Author: Phoebe Literature

Two Reviews of Corey Van Landingham’s Reader, I

Enjoy two lovely reviews of Corey Van Landingham’s Reader, I by our Poetry Editor & Assistant Poetry Editor. The Heritage of Marriage: A Review of Reader, I by Victoria Jean...

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Living Heartbeat by Heartbeat: An Interview with Halle Hill

Connor Harding: Welcome Halle! Thank you so much today for coming out and spending some time to talk with us about your process, and, of course, about Good Women. I thought we could start our...

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Chasing Joy and Dead Deer: An Interview with Aaron Burch

Faith Palermo: Thank you so much for speaking with us! I want to start off by asking a bit about your latest book, A Kind of In-Between. The memoir is a collection of shorter essays that capture...

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54.1

Purchase a copy of 54.1 here Fiction Roadkill by Naomi Brauner Forbidden Fruit by Shreya Fadia Into Each Waiting Pocket by Kindall Fredricks Young Tommy Jones by Grant Jensen Team Player by Shanley...

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Art Gallery, 54.1

“The Hedges” by Kel Hudson Watercolor and ink “Empire” by Albert John (A.J.) Belmont Drawing “Leaning House”  by Albert John (A.J.) Belmont Drawing...

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Offertory

Brian Woerner I put my bloody tooth on a plate, spin it for luck. If there were two, I could rattle them like dice. I think my tooth is rooting for me. Little compass, I spin it again to commune with...

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My girlfriend threw up on every carnival ride we went on, without exception

Katie Jean Shinkle The lights of the carousel blink once twice in distress.     You are on main stage dressed in all-black to blend in, to never be seen. Instead, I squirrel you away my...

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Haibun for when my father does yoga for the first time

Rukan Saif The last time I saw my father this close to God was when the doctors cut open his chest and took his heart into their palms and named it lost. So when he declines the call to prayer for...

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Poised Between Two Doors

Simone Muench & Jackie K. White Joyce Mansour assemblage Asleep like mud in enclosed gardens     earth glitters with December’s          phantom collar as the...

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Daughterhood as Blood Oath

Mary Maxfield My mother taught me silence like a secret handshake, more muscle memory than vow. When asked about her now, a hush entangles fingers, slaps, knocks fists. I say everything but this. She...

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