“Tell Me a Story About Lions,” a story by Abby Horowitz (fiction, ’15) is Runner Up for The Black Warrior Review’s 2016 Fiction Contest.

Congratulations, Abby!

 

Tell Me A Story About Lions

by Abby Horowitz

 

That as my body spilled out of itself, the boy was born, that he should have surfaced from the river of blood that poured out of me. A miracle, Lazar assured me. A miracle, that the boy survived.

 

Lazar slapping the steering wheel in delight as we finally left the hospital. A family of three! he said, Now and forever.

In the back, lying in the footwell beneath the boy’s car seat, was the fourth passenger, seen only to me—her ginger fur lighting up the car’s dark interior, the black tip of her tail pressed against the door handle, already searching for a way we might escape.  . . . continue reading here.

An essay by Emily Sinclair (fiction, ’14) appears in Colorado Review:

 

SEARCHING FOR THE DUCK HOLE

Emily Sinclair

Contact with My Mother, from Whom I Am Estranged

My mother started calling me about a year and a half ago. She is in her late eighties and suffers from cognitive decline, so she does not remember that we haven’t had a relationship for more than twenty-five years. Despite her memory struggles, she figured out my home number and leaves messages on it. The first one, transcribed to include her pauses, looks like poetry:

The message is for Emily Sinclair (she begins)
Emily
I want you to know
that you are the first person to know (. . . continue reading here.)

A story by Dave Rustchman (fiction, ’02) appears in Kenyon Review Online:

 

The Baby

David Rutschman

The baby is by itself on a blanket. Expanse of grass, expanse of gray sky. The man flinches, and the flinch becomes a little shiver, a shiver of disgust almost. He stops walking. Baby on a blanket in a tiny park.

The man had been picking his exhausted, miserable way back to the car from the hospital, but now this: the baby turns its head. On the blanket are a few toys.

The man looks behind him on the sidewalk, across the street, but sees no other pedestrians. Cars thrum by along the avenue toward the hospital entrance and the highway on the other side.

. . . continue reading here.

An interview of Noah Stetzer (poetry, ’14) by Somayeh Shams (fiction, ’14) appears in Nimrod International Journal:

Interview with Noah Stetzer, Nimrod Contributor

by Somayeh Shams

Somayeh Shams: Noah, you have recently published a beautiful chapbook entitled Because I Can See Needing A Knife. In each poem you write about living with AIDS, its consequences on the body, and how it changes one’s relationship to the body. The book is also about love and family, which turn out often to be the lifelines of your poems. Tell us a little about the process that shaped this chapbook.

Noah Stetzer: Thank you for such kind praise. This book would not have been possible without the great people of Red Bird Chapbooks, especially Eric Hove and Sarah Hayes. At the time these poems were being drafted I was immersing myself in any information I could find about HIV in general and my diagnosis specifically. I was seeing doctors about every nine weeks and so my own body was very much a front and center topic—one that you can see reflected, I think, in the book.

Continue reading here.

Find everything you need to know on the Friends of Writers Website through this link: 2017 ALUMNI CONFERENCE

 

 

  • May 13: Deadline for scholarship requests.
  • MAY 20: Final day (post-marked) to register with deposit. All registrations after this date must pay in full at time of registration.
  • JUNE 3: Registration closes for full- and short-stay. Remaining balances due.
  • JUNE 10: Late balances (plus $100 late fee) for short- and full-stay participants payable only by credit card.
  • JUNE 12: Deposits forfeited if balance unpaid by June 1 (postmark) or June 10 (credit card).

An essay by Susan Sterling (fiction, ’92) appears in Witness:

 

Dr. Hunt

It’s already mid-summer when I notice the sign just inside the main entrance to the nursing home. Hanging on the wall next to a telephone, it gives instructions for what to do in case of fire or medical emergency, and then, mysteriously, a third contingency:

For an Elopement
Attention Staff
Doctor Hunt, room (indicate the room of the missing resident)
Repeat 3 times

. . . continue reading here.

Three poems by Jenn Ghivan (poetry, ’15) appear in The Offing:

 

Sea Level

I’ve lost most names for things from girlhood
early womanhood   can’t name the mother
of the man I used to sleep with   in her house
she made us nopales   prickly pear   scraped
the sticky cactus innards into a pan
made Spanish rice & fried beans   & his father

. . . continue reading here.

A poem by Ian Wilson (poetry, ’02; fiction ’16) appears in Leaping Clear:

A Portion of the Body

The gods, at their least generous,
command all houses
to leave the earth and man
to walk upon the verge
no more. Drowned
in some places.
Burned in others.

. . . continue reading here.

A poem by Susan Okie (poetry, ’14) appears in Cider Press Review:

 

Elizabeth Bishop Injects Herself With Adrenaline For Ashma

Eyes closed, I inhale, I imagine:
a fine needle in the arm opens your chest,
raises you to a high pitch,
sets you humming all night.
Saved from drowning, you float
on the surface, gulping breaths,
heart at a Scarlatti gallop–

. . . continue reading here.

A poem by Kerrin McCadden (poetry, ’14) appears in Horsethief:

Husband

I walk around saying husband,

though I have none. Some years,

I grow perennial husbands, and some

wild husbands, in clumps along the creek.

.

I live in husband territory, in the migratory

path of husbands. I think I heard an H of husbands

flying north, overhead. My god,

look at the size of that husband at the feeder.

. . . continue reading here.