• Online Feature
    Garth Greenwell

    The argument I want to make is that Carl Phillips has used sex as a mode of philosophical inquiry—“fucking a way forward,” as he puts it in a poem from Silverchest, sex, as he writes in another poem from the same volume, having “at last become / an added sense by which to pass ungently but more / entirely across a life.”

    The Conglomerate
    The Sewanee Review

    On a superficial level, we live in a less violent age than those I write about, and karate has fostered a visceral understanding that benefits my work. But more important is the wisdom that I've gathered from my practice. I think wisdom is what turns mere sentences and information into literature.

    The Conglomerate
    Adam Ross

    It’s already been a hard winter. Like our cover image, the nation seems to be buried in the impeachment mess, snowed in by snow jobs, blinded by white out. And no forecast predicts a change in this oppressive political weather.

    Poetry
    Evie Shockley

    going through the oceans of files, talking
      of boys who were no angels? no. to serve is
    a right and our duty, each to each—but
      the potential juror peers into the courtroom
    as if it were quarantined for the plague.

    Fiction
    Myla Goldberg

    Beyond the car seat or the doctor’s prescription, Erin just wasn’t up to the sight of all those other children: the toddlers, the nursing infants, the drooling babies. PARK—anonymous, failed—was the place that fit.

    Nonfiction
    T.J. Stiles

    I don’t mean the way New York itself hardens you through constant friction with endless streams of people, their pettiness and self-absorption rubbing against your own until you are encased in a shell of indifference and even cruelty. I mean he solidified me. He gave me substance I had lacked.

    Poetry
    B. H. Fairchild

    and I thank her, and once again I know as if by
    physical touch alone the innocence and kindness
    of the hopeful before the world disappoints them

    Fiction
    Cally Fiedorek

    There are plenty other private types: a disgraced Exxon executive—here he comes now scooting past my house, yielding for an armadillo—a turncoat from the Jersey mob, with new veneers. I’m former CIA. Here in Portofino Palms the living’s easy, and the big sun blights the shadows of the omertà.

    Craft Lecture
    Maud Casey

    Silence that is truly an absence—the silencing effects of tyranny or the complicit retreat from the horrors of the world—is dangerous, corrosive, murderous. On the page, as in life. This is the silence-equals-death variety where silence is already dead. In fact, it isn’t silence at all; it’s an evasion, a dodge.

    Poetry
    Carl Phillips


    hours after having entered another’s body with your own
    body, you wonder Did that happen, any of it, and then the staggering away

    Fiction
    Valerie Reed Hickman

    On her way to work, stopped at a red light, she finds herself staring at a church that has filled one of its windows with big square masking-tape letters:

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    THE WORLD

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