Stories
Story of the Week
She is complaisant with all her clothes off. She moves to his touch.
Story of the Week
Americans have always a kind of tenderness for cheat.
Story of the Week
In a way she enjoyed the slow, sad feeling of letting it go.
Fiction
Three months is a long time to be away from the person you love.
iStories
She is very rich. She will leave me everything when she dies, he says.
Poetry
I have, in the long solitude of my body, asked for something else.
Nonfiction
The thought of entertaining our relatives filled me with horror.
Nonfiction
I was convinced she’d be back in the morning, like the sun.
Story of the Week
My desire to be in sync with him had nearly been my undoing.
Fiction
How much simpler and more satisfying was the company of men.
Poetry
Those eight or nine steps
climbed toward a small, low window.
Fiction
I needed a paycheck a lot more than I needed to be kissed.
Poetry
My bike, my skinny body, my pent breath was thrown to the grass.
Story of the Week
The tree was shaggy and it bore scars of shrapnel from the war.
Story of the Week
The guards ripped off Mara’s clothes, pinning her head against the wall.
Fiction
The chocolate was old, dusty white, the way chocolate gets after many years.
Short Shorts
She flicked a bit of citrus on her tongue. Her laugh was hard and high.
Story of the Week
After breakfast I set out to see what my wild neighbors have been up to.
Narrative Outloud
I was writing copy for cheapo furniture for a crummy ad agency.
Narrative Outloud
She remembers that golden ocean, the promise of a whole new land.
Winter Contest Winners
She remembers that golden ocean, the promise of a whole new land.
Poetry Contest Winners
How much, I thought, such stolid suffering resembles love.
Planets don’t change direction as easily as love.
Poem of the Week
However hard you try to make amends, they will still condemn you.
Story of the Week
On my way to the airport I hit a Christian. This was in Arkansas.
Poem of the Week
We are going south where I know that my father is going to die.
Story of the Week
There was something in her voice, some awful, enduring fire.
Poem of the Week
When he was a child, my father had a cousin who was buried by a plow.
