In the weeks and months after the operation, he’d wake from sleep, sounds tooting up from his throat not so much snores as noisy requests for air.
(fiction)
Tag: Another Chicago Magazine
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“My real education during my DePaul years occurred on Monday nights at a jazz club called Orphans…”
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“She didn’t think it would last, this quasi-détente or halfhearted madness or whatever it was.”
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“I licked every word in the story, to know its taste”
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“Maybe the remnant tells the whole / story”
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“My teachers told me // I should practice, but they never said why.”
Revolution / is the party we throw / at our unhappiness when we discover it / looks like tyranny
(poetry)
“Shame and living, living with it, living through it, living past it. This is what these stories are made of.”
(reviews)
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“I collected dresses many sizes / Larger, dreamed of all the bodies crowded into those // Forms.”
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“Outside, harmonious cats / tread the pathway.”
“One of the biggest things that I think about when I’m writing is trusting the reader,” Giada Scodellaro tells interviewer Erik Noonan.
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“From space you can see the shimmer / of the thousands of immigrant children / wrapped in tinfoil sleeping on the desert // sand”
Paula Carter, author of No Relation, whose essays have appeared in The New York Times and Kenyon Review, has won the Another Chicago Magazine nonfiction award for her essay, “Correction Lines.”
The roof soars so high above the sky’s hanging at arm’s length / And you, dear, are now drunk on a thousand glasses of wine
“Looking up / the wave of your gaze arrived / upon my shore.”
He demands I be a man. What is it to be a man? I ask him.
“In this story, day zero is when I live, and you die.”
(fiction)
“for just a moment I lived / through what they may have felt”
“Am I with you, my son, in eternity, / though linear time is all I see?”
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“When I got out of work a giant pizza was on my car, covering my windshield, covering my roof and the glass of the hatchback.”
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“my only scar from childhood / is a two-inch stripe on my knee from changing / baby siblings on the floor”
Scars are better than photographs / to remember things by.
Hurston consistently drew attention to herself in her ethnographies and included the dialogue of her interlocutors, thus eschewing the objective and distant narrator perspective.
(reviews)
There’s joy on Easter, and that joy lasts a long time. And Lent, it’s not about food, it’s about self-sacrifice, humbling yourself before God. You’re saying, You’re the big guy. I’m the small guy.
You tell me to keep my ass out of the road, and to stay the hell away / from the poison ivy and Virginia creeper because my skin reacts to / everything.
It doesn’t matter which language you speak, because language does not influence your way of thinking.
The Friday after Johnny was caught cutting up his Adderall, the AC unit in the teachers’ lounge broke.
(fiction)
When my family was escaping, my great grandmother saw that all of the grain that was collected from them was being thrown in the sea.
She only recognizes the girl in her photographs. // The boy I am recognizes her in photographs.
Another Chicago Magazine 