Cover Art |
Warehouse + Bridge |
The anthology is out. The Anthology: Highlights from Fifteen Years of a Unique “Mind Stimulating” Literary Magazine is now available. Click the cover below to order the paperback edition from Amazon (it is also available in hardcover):
We’re still in the process of putting our full archives (15 years worth!) on our revamped website. We’ve lost touch with many of our contributors, and would like to get your updated bio and contact information[...]
José Bonifácio de Andrada e Silva cups his hands and blows into them, the hot breath of hope on a cold day. Far from his native home of Brazil, he walks along the edge of a tiny island off Sweden. This is no leisurely stroll on some sunny, sandy beach. The frigid Baltic Sea surrounds [...]
In his will, my 87-year-old lawyer father included the proviso that the definition of grandchildren who would benefit from his estate included, in addition to any extant grandchildren, “any child born to any of my three children up to and including nine months from the date of my death.” What was he thinking? That one [...]
In the recent Year of the Snake — I remember because it’s my daughter’s sign — the image of a maroon suitcase made of camphor wood began to follow me like a phantom. It became most vivid in the dusk as I drove home from work, when my mind was free from corporate politics and [...]
The year was 1958. Needs were jostling one another in my fretful mind. My chief concern was measuring up to the promise of a marvelous marriage. This was all tangled up with making things. We loved making things together, partly because we were too broke to buy them, but mostly because the making was fun. [...]
If there is anything of Salome in a woman, Bo believes something hapless in him will call it out. He’s the ideal witness to a woman’s bad behavior. And that’s why chagrin rises like vomit to his mouth when he stands on the ridge overlooking the south plat of the cemetery one September dawn and [...]
“What’s that I smell?” demanded my father, cracking open the kitchen door, his face materializing in the jamb, his wide eyes ravenous, lordly, insatiable.
Mom glanced up from the countertop, her right hand clenching an enormous blue sponge coated with Ajax. Already the butter yellow tiles were gleaming in tribute to her labors, the hacksaw motion [...]
I see it against sky, winter
cloroxing the light as I aim
the rifle, each clump, parasite [...]
it must have seemed like a good idea at the time:
to wriggle up from moon-swung deeps, from slime
climb onto rock, grow legs–six? four? [...]
She made us go to bed while it was still light out, when there was life yet
in the wide street below our pent-up apartment and we could hear Mr. and Mrs.
Soleni argue about money as they sponge-washed their new Pontiac [...]
(Note: It’s not about the fat.)
Sometimes,
I have found,
it is easiest to choose
nothing at all [...]
Lay your plate in the grass,
your silver knife, your spoon. Position the fork, tines up
to comb the wind. [...]
Early last April, I attended my great-uncle’s funeral. Other than that of my maternal grandmother, it was the first funeral that I had attended, and I wasn’t certain how to be a guest. My great-uncle was one of those people of whom I could conjure up certain, vivid images: throwing his head back and laughing, [...]