Joshua, by Jordana Jacobs
Inside the ovaries of my husband’s grandmother, Sylvie, resided an egg the size of a grain of sand that would have been Hannah, my brilliant and accomplished mother-in-law.
Upper Peninsula, by Andrew Hemmert
If the places you go become you, / you must account for the drive-through / liquor store housed in the old carwash.
by Kenneth Robbins
Where: the ninth floor of the Ritz Building, downtown in a median American city on the Southern side of the Mason Dixon Line, a city like Jacksonville, Savannah, or Montgomery, or none of them, or all of them.
translated by Len Krisak
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) is one of the most influential poets in German literature. Following are new translations of four of Rilke’s poems from his 1907 work Neue Gedichte.
by Robert S. King
This was not my house the day / it grew smaller over my shoulder. / The family my blind rage left would not / know me now, nor would I know more / than who they were.
by Michael O’Keefe
I want you to know two little known facts about me. One: I don’t like name-dropping. Hate it. Loathe it. Abhor it. Really. And I don’t like name-droppers either.
by Dino Parenti
He’d pick me up from Mama’s early Saturday while she slept, always waiting in his truck down the street and staring down the sun while gnashing on a spicebush twig.
by Midge Raymond
We’re having the same argument before my sister and her kids come over for a barbecue. I’m running out of reasons he hasn’t heard before, so I tell him, “This morning I saw a woman at Stop & Shop with a bullet on her key chain.”
by Joyce Sutphen
Somehow, it keeps itself in tune. / Each key remembers its name / and loves its neighbors— / black and white.
by Raymond Philip Asaph
A social researcher, she had actually been affiliated with Harvard University, part of the team which had issued an important, ignored report on the mental health of the American people.
by Kurt Lovelace
Kneeling to untangle my dog’s leg from its leash, / how did I get here, walking a pit bull in the dark under the sour leaves of drought resistant Texas oaks?
by Jim Davis
But boy, I’ll tell ya, a moment / in the woodshed with Kathleen would shake the rust / from the long-handled lopper and the pruning saw— / she’ll make you think this whole thing’s worth doing, / and worth doing right.