The time has come to give The Splinter Generation a break. We could not be more proud of the work of our authors, our editors, and our readers.
Likely, this break will be permanent. But we have one more surprise coming down the pike. Stay tuned!. »
Adam is dead and I eat Greek yogurt in my office between classes. Adam is dead and I reply to emails requesting recommendations. I purchase Iron and Wine tickets for their November show on South Beach. I buy Band of Horses’s “The Funeral” off iTunes. »
by Niki Selken You know how it feels to write or make a first draft of something, then rework it until it shines like the top of Chrysler Building? You know how you kind of want to burn that first draft, so that no one. »
Poetry by Elaina M. Ellis
1.
Can a free-write about marriage be free or is it an oxymoron?
Marriage begs payment: pay for the husband to take the woman (cow)
off the hands of. »
Poetry by Janette Kim Larson
oblique sermon in the strip mall
man dressed up as pizza
arms restrained beneath
soft
beige
polyester
such lust. »
Lisa McCool-Grime Senior Poetry Editor Synthesis: This is not so much an act of combining as it is an act of harmonizing. Which parts of the previous drafts have shown. »
I hear Ezra Pound croaked without making a sound. No last rasp as his crooked legs crashed. I hear your aunt passed. I apologize. “I am nothing but bereft for. »
Lisa McCool-Grime Senior Poetry Editor In this series we have thus far presented a long, action-loaded rough draft and then a total scrap-and-revise, tanka-inspired revision. This week’s installment is a. »
Why I’ve got today This niggling feeling Like I’m The Principled Nazi Lieutenant With a Conscience defending A downed RAF pilot Of pure shamrock Irish stare (And this for fookin’. »
Lisa McCool-Grime Senior Poetry Editor Tanka is a Japanese form that can be roughly approximated in English with five lines using a syllabic pattern of 5-7-5-7-7. When I first began. »
Poetry by Whitnee Thorp
On Sundays we’d go over,
my grandmother and I, to see her ex-husband,
my grandfather, at his apartment a block away from ours.
On Sundays, the typewriter
would be in the. »
Lisa McCool-Grime Senior Poetry Editor In 2007, I was visiting my friend Owen at his art show: portraits on the grandest scale done in aerosol on 8′ x 8′ panels.. »
Inner villanelle of a father-to-be without his Xanax
Father-to-be, you are not a villain.
Hell, black bile does not blackball from mating.
But you know, they’ll be your children. »
The Splinter Generation is now accepting submissions of interviews with people you wouldn’t ever talk to. Find someone you wouldn’t ordinarily meet, or someone you disagree with on almost everything and have dinner, or a drink, or an email exchange. Record it, transcribe it, edit it down, and send it in. Why? Remember when you. »
Her Name is Sarah
When Randy drifted in for dinner with her baby
tangled in the rosary scars of her arms,
pressed against the dust of her breast,
everyone wanted to see. They softened
their eyes, their smiles, the way people do
when they look on a baby sleeping,
a baby who has not cried in two days,
a baby whose eyes ooze. »
Being diagnosed with cancer and experiencing chemotherapy at age 25 dramatically changed the priorities and course of my work. Prior to this illness, I made narrative-based images about local history and my neighbors. Now, the stories in the work have emerged directly from my own body and memory, and the history is my own. »