The Write Launch
August 2024 Issue
Art by Robb Kunz
New Poetry
CS Crow
“Divine Right,” “Of Kings,” and “The Oracle of New Delphi”
A paper Burger King Crown,
Lunch with mom in the park,
She adjusts it over and over,
But it never fits right upon your head.
Lunch with mom in the park,
She adjusts it over and over,
But it never fits right upon your head.
Poetry
Claire Poole
“Succulents,” “All My Doctors Fear My Mother,” and “For You Are At That Place”
When I arrived home from the hospital,
there was a gift box at my doorstep
from my daughter, who recently moved away.
there was a gift box at my doorstep
from my daughter, who recently moved away.
Poetry
William Ray
“Listening In,” “Few have Noticed,” and ‘The Big “C”’
the winter-bare forsythia is so many
arrows of neglect, bundled;
the light, quilted, a question.
arrows of neglect, bundled;
the light, quilted, a question.
Poetry
Lumina Miller
“Gardenias,” “87 years ago,” “Eyrinyes”
Skin stippled with drops from the emerald canopy
quietly content with the other,
no need to speak over
the rustling soundtrack of ironwood sway.
quietly content with the other,
no need to speak over
the rustling soundtrack of ironwood sway.
Poetry
Randi Schalet
“Kayaking On Spy Pond,” “Parenting Mistakes,” and “Choices”
I lied when I said he’d been clean for a year.
It made a better story:
Addict resisting the call of meth,
riding the wave when the desire hit,
how big he felt—and bigger.
It made a better story:
Addict resisting the call of meth,
riding the wave when the desire hit,
how big he felt—and bigger.
Poetry
Anna St. Aubrey
“Still Life,” “Lost,” “Nothing”
This morning I wanted
there to be eyes watching
out for us, something somewhere
caring that we died,
there to be eyes watching
out for us, something somewhere
caring that we died,
Poetry
Christopher Rubio-Goldsmith
“Never Flan,” “No Cares Where We Go,” “Work This”
I am sure that everyone in my familia really enjoys flan.
But not me.
May I please taste the glazed churro,
the timeless cochito (con café and cream) or the delicate
tres leche cake.
But not me.
May I please taste the glazed churro,
the timeless cochito (con café and cream) or the delicate
tres leche cake.
Poetry
Blair Boleyn
“Picky Soul Eater,” “I Was Thinking…,” and “The Witch and the Townsfolk”
You want my love but don’t want my pain,
My sunshine, but not my rain.
Can’t you see how that’s driving me insane?
My sunshine, but not my rain.
Can’t you see how that’s driving me insane?
Poetry
CS Crow
“Divine Right,” “Of Kings,” and “The Oracle of New Delphi”
A paper Burger King Crown,
Lunch with mom in the park,
She adjusts it over and over,
But it never fits right upon your head.
Lunch with mom in the park,
She adjusts it over and over,
But it never fits right upon your head.
Poetry
Claire Poole
“Succulents,” “All My Doctors Fear My Mother,” and “For You Are At That Place”
When I arrived home from the hospital,
there was a gift box at my doorstep
from my daughter, who recently moved away.
there was a gift box at my doorstep
from my daughter, who recently moved away.
Poetry
William Ray
“Listening In,” “Few have Noticed,” and ‘The Big “C”’
the winter-bare forsythia is so many
arrows of neglect, bundled;
the light, quilted, a question.
arrows of neglect, bundled;
the light, quilted, a question.
Poetry
Lumina Miller
“Gardenias,” “87 years ago,” “Eyrinyes”
Skin stippled with drops from the emerald canopy
quietly content with the other,
no need to speak over
the rustling soundtrack of ironwood sway.
quietly content with the other,
no need to speak over
the rustling soundtrack of ironwood sway.
Poetry
Randi Schalet
“Kayaking On Spy Pond,” “Parenting Mistakes,” and “Choices”
I lied when I said he’d been clean for a year.
It made a better story:
Addict resisting the call of meth,
riding the wave when the desire hit,
how big he felt—and bigger.
It made a better story:
Addict resisting the call of meth,
riding the wave when the desire hit,
how big he felt—and bigger.
Poetry
Anna St. Aubrey
“Still Life,” “Lost,” “Nothing”
This morning I wanted
there to be eyes watching
out for us, something somewhere
caring that we died,
there to be eyes watching
out for us, something somewhere
caring that we died,
Poetry
Christopher Rubio-Goldsmith
“Never Flan,” “No Cares Where We Go,” “Work This”
I am sure that everyone in my familia really enjoys flan.
But not me.
May I please taste the glazed churro,
the timeless cochito (con café and cream) or the delicate
tres leche cake.
But not me.
May I please taste the glazed churro,
the timeless cochito (con café and cream) or the delicate
tres leche cake.
Poetry
Blair Boleyn
“Picky Soul Eater,” “I Was Thinking…,” and “The Witch and the Townsfolk”
You want my love but don’t want my pain,
My sunshine, but not my rain.
Can’t you see how that’s driving me insane?
My sunshine, but not my rain.
Can’t you see how that’s driving me insane?
Poetry
CS Crow
“Divine Right,” “Of Kings,” and “The Oracle of New Delphi”
A paper Burger King Crown,
Lunch with mom in the park,
She adjusts it over and over,
But it never fits right upon your head.
Lunch with mom in the park,
She adjusts it over and over,
But it never fits right upon your head.
