• Media, Podcast

    In which Matthew Olzmann casts his poems into the stars and into the sea.

    Craft Lecture, Online Feature
    Katie Kitamura

    Language is central to the development of science. Ideas are communicated through language, but they are also defined by language, and nowhere more so than in the case of immunity. The double meaning of immunity—resistance from infection or disease, but also exemption from a rule or penalty—inscribes a legal element into our scientific understanding of the body and its systems. The parallel between physical and social bodies, the ways in which they are defined and policed, was not difficult to see.

    Poetry
    Okwudili Nebeolisa

    The dog pawed out of the house and joined me
    in fathoming the fathomless sky.

    Fiction
    Chris Bachelder & Jennifer Habel

    Last night, adrift, I asked my husband to read me a chapter of Moby-Dick, and so he read me chapter fifty-nine, “Squid.”

    Nonfiction
    Lokelani Alabanza

    I believe in kismet. And because of kismet, the past year had me sitting in an olive-green W. H. Gunlocke chair, facing my desk in my office, writing a cookbook manuscript about the history of Black ice cream in America.

    Poetry
    Chad Abushanab

    You waited for the sun
    To parse the window frost,

    For light to drift into the room
    And consecrate the loss.

    Fiction
    Anna Caritj

    A fat white dog lay in the straw, flanked by a litter of pale pups. Their eyes weren’t even open. And there was white-faced Aya among them, wriggling up like one of the litter.

    Review
    Christopher Spaide

    But they, too, have turned to saying what happened, only to suspect they really are useless, not only to an economic and political order that prizes adaptability and applicability but to fledgling adulthoods crumpled by their first real tragedies.

    Nonfiction
    Judith Clare Mitchell

    Facetiously but seriously, Marcia made us raise our right hands. Facetiously but seriously, we intoned as one: I shall make no changes. I shall not revise.

    Poetry
    R. A. Villanueva

    they knock at the windshield. We drive beside
    the front gates and I refuse to look through
    or touch a pamphlet which lists all you might

    Fiction
    Ron Rash

    After what he’d gone through in the mine, I could see how, as darkness surrounded the trailer, he’d feel uneasy, maybe desire a wider space for a while. Like me, it wasn’t so much wanting to be in a particular place as avoiding another.

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