Monthly Archives: January 2012

The Placeholder, poem by Carol Alexander

Old man in a car­a­van grease-stained cov­er­all retired lo lo nine point three years now.   On the short­est day of the year shimmed down to a dec­i­mal elec­tric fires spark, smol­der, the trail­er fills with cre­osote smoke; a bird’s … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The Lay of Our Land, non-fiction by Mark Phillips

In the lumpy region I call home, a study deter­mined to the sur­prise of few that tooth dis­ease is our most seri­ous health prob­lem. If you’re work­ing three low-pay­ing jobs just to get by—as one of my neigh­bors did until … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Why Cockfighting Persists

From Salon, by Deb­o­rah Kennedy: I was 6 years old when I saw my first cock­fight. It must have been a gray day, because even though I was very young, I remem­ber clear­ly the bright col­or of the roost­ers’ feath­ers … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Every Head is a World, fiction by Nels Hanson

The sud­den vision of the wings of sev­en-band­ed col­or made me halt as I head­ed for the doomed pig’s pen. I blinked at the striped light like refrac­tions from twin prisms and the knife slipped from my hand and I … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Interview with Chris Offutt from the Iowa Review

Don't miss it: Offutt inter­view by Alex Dezen

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APOSTROPHE AT THE WHATELY DINER, poem by Joshua Michael Stewart

The wait­ress has a hum­ming­bird tat­too behind her ear. She sings Volare, over the clank­ing and clat­ter. I sit in a booth next to a win­dow. I let the sun warm my hands as I wait for my soup and … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Hasty Leverage, fiction by Brian Jones

They hag­gled out the terms. “You know I like to go fish­ing,” Ten said, “at least once a week.  I do not like to work indoors.  I won’t make much mon­ey.” “Well, but I like to have nice things.” “And … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Poems by David S. Pointer

Nashville Punk Scene Decades & dues before Hank III cometh with his ther­­mo-chem­i­­cal cow punk, Jason & the Scorchers rolled onto Rock City like a bar­rel keg cool­er bran­dish­ing neon notes to Nashville’s con­ser­v­a­tive music estab­lish­ment stomp­ing Punk’s Lib­er­ty Bell … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Poems by Rosemary Royston

Greasy Creek The house was made of large, smooth stones moved years ago by some­one unknown, maybe from the creek out back which snaked through an Appalachi­an patch of bam­boo. So much ener­gy went into the out­side that the floor … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Pruning, non-fiction by Ginger Hamilton Caudill

Last night's storm raged for four hours. A friend­ly warm sun and bril­liant blue sky coaxed me out­side with the promise of new growth in the gar­den. I inspect my pep­per and bean plants first. The pep­pers are thriv­ing. One … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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