Lived by James A Marin art by Andrea Montano A veteran of both World Wars, Edwina Carlson still possessed a military bearing. Her godson knew the pain of terminal cancer was endured without complaint. “You abstain from pain management.” Immediately Tony felt the fool; the statement of concern sounded more like an accusation. A smile from
Last night it rained and it reminded me of New York. Of old beer and whisky, of cigarettes and subway stops. Last night it rained and I felt cold. I always forget how much I love the rain. It comes at you hard, no cares, and goes the same. Sometimes the blinds in my room
by Robbie Imes
Hungry Hearts Is a Contemplative, Though Flatline Thriller Being young parents is enough to drive you mad, and that’s just what happens in this quiet little indie from IFC. The story conquers new love, moving in together, getting married, meeting the family, and, finally, having a baby. And that’s just the first half hour. What
The Profile Single South Asian male, in thirties, looking for wife By Mariam Zafar Please message me only if you are between the ages of 18 and 22 and have taken substantial steps to pursue a career in law or medicine and can keep up with intellectual conversation should I choose to take you
Mariam Zafar is a Pakistani-American writer pursuing her MFA in Poetry at The New School. A desert dweller at heart, she writes between Miami, Dubai, and New York City. She is the 2015 winner of the Paul Violi Prize in Poetry, and her work is currently forthcoming in Bird’s Thumb. When she’s not working on her collection of poems, you
My break-up from Kevin Smith is similar to any other kind of break-up, I guess: I can no longer identify with him and so I’ve ended the relationship. I don’t harbor any ill-will, and I wish him the best, but we’re no longer right together.
from Flesh Graphs by Brynne Rebele-Henry 58. Spray tan, he keeps saying things about me like divine, and baby, and scrumptious. Of my bikini: hot, hot, hot. His porno beard. His affinity for unicorn butt plugs and bedazzling. 59. I fucked them in a car with no heat, it was winter and our
I’ve hated you from the beginning.
When I woke up at three o’clock in the morning with a slight pain in my back. When I woke up again at four-thirty and looked outside, the still, dead tree indicating another cold day. Nothing had changed. Spring had come, but it was you holding it at bay.
I roll up my sleeves instead of opening the driver’s side window, worried that a couple different emotions – jealousy, anger, confusion – will be snorted up my nostrils. Long Island in the spring, there’s nothing quite like it. Like the suns appearance after 67 straight days of darkness in Barrow, Alaska. A feeling of relief.