Most read stories

Another Way

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If there was another way to describe emptiness, I'd word the endlessness of the sky, of the ocean at low tide.

OUT ON THE EDGE OF VICTORIAN CIVILIZATION

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Lottie was a slim, fine looking woman. But Dale thought her breast implants were the worst case of overkill he had ever seen.

The Dead

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The dead want you to calm down.They are quite fine, and don't needyour post-mortem tears, the flowers and veils; their names mispronounced by preachers. None of your catechisms will do -- especiallyfor the children, who know them well and need no…

Firefly

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Smiling at stones and chunks of earth pounding in...

A Philadelphia Story

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In the summer of 1963 I went to Philadelphia to study with a member of the Philadelphia Orchestra.

A Year and a Day Then

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Removing the deeply embedded jack-blade frommy naked side, like any slicked-upsplinter, was just a bit jarring on the first bite, on first try, I must admit. I freelydo so now to your frozen-over faces. You made your…

Joe's Sniff Shack

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Joe's, always smelling of cherry chapstick or the breeze that comes up from subway grates, used to service some of the finest dupes in town.

We Wore Our Hair Long

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You don't have to push back so hard. We wore our hair long. We wanted the animals to trust us in their wild open spaces. Everything will come undone. We wore our hair long because we wanted to Be able to find our way home in the dark…

trenton

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his word

Sunday Morning Series- 7: Sunday Morning Trifurcation

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Go diddle in the sand// to save some other sinner/ a death of stones.

The Judge's Wife Part 8

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—You're convinced I'm crazy. I'm convinced you're incompetent.

After Eliot

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Her breath was on me

Things of Beauty

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The cover features Lincoln as a woman. Lincoln as a woman is not a thing of beauty.

The Cherry

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He then spent his walk home to his single apartment spitting up various textures of red, combinations of cherry and blood mostly.

All Men With Well Trimmed Beards

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Or, do my own red flags counter balance his. My back and forth, my restlessness, my one foot out the door, my ‘once a leaver… always a leaver’, my pitter patter for a former flame... peppered with my transgressions, my mistakes. Or, worse, the way I have

Forbidden Music

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There are songs I know to not listen to when I am alone.

What my daughter knows I know or some likely version

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He doesn't call, not even on her birthday. She doesn't mention it or complain. She knows she doesn't have it as bad as some, even in this privileged Triangle of North Carolina. She is white and pretty and belongs to what's left of the middle…

Five Million Yen: Chapter 56

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—Can you handle a threesome? said Isabella.

skull of a sheep

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You are in a car speeding through Dublin towards the West year after year the journey uncoils past the same landmarks Kilmainham Jail strapped to a chair bullet to the brain on by the Rowntree Mackintosh factory where the black and yellow and orange and r

Raindrops

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'Every raindrop sounds different.' says Barney. He's bouncing along beside his mother, twisting in her hand like warm milk. She looks down at his Big Bear hat and tugs. They wait together at the edge of the busy road. 'How do they sound?' 'Zzzing.…

The Road

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we were traveling on wasn't necessarily going to go careening over any hill as fast as it was smashing into the blunt end of another cloudless hole like a cartoon cat chasing a cartoon mouse. It was huge like a stone wall that had its own…

Twilight of the Trotters

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Neither you nor I is old enough, of course, to remember that America’s most popular athlete once was a horse.

FWA (Fiction Writers Anonymous)

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Sebastian and Janice had been a natural match. They sought to deny this at first because a recovery assistance program was not a place to forge intimate relationships. It worked out wonderfully in Hollywood, but Hollywood, as everyone knew, was just a facade. So…

Headlines

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He brought me flowers once, three wilted carnations I put in water, though the sight of them made me uneasy. He brought me pictures once, too, of three sisters—ten, twelve, fourteen—straddling dirt bikes. He touched my shoulder once, as I edited pictures …

mondays get all the heat

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when i was five or six/ we lived in an apartment/ and every sunday/ i'd lie on the carpet/ to watch squares of sunshine/ crawl across the rug/ while my mother inflicted upon us/ a centuries-long hour of television/ worse than any droning mass.

reality concedes, for once

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beckoning with citrus streaks blue cobbled streets/and stuccos lit with gold lamps guide strollers here/to Place du Forum in Arles and this café . . .

Sick Day

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Marcy was not herself today, her mother said when the school called. She was under the weather and she could not play with the other children. Marcy's mother began to suspect that her daughter was not herself very early on that day. Walking up the stairs Dolores…

Oprah's Sister Murdered My Story

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Dear Patricia, You look marvelous. You seem marvelous. You've added wonder to Oprah's life and that's no small feat. But, here's the thing. I was working on this short story about a relative trying to get in touch with O, one of thousands, except, this one, well this one…

the global obscenity of your monthly $100 coffee habit [revised]

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My sixth grade teacher used to tell us all the time about how being poor is nowhere near the same as liv­ing in poverty.

On Women

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She was prepared