Our Latest Finds

A Lopsided G-d

A Lopsided G-d

Another text, he wrote; tossed it off his tongue addressing “Negroes of the State of New York.”
The Hijacking

The Hijacking

In 1961, under the régime of António Salazar, how much meaning do the actions of one young revolutionary have?
Whistlelo

Whistlelo

Freedom?! I live in a lawyer’s clamped attic with Minnie and Cudjoe who ain’t free.
Visions

Visions

White peacock with tail of cloud and flame sweeps before us through blue wilderness.
Fourcast

Fourcast

If the weather looks bad, you should never use four-letter words.
Bird Men

Bird Men

He sits under the nightingale tree waiting to catch those notes which are heavy enough to fall.
The Cartographer of Dreamland

The Cartographer of Dreamland

Even in a bleak Brooklyn childhood, adventure and salvation lie just a vacant lot away.
River Salt

River Salt

The river running through my mouth bypassed my heart, the tongue dried up.
The Leaf Blower

The Leaf Blower

Gusts crept from under the peeling, lower edges of Earth’s wallpaper, crawling out as potpourri of debris.
The Night of the Train

The Night of the Train

To some, a train might signify adventure, or romance, or industry. What does it mean to a soldier fresh from Vietnam?
Mobile

Mobile

Swilling coffee on the roof of a Motel 6, sleepy, thinking of ham and biscuits and another cup.
Animal Mother

Animal Mother

You love and give, and want it all, expecting nothing in return. Your kind’s love is as full of the angels’ as ours lacks of kindness.
Sam and Joe

Sam and Joe

A dog is man’s best friend—until a little girl happens along who needs a best friend more.
The Dead Aren’t Quaint

The Dead Aren’t Quaint

I gathered a bottle of roses and wore a rayon red dress and sat in the oldest cemetery I could find.
If It Were Not So

If It Were Not So

As kids, we jumped on grandpa’s sinkhole, plywood-lined, dandruff-sporing bed and wore his chamber pot as a hat.
For Rachel—

For Rachel—

For Rachel Wetzsteon, a poet who left the week I said good-bye to Manhattan, committing suicide just as I drove off.
Chilindrinas

Chilindrinas

Down the hill I ran, rushed not by gravity’s trail, but the scent of kilned yeast and lard cutting clean through wet dirt air.
A Normal Life

A Normal Life

In a city as vast and changing as New York, can you ever recapture the past? Can you ever get away from it?
Du Monde

Du Monde

“Who won?” Mom texted. Mexico was playing Brazil in the World Cup’s last of 16. I didn’t have the heart to reply.
Like Writing a Bicycle

Like Writing a Bicycle

Writing is a lot like riding a bicycle. Not because it’s so easy to get back up on.
Genrealities: Five Honest-to-Goodness True Stories of Everyday Humiliations

Genrealities: Five Honest-to-Goodness True Stories of Everyday Humiliations

The literary world loves it some genre trappings. But listen up, kids. Things were not always thus.
Bric-a-Brac

Bric-a-Brac

Outside, the barber pole, a swirl of symbolic spirals, and walk upstairs, touching, as you go, the espagnolette.
Gentleness

Gentleness

Before the dawn starts stirring far away, unravelling young clouds and lilac-gold, I will sit with you awhile.
The Last Stroke

The Last Stroke

They say no work of art is ever finished, only abandoned. But that’s not always the whole truth.
Poultry Shears

Poultry Shears

Metal handles, large, the scissor for a thigh or a wing, when feathers flew up, sank like wishes, settled on the dirty floors.
Bishop Trees

Bishop Trees

She wants to ask the trees some questions, a solemn synod grown anciently deaf.
Bird Brain

Bird Brain

When I was a boy I swallowed a bird. Its black and yellow feathers poked out from my lips like a toy.
The Everything-Goes Garage Sale of My Love

The Everything-Goes Garage Sale of My Love

Someone left the guitar out in the rain, and I don’t think I can take it.
Semilunar

Semilunar

In the autumn, we fling open the windows and commune with the stars from your bedside.
July 1964

July 1964

She holds a flower, listening only to the small petals. They’ve all come outside to see the purple.
Ten Cents

Ten Cents

Once I saw a man, whose brother had been murdered, sidearm a coin into a fountain.
Transcendence

Transcendence

No difference between night and day when during sleep the world changes. You repeatedly pull yourself out and the crowd pushes you.
Twilight of the Dogs

Twilight of the Dogs

This is the way the world ends, not with a whimper but a growl.
The Northern Lights

The Northern Lights

I never took your last breath; you never saw my first. So when I was young I invented fathers to take your place.
Centerpiece

Centerpiece

The women sit before a turkey, baked for hours, always counting the minutes, tapping feet to a tune.
The Spirit of the Horse

The Spirit of the Horse

There are deep impressions in the grass, tracks from your truck and muddied sod from the vet who “put him down.”
My House

My House

Let me give you my address so that if you are in the neighborhood you can drive by, see if they’ve repainted.
Meeting Mandy

Meeting Mandy

The longer a meeting gets put off, the more daunting it becomes. Try waiting four years.
From Our Point of View We Had Moved to the Left

From Our Point of View We Had Moved to the Left

From 1993 comes this prescient political fable of an alternate American future eerily like our own.
Piltdown Cometh

Piltdown Cometh

The Piltdown Review is a journal of remarkable finds. Join us for the unveiling on May 23rd, and find out how to make yourself part of our inaugural weeks.

Upcoming

  • Lloyd’s Neck/Slink
    a poem by David Mills
  • Dark Eyes
    a story by Seth Freeman
  • Kids on Division Street
    an essay by Sarah Riccio
  • Home Like a Shadow
    a story by Linda Boroff
  • Guided by Voices
    a story by David Rothman
Track your submissions at Duotrope