We lost Larry McMurtry and Beverly Cleary
HarperCollins to acquire HMH Trade
Phantom Tollbooth author Norton Juster has died
Dr. Seuss’s biographer on unpublishing six of his books
Six Dr. Seuss books scrapped due to racism
Hugh Howey’s publishing values
Recent Fiction
Crystal Pigs, by Allison Brice
I took my breakup quietly, like a pitiful February rain with no lightning.
Recent Poetry
Changing Hearts, by David Watts
I heard for the second time / the news of his heart transplant, / details like a post card from a foreign country
Recent CNF
My Stepmother, Myself, by Abi Stephenson
She didn’t have to love me. Biology didn’t force her hand the way it does for mothers.
Letter to Francisco
by Mark Ramirez
I wonder what it feels like to die; to feel the rhythm of your body / fall to rest as you watch your final breath dissipate, / to speak only through dreams and the grainy film of memory.
Weeding
by Art Nahill
Kneeling amidst / the camellias, roses / culling the self / sown from the cultivated / the disdained / from the highly-regarded / I’m reminded / how circumstance / defines us
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
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
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
by Amie Sharp
The yard looks still. / Winds riffle green-coin / leaves, slim white-preened bark.
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
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
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
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.
Book du jour
by Sarah Freligh
Open Contests
by Stephen Parrish, with the editors of The Lascaux Review
The Lascaux Prize Volume Six
