Kelly Kathleen Ferguson helped us think about the “second best” (figure skaters, runners, but especially drummers) in her essay of that title in Issue 14.1. We loved reliving our memories of the music mentioned in her piece and are glad to share with you a companion playlist to accompany her essay (read an excerpt here): …
Someone holds the makeshift beach up from one end, and the world floods, swell surging to one side of the homemade wave machine before the water rushes back, quick, aggressive, eroding bits of the science-fair project with violence before softening slowly, slowly. Repetition eventually grinds everything down to nothing. We are supposed to make a …
(To use the PDF embedder to see both poems, use the arrows on the bottom left-hand side.) See more poems from Issue 17.2 by purchasing a copy in our online store. Digital copies only $5.
Poets, wordsmiths, scribes, people of letters: This is your one week’s notice! We are accepting entries for our fabulous Robert and Adele Schiff Awards in Poetry and Prose through next Saturday, July 15. For only $20 per entry, you could win $1000 (two prices will be awarded: one for poetry and one for prose). On …
I know an old man who lives at the edge of the world, in Alaska, a town called Bethel. The first people arrived via ice bridge. Now we fly on planes. The old man lives with an old woman, his wife. He built the house they live in. He builds other things too, boats, furniture, …
We love that contributor JP Grasser’s poem “excavate” is featured on Poetry Daily today! To complement the poem, here’s his reflection on its origins: JP Grasser: I’ve spent the last three years trying to understand the nature of griefwork, its seeming paradox: You strive to dig up loss, dust it off, and bring it into the …
Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us … a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam … the only home we’ve ever known.—Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot (1994) Drill, baby, drill!—Michael Steele, 2008 Republican National Convention Photographed from 18,000 miles in 1972, Earth had the lookof a marble, or so people …
We’ve noticed an interesting trend here at The Cincinnati Review as we continue to read the poems, stories, and essays uploaded to our submission manager before the March 15 deadline: When we open up Microsoft Word files, we sometimes find ghosts of previous drafts lurking there in electronic form. In these cases, there’s a bright …
Red-tailed hawk Redring from a milk jugencountered on the MisheMokwa Trail But it wasn’t that plasticpiece of dread No The redof someone’s pony-tail holder something shedas involuntarily as redblood cells Mariafatigued unknowing blamingage I blamed some unknownhiker careless I thought droppingtrash amidst the blacksage and juniper Whodrinks milk on ahike I should havethought but didn’t …
At six, I didn’t know more than riding a Schwinn and climbing banyan trees. “Do you believe in God?”the two blonde girls from four doors down asked as our bikes circled endlessly in figure eightsaround each other. Well, I suppose one girl askedwhile the other simply rode, silently and blonde. They weren’t twins, but a …
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