Issue 27 (Summer 2024)

Welcome to our summer issue! We have twenty-five selections to share with you, an engaging mix of fiction, nonfiction and poetry.

Introductory Cento

A bird lives in my chest, somewhere near my heart.
Your mouth is my mouthprint.
We wanted to go on our own quests, slay our own dragons, and live happily ever after in our brave new world.
Inland, the building with a great golden dome was erected in the city center to send mixed messages to its inhabitants.
Waking up to the maniacal whir of the sump pump diametrically opposed to your heart and its rhythm, you can’t go back to sleep;
You’re supposed to send over a draft in three weeks’ time and you have nothing you’d stand by. You are panicking.
His father launches heat-seeking questions as he comes into visual range.
The roots move softly in their own orbits as they swell.
“Your great-grandfather killed a man on this highway,” he said. “Right about here.”
I know the Lord will make a way, oh yes/she sings under her breath.
The night’s game begins in this insufficiently lit room.
What more could be said of you?
He moved like a rabid dog, swaying and lurching around the pathway, practically foaming at the mouth.
The invisible experts of the internet call it a “lonesome howl.”
We’re lost in darkness, our mouths shut.
Above us, the viscous night was barbed with stars, the moon was a giant cocoon wound up with light, ready to unravel until it was empty.
During intake the little doctor lady with short gray hair asked you a couple questions about dogs.
They said maybe / you’re the problem.
I am still working to understand my role when the potential to heal a broken body is gone.
Becoming like my mom is the worst thing for me to do, according to my grandma.
And all our wiry veins share the same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean.
In the throes of a racing heart, your Christian mind is certain we are damned to the eternal lake of hellfire.
It is OK to not be very good.
Like most people, like you probably, this isn’t where I thought I’d end up.
Like the first man / and god, our fingers touch.

Inspiration for this came from the recently-published Cascadia Field Guide, the editors of which created their “Cascadia Cento” as part of an introduction. We were impressed, and imitation being a fine form of flattery, we thought we’d try the same.

Each line in our cento is a phrase, line, or sentence from a selection in this issue, appearing in order according to the table of contents. The words are straight from the selections, with some punctuation added for clarity.

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Click on any selection below to start reading, and visit us on social media to let us know what you think.

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Tahoma Literary Review gratefully accepts donations. While a print version of this issue would typically cost around $18, it is all available here online, without a paywall. To contribute any amount you can use the Support TLR link at the bottom of the page.