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…

Issue 16.1 – Fiction

I was there the summer Birdie disappeared. It was 1979 and incredibly hot. I remember how the pavement sizzled from baking in the sun and how the grass became crusty and brown. Betsy, the owner of the local diner, used to give us free ice cream that would melt as we ventured into the outdoor…

Issue 16.1 – Poetry

The first man and the first woman stood newly made   in a beautiful garden with trees of fruit and fire.   Yet their open hands reached first for one another.   Love, a mountain springing up between them two tectonic plates shifting together   thrust so tightly upward it felt like they were one…

Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 17

The sheets bunched against Josiah’s bare back felt slick and unfamiliar. As he opened his eyes, he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. These weren’t his sheets. This wasn’t his bed. He glanced over his shoulder to see Bethany still asleep, curled around her pillow, her dark hair obscuring her face. He eased…

Microwork – Salsa Brava

salsa brava she curls a stray strand round her ear, chin dips, eyes rise with a glint he smiles a chink, toes tapping in time inside leather slides steam rises from shared patatas young love spicing up over Spanish tapas Anne Casey is an Irish-Australian writer/literary editor with poems published internationally in newspapers, magazines, journals…

Issue 15.4 – Nonfiction

I was more interested in going to the homecoming dance than I was in Brad, the senior who invited me.  It was my first year of high school, tenth grade, and Brad was a good-looking trumpet player who sat first chair.  I had a perfect view of him from my vantage point in the percussion…

Issue 15.4 – Fiction

Grace was their miracle baby. Susan had picked Grace’s name because she felt sure, one-hundred percent, bone-deep sure, that she was a miracle. After four miscarriages in five years, Pete had wanted them to stop. The toll it was taking on them was too much, he’d said. The elation they’d felt the first time Susan…