Current Issue

Spring 2016

Volume 62.2

Past Issue

Winter 2016

Volume 62.1

Spring 2015

Volume 61.3

Winter 2015

Volume 61.2

Fall 2014

Volume 61.1

Amanda Marbais
You refuse to go to your doctor for months. You and your partner treat this like most projects, with enthusiasm that can only be dampened by people in authority. Because it’s about the body, you embrace disassociation – treating your guts like a meteor suspended in the rafters of your garage. You speak respectfully, but you hate it. You wait for people to leave, lock your doors, climb the rafters, straddle it, lick it, measure it, sniff it. Get a sense before anyone else can. You know. You just know you will get annoyed with those who try to relate and those who assume you’re seconds from flying apart. You spend a lot of time on the Internet, more than is healthy, [...]
Tamar Telian
I went to my first wedding at twenty-one. A former best friend was getting married to her high school sweetheart. I was dreading it. She stopped spending time with me when she started dating her husband-to-be. She called me two months before her wedding and said, “It would mean a lot if you came.” [...]
Glenn Shaheen
A house on Oak Street burned down. We took many photos of it going up in flames at lunchtime, and it was only later, after posting the photos online for comments from friends and strangers that we found out it was a murd [...]
Ian Carr
I could live in the descending chords of a seventies serenade, the spacious tawny bars breaking the light into golden bricks. I would have been at the guitar all day while you went to your c [...]
Stephen Cloud
I have always been drawn by wind-blown clouds into dreams of a lifetime of wandering. –Bashō Late autumn, a day of mist and rain keeping me indoors. I think of Bashō at the outset of his final journey: taking up the walking stick, crossing the threshold. All day long I have sat by the window watching rain, reading The Narrow Road, strumming the guit [...]
Rage Hezekiah
I plucked an owl pellet from the ground cradling it, delicate, as if a palm-sized bird and not the mass of bones and fur purged from a second stomach. In science class as a girl, I learned these dark forms teemed with the remnants of undigested pieces. Wield [...]
Judy T. Oldfield
Mon Chou – (Fr.) ca. 1997 1. A phrase of French origin that literally translates as “my cabbage.” 2. A French term of endearment. 3. A phrase I learned in French class freshman year of high schoo [...]
Tessa Livingstone
Hollow, like a tunnel-boned bird, the cello is held securely by its neck while one hand twists the tuning peg, evoking a shrill, sharp sound. From the farmhouse an ill-fated rooster calls out, ruffling its feathers bathed in dust and inflicted with sickness. The cellist envisions red, unblinking eyes, the curling of armored toes, the tan [...]
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Dear friends and community members, Portland Review celebrates the release of its Spring 2016 issue with guest reader KC Kirkley, finalist of the Spring 2016 Shor [...]
Dear friends, writers, and readers, Portland Review is pleased to announce the winner of the [...]
Dear friends and community members, Portland Review celebrates its 60th year with the releas [...]