Author: skipjackreview
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Announcing Our Nominations for The Pushcart Prize
Hello, Dear Chum, Thanks for stopping by! It’s good to see you. It’s been a busy year—but the year isn’t over yet! We’re roughly a month away from the release of Issue 4, a whopping triple-issue print anthology featuring the best of the year, the winner of our annual Dead Herring Prize, and a whole…
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That Which
Dear Writer, Today I am reminded why we write and that the how of it is irrelevant when it comes to doing the deed. Sure, there are a great many qualities effective works do and do not possess (most of which we all tend to agree on), but it’s worth remembering first and foremost that…
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“Lofgeornost” by Eric Fisher Stone
Beowulf’s last word means most eager for glory,though the gulf coast toad seeks anonymityand crickets juicy as mangos. Wartedlike some goblin dumpling, your soft stone sits in moss-slick ditches, your eyelidshelming black mirrors to marsh grasswhere Grendel might burble upfrom salted Texas jetties. Teach us your humility, jumping plum, rubbingbetween streams without seeking powerbeyond the…
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“The Sky is Falling” by Morganne Howell
2006 “What are you worried about?” my mother asks me across the patio table. She looks at my father for reassurance, who studies his stein. Charred fragments of the forest float down from the overcast sky and land in the crisp foam of his beer. He picks them out with a finger and wipes his…
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Best of the Net Nominations
It’s that time of year, friends! No, I don’t mean fall. I don’t mean Halloween. Certainly not Christmas! Best of the Net nominations! Unfortunately, Issue 1.3 came out a little later than expected and falls outside the window of consideration, but work featured in our first two issues were fair game! Without further ado, here…
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“November Garden” by Ronald Geigle
The poet in the November gardenseeks words that rhyme with spring. Lumps of marigold,browns of spent peony underfoot. On the poet’s tongue, rebirth.On the garden’s veil, a hint of tomorrow’s frost. The garden folds its arms inward.Wishes the poet to take his blooming hope elsewhere. Ronald Geigle is a writer and poet living in Arlington, Virginia. His work has been…
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“Sinking Feeling” by Alice Lowe
In an Ursula LeGuin story written in the seventies and set in an unspecified future time, Manhattan is under eleven feet of water at low tide, and oyster beds occupy San Francisco’s Ghirardelli Square. That’s fiction, but it’s a fact that New York City is sinking under its own weight. Relentless construction—the city’s million-plus-and-ever-increasing buildings…
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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,…
