Travel Advisory Level 4: Arkansas
Buckle up for one writer’s perspective
New Leaf Literary is facing criticism
I guess New Leaf needs to turn over a new leaf.
Most banned authors of all time
by Cezarija Abartis
Outside the kitchen window, squirrels scattered the seed from the birdfeeder Paula’s dad had set up. The seeds gleamed in the sun like drops of water.
Dragging Raven Lake
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.
The Imminence of Flight
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.
A Boyfriend History in 10 Flavors
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.
Down in the Station
by Seth Sawyers
In the station a black woman with thick braids played the cello. I thought she was good, but I don’t know if she really was good, because what do I know about the cello?
My Mother Has a Cult Following
by Siobhan Adcock
My mother has a cult following. It’s not as big as my father’s, because her band hasn’t sold as many records as his.
by Julia Lynn Rubin
When I look at the sky, I don’t see color. The man in the rabbit suit doesn’t either. I know this because I asked him one summer, when the air smelled like burning pavement.
by Emile DeWeaver
A mother-of-pearl mirror-stand, rolled rugs from Damascus, and other brick-a-brac from when I went through my I’m-gay-but-proud-to-be-Syrian bullshit fill the shadows in my garage.
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.