Creative Writing Commons^™

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 Lariat, Marc Pietrzkowski

Bryant Literary Review

I want to wash the hands that guide me home

and smell the soap and the soil together.

Saudade, Lisa Russo

Bryant Literary Review

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

I smile softly because you were here

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.

Outsider's Shovel, Mark Taksa

Bryant Literary Review

An insider promises smoke will never

pollute the flag.

Constructing Border Quilts, Martha Brenckle

Bryant Literary Review

looking for justice with thread, pins, needle

and scissors, cutting shirts and dungarees abandoned

The Book Of Bad Faith, Noel Sloboda

Bryant Literary Review

Back when Mom first swore

Dad rated an entire chapter

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.

Home Visit, Jesse Mardian

Bryant Literary Review

4782 Menson Avenue was a small place with a dead lawn. Past the brittle grass where toys lay scattered, the house stood with peeling pink paint and a roof missing several clay shingles. Jennifer checked the address in her notebook, entered through a creaking gate, and walked to the door.

Editors' Note

Bryant Literary Review

No abstract provided.

Monkey Time, Eric Greinke

Bryant Literary Review

Communication devices destroy communication.

Text messages erode the language,

Vaya Con Dios, Russ Allison Loar

Bryant Literary Review

I could kill you with this little finger,

He says,

Jutting the scabrous thing out into the shivering night,

Pointed menacingly toward the enemy

When Fall Arrives, David James

Bryant Literary Review

Fall in four days and another year

winds down to a grinding stop.

The apples ripen in the sun

while the serrano peppers implode.

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

Saying Goodbye In Brussels, Lawrence F. Farrar

Bryant Literary Review

It was a day like many others that had passed since Brett Smalley's arrival in Dusseldorf. It differed, however, in one significant respect for the sales representative of Chicago-based Windham Metallurgical, Inc.

All I Know About Pool, Charles Harper Webb

Bryant Literary Review

Winning depends on the right numbers and hues.

If White rolls in a hole, like a dog, you scratch.

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.

Little Mercies, Terry Sanville

Bryant Literary Review

I hadn't seen him in fifty years. But I still wanted to kill him. I didn't know when, where, or how. But the way of it seemed crystal.

God And God's, Sandy Weisman

Bryant Literary Review

God ran our house, decided what

we could or could not do.

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

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.

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

Lachrimae, Allen Strous

Bryant Literary Review

The man whose tears are often,

out of nowhere

the open-up

breakdown,

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,

Tiny Bills, Susan Johnson

Bryant Literary Review

Mist nets catch the fall migration,

catch my hands numb and slow as

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.

Learning From Her, Emily Madapusi Pera

Bryant Literary Review

A lot you could learn from her,

you thought.