By Karen Lee Stradford I’m looking forward toa good time,seat at the stage.My friends are waitingfor me. They can see the excitementon my face.People dance and singinthe aisles. The woman next to meis rude andsnaps at otherswith a scowl. I…
By James Aitchison An author is not an author. An author is a brand. Just like cars, computers, and packaged goods, an author is a brand with unique brand values. Lee Child is a brand. Every Jack Reacher…
By: Christopher Johnson They drove toward Starved Rock State Park, in central Illinois, in a 1956 Chevrolet Bel-Air, which Solly’s father had inherited from his recently deceased mother. On either side of the car, mile upon mile of corn and…
By: Kyle Singh Brother You weren’t yourself or really yet slouched over,just a little lost for words, your unwashed face caughtwithin a small amount of doubt, which turned youback into a man, someone– I guess– with wisdom. I never quite…
By Shyamala A. Narayan Chakraborty, Bitan. Redundant. Translated from Bengali by Malati Mukherjee. New Delhi: Readomania, 2022. 93pp. Paperback. Rs295. $12.99 Bitan Chakraborty takes us into the life of characters generally ignored by the middle class. Redundant vividly presents the…
By: Leigh-Anne Burley Rainbow lady’scyan eyes rimmedby quartz sand washeddown from the mountainsby the Apalachicola Riverwhite foam hair curling downyour rolling, emerald gown. Wash me with your jubilationimmerse me in your exuberance. Ruby sun’s toes dip intothe greeny bathtubyellow moon…
By: Leigh-Anne Burley We climb trees methodicallyimmerse ourselves in greenpick fruit and nutsuse the trunk’s shady backrestto think and dream. Trees are planners andforward thinkersinvest in roots and stalksguardians of vistas and visions Trees are settlers andsky watchersscatter seedsharvest cropsweather…
By: Thomas Sanfilip It is hard to say when the golden age of literary criticism ended and a void crept into the serious study of the humanities. We are now fully immersed in the dark side of post-modernist thinking whereby…
By: Elizabeth Galewski Desire Am I afflicted, or is this bliss?With just the thought of him,my stomach dips like riding a swing,or the first drop of a roller coaster.My pelvis blazes, a molten star.Arching my back, I grind my hips…
By: Sha Weï Valley of Forgotten Days I safekeep my childhood dewon the split endof your saltysailor hair I relive my forgotten daysin the fog-laden valleyof your unavailablelush dimple I hear my naked songbirdin your holistic thundersings the piercing wayhow…