Stories
Fiction
The child is too perfect to be human; too perfect, truthfully, to exist.
Poetry
This storm scares me. A foreign climate occupies the land.
Poem of the Week
A man sits in the Institute of National Memory examining files.
Poem of the Week
I ask if you are all right until you can be nothing but not all right, not okay.
Fiction
The stupider the president the more power you arrange for him.
Poetry
I can’t hold a face held before dawn & not see behind the eyes bullets.
Story of the Week
I hadn’t even tried. I was one of the few kids D.A.R.E. had worked on.
Poetry
Of course he escaped. He would be the one. My legendary brother.
Story of the Week
He only told the world what the world wanted to hear from a guy who graduated from Harvard.
Poem of the Week
I have heard stories of the river, how people were willing to die to cross it.
Poem of the Week
For two days I’ve been weeping over a nineteenth-century novel.
Classics, Story of the Week
Amusement is one thing; enjoyment of art is another.
Nonfiction
Six other guests smoked Marlboro Lights, and ashtrays filled up.
Poem of the Week
No fountains to quench the thirst between rounds of tag.
Story of the Week
Derek was holding a gun. The barrel was pointed at his own temple.
Fiction
Sneaking was one thing, entering a bar with a someone else’s ID another.
Poetry
I forgot to detail that the jumper leapt from beside the hanging Monet.
Story of the Week
It was a Saturday night in November when his diagnosis finally came.
Story of the Week
There was no hiding; right there on my brow was a second nose.
Poem of the Week
I bring out the emergency in people and I don’t know why.
Classics, Story of the Week
Kitty reached the age of twenty-five and was still unmarried.
Story of the Week
I managed to talk sensible Alice into a little pink outfit and high heels.
Fiction
Part of me wished I’d never tried heroin. The rest wanted to be high.
Readers' Narratives
When I got his obit right, Joe told Patsy he wanted to see her tits.
Poem of the Week
His weary glance has grown into a dazed and vacant stare.
Fiction
Just before four in the morning, the dog barks, the headlights appear.
Story of the Week
Mafia didn’t like me, except for the tickling game. It went like this.
Poem of the Week
At night everything feels. Even a river feels its way through the woods.
Story of the Week
She is eight years old and doesn’t recognize the word divorce.
