Excerpts

From Issue 14: "Black Escapism" (Poetry)

"Black Escapism," a poem by Faylita Hicks, is this week's except. You won't want to miss its voicing of joy and pain and the hearts where both connect.

From Issue 14: "Like Home" (Nonfiction)

New work, from Issue 14: Mary Birnbaum's "Like Home"

I had a mild distaste for nearly everything about him. I turned over in bed to face the open window. A dry huff of Santa Ana wind blew in and chapped my eyes, so I shut them. The problem with my husband was that while he might be infuriating, I had decided I was going to need him during the invasion.

From Issue 14: "Girl Gone Rogue" (Poetry)

In a moving work of poetry, Rachel Ronquillo Gray explores what it can mean for one young girl to stand up for her own future in this week's excerpt, "Girl Gone Rogue."

From Issue 14: South Carolina, 2012 (Flash Nonfiction)

New work, from Issue 14: Meredith Doench's "South Carolina, 2012"
Every Sunday evening is the designated grandfather clock winding time—colorful sticky reminders and random lists that line the kitchen counters tell my father so. He stands in front of the towering vessel and opens its coffin-box body to reveal the complicated innards. He pushes the pendulum back and forth. He yanks on the weights. Without the key, its full-moon face and delicate arms remain motionless.

From Issue 14: "Birds, Bees" (Fiction)

New work, from Issue 14: Ta'riq Fisher's "Birds, Bees"

Darius took a step back and looked like he was about to raise his hands, but the cop closed the gap between them and collided into him with a left hook that had the full support of his weight behind it. Clocked Darius right in his mouth, I heard the impact and it sounded like the something popped. They went to the ground like two alley cats, the cop still whaling on my baby brother.

My parents, Allison said shakily.

 

From Issue 11: How We Love (Poetry)

I’m in the kitchen

watching my neighbor

build a fence for his wife.

They don’t trust

my German Shepherd, ...

 

From Issue 13: My Face That Was (Flash Fiction)

I look up, and there she is, and I look down. Down at the milk and slide it quick over the glass panel so the red eye blinks at me, blinks that she’s here for me. On purpose. Not by chance.

From Issue 13: mr sausage (Poetry)

i had other names for him besides hector.

a woman on the beach heard me call him bubbles once.

then mr sausage. she stopped to pat him, ‘so his name’s

bubbles?’ she asked. no i said. awkwardly. it’s hector. ...

 

From Issue 13: Lodestone (Flash Nonfiction)

I would later learn that the ship had only been here a month and change, that it was a recent addition to these bouldered shores I keep returning to, year in and year out, ...

From Issue 13: The Augury of Bats (Flash Fiction)

Sheri tells me there are bats in her closet. “They’re diving and circling around and diving again.” Sheri is four and, as far as I know, has never seen a bat.

From "The Augury of Bats," by Kiran Kaur Saini.

From Issue 12: Horned God (Flash Nonfiction)

A part of me must have believed that, because God made all things, God also made the dinosaurs. ...

From Issue 12: Cloisonné China (Poetry)

The pinch of light tucked

between crumbling walls of snow in Manchu,

before a blast of sunlight came to whiteout

their frozen shadows.. . . "