Authors

Poem of the Week

Have you no one else to talk to? Your life is really that empty?

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Story of the Week

Her sentiments maudlin, malaise dripped like a fever from her pores.

Poetry

The trees were a sign from the devil, a warning of the terror to come.

Poetry

I never felt heart stop or skin burn, just the first split second of sound.

Story of the Week

We are nothing; less than nothing, we are only what might have been.

Poem of the Week

No fountains to quench the thirst between rounds of tag.

Spring Contest Winners

My job requires me to make things disappear like a Vegas magician.

Readers' Narratives

I reacted like a thief caught red-handed, and snapped the screen shut.

Readers' Narratives

Vrindavan. Lord, what a place. Joyful, unbelievably filthy, and divine.

Readers' Narratives

I never wavered, even when it was clear he was the dangerous one.

Master Class

I think of each story as a big circle that’s all around me and I’m in the center.

Nonfiction

No author dodged readers who were indifferent to masterpieces.

Readers' Narratives

There was no way of knowing how many would answer the call to march.

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Poem of the Week

Your hand on my nightgown, my soft places. I wish you wouldn’t do that.

Poetry

The air has grown inside me. It’s become a sanctuary.

Poetry

They’re shrieking down Little Round Top, receiving the good girls’ glares.

Poem of the Week

Praise the ease of it: how simple it is to tell the dog he loves her.

Poetry

I make a point of smelling the lilac every day that first week in May.

Poetry

My lust works like the tides pulling in reverse, controlled by a simple ballast.

Story of the Week

So long as there was money, the girl felt established, and brutally proud.

First & Second Looks

I felt a blush rise to my skin, the sense of being trapped, helpless, exposed.

First & Second Looks

Literature lost its voice. Except on the page, it was silenced.

Poetry

Judging beauty, which is keenest, Eye or heart or mind or penis?

Poem of the Week

This is the day when the saints all go silently to church in France.

Story of the Week

It was as if my dead husband was flowing within me now, like blood.

Nonfiction

My grandfather committed my grandmother to a mental asylum.

Poem of the Week

A goddam mean big sonofabitch boar rooted me in the stomach.

Poetry

David Lee

Poem of the Week

Gotta watch them damn sorry folks he sez they leave the best stuff.

Poem of the Week

She countered the reverence of his efforts stroke by stroke, tit for tat.

Poetry

Getting over being drunk makes you wonder why the hell you did that.

Poem of the Week

That piece of flesh you’re with is a high school student, a minor.

Poetry

Your words will strike her heart like Saint Teresa’s flaming arrow.

Poetry

The goose cannot see the North but knows exactly where it lies.

Fiction

Their hands were acting as airfoils, producing lift, not drag.

First & Second Looks

It seemed impossible for two people to fuck that long.

Story of the Week

Joshua was well versed in things to which I was not yet privy, like sex.

Narrative 10

The Great Gatsby had an awful, detrimental effect on me.

Fiction

If a friend’s family is persecuted, call Sinn Fein on that number.

Story of the Week

The dean’s voice was stuck in my head. Plagiarism. Expulsion.

Fiction

It almost makes you cry, to know that you are no longer needed.

Story of the Week

It was as if we were shedding our very selves to become someone else.

Story of the Week

The golden-haired ones, they think they’re better than Virgin Mary.

Fiction

I hadn’t always liked being around my mother while she was alive.

Fiction

Her biggest secret was Jay Currie — her white American boyfriend.

Narrative Outloud

Here, Min Jin reads from her novel at Narrative Night, New York City.

Narrative Outloud

You don’t know what it’s like to be so hungry that you’d steal to eat.

Narrative 10

I once heard in a sermon, “Choose the important over the urgent.”

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Nonfiction

In my eyes is the flame of the adolescent he wants to hire.

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Poetry

Sometimes a story is like a beehive. Sometimes an idea is like a poem.

Poetry

Rebecca Lehmann

iPoems

Splayed toes adhesive on a whitewashed wall, ghost-tattoo.

Poetry Contest Winners

He said, every night you close the store, I watch you walk to your car.

