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

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 turned on the overhead light, ducked down to the running stream of cool water from the faucet and splashed his face. The dreams were completely unrealistic. Arnold knew they wouldn’t be taking a prop plane to London, and yet, his dream had placed him in a seat next to the wing—all the better to watch as the propeller sputtered and stopped, the whole plane suddenly lurching in a hard tip to the left, cutting swift circles throu [...]
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 conduits ¬– pattern circumscribed like Ojibwe basketwork in a museum by four roads’ [...]
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 world for the afternoon. I want to say it was Scott who walked around school high and dr [...]
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 y [...]
K. P. Bushnell
The night the enormous cedar fell he was still sleeping with the window open and the door ajar though fall was quickly deadening into winter.  He had only just blown out the lamp and pulled the quilt to his neck when he heard the telltale crack and knew a tree—a big one [...]
Kevin Heaton
(at the end of days) After our rabbit died, there was no more hot chocolate. No Tootsie Roll Pops. Only skimmed barn milk and origami cats. Alongside the Mississippi, the Yazoo still laid [...]
Dean A. Brink
—after John Ashbery The city dealt the peninsula a zoo, widening trails for joggers to get sidetracked. Clouds of arsenic stacked up at the hips of docks, sifted into furrows leaching into leeks and parsley. How is this double-talk, following your margin of error to hold on to a passing scent on congested walks where we shuffle to miss each [...]
This Saturday, Feb 21st, at 7 pm, Portland Review celebrates the release of our winter issue with readings by local contributors and we’d like you to join us! Fea [...]
Dear Writers, Artists, Friends, and lovers of the arts, Portland Review is now open through February for a new batch of submissions for Spring 2015.  We are looki [...]
Join us on Friday, November 14th at 7 pm, as Portland Review celebrates the release of our Fall 2014 issue with a reading event featuring the work of contributors to [...]