Gulf Coast Online Exclusives


Can I Have a Hug First?

Mary Paula Hunter

As a witness should I run to her? Make sure she's not suffering a stroke or an aneurysm? I pictured a headline demanding the whereabouts of a witness who'd left the scene of a potential homicide.


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

Against Blinders

Jonathan Moody

I see Justice in the form of Dr. Attisha; through her horn-rimmed glasses, I see the blood lead levels doubling inside of toddlers.

Expedition

Cheryl Smart

Away we went, Sissy. Do you remember? Do you remember running across the meadow, into the fields, through the woods until we made it to the red sand...

If I Were the Moon, I Know Where I Would Fall Down

Melissa Barrett

In the caked oak tracts of the thumbed / dim chalkboard, behind the easel tipping paler / continents further / north, toward the gloss of April...

Two Poems: American Travelogue & Life Drawing

Caroline Crew

You see the flower's form leak into itself. A self. Some things in America still make sense. I open my junk mail, Disney red. Your family. Liquid uttered out into the night freezes your dreams undone. Veracity leaves its whispers. Make an orchestra instead. Every bitten breath

From the Archives

Two Fishermen

Geoffrey Nutter

For God's sake, / have a little consideration! Why wake him? / Another fisherman was sitting on a stone block, / a stone block glittering with mica.

Relations

Mitra Vahdati

Chaie mikhai?                                                                                         Yes please. Merci amoo.He carries a small tea glass…

Artificial Flower Garden

Sara McGuirk

excuse me this chambray tie / this cummerbund, these plain chops, / these dull lips. I’ve no guilt for gild's sake.

Heavy Lyfting

Ben Austin-Docampo

It's easy in the sense that all you have to do is get in the car and fire up the app. It's hard in that it requires long, monotonous hours to be fruitful, and constant vigilance to stay safe. San Francisco is a tough city to drive.

From the Blog

A Microinterview with Dorianne Laux

I think of poetry as musical language, close to every day speech but of a higher order, with a system of notation.

Experiments with White Heat

That exalted moment when, out of nowhere, you are obliterated—completely, blissfully destroyed—by a voluptuous euphoria. A lightning flash of inspiration.…