GMR

 

Recent Posts

Recasting the Sonnet: Review of Anna Maria Hong’s Age of Glass

The sonnet is inexhaustible. Magnetic, mesmerizing, bewitching, nearly every poet is drawn to the form at some point in their career, whether they long to write the perfect sonnet, the Shakespearean, Petrarchan or Spenserian, or they desire to break the form, queer it, manipulate it, celebrate its mutability; they want to discover what magic can happen within those fourteen lines.

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THE EFFECTS OF ALBRECHT DÜRER’S ETCHING ‘JEROME IN THE WILDERNESS’ ON ACUTE RESIDENTIAL, BEHAVIORAL HEALTH EMPLOYMENT

I found an F. I was at my job, with this kid, a boy, when I stepped on it: a cube, bevel-edged small; a bead: F. Like a lion thing, a thorn. Ouch, I coulda said, woulda, but this boy was watching, and I was wearing my sneaker shoes, their like-Faith cushiony soles. And the boy, no saint, like martyring Jerome’s Lion, he stopped walking when I did. He watched me lift my left foot. The cube thorned into my sneaker’s cushiony sole, like Faith. The boy’s mom is dying, so I Lioned for him: Ha.

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Green Mountains Review, based at Northern Vermont University, is an annual, award-winning literary magazine publishing poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, literary essays, interviews, and book reviews by both well-known writers and promising newcomers.

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ACT QUIK

ACT QUIK

After my dog George ran away, I sat on the couch and watched five minutes of the Cavs game, then decided I should go find him. I put my jacket and scarf on. I stood outside and whistled, and he didn’t come. I walked out in the cold. The wind off the lake was heavy and...

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From The Apartment on Market Street: XLS & I

From The Apartment on Market Street: XLS & I

My student loan coupon book was thumbtacked just below my MFA degree. My payment had been due on the 4th, but if received by the 25th would be considered “not late.” This lenience was a small thing, one of a very few, to recommend my loan-holding company. It nearly...

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Perforated Caterpillars

Perforated Caterpillars

Surrounded by a burgundy interior, Clem and his grandmother are stopped in the high speed lane in dead stop traffic. Between Clem’s feet is a medium soda with no ice and a bag full of fries. He’s eating a burger next to his grandmother, still wearing her nurse’s...

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