By Benjamin Jackson My daughter Emma was born in the last cold days of December, 2001, unmoving, unbreathing, unable to live without immediate surgical intervention. The very first thought I had upon seeing my very first daughter for the very first time was that I hoped I hadn’t made a…
By Andrew Clark Mr. Philips quietly wrote his name on the chalk board and then turned to face us. Mrs. Fisher, my second grade teacher, had left the classroom just moments before, taking a brief refuge in the teachers’ lounge where all the teachers go to regroup, rehearse battle strategies,…
in memory of Russell Libby, 1956—2012, former Executive Director of MOFGA By Cynthia Brackett-Vincent Paint your nails in the Jeep as your husband drives south. But then you hear rain on the roof and remember his poem—rivers flowing, water meeting. Shop at Toys R Us for your granddaughter’s birthday. But…
By Lynn Vroman “Hold it in the crook of your shoulder, boy. The kick will knock you on your ass if you don’t.” “It’s too heavy. Where’s the .22?” “That’s a girl’s gun.” A string of tobacco flies from Dad’s mouth, landing in a brown puddle on the snowy ground….
By William Worsham “When trying to write good fiction, we should always ask ourselves, ’What would Lorrie do?’”—William Worsham “If I put in a quotation from myself about my own work, does that make me self-absorbed?”—William Worsham “Humor is really part of the fabric of human discourse—it may be deflective…
By Angel Dionne It was a Sunday afternoon. You could taste Sunday in the air, that soupy thickness that looms over you the entire day, sapping all of your energy. I slept until noon and would have slept longer if it hadn’t been for the steady stream of light piercing…
By Shandrease Cushionberry Emerging from the pond Fully bloomed in the rays Lotus flower bomb In the grass we lay Protect me with white heather In these summer days For autumn will arise Dormant begonia haze Stagnant brumal solitude Bring pink carnation craze And with spring in full bloom Withered…
By Dora Simpson Sunlight streaks awning tops spilling ink sketches down Rue Cler as delivery trucks wrangle narrow cobble and brick, side-by-side they purr. Yesterday’s swine hangs upside-down from meat hooks, stripped of its hide; sides of beef with s-shaped, naked spines drape over white, market smocks as men shoulder…