Stories
Story of the Week
She looked over through the falling snow. “Jack?” she said. “Is that you?”
Story of the Week
It is February in Ukraine. Juliana tells the reporter she just wants to live in her country.
iPoems
May your wife remove her shirt and have an affair with a tornado.
Poetry
Her body is no longer the source of pleasure but constant pain.
Story of the Week
The sounds of Africa exploded around the white men and women.
Poetry
All her sisters have gone to bed, dreaming dreams not like the wakeful.
Fiction
The scent of lighter fluid and tobacco drifted in through the window.
Story of the Week
We know that we were lied to, the disaster was worse than we feared.
Poetry
Let those shadows sift the spirits of their children from the silt.
Fiction
My wife fell in love with a dancer. A woman. I came here to get away.
Fiction
She sips the coffee and thinks about throwing herself off the balcony.
Fiction
They wrapped him in bandages from all three kits. The old man watched them.
Story of the Week
The neighbors were Ukrainians with bad tempers and owned guns.
Poetry
The doctor said your life will never be the same before she said hello.
Poem of the Week
I let him record me doing it all. I wanted to watch me be a monster.
Poem of the Week
I reach in, blind hand finds what I’ve already seen, only one front foot.
Story of the Week
At nineteen I lived for three months as an earnest cocaine addict.
Poetry
Whitman may just mean: it is pretty cold, but there’s always colder.
Poem of the Week
she was right—hurricane being the name of the feeling, the twist of it.
Poetry
I could throw one of these rocks at the moon and watch it fall.
Fiction
The room barely fit a bed, a chest of drawers, and a rocker, all not hers.
Poem of the Week
and there I was five-foot-four and most way old enough to drive
Poem of the Week
The raven cocked its black eye, dipped its beak in the red pool.
Poem of the Week
We say America you are magnificent and we meant we are heartbroken.
iPoems
Everything white is a white spider. The spider spins regardless of color.
Narrative High School Writing Contest
The heart cannot remember what the heart does—the mirror is no longer a mirror.
In my father’s garden ivy claws at the pale-blue shed.
Fall Contest Winners
Who cared about a whiff of male exertion and motor oil? Not Lana.
Story of the Week
“No one shoots when the army inoculates and hands out money.”
Poem of the Week
It was not me, but you who spoke first; the sheets began to unwind.
