Meagan sits in a worn maroon chair with wooden armrests, opening her laptop. The chair rests to the right of the front doors – three of them, one after the other – two wooden and one screen, each keeping the last of the sticky summer heat inside the creative writing house. Normally, they would be used to keep the heat in during the winter; holes between the windows and their sills let in egregious amounts of air – but now, they just serve to stifle the room.
By Michaela Zelie
My body fought
when you began unraveling the threads
of its scar tissue veil.
I cringed at the way you read
by Richard Southard, The River editor “For me, electronic music is like cooking: it’s a sensual organic activity where you can mix ingredients.” -Jean-Michel Jarre I find that quote interesting, mostly … Continue Reading Musical Fridays: Electronic
By Judy Carr
to share my luxury survival
condo located in renovated
Atlas F missile silo, equipped
to withstand nuclear shock, global
warming and other unnatural
I don’t know about you, but writer’s block is a phrase I hear all the time.
“I can’t think of ideas!”
“Nothing’s inspiring me.”
“Everything I write sounds awful.”
By M.J. Iuppa
In sheer daylight, spider’s silk
trembles like a guitar string
plucked to the tune of swallows’
wings dipping in & out and over-
by Richard Southard The River Editor My very first exposure to jazz came in the form of a Spongebob Squarepants episode, when I was about six years old. In the episode, Patrick … Continue Reading Musical Fridays: Jazz
Or does Her ghost in modern times
Roam on New England’s moorland snow;
Or is the Spirit of the Lord
“From sea to shining sea” bestow’d.
“So you want to publish,” the old woman’s gnarled hand beckons you forward. Her long nose is speckled with dark spots, and one of her olive green eyes drifts lazily to the left. Her silver hair is knotted into a bun, held together with pencils (as a true artist’s should). She sits on a rocking chair, covered in quilted blankets, directly in front of a crackling fire. It is boiling in there, yet you walk forward.
By Mitchell Krockmalinik Grabois
Shove a juicy bone
into the mouth of the barking dog
He has no right to disturb my peace
but why be mad about it?
He’s just being what he is
an attenuated descendent
of a snarling wolf
by Richard Southard, The River Editor Over the summer, I worked a job where I patrolled dams throughout several Maine towns. Over the course of twelve hour shifts, I would drive … Continue Reading My Musical Safari of 2017
By Peter D’Antonio
Orn’s hands burnt as the weight of the anchor slid its chain hard against his calloused palms. He cleared his throat, letting out what could easily be misinterpreted as a grunt of pain.
“You’re sure you’ve got it under control?” came a voice from the other end of the vessel.
With the new season beginning, and new submissions already beginning to flow in, we thought we would begin the season with a formal introduction of the Fall 2017 editors. We’re … Continue Reading The New Editors of Fall 2017
By Hannah Calkin
During my teenage years I lost
My belief in Fairy Tales and pixie dust
But came to see myself as Persephone:
Legend of beauty, freedom, and imprisonment.
A dynamic dichotomy of all sorts.
by Zach Roberge
Au revoir Le Mans. Au revoir France. I pause a moment before leaning in slowly and kissing your left cheek followed by your right. We embrace then I leave out the door, waving goodbye.
by Tyrel Kessinger
After my wife leaves for work, I round up my two daughters and we head to the backyard, an old raggedy quilt in hand. For a July morning in Kentucky it’s, quite surprisingly, a very pleasant one. Far too nice to not be taking advantage. My youngest daughter occupies the quilt with me under the shade of the one tree I can name, our Japanese Maple.