Where shall we bury your mother? You asked her once and she said, smiling, why not keep me in the basement? Our basement is a joke, crammed illogically with old toys, kid’s drawings, moldy books, our parents’ teacups and old furniture, our own rough drafts and old taxes. What we just can’t get rid of.
It is 2020 and it seems that we all feel immersed in destruction. Destruction surrounds us and we struggle to understand our own complicity in it. This was true when John Sibley Willams’ book, As One Fire Consumes Another was released in April 2019, and seems to have become an even more pressing reality in the year since.
GMR will sponsor and judge an exciting–and FREE!–summer flash fiction contest. Submit up to three original unpublished works of fiction of 1000 words or less. The winner will be published in GMR and be invited to read at the Brattleboro Literary Festival in October!
MARK CONWAY has written two books of poetry, Dreaming Man, Face Down, and Any Holy City. These poems are from a new manuscript with the working title Fuse. Additional sections from in the white house appeared in The Iowa Review; one stanza is repeated in altered form.
A Complex and Dynamic Ecosystem of Poetry: On The Ecopoetry Anthology by Ann-Fischer-Wirth and Laura Gray-Street, eds.
Reading a recent review by Ange Mlinko’s for The Nation, I was made aware of the fact that the term anthology at root refers to a collection of flowers. Nowhere does this etymology seem more embodied than in the The Ecopoetry Anthology (Eds. Fisher-Wirth and...
Steve Langan is the author of Meet Me at the Happy Bar, Notes on Exile and Other Poems, and Freezing. He lives in Omaha and on Cliff Island, Maine.
and that’s how she got herself pregnant. We weren’t trying to conceive, and in fact, to ensure we’d stay childless, we took every precaution: I stayed on top, no kissing, no prayer before or after, and I made sure I lasted less than a minute; personally, I’d done everything right.
. . . Martin’s father went upstairs and swallowed a bottle of pills, landing him later that night in the local intensive care unit. He came out of his coma and confronted Martin, once he’d arrived at his father’s bedside, with two astonishing confessions. First, when Martin’s father was a young boy, his father had sexually abused him over the course of ten years, between the ages four and fourteen. When Martin tried to comfort him, his father said, “I’m not done.”
JEFFREY HARRISON is the author of four full-length books of poems—most recently Incomplete Knowledge (Four Way Books), which was runner-up for the Poets’ Prize in 2008—as well as of The Names of Things (2006), a selection published by the Waywiser Press in the U.K.
Look sharp and you’ll notice the groove in the blade, what you call the “ricasso,” which lightens the metal without weakening the structure. I promise you this workhorse will hold an edge and do you proud. It’s item JB 92, “The Gunny,” a genuine bargain at just $26.50, and don’t be dragging your feet tonight.