Fiction & Poetry Contests

Mercury Goes Right Through You

By

On September 3, 1809, Meriwether Lewis set out for Washington, D.C. Lewis carried his journals with him for delivery to his publisher. He had written his will before attempting suicide on this journey. He was restrained.

Poetry

I Hate People Who Cut in Line But

By

Marnie Bullock Dresser

I’ve been thinking about things that skip a stepbecause now in late winter the snow does its subliming,jumpstarts to vapor, says to the streams “not today.”

Poetry

Ambiguous Loss

By

Kelly R. Samuels

We would talk of what was definedas tangible, rap the table witha knuckle, stroke the cashmere. Sipthe tea. Fathers were not mentioned.Nor how my mother would call meby her sister’s name, suddenly,

Poetry

A DETERIORATION IN TALKS

By

Adam Fell

A lone green tree standing in ademolished frontier // The sleeping animal huff of ourown pried-open country // Time will not exonerate us

Fiction

The Goddess of Illicit Choices

By

Susanna Daniel

For about a month now, my best friend Amanda has been exchanging one hundred texts a day with a man she met at a dinner party.

Poetry

My Son Standing Near a Glass of Water

By

Sheryl Slocum

Tiny air bubbles pincushion the glasscatching rainbowsso perfectly full of light’s live handtouching also the hair and beardof the man he has become.

Poetry

Climate Passover

By

K.E. McCoy

Someday they will askWhat were they thinking?

When the car is hurtlingOff the overpassTowards the riverWhat is the child in the backseatThinkingExcept doors and windows?

Poetry

if I have an addiction to water, know that it’s hereditary

By

Taylor Kirby

i was baptized so many times, my familymust not have understood its action as rebirth.instead: accumulation. each time we broke

Fiction

Music Appreciation for Dead People

By

Matt Cashion

When I started this final exam reflection/exit essay (which I wonder if you’re even reading) I dialed up the Brahms Alto Rhapsody you played early this semester which you said was so beautiful it made some suicidal writer change his mind, so I gav

Fiction

Snow Door

By

Janice Wilberg

Hers is the last vehicle in the funeral home parking lot. Carol makes sure of that before she straps the brass urn with her husband’s ashes into the passenger seat of their pickup truck and sets off for their summer house on Lake Superior.

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Fiction & Poetry Contests