No matter how I might define myself, Trump people are my people. And they are Jean-Paul’s.
A poem from the Spring 2017 issue.
the raven said, when I stepped out, first light.
But it was not a raven. I am lying.
A poem from the Spring 2017 issue.
eighty-nine and brilliant, stubborn, brave.
A poem from the Spring 2017 issue.
that hid me, thrummed knuckle-red,
a belting out—ribs, wrist, my gone warble
knocked soundless, torched wails uprooting:
What a song to be bosomed with.
A poem from the Spring 2017 issue.
boys shouting curses and most of them drunk.
I remember the wind in the barley stubble.
I remember the man they dragged from the trunk.
An installment in Chris Offutt’s Omnivore column, Cooking with Chris.
Conventional thought says that if you want to learn about a foreign culture, you should eat their food, but that’s like saying you could learn about police work by watching Blue Bloods. If you come to my house and dine on an Appalachian delicacy such as squirrel brains, possum stew, or dandelions, you will never know what it’s like to grow up isolated in the woods. To pretend otherwise is a fantasy.
We celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary year by doing what we’ve always done: publish the groundbreaking fiction—three excerpts from Jesmyn Ward’s National Book Award–winning novel, Sing, Unburied, Sing—essays, nonfiction, and poetry our readers have come to expect. Revisit or catch up on these highlights from 2017.
