Authors

Interviews

Sex can be revelatory. Essential nature emerges in sex.

Poetry Contest Winners

Her mother is a locked door with another door behind it.

Poetry

We are each other’s as surely as song stitches breath to air.

Poem of the Week

A Good Samaritan refused is no more good than any Bad Samaritan.

Poem of the Week

When she sleeps, Shakespeare writes one more sonnet we’ll never read.

Poem of the Week

Exit the building. Say nothing to anyone. They did. And they didn’t.

Poetry

Waiting for a cure, waiting for the closeout sale, the black sail.

Poem of the Week

I saw Baryshnikov twice. Heard Pavarotti, Marsalis, and Ma.

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Short Shorts

My first girl, only sixteen year and she go, she run away to you.

Fiction

I could become something new. Improved. Like detergent.

Narrative Outloud

He finds the note taped to the lid of the toilet: “There’s someone else.”

Story of the Week

For my part, I do not want a Happy Christmas: I want a Merry Christmas.

Winter Contest Winners

“I’m torturing you,” she said. “It isn’t fair.” Now I saw there were tears.

Story of the Week

Was this where he would grow old? Would it all end in a room like this?

Story of the Week

Somehow, Captain Brown made himself respected in Cranford.

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Story of the Week

The phone rang at an awkward hour, too late at night to be good news.

Poem of the Week

Our father turned to me and said, Why does he sound like a girl.

Poem of the Week

It is this—what you hear when you stop listening—that counts.

Poetry

You were drowning in the bathtub. Mother was in her room.

iStories

If, on your deathbed, you want to watch a movie, don’t let me pick.

iPoems

The horse had been beaten and flies crawled on the beat marks.

Poem of the Week

They say it is the soul that rises, not the body. But the body does rise—

Poem of the Week

so this god is only wood and holes, a blank, like the moon’s unlit side.

Poem of the Week

Napoleon, who can say you don’t deserve my allegiance?

Narrative Outloud

Words appear like the answer to a question I hadn’t yet asked.

Poetry

On a morning in November words appeared at the end of my pen.

Narrative Outloud

Dan Gerber reads poems of boyhood, and from the end of his mother’s life.

Poetry

What did St. Teresa have in mind when she prayed to be released?

Narrative Outloud

She holds her smile like a note sustained at the end of a phrase.

Poetry

The walls pull apart like a troubled couple, finally deciding to hold.

Poem of the Week

The coyotes are making a kill. Their voices rise through the darkness.

Poem of the Week

I bow to the life being lived in this finch on my terrace this morning.

iPoems

He squinted and looked off a little beyond where we were.

Poem of the Week

I continue composing my love letter, hoping to love her more.

Poem of the Week

I don’t remember being born,
only the great dog
whose fur I clung to.

Poetry

I told you how I’ve always been attracted to little violences.

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Nonfiction

Marriage changes passion. Suddenly you’re in bed with
a relative.

Story of the Week

We’re stuck floating around on the surface of our lives like kids in a pool.

Narrative Outloud

Best-selling author Melanie Gideon reads from her novel Wife 22.

Narrative Outloud

The light is like a benediction. My husband reaches for my hand.

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Fiction

When she gets to Lenny’s he offers her a beer and a bong hit...

Story of the Week

Mostly he was in a hurry, so he’d just stick it in and away we’d go.

Short Shorts

The Wolf put on a great performance, crawling around on the stage.

Story of the Week

“She showed me her tits,” said Jimmy. “Bullshit!” said Frank.

Story of the Week

They come to America and their child is shot down like a wild animal.

Story of the Week

“Go watch the showgirls, Roy,” said Chino. “It’s educational.”

Story of the Week

If your father were here, he wouldn’t put up with your insolence.

Story of the Week

“For the entire time I was there I couldn’t get that out of my head.”

Story of the Week

They danced only with one another and did not speak to white boys.

Story of the Week

On my way to the airport I hit a Christian. This was in Arkansas.

Poetry

the woman wiped her hands on her apron saying “lord these children”

Story of the Week

Liz wore a brass wedding ring, and had no marriage certificate to show.

Story of the Week

He betook himself to the metropolis to become a literary man, of course.

Story of the Week

Youth! Goodness! Joy! Hope! Strange things to bring to a place like this.

Poetry

My brush an M-16, thirty-round clips for tubes of paint, all of them red.

Poetry

When I saw my father for the last time, we both did the same thing.

