The day I arrived on the butter schooner a cow had fallen off the cliff. Its carcass was found on the beach in the cove below, near the high tide line, by some men waiting to load the hogs and butter onto the boat for the return trip to San Francisco. Everyone . . .
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It is easy to believe there are no flowersgrowing in the folds of sand stretching before us.Night has erased them. And the Blue Moondoes little to illuminate anything but the sand:—from “Blue Moon,” Volume 63, Issue 1 (Spring 2022) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.One of the first . . .
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My name is DeDe and I’m eleven years old. D-e, capital D-e. It’s not short for anything. My dad’s name is Bobby and that’s not short for anything either. Our names are similar, both made of two of the same consonant sounds. BO-Bby. DE-De.—from “Cockroach,” Volume 63, Issue 1 (Spring 2022) Tell . . .
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Some people speak of living through a climate crisis. Others simply go about their business as if nothing is happening. Both groups of people have more in common than they would let on, and the climate crisis might well inspire either to tell stories about events they would prefer to never experience . . .
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In one chemical future, the clouds themselves will be extinct, so we try to hold them in mind as they float by casting their individual storm-sized shadows across the animals across the plains.—from “Glacier Haibun,” Volume 62, Issue 4 (Winter 2021) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.I started . . .
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Abuela doesn’t want to die. She’s still holding on to life for the stubbornness of it. And on one of the worst days to head down the mountainside, Ma and Pa decided to drag Diego and me to see her.—from “A Death Foretold,” Volume 62, Issue 4 (Winter 2021) Tell us about . . .
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Here is a portion of the silence we walk upon, where the stony shore of the Atlantic curls breakers of salt onto a shelf of the lithospheric dead. At our feet, ammonites in their obsidian-colored whorls.—from “The Jurassic Coast,” Volume 62, Issue 4 (Winter 2021) Tell us about one of the first . . .
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August besieged California with a heatunseen in generations.I watched as towering plumes of smokebillowed from distant hills in all directionsand air tankers crisscrossed the skies.—from “The Fire Sermon,” Volume 62, Issue 4 (Winter 2021) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.Stendiamo un velo pietoso. What writer(s) or works have . . .
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Alex Kuo in Beijing’s 798 Photo credit: Zoe Filipkowska Pyne’s count could be extrapolated further: a hundred cloud-to-ground lightning strikes per second. Such strikes account for about 10 percent of the annual wildfires in the United States, and since 1982, there has been an alarming rise in the total number, directly linked . . .
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A tankercapsized offthe Georgia coast, 4,000 Hyundaisslippingto their murky deaths—From “The Book of Other,” Volume 62, Issue 4 (Winter 2021) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.I can do more than tell you about it. Here it is: Kiwi Fuzzy footballin the sand.Shave the beardand bite the chin. In . . .
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