Revealing the Personal in Bridget Lowe’s My Second Work: A Review
To read a Bridget Lowe poem is to observe a gradual transformation, a transmutation of the ordinary into progressively more extraordinary metaphysical states. Anyone who read Lowe’s first book At the Autopsy of Vaslav Nijinsky will be excited to see, in her new collection My Second Work, a return of the same immense imagination, which she utilizes with surgical precision to prod at what makes us human.
Loss and New Life in the Time of Covid
Anna is pregnant again, and with a girl. I can feel my daughter through Anna’s skin—the future pressing into the present—squirms and kicks that protrude across her distended belly. It feels like last time, she tells me. Similar sensations.
Lime Green “Picnic Set”...
She said she had seen a ghost, or a blurry vision, as she called it, behind our bedroom mirror.
I am cleaning out a woman’s underwear drawer,
a woman who burned herself to death in the woods last week,
Announcing the Winners of the First Annual GMR Book Prize
The editors at Green Mountains Review are pleased to announce the winners of the first annual GMR Book Prize. Many congratulations to all the finalists! And congrats to the winners! The winning manuscripts will be published Fall 2016. PROSE Judged by Sarah...
The Empty Space in Front of Your Hand
Michel was an old and charming man as only an old and charming painter in a Parisian atelier can be. He was our neighbor. Whenever we ran into each other in the courtyard and spoke, I let him touch my hands and in the summer even my bare shoulders. This was a huge thing for me, although I didn’t know at the time whether it meant a compromise or a victory. Michel was also my second novel […]
I’m not sure what it is about this place that cinches my gut shut whenever I’m here. Maybe it’s the history. 1906, Loma Prieta, the Oakland Hills—even the whole dot-com business.
Somewhere along the line you make a few meetings, pay a few bills, show up to work on time, and think you deserve more. Somewhere along the line you can’t recognize the men crowded in wheelchairs and grocery carts below the overpass that gets you where you need to go....
The First Boyfriend
Before time began, somebody must have told the first boyfriend he looked good in a tank top.
In memory of last week’s shooting, Orlando-based writer Nathan Holic presents the following graphic memoirs.