A sliver of ice connects us and evaporates, / fades, becomes forgotten, / erased, / until one day no one will believe / the world was covered by frozen / mountain ranges
Portland Review Editor Jessica Fonvergne spoke with some of this year’s fiction authors to explore process, revision, and the value of prose.
Writing as counterspell, against/thoughts that quantified how much space he filled,/of how much space the air filled—how detectable/the displacement of water.
“My mother, the young / immigrant, worked for minimum / wage at Denny’s, serving thin / coffee to men in blue denim. / My mother, sixteen, nimble…”
“Kelp-choked cove cants to and fro; / a diseased eye vainly chasing light. I undress; / pluck the / dive mask from the weeping man’s hands; / step off the breakwater and crash through the surface…”