what can somewhere provide beside a concrete babbling brook / with loose boulders.
(poetry)
Author: Another Chicago Magazine
How could / the hand’s reflexive twitch undo centuries of survival? / Something as simple as an approaching outlier of thunder / cause devastation to a thing come so far?
(poetry)
Every day their breath brushes back and forth / like wind erosion over the etched inscriptions / that say our veterans are our heroes.
(poetry)
Chicago, / I’ll stick around as long as you’ll take me or leave me.
(poetry)
“Carol Ann Davis makes us ache in these essays and lets the quiet moments explode within our hearts,” writes reviewer S.T. Brant.
(nonfiction reviews)
Years passed. The joke continued. So did the dustings.
(nonfiction)
Malé is now the besieged capital of the submerged Maldives, built up precariously on the ruins of oil tanks and docking derricks, apartment blocks and concrete breakwaters.
(fiction)
Walking changed her.
(nonfiction)
Who knew so many people needed relationship advice from lawyers?
(drama)
Her keys might have opened the church, and she the one to serve sponge fingers like death.
(The Loop)
You waltz in here, a first-time patient, and act like we owe you something.
(drama)
So now what are we going to do?
(nonfiction)
The invisible turns home into battlegrounds and destroys the romance between man and woman. These details never make it to history books.
(nonfiction)
With boys comes a lot of stress. You worry about how you can buy him his own place, or you worry about who he’ll bring into your house.
(fiction)
A cacophony of voices inquiring, wanting to disentangle the mysteries of the tattoos like hieroglyphs, pictograms.
(fiction)
“The poet’s love-hate relationship with her laptop becomes fully realized in ‘Off the Web,’ as too much time on the internet leads to feeling ‘my dress / gather headwinds and swirl, then lift
like / Marilyn’s over a grate,'” writes Richard Holinger.
(review)
What’s wrong with circles? What shape is your wedding ring?
(drama)
I’ve chosen to work with concrete to speak about the impulse to create permanent structures, but also to speak about impermanence, change, and loss, Ledelle Moe tells Helena Feder.
“Geter’s lines don’t so much hum as slice, visually cutting into the page like claws digging for answers in a ground that will not give,” writes reviewer Phillip B. Williams.
(review)
Her mother continued to hand her things: that lost dollar, a Chinese cookie fortune, one missing pearl earring.
(fiction)
from their beacon hands / glow worldwide welcomes and a thousand smiles.
(poetry)
The rose bushes lining the sidewalk leading to the front steps appeared like sentinels at the Mughal court, waiting for a decry from the Indian parent at the parapet.
(fiction)
“How and where women and minority groups get the shaft is only half of the lesson this book imparts,” writes Bean Gilsdorf.
(review)
ParaGard: [thank you student health/insurance] a type of long-acting, / reversible, contraceptive, intrauterine / device.
(poetry)
the city’s landmarks / are illuminated / by your stopover in my thoughts
(TCTC Translations)
We’re whiter and more rural which means we don’t pick the president—we just narrow the view.
(poetry)
Many are drawn to martins covered with feathers that seem to absorb ash, stained with orange glass shards. (poetry)
You spend the winter telling me it’s almost summer.
(nonfiction)
Apparently to be a poet—dogmatic on the outside / and lacking conviction within / is a hell one can leave / but doesn’t.
(poetry)
Donald Ray Pollock’s Hillbilly Gothic peels back the sanitized “heartland” image of the Midwest, revealing the often-overlooked rural people. An interview by Jarrett Kaufman.
