We told our children he hadn’t listened to his mother. We said he played Chicken. With a train. His mother had told him to stay away from the tracks. The train braked, much too late. We told our children he was a boy although he was closer to a man. We said Chicken when we knew it was no such thing. Our children kept away…
FATHERS OF THE UNIVERSE by Megan Freshley
As a little boy in Perrysburg, Ohio, he takes a shit on the marble steps of the methodist church while his father preaches a sermon inside. It must be impossible for my father to tell apart his father and The Father as he crouches down. It is the fifties so his shorts are fifties shorts. Because it is the fifties, the church is across the…
Spring 2013 Launch Party, This Sunday!
We are excited to share the wonderful prose, poetry and art in Portland Review: Spring 2013 with you, so please join us this Sunday, May 12, to celebrate! We’ll gather at the beautiful and mind-bending Afru Gallery* (534 SE Oak, Portland, OR) from 3:30 to 5:30. There, we’ll mix, mingle, and welcome April Ehrlich, Erin Fox Ocón, Susan V. Meyers, and Willa Schneberg to the readers’ stage. We know…
Houdini’s Cousin in the Storage Unit by Lenore Weiss
She was moving from a 10 by 15 into a 5 by 9, downsizing whatever she’d packed into plastic boxes with seals that popped when I lifted them like they were filled with effervescent secrets, household remains, until she’d decided to make the pile smaller so she gave stuff away — not the piano, it was her husband’s, he played — to people who kept…
Brave Michael Dragonhead by Dave Shattuck
i. From the bridge a dozen boys drop paper boats into the river. Small as the cupped hands of mothers, the boats drift and spin in the current, plummet over the falls, and are gone into the New Year. ii. Above the city rooftops, like flower petals burning, fireworks return to earth. Below, down every street, Drums echo off glass and steel of the old…