Stories

Poem of the Week

We walk in light so steep I can see each single stitch of your sweater.

Story of the Week

I grew accustomed to seeing the sun rise and set from the school.

Story of the Week

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

Poem of the Week

I only feel that here, only here, in this one place, a small rise.

Nonfiction

Why do girls want to cheerlead? Don’t they know it objectifies women?

Narrative Taste

Why kill something so mild-mannered, entertaining, and sociable?

Fiction

Suddenly, all of the past seemed now like the same endless race.

Story of the Week

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

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First & Second Looks

Now the ashes were real, the pepper trees reduced to stubs.

Poetry

He doesn’t notice the cop car rolling slow-motion into the station.

Poetry

This must be what it’s like to be seen by God as we inch toward the infinite.

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Story of the Week

I have given everything at the wrong time, to the wrong people.

Readers' Narratives
Story of the Week

I do not want to fall prey to the bewitchment of my mind by language.

Poetry Contest Winners

When I dream of lovers, I rarely see faces. It’s better if we never touch.

Poem of the Week

Our bed a garden of the littlest sighs of our waking. Our room, abstract.

Poetry

I know you want your mother’s dial tone like you want a KFC box.

Readers' Narratives

It was the same God who told him to get the hell out of Arkansas.

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Readers' Narratives
Readers' Narratives
Poem of the Week

I lift my wine flask, drunk with rivers and hills.

Poem of the Week

He is not a man, but an empty shell, a creature who laughs to stop the shame.

Fiction

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

Story of the Week

Tobacco and dirty wool, rank alcoholic sweat. I liked him right away.

Story of the Week

Ah, yes, Rita reminded herself: I won. Her Mistress of Mayhem award.

First & Second Looks
Poem of the Week

A Good Samaritan refused is no more good than any Bad Samaritan.

Photography & Art

We imagined the train routes through the heart of the country.

Poetry

I lost my medicine bag from back when I believed in magic.