Authors
Poem of the Week
Who mind loved would not rather be loved body too. Since all is all.
Poetry
Some women have all the tit out hip out flat of the hand & tone of voice.
Poem of the Week
Children can be seen as worldly things, not as souls with broken mirrors.
Poetry
Screaming, the children flew toward the trees in their saucers.
Poetry
Like a god I shook their tiny worlds, terrible but ineffectual storms.
Photography & Art
For my vacation last summer, I visited the Bateer family in Xiwuqi.
Poem of the Week
A psychologist told me we can train our dreams. I practice each night.
iPoems
“Feathered Cup” by Shangyang Fang. A complete poem in a single screen.
Poem of the Week
Beached on the kingdom I learned to swim with my eyes closed.
Poetry
Here we were, seventeen, trapped by the sheer number of bodies.
Poem of the Week
it’s hard not to be obsessed with your own shadow I don’t tell him
Poetry
I take the box against my chest like a portal to my father’s heart
Poem of the Week
there is no place on this earth I can run from my own prejudice
Poem of the Week
They’re not, and it’s not, and we’re not, and only a god can save us.
Fiction
“You are too young for politics, too beautiful for a jail cell.”
Story of the Week
Upon his supine monstrous shape there was a colossal inertia.
Poem of the Week
The almanac tells them when the moon passes into ghost weather.
Poem of the Week
This summer I mothered my brother’s death; I brothered my mother’s cancer.
My brother and mother died this summer, two of seven billion.
Poetry
I wanted just to like chemistry, because my teacher hailed from Georgia.
Poetry Contest Winners
He grew a forest of candles and cried when it succumbed to wildfire.
Story of the Week
The blood had been soaked up in sawdust—“this is hell.”
Story of the Week
We put effort into making things that No Man would ever think of creating.
Story of the Week
If he was cheating on her, he was cheating on her paintings as well.
Poetry
I remember a field too long as the stem of a pear chosen in Upstate.
Poetry
On Saturdays I listen to folk music, lead a life devoted to exodus.
Poem of the Week
Outside of Ikea’s window the nighttime wind tilts like a folk song.
Fiction
They had come for him very early in the morning. It was still dark outside.
Poetry
The old-timer outside the guard station was knifing his own tires.
Poem of the Week
Complicity can crease the tongue back on itself like an origami dog.
Poem of the Week
she was right—hurricane being the name of the feeling, the twist of it.
Story of the Week
We didn’t think of ourselves as anything so grand as sex workers.
Nonfiction
Once, when young and proud, I tried to grasp the enormity of the past.
Story of the Week
His thoughts swirl around him. Maybe women aren’t women anymore.
Story of the Week
She was wanting to be noticed as a person not wanting to be noticed.
Fiction
He was regarded as a visionary and a fool in almost equal measure.
Fiction
“were all here pregaming. at my dads apt. Wher the duck are u.”
Fiction
“It’s out of the question. It’s a waste of your time. And my money.”
Story of the Week
Love speaks in silence, on behalf of lovers too tired for words.
Poem of the Week
It’s not the sun and all its colonies that miss you—it’s the frailest barriers.
Essays
Tonight these writers lower their eyes and silence their words.
Poem of the Week
We’d hit something in the dark which—bang!—was there and gone.
Narrative High School Writing Contest
He didn’t come to arrive, he came to go, and yet that didn’t matter.
Story of the Week
It all started at Phillips Andover Academy when he was fourteen.
Story of the Week
I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention.
Story of the Week
Dexter was unconsciously dictated to by his winter dreams.
Narrative By Hand
Manuscript pages from The Blue Flower and The Bookshop.
Story of the Week
Struggling to find my budget hotel, my stress rose as the sun faded.
Poetry
I’d have guessed the winter this way, every bitter plum already singing.
Poem of the Week
What we know of love between species we learn from the bones.
Short Shorts
She flicked a bit of citrus on her tongue. Her laugh was hard and high.
