Latest Writing
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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.
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Take Four:An Interview with Joseph Haske
In this installment of “Take Four,” we speak with Issue 4 contributor Joseph D. Haske about narrative structure, blood feuds, drinking, and the pleasures of writing in and about Michigan’s U.P.
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Take Four:An Interview with Megan Staffel
In this installment of “Take Four,” we talk to contributor Megan Staffel about her short story “Saturdays at the Philharmonic” and her latest collection from Four Way Books.
POETRY
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INVITATION TO END by Faris Kuseyri trans. Patrick Sykes
A woman puts an orange in her husband’s pocketand her longing I saw they’re opening unmarked graves with warrantsand silence’s strength I saw truth bound, the papers lieand hate in the words I saw grace in the bazaar, conscience in exileand the feigned surprise I saw driven again to my pencil’s mercyand the invitation to…
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THREE POEMS by Anne Vegter trans. Astrid Alben
With permission from the publisher WILDCARD A light-hearted lullaby this, not much happens that doesn’t already happen somewhere else: a garnet-red baby opens wide its tiny jungle mouth. Familiar to all who read them, lullabies are about kisses, jealousies and parents / keepers. Raging in the pillow, rising like a statue made of ash. A parent is a house.…
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CHEWING BETEL NUT by Mark Dorado trans. Eric Abalajon and Mark Dorado
This mouth grows in it a forestborn from the spitof the godsof my land;chews a wildfirethat blackens the stumps of my teeth;hums the serenadeof our greatest hunters. This mouth can utter to lifethe many names of our ancestorsthe conquerors could neverwrap their tongues around,the ones they spat with regretas their teeth disintegrated,choking on the sharpinflections of the…
FICTION
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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.
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COULD BE WORSE by Scott Nadelson
For a week in the middle of March, Paul Haberman felt increasingly out of sorts. Not much appetite, lousy sleep. In meetings he’d find himself absently chewing a knuckle. When the phone rang after nine at night, he braced for calamity. The wind blew hard against his bedroom window, and he imagined his neighbor’s oak…
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DEAN, ETC. by Laurie Stone
Dean The first time with Dean, I was on a couch and he knelt beside me on the floor. He parted my lips with two fingers and slid them into my mouth. Something moved inside, a snake in a basket. He ran his fingers along the edges of my teeth and pushed them open. His…
TRANSLATION
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