Fiction: J. KEVIN SHUSHTARI

Illegal Dreams

You come home from school wearing a blood-red headband and a black and white scarf. Your mother takes one look and starts to cry. Baba says it’s a great honor—“He’s a soldier of God now.” more…

Poetry: ROBERT PINSKY

The Want Bone; The Wave; Antique

The tongue of the waves tolled in the earth’s bell.
Blue rippled and soaked in the fire of blue. more…

Fiction: SWANN LI

The Girl from Highwater

In the early morning when Father Fan came home, on his back a bamboo tub of newly dug-up peanuts, muddy and wet, the rain was still falling. more…

Poetry: MARTIN EDMUNDS

Kristallnacht

Austria: our sugar-dusted Vienna, a Sachertort frosted
with glass. more…

Fiction: KATHLEEN CARR FOSTER

Admission

“Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea?” Mrs. Hughes put her hand lightly on Chelsea’s back, just above her leather belt, and steered her through the reception area toward the office. more…

Poetry and Prose: ANI GJIKA

Two Poetry Translations

Memories
pretend to sleep.
I don’t touch them,
I don’t stir them.
If they wake up
they remind me
I’m a slave. more…

War in Iran, or in Iraq,  Is It?

In our house, people beat each other up. How? Whichever way they like.
more…

Poetry: ZACHARY BOS

To a Philosopher

On my way to meet you for a celebratory drink
on your birthday, when the train stops to pick up
more passengers, handfuls of fiber-glass fine snow
blow in through the open doors. more…

Fiction: JOSEPH FAZIO

A Temporary Fix

The service bell rang. Wesley looked up from his book and saw a silver hatchback gliding to a stop in the gas station island.  more…

Poetry: DAN STONE

Two Ungaretti Translations

His name was Mohammed Sheab
Descendant of the emirs of nomads. more…

Non-fiction: MARY BAURES

Anne Sexton: “One Writes Because One Has To” (Excerpt)

I came to Boston in 1973 to study with Anne Sexton in the master’s program in creative writing at Boston University. I was fascinated by her honesty, her wise profound observations, and the way she mocked her fears with humor. more…

Fiction: SHILPI SUNEJA

A River Cannot be a River

Meera had called twice. Both times there was no answer. She circled around Out of Town newsstand, then crossed the street peeling off her gloves with her teeth, a mug of hot tea in one hand. more…