So scrimping on scratch-offs and candy bars and shit, I saved ten rolls of pennies, intending as I did to go on a crusade. To my Dollar Value, local store.
POEM OF THE WEEK
POEM OF THE WEEK
The Arborist
By Timothy Leo
Some say there’s a skeleton out here somewhere, a symbol of cleanliness, spread ashes, a cherry tree there is a drop cloth, tyvek.
FINAL MONTH TO ENTER
FINAL MONTH TO ENTER
Deadline: Fri., June 26, at 11:59 p.m., PST.
Open to all fiction and nonfiction writers. We’re looking for short stories, essays, memoirs, photo essays, graphic stories, all forms of literary nonfiction, and excerpts.
Please see the Guidelines.
18th ANNUAL POETRY CONTEST
18th ANNUAL POETRY CONTEST
“Poetry is a matter of life, not just a matter of language,” wrote Lucille Clifton, and we couldn’t agree more. We’re looking for work that moves with intention, that reveals something we didn’t know we were missing.
FICTION
FICTION
Fleur-de-lis
By Susan Minot
The woman on my right in the aisle was not wearing black but a white bouclé jacket and a yellow flowered dress with a deep neckline showing a soft slash of cleavage.
STORY CONTEST WINNERS
STORY CONTEST WINNERS
STORY CONTEST WINNERS
STORY CONTEST WINNERS
Private Planet
By Dina Kleiner
Picturing herself in the future was a comfort because it was a confirmation. She believed any confirmation at all, desirable or undesirable, was favorable over the unknown.
STORY CONTEST WINNERS
Regional Hospitals
By Alice Ryan
She has no recollection of any restaurant, but she knows how important it is to her father that his old life connects to his new life, so she nods into the pitch-black of the car park of the regional hospital.
STORY CONTEST WINNERS
The Day of the Dog
By Maria Giesbrecht
Working. That has been our entire world for the two months that we and other Mennonite families have come from Mexico to work in Canada. “Good, honest, godly work,” Father says. “We’ll be blessed.”
FICTION
CLASSIC
FICTION
FICTION
Boulder City
By T. C. Boyle
Four words—Your mother passed away—coming at him from the realm of anonymity, the lips of a stranger speaking through the inert slab of a phone hundreds of miles away.
CLASSIC
CLASSIC
The Weary Blues
By Langston Hughes
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
Portrait of a Child with Fruit and Rot
By Aldo Amparán
Night—a cricket’s metronome. His breath rasps the air with grit. She arches her back for support. Her muscles: fists. But the man who will never be your father unfolds her.
POETRY
POETRY
Deer House
By Sarah Bates
Like any good Girl Scout, I keep having the same dream where the troop meeting was canceled, the buses came early. I can hear my mother on the phone screaming at the thought of it.
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
The Angel of Grief Weeping Over the Dismantled Altar of Life
By James Ciano
The angel was draped as if cast in stone the moment at which grief began its sudden and exact ossification of the body.
POETRY
POETRY
This Wednesday
By Katie Condon
Where is the door that will take us to the inner world, the one where memory lives unburdened by our ability to recall it? It’s easy to take stock of this place, this Wednesday in a library.
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
His Last Days
By Dan Gerber
He saw each bird as a kind of feeling he’d known, imagining its movements as his own. Thrill of cool water finding its way between feathers and let himself become feathers.
POETRY
POETRY
Wood Ducks Again
By Sydney Lea
They come to our pond every April. No need to tell me it makes no sense for me to feel mild rage at their obstinacy. I turn from my desk and they’re here. The drakes will battle until one prevails.
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
Monologue of a Ghost
By David Mason
I stood in laced boots. My foot felt strong. I had that feeling of being young again, immortal, wearing a magic war shirt.
POETRY
POETRY
Eve on Her Making
By Ivana Mestrovic
What did Adam think when he awoke
and saw a bloody clump fresh from taking?
Did he recoil or recognize the flesh
as his?
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
My Daughter’s Daughter Is Sad
By Luisa Muradyan
My mother’s mother had to keep her mother on the tenth floor of our Soviet apartment building. There was no elevator and no way for her to get outside during the day.
POETRY
POETRY
That Spring
By Lo Naylor
spring came all the same. announced itself like a woodpecker on bark. my heart barked in my chest. each morning, I didn’t dare go back to sleep—couldn’t bear to wake twice.
POETRY
POETRY
POETRY
A Posteriori
By Ananya Kanai Shah
Now the years recant in a clean, even stroke. In the annex of the mind, a chair. From it I watch the city swirl into renaissance, toad-like cars chasing their own vapor.
What My Father Taught Me about the Snow
By Chelsea Woodard
Rest your left wrist lightly on the steering wheel to guide the car, because in this plummeting weather there is nothing to do but lean in.
CARTOONS
GRAPHIC STORY
CARTOONS
CARTOONS
Cartoon Art Volume 2026-05
By Various Artists
Suzy Becker, Kyle Bravo, Jake Goldwasser, P. C. Vey, and Shannon Wheeler star in this cartoon collection.
GRAPHIC STORY
GRAPHIC STORY
My Father
By Shannon Wheeler
In 1967 he adopted an Open Land Policy: anyone who wanted could come and live for free.
LEARN!
FEATURES
LEARN!
LEARN!
Letters to a Young Writer
By Richard Bausch
You can make your own way in the world, and in your own life make sure you never utter one epithet that takes away another human being’s dignity.
FEATURES
FEATURES
Best Advice
By Kirstin Valdez Quade
The fiction writer must merge with the character on the page and see things clearly though the character’s eyes.
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