Current Issue

Spring 2015

Volume 61.3

Past Issues

Winter 2015

Volume 61.2

Fall 2014

Volume 61.1

Spring 2014

Volume 60.3

Winter 2014

Volume 60.2

Jim Davis
It's now, she says. Now, & never again – so we beat on, boats against the current & swooned slowly, heard the snow falling faintly through the universe. I had been there before, lying on my back, thumbing my nose at You Know Who, which is why I don't tell anyone anything. If I do, I start missing everybody. Poo- tee-weet said the bird under firebombs & the old man was dreaming about lions. Quién es? said Billy the Kid. Don't let me drop. There, on the ground under the almond tree, pleasure of simple joys & the happy summer days, borne back ceaselessly into gray – there's no good way to say goodbye. [...]
Tim Bass
The day after Leon and Doris moved in, the next door neighbor serviced their water heater. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” Bill said. “Now, hand me that screwdriver and show me where the circuit breaker is.” Soon, Bill held up a corroded metal rod. “Here’s your problem,” he said. Leon had no idea what he was looking at. “Bad?” he asked. [...]
Margaret Young
It’s not like you can compress the files of love to fit them in, there are eight thousand sixty twelve of them in orange steel drawers, not labeled well: you can’t, say, squeeze in rows of tiny corn urging up along North Professor, bottles of daylight leaking in the patient ditch while robins tug the slippery threads that hold it all together, th [...]
Lucie Amundsen
It’s just past midnight and my 13-year-old is not back from her babysitting gig. Abbie’s a couple of hours late now and the parents’ cell rolls directly to voice mail. Likely it’s just drained of charge from the weather. It’s that cold. Days of Arctic fronts have animat [...]
Meredith Kunsa
(Florence, Italy) As I approach the piazza’s open-air gallery, Bologna’s Rape of the Sabine Woman thrusts above quarried stone — Romulus’s warrior stands dominant over the crouched Sabine man, while his woman writhes from the victor’s grip — flesh giving wa [...]
April Sopkin
Arnold woke and sat up. His heart thumped in his ears, and for many seconds he could hear nothing else. The plane crash in his dream was the third one this week. He peeled himself out of bed, careful not to wake his wife, Myra, and with the same care in mind went downstairs to the guest bathroom instead of using the master. He flinched after he turne [...]
Brandon Krieg
Arrival at the Complex Over the rutted high road of this preserve, wide white contrails converge, dimensioning a cloudless vast wash above snow-battened grass: crisscross stalks, some pressed, some melt-released, conduct acute sun-slant down tangent con [...]
J. R. Miller
1. I want to say it was Scott who—back in the seventh grade—stole his mom’s Valium, his father’s coke, his older brother’s weed, and his younger brother’s Ritalin. I want to say it was Scott who once, before Woodshop, put a dot in his eye and slipped into his own wor [...]
Zebulon Huset
If fruit could represent anything but sex I would be content to transcribe still-lifes, glad to stack sand castles from the grit of memory as Jaws trolls just offshore—which I do— but the slick-skinned, the bulbous, the juicy bits of ovarian flesh turn me to you, always a you of some denomination; you and this. You and this and you and [...]
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Dear writers, artists, and friends, For February, 2016, Portland Review is accepting fiction [...]
Dear writers and artists, Portland Review is now accepting submissions for the month of November. We seek well-crafted fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and artwork fo [...]
This Saturday, February 21st at 7 pm, Portland Review celebrates the release of our winter issue with readings by local contributors. We would like you to join us! [...]