Poetry

Let those shadows sift the spirits of their children from the silt.

Story of the Week

The world is where we brace for a joke that’s about to be played on us.

Fiction

She stopped, turned toward him, placed her hand on his chest.

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Fiction

He was gentle and slow, like a blind man washing dishes.

Story of the Week

Let the squeamish suffer their fear, let them live without really living.

Poem of the Week

Last year alone, every American choked to death on a red balloon.

Poetry

I felt nothing, which was cool, totally cool with me. For my blood was cola.

Poem of the Week

Are these poems just cumbersome or a critique of cumbersomeness?

Poem of the Week

Why am I always asleep in your poems? Look at me Ben, when am I.

Story of the Week

She closed her mind to all familiar shapes and strained back.

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When I think on it, I can’t believe I’m going to kill two people over weed.

Story of the Week

Felicia knew why he was there. He was waiting. Waiting for her.

Poem of the Week

Motionless at the window. Forehead beaded with a line of fevered moons.

Poem of the Week

The raven cocked its black eye, dipped its beak in the red pool.

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Story of the Week

I cradled the lifeless bird in my hand and marveled at its beauty.

N30B Winners

Her sly smile was a vicious remnant of her life before Real Life began.

Narrative Outloud

I will tell you about the sick. They are ruthless, they are like Attila.

Narrative Outloud

I will tell you about the sick. They are ruthless, they are like Attila.

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Six-Word Stories

Anna Lewis

Story of the Week

She was here. She could not go on. It was the end—the end of the world.

Readers' Narratives

Her nostrils flare with the intensity of effort; she’s like a little horse.

Story of the Week

I have three girls from my previous marriages, but she beats them all.

Story of the Week

She’d lifted the plot from a TV show she’d watched the night before.

Nonfiction

Art is a way for the mind to master the body, even if it is not one’s own.

Photography & Art

A poetry of texture and light runs through these photographs.

Photography & Art

After moving, I began to look at the images and piece them together.

Poetry

If life is an open vein, what’s brave about a sleeve-heart, sweetheart?

Poem of the Week

A heart takes precautions, withholds warmth, but it’s mistaken.

iPoems

Passions played among the orchids and through cherish and reveal.

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Fiction

The surface of night is disrupted. Ripples cross the neighborhood.

Poetry

Filarial worms in bloodstream darkness know when it’s night.

Poem of the Week

Her city, but no cats. Specks of color, no cloth.

Poem of the Week

I know that hairs
on my head go singly gray only
by night.

Features

Abandon the idea that arts and sciences are mutually exclusive.

Poetry

A goddess was offended; her altar required my virgin blood.

Story of the Week

If he was going to pick me up, the least he could do was look at me.

Poem of the Week

Between me and the sky is a screen door and a whole mess of wind.

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iStories

Her father is important in his village and has three wives.

Photography & Art

Photo portraits, landscapes, and world scenes by Sandra Lloyd.

Story of the Week

I’ve made a rigorous effort. But it’s been hard, this hug embargo.

Story of the Week

“I—I am Martin Eden,” Martin began. (“And I want my five dollars.")

Poem of the Week

The holiest of all holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence.

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Fiction

At a red light he touches his cheek. The stubbly skin is sensitive, febrile.

Poetry

My cry for the first time fastened garlands of hope to the roof.

Poem of the Week

If you are hidden treasure, mine, don’t let me lose what I have gained.

Story of the Week

I pictured myself as a chart inside her head. Two sides: good and bad.

Fiction

I was only five when Dad told me I had died. “You drowned,” he said.

Story of the Week

It was the way of the world: everybody wanted someone else.

iPoems

I read an article and learn that the gloomy octopus has three hearts.

Story of the Week

Your mother still glows with a smoothness that you envy.

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First & Second Looks

Heroic redemption relies on the revealing of one’s true hidden self.

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Fiction

I realize now that hers was the face that taught me what driving was.

Poem of the Week

If all along we all had known the leaves we leafed would leave us

Poetry

I want to step out into sun to scintillate for waves to come and spray.

Poetry

A man jostles my stride to the street, no shoulder on which to move.