The Fourth River

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Tributaries: “Willow Grove, Acrostic”

By on August 23, 2017

By Abigail Wang   Walls streaked in tape was how we left it on the last day. A father’s pride is Immutable, but at six, I swore I would never do the same when I had children, Letting them plaster

Tributaries: “Beaver as Fairy Drag Mother”

By on August 16, 2017

By Matty Layne Glasgow   The trees are queer magic, just look at them. Branches arch to sky like soft-wristed arms, hands twirl overhead doing the leafshutter in the evening breeze. I watch you girdle a willow on the river’s

Tributaries: “Diagnostics”

By on August 9, 2017

By Lora Rivera   Your eyes go bright, green as creosote. “This here’s a good placement. Lots of surface area. Solid rock.” Tap-tap. “Now this…” Tock-tock. “Hollow,” I mutter. Nuts, cams, anchors: Sport climbing’s one thing. This’ll be my first

Tributaries: “A Cottage”

By on August 2, 2017

By nv baker   Her house is what could be called a cottage, but that’s not a regional term, not a colloquialism. Her home is an old adobe. Old, corrugated roof casting blindness in the sun, roof tin peeling backwards

Tributaries: “Single”

By on July 28, 2017

 By Lucian Mattison   The cabin window overlooks a thicket of scrub brush, pine. Sprawled on the mattress, I’ve found something I had forgotten went missing, but this time it fails to surprise me: paper wasp embalmed in the eaves,

Tributaries: “Arkansas Anoles”

By on July 19, 2017

By Stacy Pendergrast     Before Daddy left us for New York, he told me if I could catch one of those lizards its tail would snap off. Those critters ran up and down our house all day, their true

Tributaries: “Mobius”

By on July 12, 2017

By Nat Froiland   Searing thighs stomp pedals towards radiating pavement, each pump another pressing decision. Not the reflex begun in Milwaukee’s morning rush, but a conscious twilight effort among anonymous county highways. The river races the wrong way, inviting

Tributaries: “Badgers Run”

By on July 5, 2017

By Andrea M. