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 guitar. Outside, dead leaves have piled up, vines have lost their bloom. In a nearby field, cranes pick through harvest remains without concern for the downpour…
Life Science by 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…
Definitions of a Marriage by 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 school and began calling you, which you did not like (see definition 1)…
Weiss Haar by 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…
Spring 2016 Contest: Winner Announced
Portland Review is pleased to announce the winner of the Spring 2016 Short Fiction Contest, Doris Iarovici, author of the short story “One Way It Could Happen.” Congratulations to Doris Iarovici!