The ABA attempts to “box out” Amazon
B&N was apparently hacked
Louise Glück has won the Nobel Prize in Literature
NBA finalists announced
Houghton Mifflin fires 22% of its workforce
It’s not all about the pub date
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
The Figure, by Joseph Fasano
You sit at a window and listen to your father / crossing the dark grasses of the fields
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.
Living With Lies
by Gita M. Smith
Whenever someone asks me, “So, what do you do?” I like to say, “I am a crash test dummy tech for the National Highway Traffic Safety folks.”
Clemency
by Cady Vishniac
A dead ringer for Josey. She sneezes as she walks into the pharmacy, and I look up from the newspaper I’m not supposed to be reading.
America
by Katherine Riegel
I never dreamt of you but of your parts: / my flatland home, the mountains my mother loved, / beach where I could look out and see only not-you.
Dispatches From the Backseat of the Last Honest Service Taxi in Beirut
by Sara Saab
From Hamra to Bliss St, we’ll list the loves we’ve thrown in the sea.
Yellow Paper
by Amanda Kabak
Now that Kate was safely out of the way—silenced permanently in a corner plot with a view of the freeway—the pedigreed vultures swooped in.
Turbulence
by Maggie Smith
The sky shakes us / like a shoe with a stone inside. / Even the smallest stone hurts.
Mr. Chips and the Mango-Tango Mother Ship
by Alice Hatcher
Marylou was breaking it off with the human race once and for all, leaving the whole miserable lot for good, and this time for real.
If I Have a Daughter
by April Ford
If I could have a daughter, / it would be my life goal to make sure she never—not in a million years ever— / confused one kind of touch for another.
Improv
by Roy White
Let’s make a wedding photo, you and I. / I’m blind and you weren’t there, but between us / we can do this.
The Flying Dutchman
by Annette Gendler
February 3, 1946. Rain pounded the railcar’s roof. Karl felt as if inside a drum. A stuffy drum, smelling of wet wool and unwashed bodies.
