“Biting the Moon” by alum Joan Frank (fiction, ’96) has been released as part of Ploughshares’ digital-first series of individual long stories called Ploughshares Solo.  Here’s an excerpt

One afternoon, during our colony time, he told me that he knew when he was going to die.

     He’d been drinking, of course. White wine, middle of the day. Sprawled along the couch in his studio toying, on his chest, with a pack of Lucky Strikes. Long corduroyed legs crossed, sunlight a soft dust over everything. In my mind, reviewing these scenes, it’s always autumn: that breathing pocket, warm and soft but excitingly pine-needle-scented, before the big smackdown, the opera of winter. Later, when I walked to my own cabin, the wind was a madwoman in the pines, humming and singing, bending down to stroke my arms, my cheeks. Read more

A poem by alum Tommye Blount (poetry, ’13) appears at The Offing:

Look at your Manhunt profile: “White muscle power bottom looking

for a non-fem black top to fuck me in a mask and a hood.” You want

a rape scene you saw in a movie once, a kind of beauty

only a man not used to pain prays for. “The door will be unlocked —

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Three poems by alum Michael Collins (poetry, ’03) appear at Sequestrum:

The Sacrosanct Mallard of Mamaroneck Harbor

Listen, Jesus, it wasn’t my idea
for this mallard to stand on the dock,
stretching his wings out all crucifixiony.

Hell, I thought he was a crow.

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A poem by alum Kerrin McCadden (poetry, ’14) appears at Rattle:

God bless Jonathan Matthew, asleep
on the table, a piece of his liver plucked
out and planted in the jaundiced boy
from up the road, for Jonathan Matthew’s
weak thumbs-up, his face swollen, his wife
falling all over him lit by the kind of love
I don’t know yet, for the way the liver regrows,

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A poem by alum Mary Jo Thompson (poetry, ’09) appears at Drunken Boat:

1.  In black and white
—there was no color—she taught me
that mischief was the work of cats
and oilcans. My grandmother warned that evil
came in kinds and sizes. Pint-sized oilcans
squawked like crows and squirted when they saw me.

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A poem by alum Jennifer Givhan (poetry, ’15) appears at Drunken Boat:

I keep trying to read the tea leaves greening
the lukewarm belly of the mug—

instead I keep ingesting them.

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A poem by alum Rachel Brownson (poetry, ’14) appears at The Collagist:

On either side of the river,
snow hangs off slick rocks,
gathering itself to fall
when it becomes
heavy enough.

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A poem by alum Jennifer Sperry Steinorth (poetry, ’15) appears at The Collagist:

Ordinary Sheers

Scarlet O’Hara made herself
a gown of emerald velvet curtains
flanking book-length, drawing room windows—

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Two poems by alum Kerrin McCadden (poetry, ’14), “The Dead” and “How the Heart Works,” appear at The Collagist.

The Dead

They worry I won’t keep the graves when they’re gone.
See my mother brushing off her hands

at her mother’s grave, surveying lots,
approving and disapproving care and neglect,

my father deep in thought. The trees above
them are the gods of Massachusetts, big-

handed and quiet, tall fathers approving
the play of children in the yard. Somehow

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A story by alum Peg Alford Pursell (fiction, ’96) appears at Permafrost:

My own words woke me up the way it sometimes happens. Manny sat on the edge of the bed, shaving crème stripped away in swaths on his left cheek, razor still in hand. The water still trickled into the sink basin and the fluorescent light glowed miserably over the mirror. I turned away toward the windows. Between the crack in the motel’s heavy drapes the day was bright sunny.

“Active night,” Manny said. The mattress jounced when he stood and returned to shaving. “It sounded like your dad had a harem or something.”

I wasn’t sure I understood what he said, his words were garbled from the way he stretched the skin over his face to hold it taut. I rolled back over, and his eyes in the mirror contacted mine before flicking back to his own face, watching the razor move close to his mouth. Damp hair clung to his nape, a towel wrapped around his beautiful torso. He adjusted the water, rinsed the razor, and finished.

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