Tag: Front

Slip

a story by Jeremy Garrett

The darkroom reeked of tobacco. Yesterday had been Andrew’s turn to empty the fix trays and banish the glossies to the drying cabinets for the night, so it must have been the ghost of his cigarettes the teacher smelled. Paul didn’t think to reprimand his student. Mingled with the chemical fumes, the tobacco scent took him back to his own nights of afterhours chain-smoking in his art school darkrooms.

Three and a Half Weeks

by Geoff(rey) Line

Trucks are a rigger’s temple. I am in a temple, a Chevrolet I-don’t-know-what, trying not to nod off to Ozzie Osbourne’s yells fused with metal guitar. “Let me hear you SCREAM like you WANT it.” Leonard, the driller takes one of the four turns on the fifty minute drive—a hasty brake and thrust to accelerate. “Let me hear you YELL like you MEAN it.” I strain my eyelids open. Leonard steers through the sunrise—premature crow’s feet round his Oakleys. In the passenger seat, Nate our goliath derrick hand, holds a coffee mug with a massive calloused hand on his knee. Beside me, Muscles, the other roughneck, rolls down the window he’s used to ash his butts past a slit, and lobs the first of three empty Red Bulls to the deserted Alberta highway. Artificial wind blusters through as Leonard rips 140 K to the site. Oil awaits.

The Energy Engine of Buddy Wakefield: Arguably the Most Successful Spoken Word Poet on the Road

I did the math and realized if I get $50 to $100 bucks a night plus sell chapbooks, on average I’m going to make a hundred dollars a night which is a ten hour a day, ten dollar an hour job with no taxes taken out. I won’t have rent because I will be living in my car, so I’ll be making just as much as I already am, with my college degree. And living out my little dream, my little delusion of rock star grandeur, um…as a poet. So I just did it. I booked it two months out.

Lauren Alyssa Howard: Deconstructing the “Poor-White-Trash” Stereotype

My work consists of many layers that delve into my own upbringing in the ‘poor-white-trash’ South. I use this generalization of who I am as a basis for commenting on this particular lifestyle, as well as poking fun at the stereotype. It’s the old saying, “I’m ____, so I’m allowed.” I use gender-, race-, and class-specific objects to bring about questions of who these people were/are and whether or not they should be feared or laughed at.

Coal Miner

Poetry by Khary Jackson

For the lady that burnt photos of her ex, to use the ash for coal

This is what it means to be sexy.

Only in certain hands can heartbreak be so pragmatic.
I have a bookshelf of failures that beg for a kindling.

The Vicenarian or My Twenties So Far

Poetry by Laura E. Davis My therapist says, “Tell me about your twenties.” At twenty I’m born again. Bush vote. My heart turns purple and my insides become composted totems of faces I’d forgotten. Grandfather starts dialysis. Get homesick in…

The Negative

Poetry by S. Wilson Collins

Since junior high I watched
the gym rats toss iron

in the room with mirrors
for walls –
where weights whirr

Frat

Poetry by Juris Edgars

We collapsed like gods: turned over on our sides, heaving up
the belief we had in ourselves. We woke one morning
and became aware that we only believed that we believed,
and then just laid there.

Megan Hildebrandt Talks Art, Humor, and Cancer at 25

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 lifespan.

Luncheon

Poetry by Shannon Eddy

The best meatloaf sandwiches
Are cut in threes,

Sectioned off pie charts
To be eaten,

Under stone trees
Pre-staged stages,

Beached

Poetry by Stacie Leatherman

The current had arrested me,
strong arms around the waist. It’s slow panic
to be the quiet, steady, struggling thing
in the water, eyes slits like the sunset behind,
like a bear whose floes have all melted except one.