On a sunny September day in the early 1990s, a German couple taking a shortcut through the rock spires on the Austrian-Italian border spotted the head and back of a man jutting from a patch of half-melted ice. The couple, thinking they’d stumbled across the corpse of a mountaineer, told the owner of the inn they were staying at. He, in turn, contacted the authorities, who sent a forensic investigator.
Tag: writing
Book Review: The Woman Dies by Aoko Matsuda, translated by Polly Barton – Arbnora Selmani
Reuniting with translator Polly Barton, Matsuda revisits similar themes in this new collection; across fifty-two stories, she tackles the pervasive misogyny faced by women in contemporary Japan and beyond.
FICTION | The Grammar of Forgetting – Jeffrey-Michael Kane
Desire could drain a reservoir. Fear could empty a playground. And someone like her would be left to label the files.
ONE POEM – Stephanie Russell
The past peels me off like red pared down to
parent rock (think barn, cadaver, three-wheeled
wagon upended in the bee garden).
ONE POEM – Brian Alkire
That albino slug
looks like mobile marzipan,
bending its neck for a nap
in the stitchwort
tufted beside the road.
ONE POEM – Paul Bavister
You slid the nit comb through my hair
then rinsed and laughed about how
you loved hunting them down
ONE POEM – Harriet Sandilands
legs floating, brush of seaweed
bulging water moves us
up and down
the shore seems very far away
ESSAY | Initiation – Kate Stukenborg
I wanted to be a part of their club, their conversations, their laughter. Eating, I decided, was my way in.
FLASH FICTION | Blue Pieces of Sky – Mikki Aronoff
Stevie busies himself trying to match two blue pieces of sky. You watch him working the corners and the glands in your throat swell.
ONE POEM – Miriam Ashford
If you walk along a path
between forest and shore
between grains eroded by the sea
they were mountains once
INTERVIEW | Artist Mimi Kunz
I found that writing and art keep me sane, they’re like a room of my own in a time when I’m rarely alone.
TWO POEMS – Stephanie Powell
Am I livestock or the boning knife?
Amongst the timid lambs, half-dreaming
Porridge 