Author: Heavy Feather

Fiction: Delaney Nolan’s “Apple/Arcadia”

Six months after Katrina, you jump head-first into shallow bayou water and break your fool neck. I’m not there when it happens, but Jean is, shooting at raccoons. He fishes you out and pulls you onto the slimy bank. You aren’t moving your limbs any, but Jean can see your chest heaving: in, out, in.…
Fiction: “Dear Editor” by Paul Beckman

Dear Editor, Please cancel our subscription. I can no longer have your newspaper lying around where my children can read the “Letters to the Editor” advocating same-sex marriage, separation of church and state, atheist rights, teaching of sex education in school, locations where free condoms are dispensed, transgender studies (whatever they are), school book lists…
Two Poems by Ruth Baumann

In Absentia The hard part is the thickening of bones, the rebuildingwhat only existed ever in a system of impulse say say you want a cigaretteten years later say the elements that bind youto your old self hold the light flick it on easy everythingeverything it says used to come easy once you…
Fiction Review: Gabriel Welsch Reads The Pavilion of Former Wives by Jonathan Baumbach

It’s easy to feel distant at first in Jonathan Baumbach’s new collection of fictions, The Pavilion of Former Wives, due to what appears to be an initial bland affectation. The author suppresses the excess of detail and sensory noise that marks the contemporary condition for many, shaving away to the skeletal essentials of conflict in…
Poetry: “The River Holds the Ghost Ship Through Her Grief” by Amanda Oaks

There’s a sparseness of the tongue / a not-quite-what-I-mean / all of the time, I mean. / b/c it’s a fact / the word is not the thing— / but why? / i’d ask the sky / but it’s only / S-K-Y. … I ask you / how can the universe fit / between /…
“Back in the USSR”: Leonard Kress Reviews Bill Berkson’s Russian Notebook Invisible Oligarchs

Bill Berkson, who died in June 2016, was one of the last survivors of the original New York School that included Frank O’Hara, John Ashbery, and James Schuyler, poets who seemed equally at home in the world of art, or at least the New York art scene. The headline of his New York Times obituary…
Fiction: Peter Clarke’s “Untitled in B”

My refrigerator in its old age sometimes quivers and hums when its fan turns on. The quivering is completely insignificant, but the humming, I’ve found, is B, the musical note. It’s not sharp or flat; it’s a perfect B. Just like the fan in my crotchety refrigerator, anything that moves fast enough will begin to…
Fiction: Timmy Reed’s “The Spider’s Eggs”

I woke up after the storm and went outside to see what had been broken. The deck was intact, but all around the trees were crushed like bad teeth. My eye was drawn to the center of the gray deck where above the strewn pine needles and sticks, just inches over a composite-wood plank, there…
Fiction: Harmony Neal’s “This Is What It’s Like to Die”

Jasmine My father beat me for giving the dog some bread. The dog had looked so hungry and scared. Its fur was missing in patches and it only had one eye. The other socket was covered in pus and red bumps. I wasn’t scared of the dog. I wanted to help. I could remember a…