Poetry by Matthew Ostapchuk
I.
Beside the boulevard staircase
a sepia flower woman sits, sells
stalks for a nickel, answers you
vacantly, the way a cat might
or mightn’t. Looking at her sideways
one can tell she’s tatters and. »
by Sarah Landenwich
Planning a wedding can at times seem the equivalent of pawning our mothers’ burnt bras to finance a boob job.. »
Editors’ Note: Back in their spring/summer issue, The Atlanta Review brought us “the very first poetry from inside the pro-democracy movement in Iran.” We asked the editor, Sholeh Wolpé, if we could reprint a couple of the poems.
And then she said yes! This is the. »
Join us this Thursday, June 24th, for our summer reading event. It promises to be an exciting night with performances by 2009 Rosenthal Emerging Voices Fellow, Erika Ayón, nonfiction/fiction writer. »
I wanted to go back to the lab, and try to write poems that would demand the eye, demand a reader. And not only demand it, but reward it.
I’m. »
Back in their spring/summer issue, The Atlanta Review brought us “the very first poetry from inside the pro-democracy movement in Iran.” The spring issue contains a powerful, moving, and devastating. »
For some reason, writing sad music provides contrast, whereas writing happy music doesn’t provide contrast for people. It also just doesn’t come naturally to me for whatever reason. Maybe it’s. »
Poetry by Alyssa Ogi
My grandmother could not understand
why I’d want metal shoved through my ear cartilage,
the first in family history with intentional holes.
I said “there’s no. »
Fiction by Amber Sparks
Kay keeps lists of everything; it’s her illness. So when she told me she has a List of Attempted Suicides, I wasn’t surprised.. »
Apá’s voice pierces through the front door, as we play outside
on the porch taking turns letting a ladybug crawl inside our palms.
Apá is in the kitchen with Amá,. »
Poetry by LaToya Jordan
Our Father, who art in Heaven,
However he be: drunk, sober, slipping strippers dollar bills, belligerent with a large group of men who look like him, I pray the Lord his soul to. »
Fiction by Shome Dasgupta
Did you know? Did you know that he and he took out my spinal chord and used it as a piano-. »
The main thing I see in the writing is this strain of what I call “hysterical lyricism.” Certain younger writers are just so saturated by visual media. »