Continue reading “Interview with Nicole Oquendo”
Ariana D. Den Bleyker interviewed Nicole Oquendo about creative writing, visual poetry, and “They Does Not Fit Like A Thundershirt Should“, a poem published on Likely Red in December.
Continue reading “The Coracoid Process by Robert Sachs”
“Benny, who wouldn’t turn twenty-two for another six weeks, had been throwing hard for two innings and the pain in his right shoulder was scaling up. He was sweating, lightheaded.”
Continue reading “An Unwilling Goodbye by Sam Morgan”
“I looked to the door hoping you’ll pass each other, so that I can share that story with you about how some people really just don’t care what others see, even if they’re not meant to see it. How they’re too focused on something else to care.”
Continue reading “Sandcastle By HW Walker”
“‘I think I’ll go walk the shore,’ my grandfather said.”
Continue reading “Crossing by Kindra McDonald”
“You stole the canoe, I sank in the water, took a breath and swam. With every inhalation I saw you paddling beside me across that long, silent lake to the hot springs a mile away.”
Continue reading “Everyone Says They Saw The Signs by Marissa Glover”
“Some boys absorb their father’s punches—release them in sports or turn them into song. Some store the hits in a bruised body, saving them like pennies in a piggy bank, waiting to cash in when the market’s strong.”
Continue reading “They Does Not Fit Like A Thundershirt Should by Nicole Oquendo”
“I have slipped in and out of pronouns as if this body was a fitting room. The lighting isn’t right here, and each curve of my body is a segment that, deep down, I’d like to carve out, but she is all I’m left with—”
This year, the editors of Likely Red Press are proud to announce the following for our 2018 Pushcart Prize nominations.
Aunt Judy Bath by Iva Moore
Dionysus Promised To Let You Have Another Glass by Chloe N. Clark
No Reason To Waste Good Meat by Allie Marini
23andMe by Alan Toltzis
Eulogy For A Bird by Cheyenne McIntosh
On First Devising Paper by Tamsin Blaxter
We also thank all of our lovely contributors this year.
she melted from the thinnest boundaries of her place in the moment—three-thirty on a Wednesday in the year two-thousand-something-something– her stillness itself a sun dial with a long shadow that moves through time without knowing
what it means.