Review of NOT A PLACE ON ANY MAP by Alexis Paige
Organized as a series of forty flash essays anchored by their geographic location, Not a Place on Any Map by Brevity editor Alexis Paige charts a life that stutters and snags on trauma and addiction, a life where entropy looms and the “myth which insisted that matter falling apart was not moving toward something larger, like islands or stars.” read more
Recent Posts
Bruce, on Ice
Phoebe swears that the slick roads and misty skies, and the fatness of the roses in our front yard are all signs that point to Bruce. When we hear “Bruce” called out at a restaurant, or see the name in the newspapers, or watch a movie with a character named Bruce, she grabs my arm and says, “See?” read more
A Protective Impulse
We want to believe that there is nothing natural about numbers. These ciphers are our perfect projections, whom we marshal and archive, in endless right angles. Though they have pores and spines, the tables we fashion for them are not carcasses or skeletons, not birds shorn of feathers and skin. read more
Origin Story
This afternoon, Iris’s mother plans to swallow a pill that will dissolved her thyroid gland, cure her hyperactive metabolic disorder, and turn her, temporarily, radioactive. She will lift the white pill over her blushed lips and open her teeth so that the chalky capsule can dissolve in her arteries and turn her blue veins nuclear. read more
Review of ALL BACK FULL by Robert Lopez
Robert Lopez’s All Back Full is the most nihilistic book I’ve read in years. It is a remarkable achievement, especially if one measures an artistic achievement by its completeness of vision and demonstration of technique. Yet it also left me cold. read more
Announcing the 2017 Neil Shepard Prize in Fiction, Poetry, & Creative Nonfiction
Open for Submissions: 2017 Neil Shepard Prizes in Poetry, Fiction, and Creative Nonfiction! SUBMIT NOW for Green Mountains Review‘s 2017 Neil Shepard Prizes in Poetry, Fiction, and Creative Nonfiction! This year’s contest will be judged by Camille Dungy (Poetry), Glen...
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Red Tide
Robby Johnson sits at the bar drumming his fingers on a bottle of Bud. He’s been sitting in that same spot, two stools from the door, for the past two weeks. Since his dad and brother died. The only other person at the bar this early is Jimmy. read more
Eight-Track Tape Player
The sun slants his hapless rays / through spiderwebbed glass, / and amid the hills of newspaper read more
Sestina
I climbed another mountain and spat on a boulder / because climbing a mountain means nothing. To fish / from the middle of the stream, fresh catch flailing / breathlessly on the shore, gasping frivolous moonlight, / their widened eyes confused: that is my percussion
of temptation, the drum I’d rather follow through the rain read more
Meterology
When I arose the petals of the pink / were strewn on the table, / debris of glossy tongues. read more
Bodily Resume
The third line on my brow— / arrived last night. read more