Poetry by Teresa Chuc Dowell
The word, though spelled incorrectly, is mine. I cross it out in my own time and in its space, the brown earth, I will grow flowers, fruit trees, or lettuce. I am a rough draft, cursive drawn on paper with a pen and my left hand rubs over the ink.. »
a story by Jd Hamilton
Brett goes to war and comes back as a folded flag. There’s a check too, for a little over $38,000. Brett’s life insurance after government taxes. Dad puts that money in the bank and says it’s for my college fund. Coming. »
poetry by Paul Siegell
football buffs / in Philadelphia’s aviaries vault the beer-can
casualties / of another round of fumbled punt returns.
parking authority tyrants / toy with every block possible
along Philadelphia’s / deliriousness of cobblestone.
such miserable hospital cafeteria coffee in Philadelphia’s. »
Over the next few months you will read work from our latest reading period (October 1, 2011-December 1, 2011). It is thanks to your enthusiasm as readers and the quality. »
(Poetry by Breean Lowe)
Membrane or mechanism
is the tide, pulled places.
Sea to bay, bay by breezes,
just as we move on land
toward a view of the city. »
Poetry by Giuseppe Infante
in a cardboard box near the beach’s massive stones rests empty bottles of sugar cane soda or 30 cents for the weekly bottle collector with filth ridden. »
Poetry by Laurel N.
Do not buy the lettuce
those frothy topped leaves
are festering with bugs.
Soft-bodied caterpillars follow
their jaws dragging their bulging
green weight. Imagine. »
Poetry by Joey Connelly
…
I am. no other gods. name in vain. Thou shalt not. Thou shalt. Remember the day. Honor. kill. commit. not. Thou shalt witness. covet.
I am. Remember. Commit.. »
Poetry by Lia Greenwell, for Tyler Clementi
When there is heaviness at the end of a day, I sometimes catch myself in
accidental prayer. “God–” my mouth will drop, like a. »
I am married to a man,
and while I am looking more
for a girl to kiss than
“just friends”,
I would appreciate it
if you found a way
to discourage
old Oklahoman dudes
from masturbating
to fantasies
of me. »
The Splinter Generation, a literary journal for and about people born between 1973 and 1993, has begun its next reading period and is now accepting submissions for creative nonfiction, fiction. »
The Splinter Generation is now accepting submissions of interviews with people you wouldn’t ever talk to. Find someone you wouldn’t ordinarily meet, or someone you disagree with on almost everything and have dinner, or a drink, or an email exchange. Record it, transcribe it, edit it down, and send it in.
Why? Remember when you were. »
Her Name is Sarah
When Randy drifted in for dinner with her baby
tangled in the rosary scars of her arms,
pressed against the dust of her breast,
everyone wanted to see. They softened
their eyes, their smiles, the way people do
when they look on a baby sleeping,
a baby who has not cried in two days,
a baby whose eyes ooze. »
Being diagnosed with cancer and experiencing chemotherapy at age 25 dramatically changed the priorities and course of my work. Prior to this illness, I made narrative-based images about local history and my neighbors. Now, the stories in the work have emerged directly from my own body and memory, and the history is my own. »
