streaking, Smokey Bear tells me one day, his hands stretching out into the span of the night sky, as if he’s mapping out constellations, is like a wildfire: you see it, you scream stop. Peeping Toms – they run across large spans of fields, spread commotion like the burning inferno of a thousand trees, police […]
HE LOSES HIS MOTHER at eight. Not because he loses her to a disease, or because she is on the wrong side of the road at the wrong time. He loses her because she loses him first. He loses her because she packed her bags that rainy night, and left. Left for the man who […]
i. the celestial canvas above is a contrast against Mom’s inky dress. it darkens as her tears drop on the collarbones/chest: i imagine the sorrow dripping into her heart: right ventricle/atria/left lung where she will breathe out her sorrow as it dissipates into thin air my fingertips reach out for her but she is on the […]
SESSION I: Billy Collins and Ricky deLaurentiis This session set a great foundation of what to expect at the poetry festival. It was exciting to see the sheer number of people attending this festival with me; the sheer number of people who had a love for creative writing as much as me. It gave me […]
Austin Bunn has a great way of showing, not telling. His storytelling style leaves a mystery. Although it is told in third person, it is third person limited, so we get to experience only what Graham is experiencing. The shock of seeing the baby there instead of drugs was shocking, and I read on because […]
Dodge Poetry says: Jonterri Gadson previously served as the Herbert W. Martin Post-Graduate Fellow in Creative Writing at the University of Dayton and has also received scholarships and fellowships from Cave Canem, Bread Loaf, and the University of Virginia where she received her MFA in Creative Writing. She is a graduate of the Callaloo Creative Writing […]
HER HANDS STILL ON THE TRIGGER. She tries not to tremble because it’s a sign of weakness. She knows that he can see her, even through all the smoke coming in through the window that’s been left ajar. She tries not to tremble because she’s held guns before. She’s too familiar, too acquainted with the […]
I’m a sixteen year old who drinks coffee with a straw, and someone who loves writing. Writing is the frying pan to my Rapunzel.