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It’s the school’s loss, not Emma’s
Fiction

Nonfiction

Poetry

Cafe

Flash

Resources

Freelance Your Way to Poverty

Freelance Your Way to Poverty

by Con Chapman
There is a charity in Boston that helps the homeless by publishing a newspaper to which they contribute articles and poems.
Animals

Animals

by Robley Wilson
How old was I then? I was in sixth grade, which meant I was twelve. That was another part of my uncle’s argument: I was “old enough” for the fights.
Give Me Your Wife

Give Me Your Wife

by Tony Hoagland
because / I like her. I like / the signs of wear on her; / the way her breasts have dropped a little with the years; / the weathered evidence of joy around her eyes.
Bessie Arrowood’s Circle of Life

Bessie Arrowood’s Circle of Life

by Karen Paul Holmes
There she goes again, spinning / her wheelchair ’round the nursing home. / Two years, five thousand laps. So far.
Goldfish

Goldfish

by Lisa Cihlar
Does it matter that a migrating tern / is standing in the Fox River / with a goldfish in its beak? / The tern is a Caspian with a lovely black head / like the back-combed Italian mobsters in old movies.
Gatsby

Gatsby

by Camille Griep
Like almost everyone in America, I first encountered the puzzle that is The Great Gatsby in high school.
Circumstances

Circumstances

by Camille Griep
By the time they pull you out of the car, the party is already half over. Harry from accounting has mown through the good cheese and the VP is opening the evening’s lesser quality wines.
This Isn’t Silverlake Anymore

This Isn’t Silverlake Anymore

by Neil McCarthy
I hear the slightly scratched voice of Joan Baez coming from / the record player singing about the junipers in the pale moonlight, / applause erupting like hailstones on a corrugated iron roof.
Hearsay

Hearsay

by Carla Ferreira
They say in Avignon people dance on the bridge / that was either unfinished or fell apart— / no one remembers those folk stories anymore.
A Letter to Nick Ut

A Letter to Nick Ut

by Samantha Storey
Of all the images to come out of Saigon, your photo of the naked girl running toward the camera is the iconic one.
It all began around a campfire…

Beautiful language

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.

Contributor Spotlight:

by Robert Wexelblatt

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Best Writing Contests of 2022, recommended by Reedsy

Lascaux Vol 9

by Stephen Parrish, with the editors of The Lascaux Review