Stories
Poetry
It wasn’t the bees I thought to tell but wasps the evening you died.
Story of the Week
I reviewed the rules for myself, among them: stay in the moment.
Fiction
My mother hoped moving would erase the affair with a married man.
Narrative Outloud
Words appear like the answer to a question I hadn’t yet asked.
Fall Contest Winners
The transformation of their maid from shadow to sexpot thrills Maizie.
Narrative Outloud
We’ve seen a lot of smaller ranches bought up by outside money.
Fiction
I used to be known for the humor of my music, the lightness of touch.
iStories
Was that lipstick on Don’s cheek? This was too much for her to take.
Poem of the Week
A heart takes precautions, withholds warmth, but it’s mistaken.
Poem of the Week
I wound through the Gothic castle buildings in the university.
Poem of the Week
Have you no one else to talk to? Your life is really that empty?
Classics
The Interests of a writer and the interests of his readers are never...
Poetry
You sounded so confident about the Old Masters and I loved you for that.
Narrative Outloud
My first suicidal ideations occurred to me when I was ten, eleven, twelve.
Narrative Outloud
As soon as her grandparents left, BLAM, the dance in her died.
Narrative Outloud
Here I am, king of the gods, making a fool of myself just to get under your gown.
Fall Contest Winners
She had boyfriends before she met him. Well, not really boyfriends.
Narrative Outloud
Better to be a bird
without altitude.
Or to get out of the game early.
Narrative Outloud
I was once a rider of mastodons, a waitress showing skin.
Narrative Outloud
I eat what’s in front of me, as all great men do. Some wouldn’t, but I do.
Narrative Outloud
A little music. An empty bottle of whiskey. It’s a little like cheating.
Narrative Outloud
A little music. An empty bottle of whiskey. It’s a little like cheating.
Narrative Outloud
Our crowns are made of dead hair and get swept out with the trash.
Narrative Outloud
All down my street the new fathers beat the kingness out of the kings.
Narrative Outloud
The Poet Laureate reads three poems in his New Hampshire home.
Narrative Outloud
She does not know within a decade she will unload a slug into her mouth.
