Spring 2016

Interview: Crystal Wilkinson

In the introduction to her debut short story collection Blackberries, Blackberries, celebrated fiction writer Crystal Wilkinson drew a strong connection between two parts of her identity. “Being country,” she wrote, “is as much a part of me as my full lips, wide hips, dreadlocks and high cheekbones. There are many…

Day-old Bread: Free

“Still has some spring to it,” the seller says as he pushes in the sides of the oval, “you can have it for free. I can’t sell it to you.” I take the sour dough he selects from six left in the bushel basket, clasp it and make for the…

Lost and Found on Highway 25 South

You’ve already forgotten why you’ve come. Why you left the mountains to be swallowed whole by kudzu, to become a wanderer in a desert of hand-scrawled signs, each one a temptation or a prayer: Watermellons. Stop. Tomatos. Here. There is no one place, only places scattered along the falling highway,…


We excavate the evening where a herd of staghorn sumac move slowly at the edge of this forest Tree frogs are singing in silhouette branches while bees settle down to sleep inside the green shades of the poplar’s fat flower

For Lacey

What can I say about our dead cat other than that we loved her for nearly two decades? That a friend and I would do our middle-school homework sprawled on the living room floor with her beside us, and I am thirty now.