Stories
Story of the Week
Peering into the soap bubbles, she briefly imagined herself inside one.
Poetry
Having held down the past applying pressure to its sacrum . . .
Story of the Week
Some people are so beautiful, they belong everywhere they go.
Poem of the Week
So sault means “jump,” as in sauter in France, but not in New France!
Story of the Week
A dangerous heat came from him, the heat of some interior decay.
Story of the Week
Children were driven by deep yearnings that should be satisfied.
Poem of the Week
You’ve trained me well in the art of intimate distance. It’s not been easy.
Story of the Week
In the thickening smoke the workers clawed and flailed at one another.
Story of the Week
His chest was sweaty and his T-shirt stuck to it, bleeding black.
Poetry
three women came in their nakedness so i could choose from among them
Poem of the Week
In the photograph we look nearly the same. Heft and hewn.
Photography & Art
Hemingway’s Royal typewriter sat atop a volume of Who’s Who.
Story of the Week
The world is a riddle of shape and texture, from sight to smell to sound.
Story of the Week
I saw her drunk, with bleary eyes, tousled hair, and a hideous grin.
Story of the Week
The Morgan nosed her for another carrot. She petted his neck. She had loved to canter.
Poem of the Week
My stepfather has gone out with a blanket to place over a doe’s body.
Poetry
I want to step out into sun to scintillate for waves to come and spray.
Story of the Week
The problem, as it turned out, is: Forever can be surprisingly short.
Poem of the Week
Stocking shelves, like serving, is a job that will not let go of your mind.
Poem of the Week
He tries to appear slight in his leather jacket and turbulent jeans.
Profiles
Lee has taken on several of the great novelists of the past century.
Graphic Stories
The car is only a couple years old, but its memory taps into the past.
Story of the Week
I remember the sun on the mountain like a trembling drop of lava.
When the lasso dancers were done, they kicked away like wild colts.
Story of the Week
“Well, it’s a dark world, Suzanne. She’s old enough to know that.”
Story of the Week
When nobody knows where you are, you get to talk however you want.
Readers' Narratives
I thought that if we built a big family our house would be full of life.
Poem of the Week
That piece of flesh you’re with is a high school student, a minor.
Poetry
I have placed my thoughts for you in a nest of copper shavings.
Fiction
The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen has become the saddest.
