A Literary Magazine Sponsored by The University of Maine at Farmington
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.
By Elizabeth Kane
[This story is the official winner of the Fall 2017 Flash Fiction contest, “200 in 2 Weeks”]
She would’ve gone anywhere. Her tap shoes scraped the pebbly sidewalk, the tulle on her skirt fluffing in the cool wind. The light from her dance studio blinked out down the street as her teacher locked the door.
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.
By Keith J. Clark
[This story is a runner up in the Fall 2017 flash fiction contest, “200 in 2 Weeks”]
“How much for a drink?”
“One piece.”
Empty Headed by Jade Hurteau. Click for more!
By Ronald Moran
It happened last night, the first time
in over
fifty years: I lay in bed for seven hours
awake,
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,
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.
Relax on a train traversing the scenic route through the mountains!
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,
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.
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-
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.
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 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.
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 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.