A poem by Jennifer Sperry Steinorth (poetry, ’15) appears in Poetry Northwest:

… continue reading here.

A story by Robert Rorke (fiction, ’10) appears in Shadowgraph Quarterly:

The Christmas Pyramid

It was our first Christmas at the beach. We were headed out to Rockaway in The Black Beauty, Himself at the wheel. I knew how to drive the car and sometimes he let me. We started my driving lessons that spring, one Saturday morning when we were coming back from a nursery with new rose bushes in the trunk. [… continue reading here.]

 

A poem by Faith S. Holsaert (poetry, ’82) appears in Potomac Review:

DIASPORA
Our inheritance in the Diaspora is to live in this inexplicable space–Dionne Brand

if there was a curtain we didn’t notice
if there was something other than raspberries
among dusty leaves we didn’t see

we saw how the path wound up from the creek
we knew we had to carry
we knew the old man in the next town
we knew our coats smelled of pear
and our cat, we knew our cat

Maybe the portal was there all along
when we ate ramen and watched TV
not talking spent
after we had danced

 
To see the complete poem, click here to purchase a copy.

A poem by Lesley Valdes (poetry ’15) appears in Innisfree Poetry Journal:

In the parking lot in front of the Shell station

 

In the parking lot in front of the Shell station,

a chair, a prie dieu

 

like the nuns used.

 

Mahogany—worth something

even if you didn’t pray—and the chair

 

inviting hips ampler than hers.

Made for whom?

… continue reading here.

 

A poem by Dilruba Ahmed (poetry, ’09) appears in Poetry:

The Process
So grateful the process is clean
and faithful. Does not cheat
like a disenchanted spouse
dozing on a haggard couch.
Take heart: the process is always right —
is automatic, phlegmatic. Clean, cold,
and always refreshing. Brewed to perfection
some say. Guaranteed to satisfy

… continue reading here.

Three poems and audio by Rose McLarney (poetry, ’10) appear in Terrain:

Writing on a Scrap of Paper in Reach

Slipping over museum marble floors, it was so easy—
movement between places and people. In this room,

modern American painters, step to the next,
to traditional African pots. Not so outside

the hush of those halls of protection,
navigating the living, struggling city. A street

 

… continue reading the rest of the poem here.

Two other poems, “When to Wear a Strapless Dress, and Not Consider What is to Come” and “Wildfires, Election Week” appear immediately following “Writing on a Scrap of Paper in Reach,” and have accompanying audio.

This year the annual writing conference will be held July 1 – 8 at Mount Holyoke College, South Hadley MA. We are in the process of securing a dorm with a limited number of air-conditioned rooms available, but need to give the venue an idea of the number and gender breakdown of those willing to pay a reasonable premium for those rooms. Accordingly, if you are planning to attend, and would like to be in a drawing to secure an AC room, please email Peter Klank at [email protected], with “Wally AC Lottery” in the subject line. Please include your full name in the text, along with your intention to attend and desire for an AC unit. Further information and rates can be found at  THE 2017 CONFERENCE, or email Peter with any questions.

A story by Abby Horowitz (fiction, ’15) appears in Memorious:

 

My Husband Had a Name Once and So Did My Son

          When I come home at night from yoga, I am so heartless, I cannot even pet the dog. I would rather sit on my hands than reach out to touch his fur, even when he nuzzles next to me on the couch.

        Why are you sitting like that? my husband asks. Isn’t that uncomfortable?

I’m practicing, I say.

         My husband does not ask: For what? Once we danced around this room rehearsing the tango for our wedding. Now he picks up the crumpled tissues scattered about the living room floor. [… continue reading here.]

An article by Nick Fox (fiction, ’09) appears in the Music section of Waxwing:

 

Dom Flemons and the Unsung Stories of America

Dom Flemons isn’t exaggerating when he says I’ve caught him at a good time. A week earlier, he played his first show in his hometown of Phoenix since he left Arizona in 2005. A few days later, he took the stage at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville for a New Year’s Eve performance which was picked up and broadcast on the Grand Ole Opry. All of this closing out a year in which he was named to the board of directors of Folk Alliance International and performed on the Washington Mall as part of the grand opening of the National Museum of African American Heritage and Culture. [… continue reading here.]

 

 

A story by Robin Black (fiction, ‘05) appears in Waxwing:

 

My Parents Are Cruel to My Brother

My parents are cruel to my brother. He says they are cruel to me too, but that I have, we both have, become blind and deaf and numb to their cruelty — for ourselves, not for the other. He says that we have switched our skins so I feel his hurt and he feels mine. He says that when they stand close to him, he isn’t there, when they are near enough to breathe on me, I disappear. He says I don’t remember, because you don’t. He says it is like death that way. [… continue reading here.]