As we approach the third year of the pandemic—an ongoing interruption, suspension, cessation—some of us have been struggling a bit with our sense of time: Did we do that last year or was it the year before . . . The months seem to flow one into the next, often without the usual demarcations of […]
Among the many pleasures of this season is featuring the winning story from our annual Nelligan Prize for Short Fiction. Now in its eighteenth year, the prize was established in honor of Liza Nelligan, a writer, scholar, literary editor, and alumna of Colorado State University’s English Department. This year, that story is Danny Thiemann’s “One […]
It’s mid-May here as I wrap up this issue, and the snow from a not-unusual-for-Colorado storm just a few days ago is melting, giving way to something that bears some resemblance to spring, though I feel I hardly recognize it. For so many of us everywhere, this is a time when the familiar has been […]
A year into the pandemic we each continue to find our own ways of understanding and grappling with the nature of isolation, seeking self-care and coping strategies in these Groundhog Days of staying in, staying safe, staying sane. Many of us are, not surprisingly, finding comfort and companionship in reading. Among the joys of literature […]
As in every fall issue since 2004, we are delighted to present the winner of the Nelligan Prize for Short Fiction. This year’s winning story is “The German Woman,” by Josie Sigler Sibara. Lori Ostlund, who selected it, writes that it is “a beautifully written story—at times stark, at others lyrical—a story that provides a […]
Photo by Phil Roeder when you lift your toe, the fabric falls, folds. the ropes dance. your hair drags along the forest floor and my comb follows. tonight, we’re lost at sea, hidden in plain sight. let’s not worry our wishes into birds or close off a corner of the room. let’s have a thicker […]
Photo by John Morton Outside, a tree, dried out & skeletal, moans. Dead in spring. The roots can’t find water. It’s May, the city isn’t greening anymore, & trees are sick of the sun. Say the sky’s the sickblue of hospital walls. Say her name as she coughs & gags in predawn heat. She tried […]
Photo by Intermountain Forest Service, USDA Region 4 Photography Pennock Trail There was a boy who was a boy who was a tree who was a river and a rock and a cloud. Who was a nothing more than a something who wanted to be nothing but a flash under sky over field. Who wanted […]
The new Żaba grew to be an ugly dog: disproportional, with long, thin legs and big, elongated paws that contrasted with an average-sized body.
If ten men stand by, the crime they witness must be multiplied by a hundred, because if they don’t stop each other, who will ever stop them?