Poetry

May Jordan: “Walking Through”

Walking Through A Sunday lit with sunlightmade the mountainof snow we accumulated, shine as if a glacier at dawn.I was up-stairs getting dressedfor church when suddenly,my husband called for meto come down in a hurry . . .a giant, chestnut...
Poetry

Barbara Conrad: “This Bed”

This Bed I’m counting the years I’ve slept in this Charleston four-poster rice bed,and yes, the men who’ve slept here with me. More than five, fewer than a dozen, only two still rooted in regret. Even when nights are long...
Poetry

Paul Jones: “Hell”

About my Southernness: I am still Southern. The other day, I visited the Old St Paul’s Cemetery near Newton, NC. The place is chock full of Setzers, my grandmother’s people. The first one in the ground there came from Heidelberg...
Blog

Dead Mule Submissions and more…

Hey ya’ll. I sent an email to those of you out there with submissions sitting in the Submittable hopper for the last eight months or more. Basically, if you submitted this year and I didn’t respond, please message me through...
Blog

What’s Your Label? Valerie MacEwan

I choose my label. “Writer” It’s rectangular. And temporary. I remove the large blue HELLO, I AM ____________ paper tag from my sweater and stick it to the mirror. Twenty years ago, my father put another label above my left breast. This...
Fiction

Benjamin Scott: Travis, the First

Southern Legitimacy Statement: I was born in Dallas to a father from Hopkins County, Texas and a mother from Ashley County, Arkansas. I come from a long and proud line of dairy farmers, oil drillers, coal miners, and truck drivers....