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Carbon monoxide poisoning in the public library parking garage — $5 an hour.Anything to relieve the August heat. It’s better than fighting crowds forfreezing springs, spreading like salamanders on algae-ridden rocks. dying grass shores are a bed to stretch catlike and tan our backs beside theonly overpriced tourist destination I still visit alone in this place, where cost and heat rise in unison. The warmer the climate, the steeper the rent. The truth is, I don’t remember the time before. I can’t explain whythe summers sear memory more than skin, or why we suffer so much just to pay ourdues to the Capitol…
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From somewhere a calm musical note arrives. You balance it on your tongue, a single ripe grape, till your whole body glistens. In the space between breaths you apply it to any wound and the wound heals. Soon the nights will lengthen,you will lean into the yearhumming like a saw.You will fill the lamps with kerosene,knowing somewhere a line breaks,a city goes black,people dig for candles in the bottom drawer.You will be ready. You will use the song like a match.It will fill your roomsopening rooms of its ownso you sing, I did not knowmy house was this large.
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From the highest point on the hill, Charlotte could see something glinting gold in the sunlight—about 50 feet away, at the foot of a large rock. She inched down the gravelly slope. The object was a ring, gold, with a single empty facet on the front, which Charlotte knew from her books and the occasional movie was where a stone would have gone. Maybe a diamond, she thought. On the inside of the ring was inscribed: To Shyanne, my love 10/15/2025. Charlotte’s stomach rumbled, and she pocketed the ring and went inside. The dinner bell rang at 7:03. Miss Suzie,…
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4/5 I recently read Akwaeke Emezi’s poetry for the first time and loved it, so it’s no surprise I was a fan of their prose, too. Little Rot is intense, fast-paced, and filled with surprising twists and turns. I read it for a book club, and we all agreed that it would make a riveting action film should a screenwriter decide to tackle an adaptation. The plot of the novel takes place over the span of slightly more than 24 hours. For a piece that includes so many alternating characters and viewpoints, it’s surprisingly intricate and detailed without being convoluted…
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Go with me. It’s just as likely as a virgin birth. So let’s live in a world where Joseph knew it was a miracle the whole time and didn’t have to be convinced by any angels. Let’s say he led the donkey proudly all the way to Bethlehem. Let’s live in a world— because we can in a poem— where no one said anythingabout the two of them being togetherand raising a child, and Herodonly wanted to kill baby Jesusbecause he hated babies,not for any homophobic reasons.Let’s keep Joseph a carpenterbecause they work with wood,but let’s give him well-manicured nails.Let’s…
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Once a year, in May, we take his boat out on the lakeAnd pretend the other isn’t some kind of disappointment.He’ll tell me about his new home project, new paycheck, new motorcycle—the new fiancée’ll be there too. They’ll talk about God and GMOs and the vaccinesthat contribute to our decaying morality. I’ll nod and smile politely when they saythe homosexuals are infecting the country.I’ll remember how this time last week I was kissing a girl I met on Tinder in a cemetery parking lot—how when she leaned in to kiss me her teeth hit mine so hard I saw sparks. She laughed…
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I just finished reading a Young Adult trilogy called Ending Fire. It was pretty far outside of my comfort zone and will probably be the only YA I read for some time now, but I thought the worldbuilding was incredible, and I hope to read more of the author’s work in the future. The trilogy consists of three books: The Final Strife, The Battle Drum, and The Ending Fire. The entire series is fantasy, but the first one leans more towards the romance genre and incorporates traditional romance tropes, such as enemies to lovers and a love triangle. The first…
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and singing in the night singing in the days of want and singing in the days of plenty singing alone and singing with ghosts singing old songs and singing new songs we will remember songs we haven’t heard yet songs that haven’t been dreamt yet songs no one has found the words for songs sung on the road and songs sung in bed songs sung while weeping and songs sung while waitingsongs for breath and sun and light and moon and earth and water songs for sustenance we will sing impossible songs indecipherable songs songs that cannot be heard and songs that cannot be…
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Beyond the curve in the road, past the old post office with the barred-up windows and the dead shrubs slumped by the graffiti-covered mailbox, there was a house. It had not been a home in some time. A man lived there, alone, dying, while the ghost of his son sat in his car with the engine running in the front driveway. Jean had been sitting in the car for some time now. She turned the engine off, once, about thirty minutes ago, and put her hand on the handle for a moment. She couldn’t make herself open the door. So…
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After reading most of Mona Awad’s repertoire and discussing them with friends, I’ve come to the conclusion that whether or not someone likes one of her books depends primarily on how much they connect to the situations being satirized. I have friends who are obsessed with Bunny, who thought All’s Well was boring as hell, and who love the fairytale-style of Rouge. Personally, I don’t like Awad’s writing style in general but I am intrigued by her method of choosing niche, personal subject matter that’s almost akin to telling an inside joke—if you get it, you get it, and if…
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