Authors

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Poetry

Doisneau might have eyed and shot us for how brazenly we kissed.

Story of the Week

We were alone in the world, and we had left dear ties behind us.

Story of the Week

Elinor had loved a man. The journey’s purpose was that she might forget.

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Poem of the Week

The roads have come to an end now, they don’t go any farther.

Poem of the Week

It’s so delicate, the light. And there’s so little of it. The dark is huge.

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Story of the Week

The world is a riddle of shape and texture, from sight to smell to sound.

Classics

Kids interfere with perfection. Wives interfere. Marriage interferes.

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Fiction

She has beautiful cheekbones, but her eyes are nearly colorless.

Story of the Week

He sobbed; he said he would go to therapy, stop drinking.

Story of the Week

What felt like sanctity now felt like nothingness, like death.

Fiction

We’re fat! So what? They hadn’t yet tired of this chant, the play’s refrain.

Poem of the Week

He had come to weavers’ Harris to make some testament.

Story of the Week

A finger on the bell, a quick sprint on light feet, and then stifled laughter.

Story of the Week

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

Readers' Narratives

Raised in a dust bowl, she had broad shoulders and a
D-cup bust.

Nonfiction

Progressive stages of revision eliminate incidence in favor of essence.

Nonfiction

It’s not clear that Hemingway completely knew what he was doing.

Nonfiction

If you’re going to take a degree, take one from the best school you can.

Six-Word Stories

A six-word story written by eighth-grader Marlon Jiminez.

Poem of the Week

However hard you try to make amends, they will still condemn you.

Poetry

However hard I trudge and search I cannot find the hills I have climbed.

iPoems

If others call you a maniac or a fool, just let them wag their tongues.

Poetry

There was only the gulf of our steps, our breathing brittle as string.

Poem of the Week

When push comes to shove, I can get downright Aeolian on you, son.

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Fiction

He had seduced them with his sincerity for truth-seeking.

Narrative Outloud

He twisted like a weasel in the sack, lashing backward with his fist.

Classics

Loving you is every bit as fine as coming over a hill into the sun.

Story of the Week

The blade was buried to the hilt in the outside corner of his left eye.

Poem of the Week

Gravity bends together this planet and your life, made of glass.

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Spring Contest Winners

A dead body leaned sideways against a wall. Its eyes were open.

Story of the Week

He had looked on it a thousand times and it never failed to kill him.

Poem of the Week

The hymn that’s resurrected from the hymnal aspires to the spiritual.

Poetry Contest Winners

At Walden Pond, Henry Thoreau clicks like on the “Wilderness” page.

Winter Contest Winners

Our eyes searched for the island, but ahead there was only overcast.

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Poetry Contest Winners

Collage what we can, form fractured and repaired, blend of is and isn’t.

Poetry

Your face is a grain of rice, one small nothing on the world’s horizon.

Poem of the Week

Put out to pasture, flop down into clover, alternate to the glue factory.

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Winter Contest Winners

When we move together in the dark I can almost get to him but I turn back.

Story of the Week

Fletcher was a squad leader. He ought to be able to get a girl.

iStories

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

Poem of the Week

Dainty morsels do not fail to attract gentlemen as well as ladies.

Poem of the Week

I hold out hands, empty and poor like a beggar by the temple door.

Features

I wanted from my father what I had never wanted or sought: his advice.

Poem of the Week

Imagine first the mighty blast. And then the mushroom cloud.

Poem of the Week

For two days I’ve been weeping over a nineteenth-century novel.

Poem of the Week

Buckled by time and tides, the pier fails halfway to the deeps.

Poetry

“The doors are closed,” she said, and we would not be flying to Paris.

Poem of the Week

The moon it is red, and the stars are fled but all the sky is a-burning.

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Poem of the Week

Too bad there is no oil between her legs that 4-year-old Muslim girl.

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Poem of the Week

The child writes, Child, and is amazed at this word on the page.

Poem of the Week

We boarded a ferry eager for foaming water rushing toward our feet.

Poem of the Week

Outside the kids play stretcher. One of them was dying between my hands.

Poem of the Week

If you tear down the web it will simply know this isn’t a place to call home.

Poem of the Week

Turns out my body’s a dollar sweet potato, her screen said.

Classics

He knew what those friends were worth: he knew the girls too.

Story of the Week

We shall still cherish in our hearts the memory of those dead.

Story of the Week

Her name sprang to my lips in strange prayers and praises.

Poem of the Week

We walk in light so steep I can see each single stitch of your sweater.

iStories

He was reading Our Town. She studied the departure board.

Fiction

When he bent close to her, his balaclava glowed silvery in the dying sunlight.