Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Short fiction by Christopher James, illustrated work by Kelcey Parker Ervick, and a poem by Julia Kolchinsky Dasbach

~
Through the phone I heard him whispering something to someone, then climbing down from something, then pulling on some pants, then plodding along, opening a door, stepping out, and closing the door behind him.  I heard him lighting a cigarette, heard him taking the time to enjoy the first puff before he put the phone back to his ear.
          "I'm here," he said.
--From "Canada," a short story by Christopher James, Wigleaf (August 25, 2016). 

My mom killed herself, I told him.  He said that he was sorry, for me, personally, but at the same time he thought my mom had done a good thing.  The world was overpopulated. Somebody had to take a lead on this, or we'd all be in deep shiatsu.  He was sorry for me personally, he said again, but definitely, on an abstract level, what my mom had done was making a difference in a grander scheme of, you know, what needed doing.
--From "Almost," a short story by Christopher James, Wigleaf (March 10, 2013). 

This is the fish my husband bought in the final year of our marriage. 
--From "The Fish," a comic (or an illustrated short story in the vein of a graphic novel) by Kelcey Parker Ervick, Nashville Review (July 28, 2017).

It goes something like, there once was an alcoholic, because
it always starts with drinking, and his wife, because every husband

must come with one . . . 
--From "Jokes Don't Translate Well from Russian," a poem by Julia Kolchinsky Dasbach, Sixth Finch (Summer 2017). 

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