Author: Phoebe Literature

A Perfect Day for Christmas

James Sullivan The tree still had most of his needles, and although Carly had been at first against our adopting him, something forlorn and shaggy in his expression convinced her, as it had me, and...

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The Lost Girls of Lupine Cabin

Anna Sheffer 2022 Spring Fiction Contest Runner Up We remember confirmation camp on summer mornings when the air smells like woodsmoke. At camp that year, every night ended with a campfire, and every...

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A Bed Filled with Birds

Faith Shearin 2022 Spring Fiction Contest Winner During the months after her husband, Max, died, Jane adhered to a self-imposed schedule. She had gotten this idea from a widow she’d met in her...

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Lament

Lydia Golitz Second Runner-up in the 2022 Greg Grummer Poetry Contest Here is my desperate garden, my lease of sand and gravel.  Where Saint Catherine lies with her head off in the yellow...

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CORREGGIO

Lydia Golitz CORREGGIO was born in CORREGGIO and died in CORREGGIO. To his friends, he was known as  CORREGGIO. He was a child who played with balls. He was a child who sat at dinner and...

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Adam in Eden

Shay Swindlehurst 2022 Greg Grummer Poetry Contest Honorable Mention God had made for Adam a Jungle. The Gardens of Eden rioted, strived against Adam’s toil. Each day he cut the...

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Things I Can Remember

Jeff Whitney The name of the bag of sugar I carried around for two weeks in seventh grade because it was my baby. The stampede of cows my brother and I teased to chasing  in New Mexico the year...

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Confession

Holli Carrell All my life, I’ve hungered  for a quiet privacy.   I must explain this to you.  As a girl, I wanted   a door, deep in the vault   of my...

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Things that Pierce

Corinne Wohlford Mason After the Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon  The way a child explains the rules of a thing to me. Handwriting from another century. The smell of eucalyptus. What a...

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Self-Portrait as Illumination

Carolyn Oliver Sunset casts a madder wash across the last nun in the scriptorium, coats in rose her last psalm,  her quill from a river-plucked  swan. Near the margin, a gash—...

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