A summary of the voting rights issue
The 2021 NBA finalists
Is the future of serial fiction bleak?
Who doesn’t read books in America?
KDP now offers hardcover option
CAA to acquire ICM
Recent Fiction
The Noon Executions, by Susan M. Gelles—They heard the shots, and the cheers, and every Saturday night they drank to celebrate the everlasting strength of the regime.
Recent Poetry
Five Pieces to Assemble After the Quarantine, by Molly Lanzarotta—The lover who decides to stay / understands—like you, standing too close on the train— / it’s all about the distance we keep, or give away.
Recent CNF
Thank You, Girls!, by Dvora Wolff Rabino—I’m culling needless items from kitchen, baths, and linen closets. I’m curating friendships. Now it’s your turn to go.
Across the Street
by Lee Martin
Over the next few weeks, a series of strange and unsettling incidents occurred. On more than one night, Glory was jarred from sleep by angry shouts coming from across the street.
Some Things Are Decided Before You Are Born
by Marissa Glover
Doctors cannot tell you when you’re born / how many pitches your arm contains.
Foal
by Lois P. Jones
In your next life you will be / birthed in needles / of hoarfrost, your eyes still / in the blue gauze between
The Mourner’s Song
by Roy White
You can die in January if you want, / and lots of people do, but this far north, / nobody gets into the ground till spring.
Songs We Play When We Pretend We’re Ourselves
by Benjamin Thomas
There’s a piano player in the restaurant on the night Zoe tells you she’s pregnant.
Heaven
by Mike O’Mary
“Put on your winter coat and get a warm blanket,” I told my daughter. “We’re going out to look at Christmas lights.”
Grace
by Joseph Fasano
You’ve seen them in the deep sleep / of the season: figures sitting in a garden, / light on their faces as you enter.
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.
Contributor Spotlight
Safe as Lightning
by Scudder Parker
Open Contests
by Stephen Parrish, with the editors of The Lascaux Review
Lascaux Vol 7
