A poetry reading by Sierra DeMulder.
by Kevin Couture
The men waited on the shore while Susan, (whose son they searched for), made coffee on the tailgate of a half-ton.
by Chris Connolly
At the supermarket I see a young mother gently weeping in the cereal aisle. Her baby watches her curiously, possibly stumped by this reversal of roles, or too young to understand.
by Laura Golden Bellotti
Our ten-year age difference seemed vast to me, not to him. It was lunch—our daily lunches at the small French restaurant across the street from our office—that bridged the gap.
by Roxanne Lynn Doty
If anybody follows me call 911. I live in apartment 12 but don’t go there if somebody stalks me. I should stay in a public place like Taco Bell or Walgreens.
by David Tucker
No one understands the traffic jams in this city, / how they just spring from the ground like this / and why, when you reach the head of the line, there is / no accident
by Andrea Witzke Slot
The odor of stale hotdogs coils / around this truck stop of quiet men / who sit with faces bowed, bath kits / in laps, fair-like tickets in hand.
by Rustin Larson
Prism vase, asters blue as glacier ice, / baskets of strawberries, croissants, / goblets lit with orange juice, / & the cathedral distant, the boat house / flying its flag in an international zone
by Joseph Gross
Then there he is again— / the Suit of Lights, all / epaulets and reluctant pink and gold, / back in the ring.
by Emile DeWeaver
Writers’ processes differ, but here’s my truth: Writing is hard and I hate it; revision is easy, and I want to take it to the movies, then get to third base.
by Isabella David McCaffrey
Autofiction is technically new, but now it’s been identified as a trend—like cat eyeliner then or wearing winter white. When the masses catch on, is it no longer cool?
by Diane Payne
After making the one hundred mile drive with my daughter for the Breast MRI appointment, she takes off to meet an old friend who is a medical student at the hospital.
by Jim Krosschell
Lately, as I’ve progressed from little walks around the living room to real walks around the block, the neighborhood seems to be different.
At WLTRY we’re looking for recordings of poetry and prose, whether original compositions or “reprints.” Readings that bring written words to life.
by David W. Berner
Casey and Graham heard me talk about the details of the trip, about my purpose for taking on the challenge of it, and an itinerary based on the travels written about in Kerouac’s book. Although neither had heard much of anything about Kerouac . . .
by Eli Glasman
When I got back to the house it was nearly midday. My father and Talya were still at synagogue. Normally we had coffee and cake for breakfast on Shabbat, but I’d left too early, so there was a piece left for me on the bench.
by Karen Paul Holmes
Why do knots form by themselves? / In my blow dryer cord, / cell phone charger, / dog leashes. / What Boy Scout crept into the dark / to practice right over left / around and through?
by Jodi Picoult
One day when I was seven I came home from school to find that my mother had redecorated my bedroom. My shelf of stuffed animals was gone, replaced with all the books on math and science she had used in college.
by Hélène Cardona
Wind, who yearns to be savored, offers / me three cups overflowing / with eternity, daemon of insight. / The opportune encounter enraptures quintessential / distress, ruffles estranged quietude . . .
by Brett Garcia Rose
My mother took her own life at 1 a.m. on Saturday the thirteenth of some month. I know this because my watch tells me.