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“A Hive of Mysterious Danger”
by Seph Murtagh Photo by Bill Badzo Dostoevsky once remarked that the degree of civilization in a country can be judged by entering its prisons. In America, we have the federal system, which means...
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“Would It Surprise You I Don’t Like Mornings?”
by Andrea O’Rourke Adam Jones, Ph.D. / Global Photo Archive / Flickr How bright the bombs must have looked as the dawn stretched thin across the hills, shrapnel sleeting on the terracotta roofs. For...
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“The First Time”
by Andrea O’Rourke Photo by Markus Spring The smoke bathes my throat like a warm frost-shadow. Borut, the red-faced Slovene, grins hard, the capillaries of his wade-blue eyes burst like bottle...
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“Wafer-Like and White”
by Andrea O’Rourke Photo by Levent Kopuz It’s a self-defeating act, writing the 100-word bio, but what about the footnotes? How my dad’s bones decay to chalk outside the curved palm of Kvarner Bay,...
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“In the Absence of Grass”
by Andrea O’Rourke Photo by Dmitri Korobtsov Croatia, ’92, Cease-Fire Other than cypress columns, macchia and dried condoms there isn’t much interesting. Papier mâché cliffs are flecked with gull...
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“Sarajevo Cycle: 1992 to 1996″
by Andrea O’Rourke Photo by Bob Ramsak / pirancafe.com After a while it became a routine: scrubbing laundry in the Miljacka, stringing engine oil canisters to wheelbarrows or sleds, or just holding...
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“Cinema Verité: A Love Story”
by Andrea O’Rourke Photo by Pablo Fernandez I think I’ll eventually forget you, cross your number, throw keys in the meadow by the roads you walked, dressed in black and blue. I’ll not think of two...
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“The Mechanics of Being”
by Jerald Walker Photo by Scott Beale / Laughing Squid A decade after dropping out of high school I’d managed to arrive, like some survivor of a tragedy at sea, on the shores of a community college. My...
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“Map”
by Margaree Little Photo by Ken Lund Stupid mind, turning away from music and saying there is no music. North Carolina in January, snow on the river, my teacher is saying, It’s like walking on a...
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“Using It”
by Margaree Little Photo by Adam Saul Why don’t you begin by telling me the story. Denver, on a bus into the city, to either side of the road the fields bare and wide, wire fences lining them in the...
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“Revision”
by Margaree Little Photo by D. Sharon Pruitt Water, this is the first revision, that we brought water for him in time No, that he’d had it himself, he carried a river on his back and drank from it...
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“How History Would Have It”
by Rose McLarney Photo by Jon Fravel History was once written to instruct or persuade. The church has taught us well. This is how to be a good king. And an ars historica is what two friends speak, over...
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“Redemption”
by Rose McLarney Photo by Spencer Wright A skinned bear looks like a human. A shot bear always falls on his back, like he’s looking at heaven. Human bodies are also like another’s— made in his image,...
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“Arcadia”
by Rose McLarney Photo by ems18 on Flickr I tried to leave behind everything that could make me burn, to evade the urges of change, by shutting myself up in the country. I live apart, I stay in and...
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“Watershed”
by Rose McLarney Photo by Nancy Frost You claim the clear water in wilderness on the far coast is better because streams are filtered by mosses and lichens of forests never logged, and the lakes are...
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“The Calling”
by Margaree Little Photo by © Bill Weston Because three Sisters work here, one named Engracia which means full of grace, here at the shelter where people come with blisters and red eyes after...
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“What Was Missing”
by Margaree Little Photo by Stig Nygaard The undersides of the hands. The hair. The eyes. The chin, the spot where the chin becomes the neck. Both of the arms. The armpits. The left tennis sneaker,...
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“Delusions of Grandeur”
by Terry Ann Thaxton Photo by Nomadic Lass David is a certified helicopter pilot, a professional chef, tried to serve in the U.S. Army but was discharged prior to enlisting because he bit a hole in the...
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“The Essentials of Acceleration”
by Jessica Francis Kane Photo by Nicholas Tonelli I’m a good driver, and by this I don’t just mean safe. Like a good runner who doesn’t waste motion in her stride, I maneuver my car with dexterity...
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“New Heaven”
by Leslie Parry Photo by el Buho nº30 I was twenty-seven years old and working a dead-end job in the city when I discovered that my grandmother, who’d died young in 1955, had been a nymphomaniac too....
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