Fiction Commons^™

Editor's Note

Bryant Literary Review

No abstract provided.

It's Simple, Tim Bellows

Bryant Literary Review

Sunday after a short stack

of blueberry pancakes, half a cup

of ginger-and-cream tea,

Title Page

Bryant Literary Review

No abstract provided.

Horowitz In New York, Tim Bellows

Bryant Literary Review

Precise blocks of keys.

He brushes them

and in the ear's inside chamber,

we hear. His fingers white as a baby. Seems the notes

beam across cold deserts-

and hidden sprigs of grass

think to nose their ways

upward, harboring a thin sense

of yellow warmth despite

the presence of ice.

Written On Water, David Thornbrugh

Bryant Literary Review

The man whose smile is a whetstone

excels at kissing knives.

What does the sliced throat say

to the knife that kisses it?

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 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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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

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

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.

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,

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.

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.

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

The Hills Of Laura, Billy Lombardo

Bryant Literary Review

It is true that I hated Hucker Norton. But I did not mean to crush his thumb.

He wasn't one of us, really. Even his name told you he was from some other place. We were Petey and Tommy and Davy and Matty, and he was Hucker.

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.

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 Wounded, Dave Cappella

Bryant Literary Review

The one-legged pigeon understands

the loneliness of the man.

Hobbling under the patio table

behind a chair, the bird waits

for a morsel from the stranger.

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