“Window,” by D.M. Aderibigbe
The other side of the window:
two chubby gods build their lives
with jollof rice and sparkling water.
“Window,” by D.M. Aderibigbe Read More »
The other side of the window:
two chubby gods build their lives
with jollof rice and sparkling water.
“Window,” by D.M. Aderibigbe Read More »
“Unless one practices medicine or works with medical literature, one is unlikely to encounter the enormous mass of words used to describe the things that go wrong with us. But the words are out there, multisyllabic and waiting.”
To Describe Our World: An Interview with Kevin O’Rourke Read More »
All day long Polina sat anxiously waiting in her neighbors’ apartment, with its cracked windowpanes and boiling sausages, filled wall to wall with beds, piles of clothing, and damp water buckets sweating into towels.
“Surrounded,” by Zhanna Slor Read More »
“Several friends and journalists have noted the absence of text in Singapore. I have the most immense respect for the authority of words; that’s why I’ve not allowed any into the book.”
Somewhere Unanticipated: An Interview with Nguan Read More »
“You don’t need an MFA to be a good writer, but you need readers who understand what you are trying to do, and won’t let you get away with not doing that.”
On “Psalms for the Wreckage”: An Interview with Joshua Young Read More »
This is the story: Kit was home after school, making her favorite sandwich of kale and peanut butter. The phone rang and she didn’t answer. They’re almost in the new millennium, but Kit’s family still has an answering machine that looks like a shoebox with vents.
“Mrs. Sadness,” by Lydia Conklin Read More »
He sank down and back then, buttoning a shirt he had thrust on, arranging objects from his pockets on the windowsill beside him, and began to eat a roll, after offering me one. Later when he went away to get some British illustrated papers about the removal of Yeats’s body to Ireland to show me, he brought back bananas, was very surprised when I didn’t want one, and rapidly ate both.
“A Visit to Ezra Pound in St. Elizabeth’s Hospital, 1948,” by John Berryman Read More »
beware the moving picture
the cylinder of film sprinting
through its filter, the light
that tears the frame
“First Writing Following the Newest Movie Theater Massacre” Read More »
Meet the poets, essayists, and fiction writers of MQR 56:3.
Meet Our Contributors, MQR 56:3 Read More »
Before I tell you about the strange night I danced to “Hava Nagila” in a bar in Berlin, I have to admit that I think about this night often, and I think about it on two different occasions.
“Hava Nagila,” by Naira Kuzmich Read More »