Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
Things that are long The year it felt like everyone was dying The year everyone actually died The years 2016 to 2020, also 2015, and January, always The five days before your parents can get a Covid test after you exposed them The apology while smoking after court the day we got divorced Thirteen years in the length of one cigarette My thoughts, spilling across…
Motherland Bucia rode a boat from Polska before she was babushka and birthed American dolls: mother and grandmother. I call them “Nonnie” and “Mommy” like …
But have you ever heard such quietness as aftermath: senility of fight, diminuendo truth, that slow regress? June. Whole world “can’t breathe.” Vicarious sufferers. All swallowed fire. Bright. But have you ever heard such quietness as four months later? Protests in undress. White badge of courage earned. Click mute on cries. Diminuendo truth (that slow regress). My country ’tis of thee, the passiveness of fast-expiring…
Lisa says food is sad, hasn’t eaten in three days. Jan is made of matchsticks, wants the boys to light her, light her, light her. Sean gives herself a buzz cut, grows girl tired. Mae chews bubblegum and paints a perfect smoky eye. Lu stays home, keeps mother company, draws open-faced camellias and hums ice-cream-truck music. Mela packs her suitcase, drives Arizona, finds the boy…
What’s it like to make a lit mag in the middle of mass upheaval? As a student-run magazine, Portland Review’s staff changes yearly, meaning we’re used to learning as we go and teaching each other. Usually we do this in-person, waving someone over to have a look at a submission or walk each other through some html. This year, we switched to online-only operations and…