Mary Oliver has died
Author income down sharply.
Yet another must read from Writer Beware
Works published in ’23 to enter the public domain
Nope, still can’t resell your digital files
Tin House is shuttering its print magazine
Putting Out the Trash

Putting Out the Trash

by Robert S. King
My socks are small trash bags, / and the street number of my house is zero. / Garbage cans are my walls on winter nights.
Ten Short Poems

Ten Short Poems

by Simon Perchik
These sheep have no choice either / though even in summer / they still want to hear the truth
Traffic Jam Song #1

Traffic Jam Song #1

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
At a Truck Stop on Highway 124

At a Truck Stop on Highway 124

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.
Breakfast on the Terrace

Breakfast on the Terrace

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
Fiesta Brava

Fiesta Brava

by Joseph Gross
Then there he is again— / the Suit of Lights, all / epaulets and reluctant pink and gold, / back in the ring.
Beer For Breakfast

Beer For Breakfast

by David Salner
The chrome-colored clouds / pushed the heat down, held in the car fumes, / the smell of the asphalt. Out on the patio, / I was ready for work
Maternity Leave

Maternity Leave

by Lauren Yates
There is something about traveling home that stops the blood. / My womb becomes a howling dog warning me of danger.
A Quintuple

A Quintuple

by Simon Perchik
Here, there, the way silence / tows you below the waterline / and though you are alone / you’re not sure where her name / is floating on the surface / or what’s left
River Mouth

River Mouth

by Heather Dobbins
She hasn’t taken off her swimsuit all summer. She is two hands / across her middle. I know that from throwing her: one foot / on my thigh, the other in my palm. Up, over, splash.
Fireside
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Winner of the 2018 National Book Award in Fiction

Winner of the 2018 Thurber Prize for American Humor

Winner of the 2018 National Book Award in Poetry

2018’s Biggest Adult Book

Winner of the 2018 National Book Award in Nonfiction

The 2018 Pushcart Prize Winners

Winner of the 2018 Man Booker Prize

The Best American Short Stories of 2018

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