The Proposal

Editor back-issues, fiction

Once, I had one hundred imaginary dogs and my nursery school classmates decided to have imaginary dogs too. Siddhartha decided to have imaginary elephants instead with names filled with letters strung together like the pretty glass beads my teacher wore around her neck. I liked Siddhartha because he always shared his crayons. Once, Justin, who lived in my grandmother’s building …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

Party Favors

Editor back-issues, poetry

He passes the old place daily, The abandoned mill where his grandfather Worked, made his livelihood And sense of his life, making wood Products, until the job went elsewhere.   He thinks about the old man now, Several times a day sometimes. His own father checked out early, Disappeared, followed a dream That didn’t include family. His grandfather took him …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

The Western Hemisphere

Editor back-issues, poetry

The Western Hemisphere is asleep with one great eye cocked open   fastened to the burning stars that used to guide women and men to their future   and at first glance one may mistake it for dead and not be far wrong   the body collapsed in front of a barren library huddled under incalculable layers   of coarse …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

A Foot in the Grave

Editor back-issues, fiction

It felt like I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, like I’d walked into a house that looked like mine, but belonged to someone else. She found me in the kitchen drinking a glass of water. Her eyes welled up and shone bright with what would soon form tears. I was in the right house, but at ten in …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

Brett Stout

Editor back-issues, poetry

This Door was locked by David Berkowitz   The pig tooth hangs from a vintage nail the scissors cut and paste Tempe, Arizona job for a cubicle cowboy makes one detestable,   numbers never dialed written on stained Post-It notes she called me an asshole and I call her dead no cigarettes plenty of blue pills sweep the memories under …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

Boiled Coffee And Canned Meat

Editor back-issues, poetry

I drive a car of irreplaceable parts going south. I crawl out of town at night, a girl with a limp on my arm, not knowing which belt or hose is cracked, leaking like a fistful of fluids.   The headlights reach down where the pavement is supposed to be. I have a feel for the tires as they pitch …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

Conversant

Editor back-issues, poetry

Two nights after the breakup Drunk I dial your number wrong Suddenly, through fate and pulses Twitches through air I am connected to a stranger, you Minus one number, or maybe two Transverse. Your name sloshes around, lulls out of my mouth Half-cocked Loose on my misshapen tongue Even after hearing an older woman answer I carry on talking to …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

Mattias Renberg poems

Editor back-issues, poetry

Involution   In the early mornings when the world sleeps we stretch the thin membrane hiding our sneering beast from a world of ironed shirts.   Territorial claims at the bus stop. An unaware prey (still sleeping), is awoken by a hyenas’ mad stare.   The bus driver, half pig, greets all and no one with grunts. He is on …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

Peycho Kanev poetry

Editor back-issues, poetry

Yes   hungry helicopters circling in the sky killing the little pieces of my sleep   my tired brain wasted a long time ago on this battle of existence on this world we called wonderful   and here is only one cat on the floor and there is only one bottle of wine and here I am alone   come …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

E. H. Brogan poetry

Editor back-issues, poetry

Fan Death   from Grotesques   I turn the fan on night-times, so I remember how to breathe while sleeping, and so never wake up dead. They think babies might do this, they call it SIDS. Another country, across the world, believes the same act will fell their population, call it fan death. Somewhere else they lock cats out of …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

Charlotte M. Porter poetry

Editor back-issues, poetry

Snapshot With Suet   Say, has anyone found the old lorgnettes, those folding opera glasses? Nice keepsake my musical sisters agree, sorting our dead Mother’s things. Vissi d’arte, Vissi d’amore they yodel from Tosca. On to the photographs, my favorite, 3 x 5 b/w, over-exposed edges on fire: Flyway birds fill the trees, snip buds, litter ground with cuneiform. Late …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register

Cara Schiff

Editor back-issues, poetry

Death for Sale   He sells death.  Night black pistols, brassy bullets. Rifles sardined in a car trunk.   The house is plaid curtains, their dust still.  In back, swing set chains rust without small hands. The gate squeaks.    He hides the money in the flower pots, buckets under the sink. Plastic-covered bricks of bills float in every toilet …

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register