Poetry
Claire Poole
“Succulents,” “All My Doctors Fear My Mother,” and “For You Are At That Place”
When I arrived home from the hospital,
there was a gift box at my doorstep
from my daughter, who recently moved away.
there was a gift box at my doorstep
from my daughter, who recently moved away.
Poetry
William Ray
“Listening In,” “Few have Noticed,” and ‘The Big “C”’
the winter-bare forsythia is so many
arrows of neglect, bundled;
the light, quilted, a question.
arrows of neglect, bundled;
the light, quilted, a question.
Poetry
Lumina Miller
“Gardenias,” “87 years ago,” “Eyrinyes”
Skin stippled with drops from the emerald canopy
quietly content with the other,
no need to speak over
the rustling soundtrack of ironwood sway.
quietly content with the other,
no need to speak over
the rustling soundtrack of ironwood sway.
Poetry
Randi Schalet
“Kayaking On Spy Pond,” “Parenting Mistakes,” and “Choices”
I lied when I said he’d been clean for a year.
It made a better story:
Addict resisting the call of meth,
riding the wave when the desire hit,
how big he felt—and bigger.
It made a better story:
Addict resisting the call of meth,
riding the wave when the desire hit,
how big he felt—and bigger.
Poetry
Anna St. Aubrey
“Still Life,” “Lost,” “Nothing”
This morning I wanted
there to be eyes watching
out for us, something somewhere
caring that we died,
there to be eyes watching
out for us, something somewhere
caring that we died,
Poetry
Christopher Rubio-Goldsmith
“Never Flan,” “No Cares Where We Go,” “Work This”
I am sure that everyone in my familia really enjoys flan.
But not me.
May I please taste the glazed churro,
the timeless cochito (con café and cream) or the delicate
tres leche cake.
But not me.
May I please taste the glazed churro,
the timeless cochito (con café and cream) or the delicate
tres leche cake.
Poetry
Blair Boleyn
“Picky Soul Eater,” “I Was Thinking…,” and “The Witch and the Townsfolk”
You want my love but don’t want my pain,
My sunshine, but not my rain.
Can’t you see how that’s driving me insane?
My sunshine, but not my rain.
Can’t you see how that’s driving me insane?
Poetry
New Fiction
New Fiction
Edward Tyndall
Jornada Del Muerto
a drunkard’s tale
At first, the black lines cast by the window bars of the drunk tank were a mystery, and the pain in his body a specter. Then the shadows became the field plots of the Llano Estacado he had crossed on his run from Louisiana.
Short Story
Sean Kenealy
The Work Hazard
No one was quite sure what to make of Mary Whemple’s behavior. For the past two weeks, she had spent all of her lunch breaks standing at the entrance of her office building, arms spread, eyes closed, and her wrinkled face tilted to the sky.
Short Story
Malcolm Glass
Perfection
Gwen and I looked up at the crystal doors we approached. They must have been twenty feet high and twelve wide, and emblazoned across them, the letters IT in that famous logo. Without a whisper, the doors opened. That’s not the right word. They simply vanished.
Short Story
Mark Williams
Out of the Cradle, No Longer Rocking
One winter afternoon, Nick Miracle walked out of Perk Up Coffee with a caramel ribbon crunch latte, his drink of choice on special occasions. For the past five years, he had been a junior loan officer at Wabash River Bank. Beginning tomorrow, he would manage its Honey Creek branch.
Short Story
Paul Perilli
Seven Seven Seven
“Richard, how goes it?”
“It’s another day in paradise.”
That was a repetition of Richard’s throughout my time at Beal. Intended to be ironic, he and I both knew Beal wasn’t paradise. He and I both knew it wasn’t hell either.
“It’s another day in paradise.”
That was a repetition of Richard’s throughout my time at Beal. Intended to be ironic, he and I both knew Beal wasn’t paradise. He and I both knew it wasn’t hell either.
Novel Chapters
Joel E. Turner
Brenda’s Green Note
May 1955
“You mean the green note?”
Miss Talone hit a key on the piano with a firm finger. “C-sharp—above middle C.”
Brenda Canavan played the D scale backwards and forwards. “Like that?”
Miss Talone nodded. “Good, just like G, but with C-sharp added.” She smiled. “Or, the green note, as you called it.”
“You mean the green note?”
Miss Talone hit a key on the piano with a firm finger. “C-sharp—above middle C.”
Brenda Canavan played the D scale backwards and forwards. “Like that?”
Miss Talone nodded. “Good, just like G, but with C-sharp added.” She smiled. “Or, the green note, as you called it.”
Novel Chapters
Eileen Nittler
Structural Damages
Barnaby kept finding me dates, friends of friends, or friends of friends of friends—those kinds of connections, which is how I discovered that he needed better friends, and better friends of friends.
Audra asked me to dance as soon as we got to the bar. “But I don’t know how to line dance,” I protested, and she insisted I could pick it up quickly. I did.
Audra asked me to dance as soon as we got to the bar. “But I don’t know how to line dance,” I protested, and she insisted I could pick it up quickly. I did.
Long Short Story
Sandro F. Piedrahita
Jesus in Disguise
Mother Teresa did what she always did when she found Jesus in distressing disguise. She rolled up her sleeves and got to work. This time she found the Christ in a twenty-year-old Puerto Rican youth from the Bronx, already in the advanced stages of AIDS, nearly blind and with lesions from Kaposi’s Sarcoma all over his body. His father was sitting on a chair next to Francisco, silently weeping.
Long Short Story