Latest Writing
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ON THE PHOTOGRAPH: AN INTERVIEW with Rachel Eliza Griffiths
from FWR Poetry Editor Nathan McClain: While at Cave Canem, I had the opportunity to chat with, and interview, poet and photographer Rachel Eliza Griffiths on the functionality and nature of photography and, more specifically, how aspects of the gaze and engagement contribute to a photo’s overall work. Her responses were far too wonderful and…
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Between the Lines:An Interview with Benjamin Miller
In this installment of “Between the Lines,” Dustin Pearson talks with Benjamin Miller about journeys through the desert, words as objects, and poetic self-interrogation.
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Between the Lines:An Interview with Wesley Rothman
In this installment of “Between the Lines” we talk with Issue 5 contributor Wesley Rothman about poetic process, the creative relationships between different art forms, and poetry’s place in contemporary culture.
POETRY
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THE POINT OF ARTICULATION by Car Simione
To prepare for the apocalypse, I practice looking in the mirror. I kiss myself on the mouth. I practice hopping on one foot, but the eventual sight of you nosing among the lilacs nearly topples me, so I excavate the marketplace and poll the dignified masses in their plaid coats. They ask for more time. Despite my ministrations, the flowers keep dying.…
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TWO POEMS by Sophia Terazawa
Residual These syllables strike our lower register [branching: fog]. Who whispers like a friend, “Bêche-de-mer,” I wring out towels and pillow cases. Sunday afternoon. Check on your sister, you sign. She won’t speak anymore. Glass trees. Soapstone box. You package her father’s old shirt there in Queens [arms crossed…
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TWO POEMS by Kuhu Joshi
Saraswati on a Sunday morning All this living alone. This mug With my initials on it, scrubbed And put to dry On the kitchen slab. It waits for me. Looks happiest when filled up. I’m a bit sick of Maria – my Areca palm There by the bookshelf. She Dances. When it gets like this I Don’t know what to do with myself. Fridge then…
FICTION
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LADIES’ NIGHT AT THE GUN RANGE by Lara Markstein
The women waited for Olivia. Perched on their lawn chairs beneath the dogwood, which blossomed in leathery white bursts, Nel thought they looked more like they were waiting for their youth. Leanne had slathered on so much foundation she resembled an overripe tangerine, and Connie stank of French perfume. Nel regretted wearing new capris. The…
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Story About a Woman I Used to Know by Jozefina Cutura
Milena always reminded me of a backdrop to a bleak landscape, a woman unlikely to arouse much conscious consideration, though she hovered around like an uncertain but inescapable future punishment. She popped in and out of our lives at random, insignificant moments. There was, for instance, that typically drab October afternoon in Frankfurt.
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Foul Mouth by Devin Murphy
For the last hundred miles, Brooks’ ten-year-old son, Adler, had been yelling profanities out the window. It started during a break from driving. To stretch their legs they jogged down a rural road along the wire fence separating the pavement from endless rolling hills of grazing land.
TRANSLATION
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