Annie Dawid Awarded Fall 2012 Orlando Flash Fiction Prize
ANNIE DAWID runs a writer/artist retreat in South-Central Colorado at bloomsburywest.com. Her third book, AND DARKNESS WAS UNDER HIS FEET: STORIES OF A FAMILY, won the Litchfield Review Short Fiction Award and was published in 2009. Her second book, LILY IN THE DESERT, was published in 2001 by the Carnegie-Mellon University Press Series in Short Fiction. Her first book, a novel, YORK FERRY, went into a second printing from Cane Hill...
Spoke & Dark by Carolyn Guinzio
Spoke & Dark by Carolyn Guinzio, To the Lighthouse Poetry Publication Prize Winner, 2010 Judge: Alice Quinn There is no word for the place between the dying hand and the living hand that holds it, but there is a space between those hands. Spoke & Dark dwells there, in the tensions that inhere between one thing & another: lost & found, future & past, life & afterlife. Using typographical symbols (#, /, and...
Raising Wrecker by Summer Wood
Set amid the giant trees of Northern California, Raising Wrecker by 4th Gift of Freedom Winner, Summer Wood, is the story of nearly-broken boy who unexpectedly finds a family. Called “a big-hearted, big-loving, compassionate book” by Pam Houston, “a rare treat” by the Denver Post, and “an unforgettable novel” by New Mexico Magazine, Raising Wrecker charts two decades of an unconventional family,...
“Five Full Moons,” by Doris Ferleger
[excerpt] Daily I walk the woods alone, past the massive sycamore. Last night, a windstorm. Today the sycamore’s hundreds of silver limbs lie across the valley, reminding me of the tangled tresses of Queen Isis cut off to mourn the slain king, her beloved Osiris, who lay in a golden coffin hidden in the hollow of a tree trunk. A squirrel searches bewildered, for its stockpile of acorns stored inside the sycamore. It stands...
“Crossing,” by Branden Boyer-White
When Clara first saw him Virgil reminded her of a horse. He was tall, two hands above the other men in the street; he wore his working life on his body in the strength of his upright back, the stomp of his gait. Wind and sun marked the skin of his cheeks. The War was over, the Union had won and men were returning from the battlefields ready to make a life. But this man was not a soldier. He had a wagon that Clara watched him hitch to...
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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