Poetry by Bri Gearhart Staton and Andrea Cohen, flash fiction by Gary Fincke, and graphic novels by Emma Hunsinger and Edgar Camacho

~
Some Saturdays, I'd wake up smokey
and alone
with my coat and my shoes
still on.
—From "Portrait of a Hungover Woman Eating a Tomato Sandwich," a poem by Bri Gearhart Staton, the first-place winner of the Ps & Qs Audio Poem Contest. I was really impressed with the quality of these submissions. Text and audio versions of this and other winning poems are available on the website for Quibble Lit.

What was the name of that bar was it really the Sugar Club is it still here who were we running in from the cold —From "Sugar," a poem by Andrea Cohen, The New Yorker (September 2, 2024), pp. 28-29. 

Jason's mother opens the door to his room to tell him she has a new boyfriend. He is staying overnight now and Jason should know. "Roy doesn't want to scare you or anything if you run into each other in the morning."
—From "Messes," one of two pieces of flash fiction by Gary Fincke, New World Writing Quarterly (January 12, 2026). The second story is "Places." 

You two excited for school to start?
Oh yeah, I really missed saying the Pledge of Allegiance.
—From How It All Ends, a graphic novel by Emma Hunsinger (Greenwillow Books, 2024). Emma Hunsinger wrote and illustrated "How to Draw a Horse," a graphic story that appeared in The New Yorker in 2019. I really liked it and have recommended it to numerous people. This graphic novel, How It All Ends, is in a similar vein. It's actually juvenile fiction, which I didn't realize until I was partway through it, but that's just FYI. It is a story about getting older and is appropriate for any age from middle school on. 

These chilaquiles are really good. Are you sure you don't want some?
—From Onion Skin, a graphic novel by Edgar Camacho (Top Shelf Productions, 2021). Originally published in Mexico as Piel de cebolla by Fondo Editorial Tierra Adentro and Instituto Queretano de la Cultura y Artes. The art is the best part of this one. 

Two poems and two short stories

~
John Locke says children don't understand elapsed time, 
and when I was a girl it was true
and it remains true--
--From "Essay on 'An Essay Concerning Human Understanding,'" a poem by Catherine Barnett, The New Yorker (March 19, 2018), pp. 52-53.

Our house, the very clever work of a local architect, consists of five shipping containers raised several feet above the ground.  Half of one container functions as a garden office and the other half functions as a covered footbridge over the stream that runs through our land; previously, you had to negotiate a pair of old planks. 
--From "The Poltroon Husband," a short story by Joseph O'Neill, The New Yorker (March 12, 2018), pp. 66-70.

The Arabs used to say, 
When a stranger appears at your door, 
feed him for three days 
before asking who he is, . . . 
--From "Red Brocade," a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye, from her collection 19 Varieties of Gazelle (Greenwillow Books, 2002) and reprinted by the Academy of American Poets. 

He tossed the unfinished coffee into the trash.  As he was on his way back to Spice Grill, a Mercedes pulled quickly alongside him, making a wide, sweeping turn into one of Mr. Raj's private parking spots.  The Mercedes came to a short stop, and Boss Bhatti, a Spice Grill regular and Raj's business partner, stepped out in a suit and tie.  Boss Bhatti called Vikram over to the car.  He needed help carrying crates of mangoes into the restaurant.  Vikram reached inside the Mercedes and grabbed a stack.  
--From "Guerrilla Marketing," a short story by Sanjay Agnihotri, One Story, Issue 236 (December 28, 2017).