I WAS NOT EVEN BORN WHEN YOUR FACE WAS LOOKING AT MINE

Here comes our conversation about ponies. Here comes you wielding the treatise on non-human ways of having feelings. Then those feelings used to make decisions. I have just decided to take up...

Read More

I WAS NOT EVEN BORN WHEN YOU STARTED PAYING GREAT ATTENTION

All of my insides have turned to lightning. My heart is a telephone. It is ringing music from the future all the time! It is making international calls in the middle of the night. You say I have big...

Read More

Altitude Sickness

It’s the difference between sinking and falling. The ocean floor lives on what sinks, but the fish that never naturally crest the surface could not even imagine falling, could not conceive of...

Read More

Issue 41.1

Blog Bryan Koen

It might not surprise you to see an editor professing excitement over the magazine's content. But, while I'll cop to my role as hype man, please trust that I'm...

Read More

Phoebe’s second annual Twitter contest!

1). Follow us on Twitter @PhoebeJournal.

2). Tweet us some superb prose or poetry--in 140 characters or less!

3). The three best tweets received by the end of April, as judged by us,...

Read More

Rhythm vs. Fact

Blog Leslie Maxwell

There were factual inaccuracies in D’Agata’s essay, including the statement that Las Vegas had 34 strip clubs, when the source clearly said it had 31....

Read More

In A Strange Room

Blog Will Fawley

In a Strange Room by Damon Galgut is a novel in three parts. Or rather, a book in three parts. The novel part is debatable. Why? Because each of the three...

Read More

The Velvet Queen in Sternum

Nonfiction Katie Jean Shinkle

Tandem visions of our chests in waves of bone. I find myself aware of the bones in my ribs, the bones in my sternum. When I lose and gain weight, I...

Read More

What is Left is What Matters

Blog Ken Israel

A review of Salvage the Bones, by Jesmyn Ward. What is at stake for this family comes starkly to the fore of this intimate and brutal narrative set in Bois...

Read More

Letters to my Daughters

Poetry Gary Jackson

...Every plum has a past.

When you puncture the skin, you don’t think

of where it’s been, but how it tastes....

Read More