Prose by Jennifer Givhan

Jennifer Givhan

Jennifer Suzanne Givhan is the author of the poetry collection Red Sun Mother and the novel manuscript In The Time of Jubilee. She’s at work on a second novel and a second poetry collection. A National Latino Writers’ Conference scholarship recipient, she received a grant to attend the low-residency MFA program at Warren Wilson College. She lives in Albuquerque with her husband, parents, and two young children. A prose poem and two stories:

Cleaving, A Prose Poem | What the Water Did, Elegy for Danny | Cattle Call Leaves, A Ghost Story

Skin

by Vincent Joseph Noto

Even The Orange Moon Is Not More

by Mark Goad

Locked

by Nick Ripatrazone

Mr. Nolan gutted trout on the workbench. Sawdust freckled their skin. He placed the fillets on butter-drubbed foil, sprinkled pepper, onion powder, and salt, and then spread the wrapped fillets across the grill. Colin and I liked to watch his father prepare the trout but hated watching him cook. He told the same story about [...]

Dog

by Steven Gillis

I am Hercules.  That’s right.  That’s right.  Say my name. I think this when I watch him, imagine what it must be like.  The way he moves suggests a knowledge of the universe I don’t have, all twelve ribs working in tandem with the scapula and sternum, the cervical and thoracic vertebra.  His muscles are [...]

Two Poems

by Megan Alpert

Dead Parental Units

by Bill Yarrow

Beautiful

by Francine Marie Tolf
Scutigera_coleoptrata

A few weeks ago around midnight, I woke up and turned on the lamp.  My cat, Lilly, was sitting at the foot of the bed studying the ceiling with interest.  Not the hunter’s interest that makes her bottom twitch with excitement, but a kind of friendly curiosity.  I lifted a sleepy gaze and saw, directly [...]

A Collapse

by Edward Mc Whinney
Full Moon

It was very cold. I dreamed of orange groves in Andalusia and small villages during siesta in Almeria. I turned the key in the lock and sat in the chair. There was a dripping noise, a dripping of water from a tank. I counted then waited, then glanced at the ceiling. I stepped into the [...]

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