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Weeds In Her Curly Hair, Hareendran Kallinkeel

Bryant Literary Review

“I need a dagger,” Shiva says, “double-edged…and razor-sharp.”

The blacksmith turns from his furnace and stares at him in
surprise. What the hell is a renowned writer doing here? he thinks as he
stands up and walks towards Shiva.

Mud And Truth, Hannah Kass

Bryant Literary Review

Tsofi knew the story since her mother began telling it to her and her brother almost every night. Other villagers would notice how her people did not eat the same meat or observe the same day of rest. In her mind those differences were as arbitrary as preferring to eat lamb or chicken. Yet such arbitrary reasons had sparked the most violent of reactions.

Dreams Of Flight, Beth Paulson

Bryant Literary Review

A man with wings large enough and duly attached might learn to overcome the resistance of air. Leonardo da Vinci

No Icarus, you knew pulleys and winches would keep a man tethered
to earth though he rise high above a stage for a duke’s entertainment.
In your fabrico you built mechanical birds of wood and bright-dyed
linen, then raised men up on ropes to fly and float, angels with dark
curls, gilt-edged wings.

Jaffa Coffee, Tehila Wenger

Bryant Literary Review

The waitress placed the cappuccino down carefully on my left, next to the open computer. I glanced into the mug and noted that there was no design in the foam. My anticipation for the caffeinating process dropped immediately by several degrees, along with my belief in the basic goodness of mankind.

That Thing, Susan Taylor Chehak

Bryant Literary Review

My pap’s eyes are bad. It’s not the books or the computer, not the
peering at small letters on a page or on a screen. And it isn’t just a
consequence of age either. His peepers went bad a long time ago, when
he was young.

An Open Letter To The White Feminists Holding A Literary Panel On Toni Morrison, Matthew E. Henry

Bryant Literary Review

look to your left, your right—where

are her sisters? why are they missing?

Amends, Renay Costa

Bryant Literary Review

Quinn searched the chalkboard menu of the café deliberating what the appropriate beverage would be. What does a soon-to-be-divorcée drink while composing a letter to the man she separated from about a month ago? Wine would be the obvious option, but she was now a member of Alcoholics Anonymous, and the letter was part of the ninth step, which required her to “make direct amends” to those she had harmed, and tonight she was attempting her amends to Gil, her soon-to-be ex-husband. A pumpkin spice latte, her regular order, seemed too saccharine and sentimental.

Raul, Paul Lamar

Bryant Literary Review

On the twelfth day of his new job as a security guard outside of S–, one of M–’s finest men’s shops, Raul B– stumbled upon a unique answer to the question of store security, though he was never to be aware of his particular gift or its profound impact on crime in M–.

Only Touch Is Impossible, So We Touch, John Sibley Williams

Bryant Literary Review

Silence enters us.

These once familiar faces go strange

over time.

The Bush Burned With Fire And The Bush Was Not Consumed, Peter Munro

Bryant Literary Review

Skin draws gaunt to his skull, deflating

jowls he has borne across eight decades.

The Help, J. Tarwood

Bryant Literary Review

In the morning, the radio

praises God while the maid

cracks eggs.

God And God's, Sandy Weisman

Bryant Literary Review

God ran our house, decided what

we could or could not do.

Young Tragic Heroines, Elaine Little

Bryant Literary Review

The letter was addressed to Diane, predictably misspelled. It was from a postal box in a town known only for its prison. When she saw the name, Ben Strickert, she tore it open.

Learning From Her, Emily Madapusi Pera

Bryant Literary Review

A lot you could learn from her,

you thought.

Dog Whistle, Tina Cane

Bryant Literary Review

It begins with a tweet the bird kind in which a friend of mine

deems the hummingbird her spirit animal delicate engine

Copy Cat Music, John Krumberger

Bryant Literary Review

I never asked his name

-no suitable pause between the torrent

of New York accented syllables that flowed

Night Shadows, Jimmie Pennington

Bryant Literary Review

Night shadows

lie on empty walls

like the silhouettes

of yesterday's dreams

Judge, John P. Kristofco

Bryant Literary Review

Richard Witched noticed the small envelope in his mailbox right away.

It sat like a white raft on the sea of gray, brown, and beige detritus that

gathered, as it did almost every day, in his slot.

Chicago - 1966, Michael Walls

Bryant Literary Review

I remember you well. Sidewalks were slush,

snow piled along the edges.

Mastery, Ken Victor

Bryant Literary Review

And the experience of the failed

work is a prod to practice: think of

Is It Alice, Amy Or Anne?, George Longenecker

Bryant Literary Review

Huddled with four other nameless people,

who sleep on cardboard and blankets,

in the entry of a garage alcove,

Saudade, Lisa Russo

Bryant Literary Review

Now that you're gone, you've left me longing.

I smile softly because you were here

Constructing Border Quilts, Martha Brenckle

Bryant Literary Review

looking for justice with thread, pins, needle

and scissors, cutting shirts and dungarees abandoned

Fortress*, . Yvonne

Bryant Literary Review

Not a single ceiling or window fan

In our stifling apartment on the top floor.

Object Permanence, Jacob Nelson

Bryant Literary Review

When the sheet is pulled over

your father's face is still there,

his mustache, too, for you to tug.

Editors' Note

Bryant Literary Review

No abstract provided.

The Good Son, William Torphy

Bryant Literary Review

I'm on Trailways, staring through dirty windows at mounds of snow piled on the side of the road. I couldn't face everyone's questions, their judgments. Even Shirley at the bank gave me a suspicious look when she handed me my cancelled savings book and the $357.45 from my account this morning.

Living Dolls, Andrena Zawinski

Bryant Literary Review

A living doll, everywhere you look.

It can sew, it can cook,

It can talk, talk, talk. Sylvia Plath

As a little girl, I never wanted any creepy

The Wandering Buddha, Cate Gable

Bryant Literary Review

for chef Jimella Lucas

Entering the Bardo or another set

of bones, you cannot know

we mourn your knife skills,

The Book Of Bad Faith, Noel Sloboda

Bryant Literary Review

Back when Mom first swore

Dad rated an entire chapter