Poetry Contest Winners
Water the boxed dirt, and up she’ll push, rising in red-streaked blossoms.
Poem of the Week
They know whoever passes on the curving road just by the footstep.
Fiction
The beer and the kissing and the lateness of the hour had got to me.
Poetry
Years they sought her, whose crew left on the water a sad Welsh hymn.
Winter Contest Winners
No parent has yet been born who can save a child from childhood.
Poem of the Week
Something crossing the Golden Gate catches the sun and ignites.
Poem of the Week
I keep an eye on my shit—this body, this lost cause, this bad joke—
I want to be good at more than just childlessness and tying balloon animals.
Poetry
How can we go on believing each day won’t be the one that flames out?
Poetry
Now, this new dark blot on the street. Maybe motor oil, or blood or worse.
Poem of the Week
I measured your breath with my breath, your foot with my thumb.
Poem of the Week
Who know fear is an aphrodisiac & nothing is scarier than time.
Story of the Week
The sedan clipped their front bumper and pitched Bill’s car into a slide.
Poetry
It’s another thing to have the beloved hesitate, silent, on the porch.
Poetry
Relief workers tore swaths of insulation from the rafters of the house.
Poem of the Week
Call it an echo. Like a sketch of the moon as the moon lies in silvery forms.
Story of the Week
If mine, then, is a religious Offence, leave it to religious Punishments.
Six-Word Stories
Six-word stories about the the perplexities of love and desire.
Poetry
The doctor said your life will never be the same before she said hello.
Fiction
And that girls came to his house all the time, cheap girls from the docks.
Narrative Outloud
Lynn Freed reads from her collection, The Curse of the Appropriate Man.
Fiction
Ma didn’t believe in slapping. It was what common people did.
Nonfiction
If you want to know what to write, ask yourself what obsesses you.
Nonfiction
What about writers who come suddenly into full power late in life?
Narrative Outloud
I arrived that evening barefoot and swathed in a sort of striped toga.
Nonfiction
The intention of the writer is irrelevant to the success of the story.
Narrative 10
“The Sentry” taught me that all true laughter has tears behind it.
Narrative Outloud
What about writers who come suddenly into full power late in life?
Poem of the Week
Three rooms, sight unseen, rented from a nurse and her husband.
Poem of the Week
This poem weaves human and earthly hurt together in just a few short lines.
Poetry
Beggars know to emerge when you’ve more than enough to give.
Poem of the Week
A man and a woman joined by newspaper pages culture to politics.
Poetry
On the other side of Paris an exhibit depicts their home, which is nowhere.
Poetry
You can tell by the walls whoever lives here doesn’t want to be seen.
Poem of the Week
I only feel that here, only here, in this one place, a small rise.
Story of the Week
She accused her husband with great drama of having destroyed her life.
Story of the Week
The ashes of a human being are not ash. The body burns into wood.
Story of the Week
It will be years before the kids see us as real people, not just as parents.
Story of the Week
I wouldn’t sleep a second, knowing the catastrophe I’d set in motion.
Story of the Week
The consensus was that all the great writers drank way too much.
Story of the Week
Living as the last artist in Manhattan: it’s the ultimate test of commitment.
Fiction
The scent of lighter fluid and tobacco drifted in through the window.
Features
I worry that I will be kidnapped by my cab driver and driven to an ATM.
Story of the Week
Betsy recoiled, understanding instinctively what was to come.
Story of the Week
A gift tells you who you are and what you’re not in the eyes of others.
Graphic Stories
This kind of heart-wrenching love was different from all the others.
Graphic Stories
Those are the horses you win on, the ones that want to kill you.
Graphic Stories
Didn’t you think I’d come after you? Don’t you want to be with me?
Graphic Stories
I’m not the girl for anyone. I can’t just go be a wife.
Graphic Stories
She’s a blushing peach waiting to be plucked by practiced hands.
