Fiction Commons^™

Billy Moran Stands In His Back Yard, Saying His Prayers Over One Last Glass Of Bourbon, Michael Scott Cain

Bryant Literary Review

Our Father, thank you for the bourbon,

for the ice cubes, for the way the color

of the booze lightens as they melt,

for the fragrance that prods the senses.

America's Most Wanted, Erica Olsen

Bryant Literary Review

I'm coming home from City Market when I spot the other vehicle in my drive.

"Look," I say. "Visitors."

The Hospital Ships, Carmine Sarracino

Bryant Literary Review

They might have freighted dry goods--

blouses and trousers, spools of bright

gingham-- from ports to upriver towns.

Things Pulled Off Refrigerator Doors, Charles Harper Webb

Bryant Literary Review

That's me in Maui, underneath a tire-sized hat,

pointing surfward as if I've just invented

waves. There's Katie wincing on a fern-

draped ledge, splashed by a mile-high

waterfall.

The Reverend Henry Evers Has Been Conducting A Lot Of Funerals Lately., Michael Scott Cain

Bryant Literary Review

The old men are quietly dying.

Each day fewer go to the park

or the Paradise Tavern. The aisles

of the malls are less crowded.

Same Old, Mary Crow

Bryant Literary Review

The same old story is different with each

re-telling. What did mother say? One of the sisters asserts her truth to the other's

incredulity-- someone has to be right.

Homage To Montale, Baron Wormser

Bryant Literary Review

This morning

The hummingbird's

Pure zigzag

Surprises you.

The indifference to

The long steps

Of your mood.

The Widow Of War, Jon Mccolgan

Bryant Literary Review

Before allure began to pour

out of her sore onto the floor

she stored the door to her heart's core

beneath the boards of her store's floor.

Touching My Reflection, Michele Heather Pollock

Bryant Literary Review

I peer into a mirror
of last night's rain

In A Field Near Sardis Dam, Louis Bourgeois

Bryant Literary Review

Silence. A scarecrow flickers in the wind.

The corn is dead. Geese speckle the horizon,

followed by crows and herons.

Dress Rehearsal For Utopia, Karen Donovan

Bryant Literary Review

We're glad they made Clear Falls.

The white rocks love the water,

the water loves its splash and brim.

The Snow Moon, Rebecca Lilly

Bryant Literary Review

A full moon sheared the tip of a pine. Lying in bed, a woodsman and

his wife saw it one December night. "Something must be done," said

his wife. "I know it's a sign."

Contributors

Bryant Literary Review

No abstract provided.

In Oxford Cemetery, Louis Bourgeois

Bryant Literary Review

You thought because

the trees moved

and the stones didn't

Lights And Shadows - 2004, University Of North Alabama

Lights and Shadows

Art and Literature Magazine

The Messenger, 2004

The Messenger

No abstract provided.

The Watermark: A Journal Of The Arts - Vol. 11.5 - 2004, University Of Massachusetts Boston

The Watermark: A Journal of the Arts (1993-2014)

No abstract provided.

Litmag 2003-04, University Of Missouri-St. Louis

Litmag

Litmag is a student-run literary magazine published annually each spring through the English Department. Our purpose is to promote the creative work of students and staff and increase awareness of the ever-present literary talent on UMSL’s campus. We aim to produce a high quality journal that gives emerging writers and artists a venue to display their work and experience the world of professional publishing.

Title Page

Bryant Literary Review

No abstract provided.

Dawn Camping, Steven Proulx

Bryant Literary Review

Night slithers off into the horizon

a canvas of ancient pastels in its wake

air is virgin

ground marks no tread

5th Anniversary Edition

Bryant Literary Review

No abstract provided.

Palden Gyatso Comes To Town, Anne Hanley

Bryant Literary Review

I always go to hear

Tibetan monks

Even though

I cannot understand

Their words.

St. Viggo, Karina Fuentes

Bryant Literary Review

Helen nearly suffocates me the night before the exhibit. She's walking

around on her heels, big cotton puffs between her calloused toes,

when she stumbles and falls on my head, which is stuffed beneath a

pillow. "I'll never sleep again," I groan.

My Grandmother's Slops Bucket, David Thornbrugh

Bryant Literary Review

My grandmother kept a slops bucket

behind a curtain of blue-flowered calico cloth

tacked over the bottom shelf in her kitchen pantry,

After Hearing There Are Only 7,000 Stars Visible To The Naked Eye, Charles Rafferty

Bryant Literary Review

With its better eyes, does the housecat

cry beneath the majesty

of 70,000 stars?

Owl, Joe Survant

Bryant Literary Review

The owl glides in

on secret wings,

silent as a leaf flush.

He knows the quick

motives of chipmunks,

the intimacy of mice.

Workout, Dave Evans

Bryant Literary Review

From my lofty indoor bike seat,

facing a bay window, I see a real fly

caught in a metaphorical Lake Michigan

The Red Chiffon, J.T. Ledbetter

Bryant Literary Review

Sleep wouldn't come, and the valium did nothing,

so he looked through the window at the man next door watching television,

his wife gone to bed after changing him.

Then he closed his eyes and listened to cars racing on Market

come back slower, looking for girls.

The Boys Of Night Winter, Paul Sohar

Bryant Literary Review

Their puffy winter jackets lifting their

faces high above the horizon

the boys troop in from the snow

A Persistent Error, Dorinda Clifton

Bryant Literary Review

My-Hundred-Year-Old Window

I live on the second floor of an old building. One room, one window. Having only one window keeps me focused on the life I can see within its perimeter.