Monthly Archives: July 2016

I Hear You Weeping, fiction by Robb T. White

Jim­my Shan­non from She­boy­gan, as he liked to intro­duce him­self to peo­ple who came into his bar, had nev­er been to Wis­con­sin in his life. He’d done time for check forgery in Michi­gan and three years in Penn­syl­va­nia for hus­tling … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The Last Thanksgiving, poem by Taylor Collier

first appeared in Tar Riv­er Poet­ry Spring 2010 Dur­ing din­ner my uncle's behind the house help­ing a heifer through her first deliv­ery. Inside, dry turkey, hot din­ner rolls. The heifer's cries bel­low­ing through the house. Green beans, sweet pota­toes, and … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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A Redneck Eats Thai Food, essay by William Matthew McCarter

I can still remem­ber those dark days–not long ago–when you couldn’t hang out with a group of grad stu­dents at a uni­ver­si­ty cam­pus with­out some­one say­ing “Let’s go get some eth­nic food”–like they had just smoked a bour­geois blunt and … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Two Poems, by Adrian C. Louis

Invis­i­ble Places of Refuge Deep inside myself, I am run­ning out of places to hide. I am an old man, a dirty old man & the world we knew is fad­ing fast away. I can­not say how I became cov­ered … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Brothers, fiction by Juan Ochoa

It was a big fam­i­ly. So much so that Ama Quina was still hav­ing babies when her old­est chil­dren start­ed fam­i­lies of their own. The ini­tial sig­nif­i­cance of this over­lap­ping was that Ama Quina func­tioned as wet nurse for her … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Dot the I’s and Cross the T’s , poem by Joy Bowman

On her deathbed she asks me if I can still play the piano, and begins to sing of jasper roads. I search the linen for for­got­ten cro­chet nee­dles she swears are under the cush­ions.   Her hands nev­er stop mov­ing, … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The Deep Roots of White Trash: A Review by Kate Tuttle

"Amer­i­cans like the rhetoric of equal­i­ty but they don’t like it when it’s real." Nan­cy Isenberg’s book “White Trash” begins by look­ing at the char­ac­ters in “To Kill a Mock­ing­bird.” Both the book and the movie play with the divide … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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