Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
The door swings open slamming against the cement wall. Two guards stand at the opening. They do not cross the threshold; instead they peer in as if into the mouth of a cave. Perhaps they are revolted. It seems wise to be revolted by a cage. Come with us. The smaller one carries a baton. He swings it casually; a batter up to plate—or as…
Melanoplus spretus “Rocky Mountain locust” And they shall cover the face of the earth, that one cannot be able to see the earth . . . and shall eat every tree which groweth for you out of the field: And they shall fill thy houses and the houses of all thy servants . . . —Exodus 10:5–6 (KJV) Sun-shuttering abundance, a…
Kynna Lovin had the opportunity to interview Jay Ponteri about his new book, Someone Told Me, (Widow+Orphan House) a collection of essays that bridge the gaps between memoir, lyric essay, self-portraiture, and literary criticism. Via a shared Google Doc, the two discuss how this collection came to be born, how it found its body, and much more. Read Jay Ponteri’s essay, On Richard Linklater’s Boyhood…
I wish I could see the look on my face when I lied to Dad to get out of going to church. Or when my best childhood friend and I sat on swings in the neighborhood park the night before we began college at schools in different states. When my parents or siblings told me I cried too much. I wish I could see the…
Every night I touch my lips to her face, lower them into the cold water of the creek bed, the water pushing around my mouth, making my teeth ache, closest I ever get to being saved. No one’s turn in line behind me to press the button and drink, no shoulder tapping, sneakers shifting, knowing if I take too long, the preacher’s son, dressed too…