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INTERVIEWS An Interview With Richard Thomas by Pela Via An Interview With John Dermot Woods by David Hoenigman
BOOK REVIEWS How They Were Found by Matt Bell We’re Getting On by James Kaelan Monkeybicycle 7 Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Shteyngart
FLASH FICTION The Waltz by Lisa Aldin The Way to Arizona by Kenneth W. Harmon Frozen by Lacey Martinez Tender by Christina Murphy ITCH by Gary Percesepe Mrs. Peabody by Melissa Scholes Young
SHORT STORIES Have You Seen Me? by Annam Manthiram The Backroom by Edward Mc Whinney
CREATIVE NONFICTION Uncle Boo by Abby Rotstein
» Continue reading October 2010 Issue…
A cappella
My father was sick.There was an avalanchebehind his eyelids.
My mother was the slow tickof a grandfather clock.Carved sturdy, carved nervous.
They were a strange symphony.Each hour she was hollow calland he the echoof collapse.
Remorse Code
Having not seen you in a decadeI can only assume your desert skinhas found its rain. Your words look practiced;the combed surface of a Zen gardenon their college ruled tightropes.You always write I’m sorry, your eyes blinkingremorse, it sticking to the page. I tear it off,sew together a sheet and sleep on it.There are tiny slits across my back when I
» Continue reading Two Poems by Tara Nicole…
“Que pasa, Gabby?” my mom asks me. She looks terrible. She’s stopped wearing makeup or caring about her hair since her mastectomy. Now there’s a / over her heart where her left breast used to be, like her doctor was trying to write an X, but gave up halfway. “Nothing,” I say. Christmas dinner at mom’s house is moo shu chicken and eggrolls and my mom constantly refilling her wine glass and telling me how much she hates her coworkers at Target. I make a couple jokes but she doesn’t laugh so I give up and just listen to
» Continue reading Frozen by Lacey Martinez…
slow thaw
1. i think i will head out on footinto this blizzardtraipse up a mountainsidefar off the beaten path
until i cannot walkuntil it does not matteruntil i collapse to numbbeneath the crush of snow
2. you will know i am not here whenyou slide your hand across our bed where it should be warmbut you will find it is not warm
you will know that i am gonewhen you no longer wishto slide your handacross this bed
3. oh but first i picture eadweard muybrigere-emerging to capture this in slow-moeach step of the mystery of my demisethen the
» Continue reading Three Poems by Spiel…
Home Is a Time of Thunderstorms
Ask a child what home means to themand their breath hidesin fallen leaves,candles in rooms of their heartextinguish.Nothing burns. Nothing melts.
They search like refugeesin fountains cloggedwith startled birds.For all they have ever heard, a mother calling from across a field, the unmistakable sound of their names through closed doorscannot fly away.
They search like puppetsin the mountains of dispossessedhands.For all they have ever seen, a room full of animals that never run away, the apple tree in their back yard blushing with fruit they climb to reach and ones they never willare paralyzed.
When you ask a child
» Continue reading Two Poems by Donavon Davidson…
One day my uncle decided to leave the house he shared with my grandmother and get a pack of cigarettes. That’s a routine task for anybody but a schizophrenic. My grandmother called me and asked if I’d search the neighborhood for him. I was unusually calm about the whole affair, and remember driving around in my truck thinking everything would be all right. My intuition was correct. I didn’t find him, but a kind realtor did and brought him back to grandma’s house. I always marveled at my grandmother’s poise in dealing with my uncle. After all, she was
» Continue reading Uncle Boo by Abby Rotstein…
Review by Tobias Carroll
The California-based press Flatmancrooked is fond of alternate editions, experimental funding models, and neatly planned deviations from what might be expected from a publisher, small or large. Recent and forthcoming work that they’ve released has included novellas from Alyssa Knickerbocker and Emma Straub, along with Shya Scanlon’s Forecast, a novel originally serialized online. And while the stories told in James Kaelan’s We’re Getting On are compelling, the book has attracted as much attention for its carbon-neutral construction and Kaelan’s tour of the West Coast by bicycle. What you make of We’re Getting On may well
» Continue reading We’re Getting On by James Kaelan…
Listen to a podcast of Melissa Scholes Young’s “Mrs. Peabody.”
Mrs. Peabody had said ‘no,’ or rather ‘no thank you,’ many times and still Jacob wouldn’t leave her alone. He followed her through the hallways before the first bell as she rushed from the copy room to her classroom. He waited outside her room after lunch when she returned from the teacher’s lounge with Mr. Fiallos. Mrs. Peabody pretended she didn’t know what Jacob wanted. “Oh, Jacob. Have you been waiting for me? Homework help, again? Thanks for that link, Mr. Fiallos. I’ll check it out later.” Then she
» Continue reading Mrs. Peabody by Melissa Scholes Young…
The demandsof my pooch…His constant rations, poop removal, water in his bowl—It’s enough to get depressed about.I am his slave and he is not my companion.
When I found him, cartoon sad eyesmy heart’s call was answered. I, on the other hand,answered his request for a bath and a treat.For a scratch and a walk…for another treat.
It’s not in good taste to loathe your pet, but he barked three days straightwhen I had the flu.There was no caring, wet nose against my temple,no pacing with worry, no bedridden depression.
Father knows best.I understand that now.He let unruly Gusout the
» Continue reading The Companion by Janet Matlock…
I cannot remember the hour. The tables were shining with laughter. An orchestra assembled on the wide polished floor, which was dusted with snow. Players sat down in their places. The chandeliers flickered and dimmed. And someone was saying it’s time while others were staring outside, where the street had meandered away. Soon shapes appeared in the shadows where monuments struggled to walk, and the conductor arose from the dark and stood at the podium. When the music started to play I’d thought it would never arrive, but everyone waited to see who would get up and walk to the
» Continue reading Waltz du temps perdu by Gary Percesepe…
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