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Death of a Dog

Buthaina Al-Nasiri, translated by Gretchen McCullough, reviewed by Mohamed Metwalli

His skin was peeled in so many places, you can’t recognize the color of his hair, but when you view the rest of the tufts on his forehead, one could say it was just normal brown…He was ancient, and had spent his years in one of the alleys: skirmishing with other neighborhood dogs, tricking the butcher in order to snatch a bone from between his legs, and in the short, pleasurable moments, pursuing the traces of females or besieging a cat by a certain wall when…


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

New: Now Contains Zinc

David Kirby

Artist friend of mine works part-time at a store that sells Red Rooster pills to any guy who thinks he needs a “male sexual performance booster” or any gal who wants a 60-tab bottle of that reliable blend of proven herbal supplements,

Two Poems

Henrietta Goodman

I called desire a lie that wants a cure, but don't assume the cure for lies is truth, or that by cure I meant a kind of health

From the Archives

Mesas and Particles

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Some nights inside the caterwaul of coyotes / the telephone rings, very late or very early. / Then my father walks out into darkness. / My mother still sleeping / and I am.

Girl as Tautology

Jessica Hincapie

When I need my mother most I climb inside my mouth turn left at my incisor teeth turn right at the ghosts of both my grandfathers and find her dancing under the chandelier of my uvula.

I'm In Room 927

Michael Earl Craig

With thumb and forefinger I examined carefully the ball peen hammer. The sparrow slid violently into third base. Night after night it was Nascar, kettle…

The State of the Author

David Hollander

I repeat to you, ladies and gentlemen: the State of the Author is strong. And with the unlikely help of every last one of us...

From the Blog

On Violence

$138,000 into the story, there is nowhere else to go. I spent my twenty-seventh year typing letters of application, the nerves in each hand wrecked by…

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156,000 into the story, the room is empty.   The man I have started dating listens to my stories of how the dinners at the American Academy would unfold,…