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©2018 Barren Magazine. An Alt.Lit Introspective.
Ursa Minor

Ursa Minor

There is a scar on your inner thigh, that looks like a bear, and when I traipse my index finger too close, you go rowr. Always Ray, always. I walked up Lexington…

SK Grout 12/07/2018
in memory of someone who may not be dead

in memory of someone who may not be dead

for lillaree she was getting her doctorate on the last island she owns in my memory’s receding fogbank. it’s been thirteen years and i’d always figured…

alyssa hanna 12/07/2018
Apologia, America

Apologia, America

Listen: it’s raining ash. The one holding his nose tight in blueish kleenex is your dead neighbor’s only certified son,   heir to eleven thumbs and…

Todd Smith 12/07/2018
Inheritances

Inheritances

I. My paternal grandmother lived in a brick ranch, with white trim and black shutters that didn’t close, in a small Ohio town. Her house was two doors down…

Katie Karnehm-Esh 12/07/2018
Hunter

Hunter

She is serenity. A portrait fixed with a face like the Middle Pacific; cold and beckoning. As the frosted dirt cracks beneath my small feet, beneath layers of dead…

Justin Briley 12/07/2018
Barnlights

Barnlights

Those fireflies spark in the hum and burr of twilight, when our legs begin to itch from the day's rambles. Chiggers and tall grass have left their mark, a…

Amanda Crum 10/20/2018
De Consolatione ad Kamil: On Death

De Consolatione ad Kamil: On Death

I was three years old, the youngest of three, when my father passed away in Rawalpindi, Pakistan. I have no recollection of him. Any remainders are memories of memories,…

Kamil Ahsan 10/20/2018
The Red Curtain

The Red Curtain

James Madigan got out of the car and looked around. To his right he could see the imprints left where children had frolicked and carved out snow angels. The hollows…

Kevin McManus 09/19/2018
last day

last day

It’s not just that feeling of escaping something that opens up your chest, or the closure that lends rhythm to seasons of life: after spring, the long slow breath.…

Chris Wheeler 09/19/2018
Coming Home

Coming Home

Three hours and ten minutes before I can leave. Outside, it’s your favourite time of day. Those early hours that neither truly belong to night nor day when the…

Laure Van Rensburg 09/19/2018
hecate #1

hecate #1

undeath is in creation / and the degloving of hands / digging up of pale yellow talisman / kiss of moonlight through the willow branches / fade / d / undeath…

Katherine DeCoste 09/19/2018
Original Wisdom

Original Wisdom

My grandparents’ kitchen was indelibly turquoise their laminate countertops hosted black currant jam parties berries picked, cooked, poured into paraffin topped…

Lesley-Anne Evans 09/19/2018
At the 50th

At the 50th

Harvard College Reunion, Class of 1958 Adrift between symposia and seminars, a drizzle of reverie on Bow Street, aimless nostalgia graying in droplets of fog. At…

Krikor N. Der Hohannesian 09/19/2018
With Or Without You

With Or Without You

I remember the way February looks after midnight— jigsaw lines of houses, small front yards the rain crawling along the ground, turning to ice speaking blacktop…

Jeanna Paden 09/19/2018
Under the Catalpa Tree

Under the Catalpa Tree

I see it there knowing full well its cycled presence through daily passing. The wide green expanse a guardian canopy. And think, I’d like to lie out under…

Susan Mulder 09/19/2018
The Small River in the Gutter

The Small River in the Gutter

There is this small river shaped like a gutter near my childhood home. It runs along a centenarian railroad, made of dry wood (with funny knots in it). Walking…

Alexandre Ferrere 09/19/2018
Village Road

Village Road

Here, a village road, darkly quiet, winds under sunset’s opal sky, wisps tinged turquoise green, rose, tint the low horizon. Here, a country lake, old…

Joyce Wheatley 09/19/2018
Remember That You Are Dust

Remember That You Are Dust

I crawl into your photograph, inch open the cupboard behind your shoulder, pull out a chipped glass kept for summer root beer. I hate your diet kind. Tastes like…

Cyndie Randall 08/15/2018
Remembrance

Remembrance

Loneliness has found me In the stillness of the night I reach to touch your hand... But your heart has taken flight. This lonely place was once a home So…

Antony King 08/15/2018