Obama memoir tops 2020 bestseller list
Writer Beware: 2020 in Review
Oh happy day: Trump finally concedes election
Gatsby and others now in the public domain
The biggest literary scandals of 2020
Congress passes CASE Act to resolve copyright claims
Recent Fiction
The Company of Shallow Holes, by Dino Parenti
One unremarkable March day, a man began puncturing random holes in his withered pasture with a post-hole digger.
Recent Poetry
Ecru, by Oak Morse
We were all one beautiful blend / of mama’s love. My brother, / the color of ecru, the other one / sepia, and me, ebony.
Recent CNF
Dear Madeleine, by Stephanie Vanderslice
I can tell you this now. Both times I was pregnant, I worried. I doubted my ability to raise a girl.
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.
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
by Brian Glaser
The flowers are everywhere, pungent and bright. / It could be autumn, eighteen-fifty-seven.
Columbus Road
by David Buchanan
It got to the point that I just didn’t want the other guys to even see her. Sharing—a tent, a cockpit, a shower—gets old during a deployment, and I wished she would stay away.
Counting
by Jodi Barnes
Often she dreams she doesn’t get into her dead boyfriend’s car. She dances solo in her stupor and calls her mother who’d promised, “I’ll pick you up; no questions asked.”
Book du jour
by Katie Manning
Open Contests
by Stephen Parrish, with the editors of The Lascaux Review
The Lascaux Prize Volume Six
