Stories
Poem of the Week
We went flying without a map as naked astronauts often do.
Poem of the Week
In that great darkness could I explain anything, anything at all.
Poem of the Week
We buy a bag of cockles and three crabs, all female, sweet with egg.
Story of the Week
A gift tells you who you are and what you’re not in the eyes of others.
Story of the Week
He was nervous and ill at ease, but my bearing seemed to reassure him.
Fiction
He’s clear about his wishes: to die in this house, in his own bed.
Fiction
If there was any magic in his sad life, it happened on that day.
Fiction
When the coach called again, Wayne felt his temper slipping.
Story of the Week
They danced only with one another and did not speak to white boys.
Story of the Week
Ambition and coincidence had led me to the Royal Theatre.
Fiction
He’s got a nice, deep kind of voice. He doesn’t sound redneck at all.
Story of the Week
His mind was a glass vase shat-
tered into pieces across the floor.
tered into pieces across the floor.
Poem of the Week
The danger of the shirt—always, every moment, it is so obvious.
Poem of the Week
The day holds a cup of milk and sits on the couch, legs tucked up.
Story of the Week
We shall still cherish in our hearts the memory of those dead.
Classics
“I can’t die, I don’t want to die, I love life,” Prince Andrei thought.
Story of the Week
My own experience is that the more we study Art, the less we care for Nature.
Story of the Week
You and me is as good as anybody else, and maybe a damn sight better.
Poem of the Week
In the truck’s bed, resting where a dog’s might—the dead deer’s head.
Fiction
You don’t feel anything when they cut you, not at first, just the blood.
Story of the Week
“I can’t hold it any longer. I have to pee,” I finally confessed to Viola.
Nonfiction
I can’t see a way out of this. Things will not necessarily get better.
Poetry
However hard I trudge and search I cannot find the hills I have climbed.
Story of the Week
He studies their mannerisms, looking for clues to the psycho spirit.
Fiction
They caught those few of us left unclaimed by the one emotion, or the other.
Fiction
In exchange for our labor, we would each be given a new set of clothes.
Fiction
I don’t think I was very frightened. I was simply hungry for home.
Story of the Week
It had taken Thursdale seven years to form this fine talent.
