The Fourth River

Viewing: 2016

Tributaries: “Nuchal Origami”

By on December 28, 2016

BY KERI WITHINGTON   If I could untangle umbilical cord, measure calcification, label isosceles, scalene, acute, copy your construction, its strict geometry I could find comfort at your steel altar meditate to the wasp buzz of power; electricity thrums from

Tributaries: “A Woman Escapes Herself in the Redwood Forest”

By on December 21, 2016

BY KAT LEWIS When her boot slips from rock into mud, the silence is broken. The distant careening of creek over stone, bellow of a bird somewhere close to the constant buzz of tiny insects near the ear, but not.

Book Review: Hick Poetics: An Anthology of Contemporary Rural American Poetry, Edited by Shelly Taylor and Abraham Smith

By on December 15, 2016

By Abby Minor   Will the Real Folks Please Stand Up?: Rebellion, Authenticity, and Identity in Hick Poetics   I was raised by a man who had opinions about the word “creek.” My father never missed an opportunity to remind

Tributaries: “Geography of a Steel City”

By on December 14, 2016

By Allison Brooks   Here I am the proverbial stranger: My foolish mouth, my pig-shit mind, drops verbs of being sweeps them up from this slippy floor. I was forged stupid, then, by lunch pails and Catechism. Mid-west, where thunderstorms

Tributaries: “Learning to Drive”

By on December 7, 2016

BY DENTON LOVING Sunday afternoons after church, after miles of my pleading, my dad pulled off blacktop, onto the gravel lane leading home. My Dad and I, at the mouth of the hollow, played Chinese fire drill, Mother relegated already

Tributaries: “Naming the Lake”

By on November 30, 2016

By Sarah Ann Winn   One of five reservoirs. Not a lake, but my lake, Hower Lake. Islanded, my land grown by dredging, then, once the depths were scoured, raising water levels, lowering. Shores once submerged, emerged, every year differently

Tributaries: “a dim morning to wake”

By on November 23, 2016

By Austin Anderson     snow along the top of fences breaking sun on cinder blocks at dawn there is no ponderosa no tamarack stone molded cement walls & patio three stem wild rose dead & hanging on bamboo pole

Essay: “Wisdom: A Bird,” By Kim Steutermann Rogers

By on November 18, 2016

from The Fourth River, issue 13       The oldest known wild bird in the world, an albatross, is 64 and right about now—late November—she’s probably gliding over a mutable line in the North Pacific, a transition zone where cold water

Tributaries: “Grey”

By on November 16, 2016

By Juleigh Howard-Hobson   Clouds, thick with black middles and grey edges That spread out to almost white where the sun Tries to break through…but can’t, of course. No wedges Of light may push their way through. It’s not done

Essay: “The Man Who Hated Us And Then Forgot,” by Karen E. Bender

By on November 13, 2016

 This essay also appears in The Fourth River Issue O.3 as part of the Melanie Brown Tribute     When we moved into our house, our neighbor, who lived beside us, brought us a pie. It was a kind gesture.