Prose and Poetry at the University of Chicago
In the bedroom of a small apartment outside Kielce in Poland, a man named Gustaw Smolak had a heart attack just as his wife left to get groceries in their olive green Camaro. The Smolak family lived on the second floor of a building that had been redecorated so many times by its tenants over …
Continue reading "Fiction: “Good Taste” by Dana Schwartz"
Gam never cuddled or cooed. She didn’t linger or inquire or speak of love. She had suffered the loss of her husband over two decades ago and, though they hadn’t laughed often, when they did, it was deep and hearty. Gam smothered bread with butter and piled ham high between the white, buttery slices, serving …
Continue reading "Fiction: “Into the Horizon” by Kacy Cunningham"
Adele Wegner was born in Youngstown, Ohio and lives in Chicago. She is a writer and artist and works in the field of psychology and mental health. Her poems have been published in Columbia Poetry Review and Burningword.
Ward (Ollie/Ali in the Mirror) The doctors are filling out paperwork. Their notes, translations of our original words, are mangled into the computer system. And later extracted, pulled from an ear onto the torn red sofa, spluttering. Someone said, "You are not authorized to make these changes." Behind closed doors. Coordinates align—and click—beginning to uncoil …
Continue reading "Poetry: “Ward (Ollie/Ali in the Mirror)” by Adele Wegner"
The Kremlin’s silks billowed around my husband’s legs like hot air balloons. I came gowned in Taj Mahal, still pools reflecting my glide down the aisle. The bedchambers in my depths glowed like jewels while inside my groom, a general slipped poison into the prime minister’s vichyssoise. The pyramids of Giza looked delicious on the …
Continue reading "From the Archives: “The Architect’s Wedding” by Samantha Stiers"
Terra Firma For my grandmother, who could no longer speak, I made this prayer: for the voice inside her to beat like the earth, like the tulips outside her window, swelling with life. For her to call me once more to water the young bulbs together. Instead, my grandmother curled into herself, wanting nothing but …
Carrying Grandfather I didn’t know you, except once, when I visited, and you peeled those Chinese pears for me – slinking the dulled, rusted knife across the skin. You smiled, I smiled. I counted your freckles, their withered yellow, like faded marigolds. I remember wanting to touch your aged, leathery skin. Later, I didn’t know …
Continue reading "Poetry: “Carrying Grandfather” by Jessie Li"
Justified Twitch I made my mind down by the river of euphemism, most playful species of meta -phor. The river ran me round fora for a few years, pebbled my perma -stonedness, taught me to speak with rocks -tarred, defeated eyes minus groupies and the hard stuff. You don’t get it -chy, don’t get soma …
Ode to an Oldsmobile My dear boat, your windows are caked with the sticky residue of long since torn-off parking permits. Your right side-mirror dangles by a wire; I see the floppy white ear of a bashful dog. Cassette plastic crunches underfoot, shards of a misplaced Sun-Ra bootleg whose magnetic music once resonated through fragrant …
Continue reading "Poetry: “Ode to an Oldsmobile” by Max Lewin"
SR Stewart is an MFA student in poetry. Her poetic focus stems from the works of Berryman, Plath, and Bukowski. She currently lives in the Pacific Northwest farming her garden and working as the associate acquisitions editor for Unsolicited Press.
