Featured Writing

A stack of vintage televisions displaying static channels

The Back Catalog

By Jim Speese Songs were in his head. Constantly. It was a problem and he supposed it wasn’t unique. Given the hegemonic presence of advertising jingles and TV show themes and music pumped into grocery stores and pharmacies and hospitals, it seemed quite likely that the fact that songs constantly…

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Posts Tagged SNHU MFA Program

A Man Walks into a Bar

by Robert Barhite I hate cops. I grew up in Postville, Iowa, way up in the northeast corner of the state and not too far from the Mississippi River. Nothing much ever changed in my hometown. I went to the same red brick two story grade school built in 1908…

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No Need of gods

by Jenny Andrews Days lie down crumble all around ruins obscured in mid-February shadows Sundays lost amid gods long forgotten. Sleeping in with a remembrance of his hand at the small of my back, resting there, his lips flutter behind my earlobe, the scent of him-musky like sweat, his kiss…

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Losing the Battle

by Kristen Hewitt Standing in the shadows, staring at the wall… looking in the mirror, walking down the hall… gazing down the courtyard, dreaming of what used to be… something cold and evil, haunts this place with me… Running through the darkness. Escaping the unknown… Falling over branches, Tripping over…

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Inspiration

by Laura Senff Inspiration approaches in many forms A ray of sunshine or a sliver of moonlight Watching campfire flames ignite The wind blowing in the trees or waves hitting the shore Or even watching winged beasts soar Inspiration in sundry situations transforms Maybe it is a speech on television…

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Good Wife-Bad Wife

by Raj Davis The clanging of bottles and glasses sound like the perfect symphony. Is there any better way to spend the evening than sipping on a Budweiser, crunching on cashews, while hearing the collective chatter of dozens of cops on a night after a long shift? Bill doubts there…

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Washing You

by Doris Ferleger Your bent elbow juts out. It is stiff and light and feels easily crushable against my hip as I walk around you. My body jerks away. I circle you at a distance of eighteen inches plus eighteen inches, the distance of each of our auras. Though maybe…

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Even Now

by Ann Minoff on the corner of rush and walton an incandescent bridge between the two halves of my mind momentarily shines as families crowd the stores carrying packages for their holiday tree my new grandson, daughter beside me when this intergalactic nexus flashes through the cheeriness and epidemic stimulation…

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My Grandpa and Me

By Angela Carter It was a rainy Saturday morning. The kind of day that softens parents just enough to allow their children to wear pajamas until lunch and watch Fraggle Rock in numb silence for hours. Struck by the contrast of the utter stillness inside my grandparents’ home and the…

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The Yellow Line

By James Seals Someone suggested that I am the hyphen, that I am the dash that connects W.E.B. DuBois’s double-consciousness; DuBois’s beautiful concept that allows me to accurately describe my pain. I am the hyphen. Because I am neither Filipino nor American. I am the middle. I am the tick-mark;…

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My Life as an Aspie

By Lois Hard Standing on the curb, I watch the procession as the world marches by with their flutes and suits made of crackling armor, drums beating to a tune that I can’t see, muted clowns riding indiscernible cars, floats waving their streamers for all to taste except for me…

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