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CategoryThe River

The River is a representation of the Sandy River itself, which runs alongside the university and what inspired the name of the journal. It is a constantly flowing, ebbing and surging, body of content filled with contemporary work. To submit to The River please visit our Submissions page to the left or e mail TheRiverEditors@gmail.com directly.

Transparencies

By M.J. Iuppa

[This story is a runner up in the Fall 2017 flash fiction contest, “200 in 2 Weeks”]
No one suspected that she’s the one who said, so long. Until
someone called—the sudden blast of the cell phone, ringing
like Paul Revere, like Chicken Little fearing the sky’s falling.

Lovers’ Quarrel (Callous)

By Tyler Michaud

the uneasy refrain of my breath fills the modest apartment,
and you search for the words in its mass like rent in the laundry fund.
you’re in the next room, composing yourself. the arrhythmia in your step betrays you,

Death in the Neighborhood

by Bob Meszaros

Here, foreclosures slowly rot:

their wooden shingles warp and snap;

at night, thieves and drunkards rip the molding

from the plaster walls and strip the copper

piping from below the sinks.

Road Map

By Michaela Zelie

My body fought

when you began unraveling the threads

of its scar tissue veil.

I cringed at the way you read

the coordinates,

Roommate Wanted

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
disasters.

Dogs

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

Cap’n, I Can

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.
            No answer.
            “Orn?”
            No answer.

Girlhood

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.

A Nameless Bird

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.

Forgetting

by Savannah Leigh

The two old men stood at the corner where Briar Avenue met Second Street.  Bickering, they hovered over a phone, the faint glow of a maternity shop’s window display washing over them.