Current Issue

Winter 2016

Volume 62.1

Past Issue

Spring 2015

Volume 61.3

Past Issues

Winter 2015

Volume 61.2

Fall 2014

Volume 61.1

Spring 2014

Volume 60.3

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 class and gathered flowers in a clutch of muslin on your way home. The kids smell like the pyracantha again, their blond hair dirty with the resin of the waxy red berry. Evening leads to thick ceramic bowls of something. Warm and off-white and swimming with split herbs. Later there's the waterbed, bounded by red-stained pine planks, or something else that grows in the cindered air of the high blue desert. The same wood our table is made of, the one you brought home from the roadside Indian stand. I think our children can live here. I found the cow's head i [...]
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. Wielding a small scalpel, my latexed hands unfolded the debris, bits of spiny tail, sh [...]
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. [...]
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 un [...]
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 [...]
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 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 animated our newscasters, who brandish their arms over the Minnesota map as they issue dire [...]
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Dear friends and community members, Portland Review celebrates the release of its Spring 2016 issue with readings from featured poetry and prose contributors, plu [...]
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 [...]