NBA longlists announced
It’s not all about the pub date
Obama memoir coming November 17
The lowdown on library ebooks
KISS Library dismantled in federal court
Gail Sheehy, author of Passages, has died
Recent Fiction
Remains, by Maureen Simons
They came back every year to lay flowers at the spot. Two little girls, hand in hand, walked soundlessly up Nora’s driveway.
Recent Poetry
How Unbecoming, by Katie Tunning
I’m sorry for saying the heat death of the universe / when you asked what comforted me most
Recent CNF
Big Girls Like Us, by Kelly Flynn
Every time I see my father, he asks me if I have lost weight. He has done this since I was a child.
Precision
by Carol Hamilton
Scarlatti’s sheet music lies / on the floor near the piano / and a catalog for later perusal / is sprawled in full color / near the computer.
I Sent an Opossum to Preschool in Place of My Son and No One Noticed
by Steve Edwards
Last fall, after much consideration, my wife and I decided that we could no longer send our son to Sunshine Meadows Preschool.
Death Poems
by Laura Madeline Wiseman
I don’t know why death wants me or why death wakes me to press her bones against my backside. The ringing is incessant now. She has to know this.
A Supposedly Funded Thing I’ll Never Do Again: An AWP Survival Guide
by Evan Allgood
The proliferation of scarves, specs, pasty skin, and presexual tension gives the Association of Writers & Writing Programs conference a Hogwartsian feel, but with none of the magic.
Eyes of the Day
by Tim Craven
I recall as kids when our obsession would / lead us into the thick backwoods / next to the decommissioned railway / line, our pockets stuffed with ribbons
Mrs. Shelton
by Michael C. Ahn
Even on weekends Mrs. Shelton wouldn’t leave my head. I thought of her on the bus, at my desk, and in my bed. I suspected my mother noticed me at times, gazing at or playing with my food.
Nightfall
by Victor Hugo (1802-1885)
translated by Jacqueline Michaud
The sun slept this evening in clouds of mounting gray / Tomorrow will bring the storm, and evening, and night
Pornography and Poetry
by Isabella David
“Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembr’d” has always seemed to me the most perfect pickup line, although it didn’t work so well on Ophelia.
History
by Cezarija Abartis
The Medici coat of arms, with its shield and crown, hung on a pole on the sidewalk here and everywhere throughout the city, still asserting ownership.
My Patent Leather Shoes
by Konstantina Sozou-Kyrkou
I feel my stomach bubble all day today. It’s my birthday and godfather will be here in a minute or so. He’s promised to bring me a pair of new leather shoes.
