building. It was the new frontier.

Fiction

My daughter’s favorite game is Holocaust. She’s quite inventive.

Poem of the Week

Streetlights throw the blinds against the ceiling. It’s 7:00 p.m.

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First & Second Looks
Poetry

Royal baby George is tucked in the crook of his mother’s elbow.

Nonfiction

Advance planning was never Hank’s strong suit, he had to leave her.

Story of the Week

Paul King was shiftless and drunken; ugly tales were told of him.

Story of the Week

She did not leave him for the sailor. So why should he be angry?

Poetry Contest Winners

Is she dreaming of the rivers soft with codling in her hometown?

Poetry

All over the planet people try to end pain: striptease, bee stings.

Nonfiction

Fiction, no matter how short or long, is the art form of human yearning.

Fiction

The allure of Mardi Gras is to feel this way: unseen and unseeable.

Story of the Week

Some inner voice told her that now or never her fate would be decided.

Poem of the Week

A boy watching another boy lucky gets an ache. That is a small motor.

Story of the Week

She favoured me with an even more viciously scornful “Don’t care!”

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Nonfiction

We never really had what might be considered a normal conversation.

Classics

When he had passed from view, I stumbled back from the window.

Story of the Week

She is complaisant with all her clothes off. She moves to his touch.

Story of the Week

Americans have always a kind of tenderness for cheat.

Story of the Week

In a way she enjoyed the slow, sad feeling of letting it go.

iStories

She is very rich. She will leave me everything when she dies, he says.

Poetry

I have, in the long solitude of my body, asked for something else.