The seven most prolific vanity publishers
Mad Magazine shifting to “vintage” material
Trump temporarily suspends China tariffs
Melvil Dewey stripped of Melvil Dewey Medal
Amazon will pay no taxes on 2018 income
Joy Harjo is first Native American U.S. Poet Laureate
Recent Fiction

Wapiti Nocturne, by Douglas W. Milliken

Mum died in the last days of October, leaving—among other things—a lot of fall-time chores incomplete.
Recent Poetry

When We Believed the World Wouldn’t End, by Benjamin Cutler

After the final harvest, the forecast / called for freezing temperatures / and the end of this winsome world.
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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Hidden in the Bone

Hidden in the Bone

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.
Face Value

Face Value

by Randy Osborne
“I don’t expect you to remember me,” she says. The Atlanta bar is loud around us. She’s maybe late 30s, with dark hair and eyes, apple cheeks, a certain kind of defiance about the lips.
Red Apple

Red Apple

by Rustin Larson
I soak my sleeve in water just to foul things up a bit, / Create a small level of misery, to keep the defense / Honest.
Garden Constellations

Garden Constellations

by Amie Sharp
The yard looks still. / Winds riffle green-coin / leaves, slim white-preened bark.
The Hideaway Motel in Altoona, Pennsylvania

The Hideaway Motel in Altoona, Pennsylvania

by Lauren Hall
Mrs. Norris begins the afterlife in room 3B, the wheels of an empty suitcase skittering behind her. She takes her crossword puzzle to a café and bides her time.
Five Poems

Five Poems

by Simon Perchik
Though it’s familiar this flower / doesn’t recognize the breeze / wriggling out the ground / as that distance without any footsteps
Orbiting, Day 271

Orbiting, Day 271

by Bradley Potts
“There is a 2.43% probability of survival. How would you like to proceed, Jay?” Blue Jay, flutter and fly, away from the crows. That gloating, hateful blue engulfs my tiny window.
Sunday

Sunday

by Lee Martin
A porch swing sways, and the chains in the eyehooks screwed into the rafters let out their lazy creaks as if this is a day of rest for them, too. Or nearly so.
Puddles Like Pillows

Puddles Like Pillows

by Suzanne Conboy-Hill
Things began disappearing round about March. Just little things—a newspaper left on a bench, or a sandwich wrapper—and not blown away or tumbled into a corner, just gone.
Threnody for Paul Morphy

Threnody for Paul Morphy

by Brian Glaser
The flowers are everywhere, pungent and bright. / It could be autumn, eighteen-fifty-seven.
Fireside
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Winner of the Pulitzer Prize in Fiction

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