Wandering Boy, by Jim Gish—We did not have to turn off the radio. My father told the mechanics, Ron and Pete, that it had a burned out tube. They just nodded. They knew better.
If it Wasn’t for You, by Bill Ratner—I’d be a baby without skin, a parrot / without a little soap-shaped food cake, / a truck driver out of a job.
Don’t Let Them See You, by Anonymous—I will soon be pitching a debut novel, and I want to know how much of an issue my age will be to agents and publishers.
There’s No Such Thing as Writer’s Block, by Wendy Russ—Writer’s block. It’s that phrase we speak tremulously to explain why we aren’t writing or why what we are writing sounds like a page that fell out of a 13-year-old’s diary. It’s a concept that wraps up, in two words, every horrible insecurity we have as writers.
History
My Patent Leather Shoes
Backspace
Things I Did Not Learn From Dead White Male Authors
The Three Graces of Ana Lydia Vega
The Difference Between Being a Slut & a Racist: Pocahottie Hottentot
Waves
Lilac
How to Pay Respects to a Serial Killer
Three Bedrooms in New Jersey
is meant to be heard as well as read, and in fact words were vocalized eons before they were ever committed to clay or parchment. Storytelling began around campfires. We seek prose and poetry that continue the tradition.