Nonfiction

This has been a good day. First the milestone of getting to page 300.

Interviews

Gail Godwin

Fiction

The draft of ten handwritten pages would have to be cut back to five.

Nonfiction

Write simple sentences. Report. Don’t moralize. No pretensions.

Narrative By Hand

Words and sketches from Gail Godwin’s upcoming novel Flora.

Fiction

What right had Flora, of all people, to pronounce on what was strange?

Nonfiction

They don’t dance but simply monitor our movements, like bodyguards.

Fiction

I was nagged by those boxes from my old life stacked in the garage.

Poem of the Week

Hands that have waved farewell, sooner or later I will see them again.

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Fiction

A rumour went round that the Australians had bulletproof clothing.

Story of the Week

“I think he does not care for art; I fancy he has not even read Pushkin.”

Poem of the Week

I was born hating paths, apostasy. We came alive wrong for union.

N30B Winners

That’s what I want, to feel terrified, excited, and free, all at once.

Winter Contest Winners

I knew my father started the fire. It’s not the first place he’s burned down.

Fall Contest Winners

Lydda, when she closes her eyes, has traded one war zone for another.

Fiction

The first time I met you I fought your father in the driveway.

Story of the Week

“No one shoots when the army inoculates and hands out money.”

Story of the Week

I pictured you at Bagram Airfield in a metal coffin, quiet and still.

Fiction

Why did it take Steven’s small coffin to get me to see my own son?

Story of the Week

The horror of the waste appalls me. This beauty. This habitation of dream.

Poem of the Week

It has its life, returning always to the ocean. It doesn’t care.

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Poetry Contest Winners

The small, inadequate marks follow the outline, things left behind.

Poem of the Week

So here’s the tale, the rumor of the body, and we have to tell it.

Poetry

The first skeleton drawn from the earth, they called beautiful.

Story of the Week

I saw her drunk, with bleary eyes, tousled hair, and a hideous grin.

iStories

Loved this little portal to my past so much that I went looking for others.

Fiction

He was making some green by ripping his own heart out.

Fiction

My mother used to cry in church seeing a child walk down the aisle.

Story of the Week

A nearly perfect guitar fell from the sky and landed in my mom’s azaleas.

iStories

In the story she was a dripping, chocolate-covered vamp.

Winter Contest Winners

I found it impossible to forget that we lived in a poor country.

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Poetry

Wet air. Big windsound in the leaves—a kind of prayer, maybe.

Poem of the Week

We could use our arms to squeeze or hold or load not a gun, not a gun.

Poetry

Sometimes a you is a lover, but he is not my lover. He is looking at me.

Poem of the Week

Let me lie down with you and listen, let me tell you what I know.

Spring Contest Winners

I’m covetous of my worldly neighbor. And he’s not accommodating.

Fiction

Ivan rolled his eyes, and looked at the sky like someone about to be martyred.

Fiction

I floated in the tub, my head bobbing, until I felt slick as a seal.

Fiction

The suite cost as much as a two-pound brick of Panama Red.

Story of the Week

I do not want to fall prey to the bewitchment of my mind by language.

Nonfiction

He was frightened, a creature no more or less unbound by time than I am.

Fiction

How do our lives disappear even while we’re in the midst of them?

Fiction

“You know what they say about
free health care. It costs money.”

Nonfiction

Only one constant existed: I wrote. Writing was my center of gravity.

Fiction

What most threatens our souls? A crisis of faith? No. Despair.

Spring Contest Winners

Firing stopped, and Bedouins herded camels across the artillery range.

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The caved-in storefront looked as if a missile had slammed into it.

Poetry

Imagine the world you want to live in; make the world in this image.

Poem of the Week

Unwall the summer in blue threading, gift of someone who loved me.

Poetry

A charmed sequence of words. The jangle. The strum.

Story of the Week

Order and gardens. Penelope liked things to grow just as they would.

iPoems

For years I thought this light was love, or God, but now I know it’s fear.

Poetry

Our brains interpolate from surrounding images, fooling us.

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Poem of the Week

That cold green streak morning had nothing in common with us.

Poetry

Arrows shot by the halt at the lame,
 Opinions come and go just the same.


Fiction

The judge’s mother was impossible; her mere presence was infuriating.

Poetry

Under Saint Peter’s Gate, I put good foot after bad, and derided, I chased.

Fiction

They were such dummkopfs they kicked out the Jews.