Issue 16.3 – Nonfiction

It’s football season again. I love football. Born and raised. Something about how the air inside a stadium suspends everyone’s voices while the quarterback, the quintessential warrior, calls out those mysterious numbers just before the ball is snapped along the line of scrimmage. “Twenty-four! Forty-eight! Sixty-one. Hut!” A prophecy from Zeus himself, his baritone voice…

Issue 16.3 – Fiction

There’s change in my pocket. It jangles while I walk heavy against my leg. The dog is at home; too yappy to walk with me this morning. I left the chaos of the house behind. I needed this walk. Calm. Soothing. Quiet. I’ll never tire of these views. The smell of the sea. The salt…

Issue 16.3 – Poetry

  To the men who do not catcall me from alleyway caves as I walk home from my ten hour shift alone. To the men who tell me I work harder than anyone they’ve seen. Not “harder than any man,” not “for a woman, your work is pristine.” To the men who give me a…

Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 19

The sound of a truck door slamming shut alerted Lexi to Brady’s arrival. She hurriedly checked her appearance in the mirror. Tight jeans and a fitted, turquoise sweater that set off her blue eyes perfectly was her go-to, casual date outfit. She looked great, and she knew it. Her long, black hair swung loose against…

Microwork – Here the word is park

Here the word is park, not a parking space. Emigration is an endless series of noticing Not who you are or were, but how Life seeps difference. Parked here, for now. Ann Rosenthal lives in New Zealand. Her poetry is featured in NZ Poetry 2018 and multiple US journals, as well as in an upcoming…

Issue 16.2 – Fiction

Tic, tic, tic. Like fireworks. Like a shower of hail on a rooftop. Like fingernails parading on glass. Like the sound of tires on gravel. The boy was almost soothed by the sound as his eyelashes flickered in the darkness. “Shh,” his mother gently assuaged. Her hands were cool on his forehead. He turned on…

Issue 16.2 – Poetry

The Winter  Memories of him Are always his truck With frost growing on the windows Like a living creature Waiting for your vehicles to warm up After jazz rehearsal. Any chance to spend time together Is time well spent. Breathing into your mittens Teeth chattering, toes numb An average Alberta winter night -40 at 9:30…

Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 18

The front door squeaked as it opened before Mary heard a voice call out, “Mary Alice? Are you home?” “In here, Eva!” Mary called back from her chair. She was still in her nightgown and housecoat. As her sister shuffled into the living room, Mary thought about standing up, but stayed seated instead. Eva cast…

Microwork – Prayer

prayer the women in my family are left in stacks of black & whites, a few color. I wear their faces of opaque expression. night bruises into the highlands, then the moors, & pours into the sea. I wish them a small garden of perennial light.   Sneha Subramanian Kanta is a recipient of the…

Pushcart Prize Nominations

We’re delighted to announce the Same’s nominees for the Pushcart Prize! Fiction: “Hook Wounds” by Katie Sherman “The Riches” by Natalie Campisi “Eolith” by Sarah Renee Keller Nonfiction: “Mycko Trucks” by Julie Parks Poetry: “The Tree of Ready Meals” by Irene Cunningham “Pocket Meditation” by Joanna Kurimsky   Congratulations, Ladies! Your work was wonderful. It was not…