Authors

Story of the Week

The mistake you make with this man is, you wait around for him.

Poem of the Week

Translucent white prayer strings of her bonnet trailing in the air.

Poem of the Week

It is like the call of a voice the call of a voice that is not there.

Story of the Week

Our father crumbled after her affair. We watched him for signs of cracking.

Story of the Week

My father left me in the car while he was grabbing one for the road.

Fall Contest Winners

You’re feminist? Neither one of you. You just like getting into fights.

Story of the Week

He’s weirdly hard to pay attention to, even when he’s threatening you.

iStories

Then bullet strikes were spiderwebbing the windshield.

Story of the Week

I opened my pocketknife, grabbed his hair in a fistful, and cut.

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Narrative Outloud

The writer was there ahead of the world. And that was a great moment . . .

Narrative Outloud

My closet was a repository of foibles and fetishes, an archive of my life history.

Poetry

They found her where such girls are found. A Manhattan street.

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Story of the Week

The lion was still near them, stalking. Crazed against its cautionary nature.

Story of the Week

No one is dead, but you should come back. See what’s become of us.

Story of the Week

I hightailed it out of the hospital like my ex-wife was a prison I’d escaped.

Story of the Week

Saint Clark, halo and all, patron of wildlife shows and the cigarette tax.

Classics

When he had passed from view, I stumbled back from the window.

First & Second Looks

Taylor measures every word, as if holding the world lightly by the throat.

Fiction

“It was not wartime sentiment that moved me to ask you here.”

Story of the Week

These old guitar players were the last pure thing this country produced.

iPoems

The willows crack as the startled deer flee into a deeper darkness.

Poem of the Week

The old hen scratches then looks, scratches then looks. My life.

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Poetry

Before there was air, sublime silence. There was no one not to hear it.

Poetry

We called for the dead dog because toddlers do not understand death.

Poem of the Week

Stable-keeper’s kids know broken then healed, but healed with limits.

Poetry

My students are in rows, alive—day-picked apples cut by teeth.

Poem of the Week

He tries to appear slight in his leather jacket and turbulent jeans.

Story of the Week

I went for a natural, “I look pretty even when I’m giving birth,” look.

Poem of the Week

A family becomes fossilized—a darker crosshatch etched in hard sand.

Fall Contest Winners

“Fuck you,” I said, but it was hard to say it with any meaning.

Story of the Week

Virginia surprises herself: she wants this warmth, wants skin and breath.

Fiction

They give me a pitying look, as if I am alone, and they are invincible.

iStories

I opened my eyes and they burned; I closed them and saw my father.

Nonfiction

“This is no vacation,” I told friends and reluctant donors.

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Story of the Week

For days after she left him, he roamed the house, unable to function.

Story of the Week

He wondered how others lived with their sins. Maybe they never did.

Nonfiction

He told his father he wanted to make art pictures, not lousy mobster stuff.

Nonfiction

They believed that the American movie should be taken seriously.

Nonfiction

These days murder is as common as love scenes were in the 1930s.

Poem of the Week

Let us not forget the desuetude of nailed-shut carousels.

Poetry

A memory in the drip, drip, drip of the kitchen sink that won’t stop.

Story of the Week

With my son in the NICU and my wife in tears, it felt good to disobey.

Story of the Week

She possessed a quality that made one forget all shortcomings.

Story of the Week

“We must also buy twenty acres or so. Life is becoming impossible.”

Story of the Week

Some inner voice told her that now or never her fate would be decided.

Story of the Week

“I can’t die, I don’t want to die, I love life,” Prince Andrei thought.

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Narrative Taste

To me, the very point of cooking is to wildly praise what’s wild.

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Poetry

Men are so delicate, must be given many portals. I try to be game.

Story of the Week

This kind of childhood stuck with a person, twisted things up.

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Poetry

Think how you move, how a room changes with your smallest breath.

Poem of the Week

You walk and the world bends toward you like leaves waiting for rain.

Poem of the Week

Cold metal stands upon my brow; Spiders seek my heart.

N30B Winners

You decide that in this city all things are possible, even happiness.

Poem of the Week

When she passes you, her name is a bright blue phrase on your tongue.

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Story of the Week

He could smell the bear’s breath, feel the hot huff against his ear.

Classics

Professor Flacks could tell you everything about James Joyce.

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Readers' Narratives

The mountains out your window make Central Park feel rinky-dink.

Fiction

Robin Troy

Poem of the Week

I’m the one with the most crumbs, little bits of salad or fudge.

Poem of the Week

I wonder if those tiny computers in pigeons’ brains ever crash?

Fiction

What was she thinking, driving alone to see a man she’d never met?

Poem of the Week

Then came “the sea of trouble” as he crumpled his bank statement.

Spring Contest Winners

Protect your hands. You can always get by if your hands aren’t broken.

Story of the Week

I try to get her to drink again. We were okay drunks, before Jesus.

Story of the Week

Sleepy and pensive, July succumbed to the day’s isolating heat.

Story of the Week

Amy put her arm around his shoulders. My boy. Isn’t he wonderful?

Classics

The sunrise does not blaze fiercely but spreads in a gentle flush.

Story of the Week

The jealous Othello, ready for murder, was transformed into a school-boy.

Story of the Week

Let the public do itself the honor to read and follow in my footsteps.

Story of the Week

Any invented quotation, played with confidence, can deceive.

Story of the Week

He looked a look of vicious happiness and eagerly pried the watch open.

Story of the Week

It is our nature to conform; it is a force which not many can resist.

Poem of the Week

We had a pact to live outside the adult world forever, and we broke it.

iPoems

Chase Twichell

iPoems

Chase Twichell

Poem of the Week

Dogs electrocuted, set on fire. What buys the right to drown a dog?

Poem of the Week

Ice and evergreen and sun; three moments arranged for human looking.

Poem of the Week

That what I call my Self is asleep, and has dreamed up these lilacs.

Poem of the Week

We pried the last of the pallid squid from their crevices and ate them.

Poetry

This storm scares me. A foreign climate occupies the land.