Authors

iStories

She rocks quickly from side to side, proud, lifting herself higher.

Story of the Week

They’d been together an hour, but they were an easy threesome.

Poetry

I am left with little Rome for error. I choose wrong, then I revise.

Readers' Narratives

I was a Ronald Reagan in a generation of Woody Harrelsons.

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Fiction

The engineers seemed ripe for mockery, some more than others.

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Poem of the Week

Hear the voice of life telling you something from the inside out.

Story of the Week

She was laughing. Something animal in me was sparked, and I chased her.

Poetry

Who are we? Without one another, who will we be?

Poem of the Week

I’ve sinned. Cannot be saved. He was a child. Surely he went to heaven.

Poem of the Week

I hear my brother’s wife whisper, It’s her again. Let the machine get it.

Poem of the Week

If you didn’t listen you would think it was a cry for help or sympathy.

Poem of the Week

The child at the rummage sale— more souvenirs than memories.

Poetry

The hound, the leash, the fence, the hens. So many of them.

Story of the Week

Jack picked me up in a car with a greasy-potato sex smell.

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Story of the Week

We know that we were lied to, the disaster was worse than we feared.

Poetry

You can stand on the edge and tremble with fear or risk your life.

Poem of the Week

If everyone’s lost on the roads, you might as well fly. Enjoy your life.

iPoems

The first time we love, how tight we hang on to keep from drowning.

Poem of the Week

Snug in the spell of a cradle rocking, I remember the first time I floated.

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Fiction

Don’t tell him you’re a virgin, says Peggy. You’ll freak him out.

Poem of the Week

I was a darling without even trying, kerchief and dungarees.

Poetry

I say aria, scale of the day, weigh each square foot she’s kept up.

Story of the Week

I had forgotten how to breathe, and then I learned again, all at once.

Poetry

I screamed every word and waited for the stones to answer back.

Poem of the Week

The birds have all flown to Mars for water and Crisco and red.

Poetry Contest Winners

I wanted to forget my parents’ slow dying together in Ohio.

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Fiction

Brod stopped her before she could fling the latte in Marcella’s face.

Poetry

I drag my sheets as Earth drags her tangled mess of tides.

iPoems

The kissed fingerpad touched wet with wine orbiting.

Poem of the Week

As the whorled fingerpad loves Morse, but more so. Worse.

Poem of the Week

Lufthansa lifts off under me. The set sun disinters, a fanned cinder.

Poem of the Week

We need to stop talking about it, we need to put some pants on.

Story of the Week

“Who is it?” Irina asked at the door.
“Open up,” a voice commanded.

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Story of the Week

The Others came in the light of day and splayed Father open.

Poem of the Week

Vultures liked to perch on the austere ledge outside my window.

Poem of the Week

There’s anger in the sound of a V-8 engine that puts me at ease.

Story of the Week

A Midwestern man is never without his knife. Half of us carry guns.

Poetry

She takes her shirt at the waist and pulls it up slowly: her hips, belly, bra.

Story of the Week

He got people on the conveyor belt that carried them up to heaven.

Fiction

What does it take for a woman like you to decide to do something?

Poem of the Week

“Pick your switch,” says my father and I’m stepping out into the forest.

Classics

I have to say I am relieved it is over: at the end I could feel only pity.

Poetry

Imagine octopus, and keep the talk going through the chew.

Poem of the Week

No salt tears,
and a continent between her ashes and Father’s.

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Story of the Week

They would find certain and awful death in Afghanistan.

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Fiction

She looks in the mirror above the sink, and her image makes eye contact.

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Poem of the Week

I crouched just like my mother burying nail clippings to ward off curses.

Story of the Week

The boy imagined his dead grandfather haunting the world.

Fiction

Abe shot himself, first year out of high school. Assholes said he was queer.

Story of the Week

Home, I thought. This was the new country I had been yearning for.

Story of the Week

Stories are places to live. We live in stories. What we are is stories.

Poem of the Week

It was our flesh with its deadly sweetness that led them on.

Poetry

Here is my aphorism of the day: Happy people are monogamous.

iPoems

You are with outsized footnotes that have tracked across the Internet.

Photography & Art

A clandestine participation through a soundless beauty.

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Fiction

We didn’t give the order to drop the bomb. But thank God somebody did.

Story of the Week

I dream of snakes coming out of me and through the house to find her.

Poem of the Week

So sault means “jump,” as in sauter in France, but not in New France!

Poem of the Week

Tear-streaked mascara, mascara-stained cheeks: a cataract of woe.

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Story of the Week

Don’t start conversations or attract attention. Don’t be suspicious.

Poetry

I know which home takes the turning, which mind washes in hot water.

Poetry

Her voice smelled like an orange, though I’d never peeled an orange.

Poetry

For sixty or maybe seventy years this sidewalk has been lying here.

iPoems

All night, rain from the distant past. I sometimes waken as a child.

iPoems

The old dog of inertia gets up with a growl and shrinks out of the way.

Poem of the Week

The world beyond the windows slowly tips forward into spring.

Poem of the Week

I wanted to ride this day down into night, to smooth the unreadable page.

Poetry

They peer into their mirrors to see whatever is bearing down.

Poetry

Before sunrise I counted nine meteors scratching the heavens.

Poetry

I fell asleep wondering to whom the tree might have been writing.

Poem of the Week

We could hear the parade three blocks before it arrived at our corner.

Poetry

Our dog had held down what we had by pressing his belly to the floors.

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Fiction

Long and black, almost thick, the night comes to drape my shoulders.

Nonfiction

They lived on the street, their mom a prostitute and heroin addict.

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Story of the Week

The everlasting shines through in the threshold between worlds.

Readers' Narratives

I was supposed to view Beowulf as a hero. My mother told me as much.

Poem of the Week

On the swings in the park, a woman sounds an off-key minor chord.

Poem of the Week

I have already begun the life-long work of hating my father.

Poem of the Week

In all the faded retellings of that night, there’s a lot he left out.

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Poetry

“Leaving for war, Hayes wept. He didn’t just cry; he wept...”

Poem of the Week

People believe; The whole world is part of something.

Features

Follow your dog, and you might just live to write for another day.

Readers' Narratives
Fiction

Cassandra blared Puccini and Eminem so she would not pray.