“Storm,” by Abby Chew
No one asks for silence this morning but we give it without question. The dawn, long past, brought a haze of heat, laid it down over us heavy, not at all like your body over mine. Not at all like that. Last night, a storm struck us down. I watched lightning crack the side of the barn, wind snap the bean trellis, toss it up, spinning. We salvage what we can. The sky doesn’t ask if we want our arms slick with sweat as we pick...
“Our Lady of Sorrows,” by Katherine Van Dis
You think the priest has gone easy on you – ten Hail Mary’s and one Our Father is a light penance. You double the order. If you had told the entire truth, you may have been assigned an entire rosary. You make it all the way through the Our Father and halfway through a Hail Mary before you start reciting, instead, the new words he has taught you for your body: Hail Mary, full of graceful thighs, hallowed be thy neck, thy elegant neck....
“Lift,” by Bridgett Jensen
The grass is so green it’s damp, like it’s making water. Your toes, bare in flip-flops, are wet. Your son Carter talks 100 miles a minute as your feet keep time. The two of you are walking the pugs. When you came out the back door, Carter stood beneath the basketball hoop, tossing the ball up. He’s ten, and he follows a formula. So many shots up—so many baskets in. He does this every evening until he’s got it right. Tonight it went...
Sarah Wetzel Awarded 2013 To the Lighthouse Prize
“River Electric with Light,” Sarah Wetzel’s astounding manuscript, is winner of AROHO’s 2013 To the Lighthouse Poetry Book Prize. Finalist Judge, Tracy K. Smith says, “Like the river of the collection’s title, these poems ride upon a current of arduous insight and indelible imagery. And, like all courageous writing does, they make their own particular peace with the likelihood that even...
Marsha Mathews Awarded Fall 2013 Orlando Flash Fiction Prize
Marsha’s winning flash fiction story, “Bus Ride to the City,” will be published in Issue No. 15 of the Los Angeles Review.
Does the sea remember everything? I wonder.
Does she absorb everything? Does she keep it safe?
Virginia Woolf
. . .
The Q: Can you fathom the spectacle that would be created if we moved together, arms outstretched, close enough to touch?
The Q: What echoes through you that longs to take form—a poem, an image, a mark, a whisper of becoming?
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