POETRY: “Hawk Over Nantasket Beach” by Sarath Reddy
At first my eyes said
a kite hovering a hundred feet above
but there was no thread attached,
no child anchored in sand, arms outstretched,
countering the coastal gale. […]
UChicago's Oldest Literary Magazine
At first my eyes said
a kite hovering a hundred feet above
but there was no thread attached,
no child anchored in sand, arms outstretched,
countering the coastal gale. […]
Deities sat perched on temple parapets,
concrete birds gleaming in the Georgia sun. […]
After 20 years, Benjamin Wheeler was just another person I didn’t talk to anymore, never mind why; when a friendship is that far in the rearview, a falling out and a quiet fizzle are both specks on the horizon. Human-interest stories don’t interest me, so I don’t know why I read the article on the “Collection […]
Read More PROSE: “Collect” by Richard Charles SchaeferCamp Dogwood serves the kids ice cream for breakfast. Strawberry, Chocolate, or Vanilla. Your choice. While they were supervising their kids, Scout (counselors are not allowed real names at camp to avoid there being 16 Sarahs) elbows Bucket (actually named Sarah) and points rather obviously at Salt (Jax) being escorted out of the office at […]
Read More Prose: “Salt” by Campbell Sharpe“All right Girl Scouts, lineup!” Robbie calls the patrols to attention. Here, he is The Law. He commands twenty boys, and they listen. Lineup he shouts, and they fall into three perfect lines. The all-powerful Senior Patrol Leader. These aren’t Cub Scout meetings, where parents bring cookies and juice boxes for the kiddies. Parents who […]
Read More Prose: “Asses Up” by Jonathan GreenMonday—8 a.m. Customers stand in line. They wonder what is taking so long. Come on, they say in low tones, all I want is a simple cup of coffee—or not so simple, depending on how much of a pain in the ass said customer is. They mumble and mutter and complain loud enough to be […]
Read More Prose: “monday morning” by wood reedeFriday, 2/21: I have decided to conduct an experiment. In order to answer the gravest of questions, one requires the surest of methods. Before I begin (and before you begin to read my report) it is necessary to lay out a few “ground rules,” so to speak. An experiment requires strict parameters in order to […]
Read More Prose: “An Experiment” by Hallin BurganMy parents must be trying to kill me. The car windows are closed, and Dad is smoking a pipe, the tobacco is cherry scented, and Mom puffs away on her L&Ms. The smoke makes me sick and I want to throw up. They won’t crack the windows because they’re afraid dirt will get in the […]
Read More Prose: “The finish Line” by Louise TuranRain fell all morning but I decided on a walk anyway. I don’t recall precisely what time I left my flat, it may have been close to noon, but I donned my yellow mackintosh, my Wellingtons, and fetched my peacock from his gated pen. An iridescent blue and green beauty, his train blazed with gold-rimmed […]
Read More Prose: “Peacock Weather” by Salvatore DifalcoAsters Ethan and Sharlene sat on the twin Adirondack chairs on the porch, his fingertips resting on her wrist as they gazed at the violent New England Asters and purple black-eyed Susans, which spread out like a cornfield all the way to MacArthur’s apple orchard. Above the flowers, the setting sun painted the clouds peach. […]
Read More Prose: “Asters” by Justin gu