Author: skipjackreview
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“Woodstove” by Nicole Chvatal Poem
The methodology for his laundrystill makes me laugh and cringe and laugh againthat I am no longer faced with the moundsof heavy denim, wool river driverswith seed-sized burn holes and necklines fraying,air-drying from every door jamb like longbeans on the vine, even during summerthe fire going. First I ate it uplike caterpillar, what are these…
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Jon Zawislak: An Interview with the assistant professor of Apiculture and Urban Entomology
FEATURED IN SKIPJACK REVIEW, ISSUE #2 For this special, Bugs-themed issue of Skipjack Review, we set out on a quest to have a heart to heart with an Ozarks entomology expert. But where to start? We’re happy to report that there are a surprisingly many incredible humans up to some fascinating and niche studies and…
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“Late September” by Paulette Guerin
The last cicada is sputtering out.Probably a male calling for a mateas autumn moves in. The buzz starts and stopsand pushes forward like an old crank car.This year, no tidal wave of cicada songas in the summers of my childhood.This year, no water and only suburb grass.The dragonflies have died and the mosquitoes with them.Then…
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“Why We Pray” by Will Falk
We should have known – whenpollution turned the sun purpleand even the honest horizonshazed over – that we were trappedbetween the two halves ofthe last summer solstice.“Half day, half night,part Earth, part sky”was an eerie rhymechanted by passing timeas it dragged us alongto neither cold darknor scorching light,but blank, hatefulindifferent gray.But those moments thatalways flee…
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“Passing Whimsy” by Angela Townsend
Mullet has passed. Mullet was the color of a circus peanut and too shy to enjoy being enjoyed. Mullet’s heart misfired. Mullet’s death made eighteen people cry. Mullet’s name was a housewarming gift from the whimsy people. Animal shelter staff gnaw comedy like a protein bar. They name cats for ill-advised haircuts. They blow cool,…
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#amwriting #reachingintothevoid
I’m going to let you in on a little secret: Most of the time, good writing is a total accident. Don’t get me wrong, if you show up and put in the work, no matter what you’re working toward, good things are going to happen. And, yes, as George Saunders suggests, the more we write…
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Ope Here!
Ope here, Holy mackerel! Make it stop! By all means, don’t stop sending submissions, but, please, no more bugs! We’ve got bugs coming out of our ears. Big bugs. Little bugs. Burrowing bugs. Flying bugs. Stinging bugs. Singing bugs… But more on that soon! We’re now reading for Issue 3 (no theme) and will soon…
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Call for Submissions: Ozarks Rivers and Lakes Essays
The only thing richer than the history and folklore of the Ozarks is the soil beneath its people’s feet. The region’s lush splendor is with special thanks to its many rivers and lakes, wonders of nature which make this little corner of the world an attractive and one-of-a-kind place to call home for all walks…
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“Generation Facilitator” by Cristine Emerson
Sterile, she rides the airheavy with ingredientsfor new generationsof cotton and serviceberry,stamens and pistilsunable to touchwithout caresses ofa third party,and drunk, finds warmpillows inside purple petals. CJ Emerson is an writer and artist who enjoys all the magic and weirdness the natural world and human experience has to offer.
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“The Japanese Beetle War” by Karen W. Burton
Japanese beetles hummed about my head, their iridescent thoraxes reflecting the summer sun. I closed my eyes and decided they were humming in the key of C sharp. I stood in their chorus and the sweltering heat while I considered my problem from different perspectives: Poetically: Rainbows were feasting on my blossoms Scientifically: popillia japonica…
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Announcing the Winner of The Dead Herring Prize
In the land of the Lotus Eaters, it’s easy to lose sight of what’s important to us because we spend so much of our lives in support of responsibilities which, let’s be honest, are nothing more than means to an end: money. In pursuit of the almighty Dollar, we become impatient, irritable, anxious, despondent, and…
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“Generational wealth” – Sarah B. Cahalan
Someone’s doing archaeology in the sand againdigging up old saltworks, a meeting house,taverns with motels on top.With little brushes, they reveal the bonesof stranded pilot whales:The stench must have hung for months,the things-that-feast-on-whales rejoicing,raccoons and gulls and clouds of flies,stockpiling fat for later. The swarms of people who’ve made claimto lands that wash awayare biomass…
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“Dear Bruce Springsteen,” by Lee Busby
Remember that time you came overand ate all of the corn and tomatoeswe had set out for dinnerbefore we could even offerit to you, and, smiling at me,one golden kernel stuck overan incisor, you said it wasn’t hardto be a rock star, but it makes youhungry all the time, and the little gardenyou keep on…
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Announcing Our Pushcart Prize Nominations
Ope here, Get in here! Come on in, you’ll catch a cold! Close the door behind you. Have a sit! Take a seat. Gosh, it’s been a while, huh? We have a lot of catchin’ up to do, you and me. A lot’s been happenin’ at Skipjack camp. Have you seen Issue 1? Darn purdy,…
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“Ode on a Trilobite” – Paulette Guerin
Antennae curving like scythes,they once moved like excited pupswaiting for their owner to arrive.This Cambrian creaturepatrolled the darkest seas,growing up to six feet long.But this one fits in my hand.Mid-curl, forever in chase,its eyeless carbon ghost lives on.Oh, ancestor of today’s cockroach,once the height of the food chain,teach me about impermanence! Paulette Guerin lives in…
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Laura McHugh: An Interview with the author of “What’s Done in Darkness”
Anybody who’s ever called the Ozarks home shares a particular heritage with the land itself in a way that is unique from the rest of the world. Almost a stereotype, we Ozarkians grew up catching lightning bugs, climbing trees, and tearing through the hills barefoot. We are born of honeysuckle and dogwood and baptized in…
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“Timelines” – Jared Phillips
When I was young, my family was completing the great American pastime of leaving the farm for the city’s brighter lights. My uncle’s new land, outside the swelling cities of northwest Arkansas, had a dilapidated barn reminiscent of the one on the old home place. Decades of neglect had left it worn and failing, but…
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#amwriting #exorcisms
It occurred to me during a recent bout of creative drought that I’m most involved and even prolific when I’m writing about things that are difficult to talk about or for which I lack the right audience. Morbid as it may be, the more whatever I’m working on seems capable of making somebody else squirm…
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The Pouting Trout Life Jacket
Good morning and good day, you pretty, shining fishes and creatures. Behold: the sun rises with healing in its wings. Breathe deep and ascend! Meet these promises of chance—yours, now. Do you see? Horace Formerly the Tortoise asks: Greetings, Pouting Trout. Do you have time for a fish story? Most fishes don’t believe me when…
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#amwriting
When you don’t know what to write, write. Right? Well—that’s kind of like somebody saying, “Cheer up,” when you’re down in the dumps. Down there, usually we’re not asking for help. Writing can be like that. We understand intellectually that we should just cheer up (or just write), it’s what we want, in fact. Or…
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Ope Here: A Call for Submissions!
Ope Here, Much as we’ll miss summer and the flood of excellent submissions we keep receivin’, here at the Skipjack camp, we’re now closed to submissions for Issue I. We’re movin’ on! Change is in the air! We’re excited for fall. The dog days of summer are dwindling down to a soft whine and autumn…
the water and the gills 