Nothing screams love more than food, and Song flawlessly executes the poem’s richness through her sound and imagery.
Shrinking the Uterus Read More »
Nothing screams love more than food, and Song flawlessly executes the poem’s richness through her sound and imagery.
Read MQR Reader Connor Greer’s response to Christine Rhein’s “Against Leaving Him” here. “Against Leaving Him” appears in our Winter 2021 Issue. You can purchase the issue here. Against Leaving Him “. . . [Ric] Hoogestraat was never much of a game enthusiast before he discovered Second Life. But since February, he’s been spending six
Against Leaving Him Read More »
Read MQR Reader Connor Greer’s response to Christine Rhein’s “Against Leaving Him” here. “Against Leaving Him” appears in our Winter 2021 Issue. You can purchase the issue here. Against Leaving Him “. . . [Ric] Hoogestraat was never much of a game enthusiast before he discovered Second Life. But since February, he’s been spending six
I’ve often heard that a story’s ending should change the way the reader sees everything that has led to that point. It’s the moment when the story’s pieces snap into place, when all the seemingly unrelated scenes become unified in the climactic light.
Mary Gaitskill: The Woman Who Knew Judo Read More »
I’ve often heard that a story’s ending should change the way the reader sees everything that has led to that point. It’s the moment when the story’s pieces snap into place, when all the seemingly unrelated scenes become unified in the climactic light.
“To be crippled in America is not the American way. –Tobin Seibers”
“To be crippled in America is not the American way. –Tobin Seibers”
Two fingers on her hands rattle like winter leaves on the tree. Words hiss through her head. Do-ga-ske-v-se-gu-hanaugh.I shrug in frustration. How do I tell her even the words of her Cherokee language do not survive? I put her hand to my head but she takes it away. She is not deaf or blind! I see her buckskin gnawed by the teeth of wolves. Her feet trail bits of a comet.
Two fingers on her hands rattle like winter leaves on the tree. Words hiss through her head. Do-ga-ske-v-se-gu-hanaugh.I shrug in frustration. How do I tell her even the words of her Cherokee language do not survive? I put her hand to my head but she takes it away. She is not deaf or blind! I see her buckskin gnawed by the teeth of wolves. Her feet trail bits of a comet.
