Summer 2016


My job was to pour the mold for the hard porcelain crowns that sat on telephone poles. I rode the bus to the plant, even when they called it “the scab bus.” I wasn’t proud to take someone else’s job.

Interview: Sonja Livingston

In essayist Sonja Livingston’s latest collection Ladies Night at the Dreamland (University of Georgia Press), the Appalachian native of western New York explores the lives of historical women—famous, notorious, and invented—and in many ways her own life and understanding of herself. Through re-imaginings of figures like Virginia Dare (“Dare”), Luna…


When sorrow comes to your bed like a just-weaned child, remember sharp teeth and an appetite too large to succor. It has its own bed, its own place, so you both rest, so in the light of day you give it what it needs, not what it wants.


Though they weren’t married anymore, Chelle and Bill still got together for sex from time to time. But only when they had both been drinking at the Elks, usually on nights when the special was tequila. Cheap tequila with a little lime and salt was Chelle’s favorite. After the first…