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Recent Fiction

My Broken Brain, by Angie Ellis

I keep a list of songs I know well, so that if I get dementia people can reach the real me hidden inside my broken brain.
Recent Poetry

Ode to a Bee on the Small of Your Back, by Partridge Boswell

Blind to what tickles the delta of nerves there / you rub a humming with the back of your hand
Recent CNF

Freddy Krueger is Not Real, by Dina Peone

I was under the covers in my sister’s bedroom, deep asleep, while flames spread from a nearby candle.
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Boys’ Life/Rough Frontiers

Boys’ Life/Rough Frontiers

by Douglas W. Milliken
The only work he could find was at the truckers’ paradise on the north side of town where the main drag reverts into a numbered highway.
Follow Me

Follow Me

by Carol Malkin
Sara had selected the young girl, and Teddy and Sara had trailed her from the noisy waterfront club.
Rocket Night

Rocket Night

by Alexander Weinstein
It was Rocket Night at our daughter’s elementary school, the night when parents, students, and administrators gather to place the least-liked child in a rocket and shoot him into the stars.
Worried Playground Daddy’s Blues

Worried Playground Daddy’s Blues

by Justin Hamm
On the playground I strum guitar while my daughter dangles upside down from the bar above the tall slide, and inside my middle-aged brain a movie plays.
Going Once

Going Once

by Allan Peterson
I believe it was either forever or an eight / no longer lazy on the page, / because things took longer after that, / had longer lifetimes, / and that was their sign in continuous curls.
Promises

Promises

by Hilary Dean
You think Fine Arts is going to be a bird degree and then you have to take classes all through the summer and talk about art until you want to kill yourself and also everyone else.
Grief, Furniture

Grief, Furniture

by Beth Bilderback
This couch was made for grownups, vintage grownups of the 1930s, cinch-waisted female grownups and men who wore hats and drank martinis.
Summit

Summit

by Natalie Homer
I wish the wild mint would bake its scent into my skin, / and I could drag it behind me, as if it were a train of silvery lace. / It never does, and that’s okay.
Lily of the Valley

Lily of the Valley

by Andrea Hansell
I’m famous, and my sister Christine is ordinary. Saying it straight out like that feels strange, but it’s true. We’re identical twins, a fact that fascinates people.
Fireside
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Winner of the Pulitzer Prize in Poetry

Winner of the Pulitzer Prize in General Nonfiction

Winner of NBCC Award in Fiction

Winner of NBCC Award in Poetry

Winner of NBCC Award in Nonfiction

Winner of NBCC Award in Memoir

Winner of the 2019 Story Prize

Winner of the National Book Award in Fiction

Winner of the Thurber Prize for American Humor

Winner of the National Book Award in Poetry