A Literary Journal for New and Established Voices

Book Reviews

Artists on Craft

Poetry

Photography

Fiction

My Taxi Driver’s Story

But it’s just that of all the taxis I've ever been in and all the drivers you’ve got to be one of the slowest. And did I ever ask you why you're not Hemingway? No, but writing and driving aren't . . . and stuttered into silence.

More from the Journal

Subtle Changes

Now this bed is for sleeping, or trying to, between our daughter’s whims of wakefulness. The people we were seem lost in the fog of parenthood.

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Wellcome

Thirty thousand residents lived on one block. Electric cords dipped from the ceiling like tangled serpents. A maze full of alleyways where secrets went to hide.

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