How long is a piece of string when all we’ve got is scissors? (poetry)

The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books. there are trees. A tall one that has shed all its leaves, has its roots in my heart. One, still bright with red and orang…

How long is a piece of string when all we’ve got is scissors? (poetry)

Another Chicago Magazine is currently seeking volunteer Readers to join its Fiction team.

Smoke Drifts contains both free verse and poems that follow a formal architecture, including several of Anjuman’s ghazals, a centuries-old tradition that Uzbek writer Hamid Ismailov describes as “a…

Another Chicago Magazine is currently seeking volunteer Readers to join its Fiction team.

Another Chicago Magazine is currently seeking volunteer Readers to join its Poetry team.

Another Chicago Magazine is currently seeking volunteer Readers to join its Fiction team.

If we look more closely, we see the doll’s skin marked by chips in the paint—traces of violence that our girl has survived—her searing blue eyes defiantly looking toward the sky, or at least something higher than where she is now.  (reviews)

We’re open now for fiction, nonfiction, art, translations, poetry reviews, prose reviews, and voices from Palestine and Ukraine. Send work to us on Submittable. Follow us on Instagram and Fac…

At 4 a.m. I am awakened by a vision of the river goddess. I am told without words that she saved baachan from drowning. After the funeral of my great-baachan. After a mokugyo drum was broken throug…

Danielle Steele’s Going Home, Alice Munro’s Dear Life. Richard Bach’s Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Ali flips open a moldy Farsi translation of The Three Musketeers, his eyes landing on “All falseho…

the opening of a cut grape the butterfly if it were to lightly rest upon the extremity of the grape and pretend to drink if it wasn’t drinking what was to be done then? I would have to improve how …

The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books: After descending into the basement, you act as if you never went, as if you have no idea what the basement really is or w…

When my father measured women in percentages, I learned to chart myself like livestock—head, pelvis, torso. Yet the red horse leaned his warmth into me, the chickadees sang, and the body refused to…

The poems in Naming the Rose draw from vulnerable, autobiographical elements mixed with the obliviousness of those around the speaker. The two-sectioned poem “The Light of Day” contrasts loving mem…

The poems in Naming the Rose draw from vulnerable, autobiographical elements mixed with the obliviousness of those around the speaker. The two-sectioned poem “The Light of Day” contrasts loving mem…

The holes breathed damp breath that wasn’t quite alive but wasn’t dead either. It takes little to make beauty out of wreckage, wreckage out of beauty. Winter sun gleams in the spray, constellates i…

The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books: He had written DECEASED next to my mother’s name on his return. That threw the whole system off, sending his return into …

This collection of poems explores the fracture of a marriage after a secret is revealed—a husband’s closeted homosexuality, at odds with his religious upbringing and the life he has built. Set agai…

I am sorry to say this, but what if You made a mistake? What if You took the wrong kid? I heard You took two more kids today from Askar’s middle school. Are the soldiers working for you? (Palestini…

The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books: I walk across the highway to the other side, lean over the same crumbling concrete guardrail and look down into the stagn…

The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books: Every night I read My country’s history of profit wrung from working people and before dawn I burn my shoes

Discovering Tarkovsky upended my attempt to build a coherent, if radically reduced, worldview post-Iraq. Ten years after leaving the military I found myself replaying certain scenes from his Solari…

“What do you know of killing a child?” Medea shouted, her voice trembling with the hereafter. The woman bowed her head, circling endlessly over rocky ground, stacking stones, whispering absence and…

The film is a collection of footage accumulated from days walking around Chicago and noticing the different movements, colors, and forms of the city. It attempts to embody a dissociated state of mi…

Can violence be made into beauty? Can beauty be used to dignify the stain of violence? Sloan seems to suggest so, perhaps, by conceiving of Ophelia’s body as part of nature—indistinguishable from i…

Part of a series of Native poetry collected by Mark Turcotte. My ancestors want you to know they see it coming. They feel the Earth shaking from the trauma Colonization has inflicted on her. They s…

This week, ACM is posting poetry every weekday. wait, things improve, around every corner is a prize. Let’s go back to that track and crush pine needles with our heels. Crush our watches too. (poet…

This week, ACM is posting poetry every weekday. we’d just torn out not the eyes but the reflection in the eyes while culture hanging on the media’s fangs was dying there no more tongue-in-cheek now…

This week, ACM is posting poetry every weekday. See? I’ve been frank, while the TV keeps beaming images–you yelling at the cop dragging you away: Don’t take me away yet; but the cops keep man…

Duties: Work with other editors to determine direction of magazine both long term as well as weekly as well as help manage staff of volunteers, contribute to grant writing as needed, make bookfair arr...

This week, ACM is posting poetry every weekday. And they continued with more world history examples where a victim lived happily ever after next to her executioner, having forgiven and forgotten. (…

This week, ACM is posting poetry every weekday. I’d tell you to be careful, that everything here is lousy with history, from the first megafaunal extinctions to those buffalo carcasses rotting in h…

I’ve started thinking the worst of people. I wasn’t always like this. Can I keep doing this job? Why did I take the first one I found? Cause Mom just died and I couldn’t think straight? And minimum…

The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books: After descending into the basement, you act as if you never went, as if you have no idea what the basement really is or w…

Shiki wrote haiku—tens of thousands of haiku—elevating himself to the immortal ranks of Bashō, Issa, and his personal hero, Buson. However, Shiki did not want to go back to the past and its masters…

Kateri Menominee is the ninth and final Native voice we are publishing in our series collected by Mark Turcotte. You watch your aunt unbutton a rabbit carcass and you feel the vocal folds of your d…

“So, I’m not saying one’s better than the other, but maybe because [Iraq] had so many wars, they put people first. In our culture, we put profit first. Our whole geopolitical conduct has now …

The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books: After descending into the basement, you act as if you never went, as if you have no idea what the basement really is or w…

We’re open now for art, translations, poetry reviews, prose reviews, and voices from Palestine and Ukraine. Send work to us on Submittable. Follow us on Instagram and Facebook to find out whe…

The book, at its core, follows the speaker’s daily journeys along a rugged mountain road over the course of a year, with the gravel thoroughfare and its environs serving much the way Thoreau’s Wald…

You hang out on top of the three ancient towels you’ve layered on your couch and know you’ve done the automated surveys, and they improve nothing. You and your doctor have pushed pre-authorization …

Part of a series of Native poetry collected by Mark Turcotte. Springtime is for the seeds and letting light into the home our spirits live in. We prep the soil for the ones who sleep there. Summer …

She poignantly asks, “In such a teeming ocean of words how could I know there was anything else to swim in?”  (reviews)

This week, ACM is posting poetry every weekday. even baby’s breath is weary and stale in their nostrils falls the hail the country’s black men sent to jail (poetry)

This week, ACM is posting poetry every weekday. You are forced to think very formally, very philosophically, Someday a siren will come for you, and you hold your breath, rub your eyes, roll  with a…

This week, ACM is posting poetry every weekday. One guy said I looked like Queen Elizabeth in it, so I wore it everywhere, led entrances with hip swishes and a smirk,  blasted “Flagpole Sitta” in m…