We believe students and readers everywhere deserve a great and free modern library, inside of which they can get deliriously, entertainingly, profoundly lost. And found.

Stories

Poem of the Week
Our bed a garden of the littlest sighs of our waking. Our room, abstract.
Poetry
I know you want your mother’s dial tone like you want a KFC box.
Poem of the Week
Let me stay here, in the thick of the sweetness, just a moment longer.
Readers' Narratives
It was the same God who told him to get the hell out of Arkansas.
Readers' Narratives
Poem of the Week
I lift my wine flask, drunk with rivers and hills.
Poem of the Week
A strange odd lost duck day all over—sunrise with a honed edge.
Poem of the Week
He is not a man, but an empty shell, a creature who laughs to stop the shame.
Fiction
I hadn’t always liked being around my mother while she was alive.
Story of the Week
Tobacco and dirty wool, rank alcoholic sweat. I liked him right away.
Fiction
Please, Theresa thought, as a tenderness surged within herself.
Story of the Week
I can’t talk yet. But I know things. I will tell you all this later when I can.
Story of the Week
Ah, yes, Rita reminded herself: I won. Her Mistress of Mayhem award.
Poem of the Week
We hung our posters at the drugstore, at the grocery, at city hall. I tacked up a 1970s Earth Day poster from my mother’s classroom. We tie-dyed shirts, and I bought everyone a plastic visor to paint.
First & Second Looks
Spring Contest Winners
I believed in department stores the way I believed in Germany.
Poem of the Week
A Good Samaritan refused is no more good than any Bad Samaritan.
Spring Contest Winners
Keely finally stops crying when they step outside. The shock of cold.
Photography & Art
We imagined the train routes through the heart of the country.
Poetry
I lost my medicine bag from back when I believed in magic.
Poem of the Week
Your image is on my credit card, you and the old red, white, and blue.
Story of the Week
I wouldn’t sleep a second, knowing the catastrophe I’d set in motion.
Fall Contest Winners
I commute to war five days a week in a station wagon the color of an egg.
Readers' Narratives
He was a gifted conversationalist; he could talk rain down out of clouds.
iStories
I opened my eyes and they burned; I closed them and saw my father.
Poetry
Some days Barbie Chang wants to hang up her Asian boots.
Poem of the Week
Barbie Chang asks why the evil one always has black hair.
Readers' Narratives
As my wife and I passed the struggling men, they stared at me.