Author: Phoebe Literature

The Memory Cranes

Kelly Murashige The baby has been crying for what feels like three days straight. Mari, for her part, has joined in intermittently. It isn’t just the stress of being a first-time parent. The pain....

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Cryptids of Ohio

Sydney Koeplin “I think we should have claws.” “Pinchers.” “Fangs!” “Fur.” We threw our ingredients into the twenty-gallon plastic tub we’d stolen from the Galliones’ backyard and...

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Long Division

Cole Pragides At dawn, my grandfather’s eyes are enveloped in silver mist. Burning atmospheres as he looks around his backyard of small effigies. Around us: dented tins, scarred lacquer, gouged wax...

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Island of Flowers and Marble

Denise Magloire The sound of drops crashing against the window fills the room until they are masked by the cries of a newborn. His lungs fill up with air, his fists tightly clenched, and his eyes...

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Finding Home – Yoga and Veterans

John Farrell Kelly A melody emerges in the darkness. My spirit slowly surfaces, and my mind gently moves and stretches. I quietly state, “Siri, stop.” I open my eyes, turn to my side, and tap my...

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Crawford

Chris Edmonds We went once to see our father in Crawford, that spring he’d been hired to paint the church steeple. We told our mother we were taking a long bike ride around the lake and maybe...

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Art Gallery, 55.1

“Kickstarter” by Devon Balwit Cut Paper Collage “Girl With a Pearl Hoop” by Amuri Morris Oil Paint “Taurus Sun” by Ava Bergen Digital Photography of Model Tamika...

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Dear Ketchup,

Kate Kadleck Remember when we named ourselves after condiments? When you licked the lamppost in front of my house? I can’t,   for the life of me, recall whether (and if so, for how long) your...

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Once I was made of light and apple

Lizzy Ke Polishan peels. My father was a hoe and my mother was    a rake. My brother,    a fishbone; my sister, a crushed egg.   I loved the dirt so much I turned it into my shoes.   I loved...

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Confessional Poetry

M.J. Young Every night I cross a bridge. Every night I cross myself & ask to be forgiven for what I have & haven’t done.  Father, Father, Father. My first confession was at eight& I...

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