Edge of nowhere

creative non-fiction

by Alexander Martin

Escalante is the kind of town you pass by on your way to a greater destination. It does not have reliable cell service and it does not cater to those who want a mani-pedi or mai-tai by the hotel pool. If being pampered is your thing, keep on driving. . . .

Frackville, pa

creative non-fiction

 by Colleen Halupa

1. da crick: in proper English, known as a creek;

2. cumpnee: company; people coming over the house so both you and the house better be clean

Usage:

Don’t youze guys go play near the coal hole or da crick, we’re having cumpnee!” . . .

insomnia; a midnight fresco

creative non-fiction

by Bobby Caldwell

In the middle of the night, the third shift CO stuffs tomorrow through the bars of my cell.

A single sheet of paper.

I almost remember hearing it brush against the bars last night. But that was hours ago, when I was still successfully engaged in the act of sleep. . . .

Lethal weapon

creative non-fiction

by Kyle Tam

I’m eleven years old, bordering twelve, standing in the blistering Queensland sun and feeling the sweat rolling down my back. It’s midday and I should be having fun with my family, eating cotton candy, and riding the wet rides. I’m not. My sister’s cranky because it’s hot as sin, my parents are annoyed because they’re not fond of theme parks, and the rest of the extended family meanders in and out of the circle of safe distance we’ve established so none of us wanders off. . . .

the end of the world as seen from southwest virginia

creative non-fiction

by Matt Starr

I’m holed up in this Little Mountain Town an hour from both Kentucky and Tennessee, a place that God forgot (even though there are more churches here than anything else), while my girlfriend pursues career prospects in Biotech. The entire area, for all its small southern charm and natural beauty, is like something out of an Appalachian noir: It is haunted by the ghost of coal, lodged in the throat of the opioid epidemic, leaving just enough space to breathe. . . .

a handful of hearts

creative non-fiction

by Kat Zahner

Texts after midnight are difficult to decipher; a confusing cocktail of mixed meaning, shaking and stirring up feelings, like a bartender making drinks for a bachelorette party.

Hey I’m gonna be in Bozeman tomorrow are you free at all? . . .

by Vineetha Mokkil

Debbie’s cup sat on the counter untouched. Henry had tip-toed out of the bedroom in the milky gray light so he wouldn’t wake her. Put the kettle on and warmed her precious blue tea pot, leaning too close to the radiator to warm his bones. He liked his tea scalding hot; she let it sit around for too long. Some days this bothered him. She’d smile and flit past him like a cloud. . . .

at the dark

fiction

by William Burtch

He lived with his widowed mother until she met that coal truck on a two-lane highway that needed three. Never wed. The house loomed above a lush central Pennsylvania cow pasture. Chipped leaded paint, once white, and cancerous wood rot. Native steps of stone consumed by insatiable grasses and weeds. . . .

a selection of poetry

poetry

A selection of poetry by some of SVJ’s finest poets: John Grey, Ace Boggess, Sharon Pretti, Jack Chielli, and Mary Jo LoBello Jerome.