Stories
Narrative Outloud
The Poet Laureate reads three poems in his New Hampshire home.
Narrative Outloud
All day we lay on the bed, my hand stroking the deep gold of your thighs.
Narrative Outloud
A woman’s long bare legs stretched up at the edge of the graveyard.
Narrative Outloud
Words appear like the answer to a question I hadn’t yet asked.
Narrative Outloud
She holds her smile like a note sustained at the end of a phrase.
Narrative Outloud
A little music. An empty bottle of whiskey. It’s a little like cheating.
Narrative Outloud
All down my street the new fathers beat the kingness out of the kings.
Narrative Outloud
She does not know within a decade she will unload a slug into her mouth.
Nonfiction
The Warsaw Pact invaded in 1968
and soon banned Hrabal’s work.
N30B Winners
The men here don’t know where to place me, call me exotic grail.
Poetry
When I’m reading him I feel myself come closer to you than usual.
N30B Winners
Her sly smile was a vicious remnant of her life before Real Life began.
Nonfiction
Their house is what I see when I look up from my notebook.
Poetry
I have tried and failed to renew my vows to real trees whom I love.
Story of the Week
Keaton didn’t control his emotions; he put them to use.
Graphic Stories
Everyone knew cigarettes were the gateway to harder stuff, like Zima.
Poetry
Because grass sprouts from the stump’s rings like tiny soldiers.
Nonfiction
Lust for power and money undermined their morality and common sense.
Narrative High School Writing Contest
All I know is not in front of me, my sweet angels.
Nonfiction
The appetite for self-surrender is nothing new in our makeup.
Poetry
The past is never done with. It begs to be fed, demands to be eaten.
Story of the Week
Trailblazers we celebrate. Those outcasts, outliers, and outlaws.
Story of the Week
My head was muffled in velvet, my body exposed in an old slip.
Story of the Week
Pale dust clung to their skin like the lime he had thrown on the dead.
Classics, Story of the Week
Upon his supine monstrous shape there was a colossal inertia.
Fiction
Ivan rolled his eyes, and looked at the sky like someone about to be martyred.
