by S.O. Fasrus
Maybe these are very bad consonants
by Mary Ann McGuigan
My mother had convinced herself—and us—that the landlord would never go through with it.
by Dr. Donna Roberts
The summer of 1977 was the summer of the great debate in my neighborhood.
Review by Angela Kubinec
Morris shares tales of the many ways we travel, in our minds and with our bodies.
by Horacio Quiroga
Her honeymoon, when it came, induced in her the seed of dread.
by Phil Berry
There’s a silver balloon / Over a post by the road / Where all must pause.
Word counts, book sales, even romance: the only astrological guide a writer needs.
Review by Donna Roberts
I’m always intrigued when a plot that has been done before—many times before, until it’s almost a cliché—can come across fresh and new.
We are trespassers, all of us tourists / seeking out this almost ghost town
Interviews by Kent Oswald
Libraries are changing, and librarians are adapting heroically.
by Kaori Fujimoto
You rush from your home in the Tokyo area, and, as the train station comes into view, you see your fellow commuters bottlenecked into the street.
by Juleus Ghunta
The night she tried to beat me, I slept on the veranda / of the shop in the square.
by Amye Archer
There are nights when I look at you, feel for you in the dark, and the falling into one another, the estuary we create, is still so easy.
Bleak, that’s a given. No sun for / days. The spring doesn’t arrive / soon enough.
by Angela Kubinec
While browsing my local used book store, I came across a title I had not seen in decades. It was How to Make Love to a Man