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 … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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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

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Under the De Soto, fiction by Barrett Hathcock

We had a roof­ing job in Eure­ka Springs. Stu­pid name for a town. It’s up in the top cor­ner of Arkansas, almost in Mis­souri, stuck in this Ozark gul­ley, every street a down­ward spi­ral. There are no grids in Eure­ka. … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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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 … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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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

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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

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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 … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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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 … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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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

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