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- X23Eping on Hangin’ Out at the Git and Go, poetry by Jason Ryberg
- John A Jancewicz on The Hills are Alive, essay by Anna Lea Jancewicz
- JBird on Tin Pedals, fiction by Lucas Flatt
- Jim J Wilsky on Everything is Relative, fiction by Michael Bracken
- LINDA MCQUARRIE-BOWERMAN on Two Poems, by Matthew Borczon
Monthly Archives: May 2015
Joplin, poem by Michael Thompson
Once the war ended, there wasn’t anything else to do except play the horses and hoist a few pints at Tinhorn Flats where the sticky surface of no-pest strips hanging behind the bar are caked with flies Waiting on long shot lives to come in, those who take … Continue reading
A Long Row to Hoe, by Meriwether O'Connor
Old Mr. Worthington showed up at half past ten when he shoulda oughta been there at ten sharp. Miss Candleman was ready for him with a cup of coffee, hers. She walked out, pleasant as pie. Hi, Mr. Worthington. … Continue reading
Tipping the Jug*, poem by GC Smith
Rednecks and blackmen old buddies and friends will stand now together with a clay jug of corn they'll drink to their health and comfort each other with lies and comfort each other with lies They'll talk of their dogs and the ducks that they've … Continue reading
The Hills are Alive, essay by Anna Lea Jancewicz
Yeah, everybody has a dead grandmother story. They’re not sexy and nobody’s buying. But this story is mine, and it’s not so much about the woman as it is about the place. I’m from a little coal town, McAdoo, in … Continue reading
Where to Buy Your Weed, fiction by Misty Skaggs
Her trailer was a ripe patch of excess, bloomed conspicuously at the base of a cliff on the edge of a bone dry, Baptist county in East Kentucky. The half-acre around it was littered with faded Mountain Dew cans glinting … Continue reading
Uncles Charlie Loves You, poem by Misty Skaggs
I remember tired, washed-out women warning us young’uns with his name — “Uncle Charlie’s gonna come, gonna come all the way out here and get you." I remember we believed it. I remember the good ol’ boys rounding up a posse fueled by boredom and Pabst Blue Ribbon … Continue reading
Lock No. 10, essay by Megan Lewis
Parker and he went out to the lock. He drove fast down dark roads. Roads that remember us still. He parked. Next to the historical marker— I think. We stumbled through a starless night, right down to the water. Right down … Continue reading
A Happy Ending by Murray Dunlap
“How are you doing, Ben?” The camera man crunches down to take advantage of a better upshot. “Well, I’d tell you, but there is a stranger in my house who seems to be filming us,” I say with sincere astonishment. … Continue reading
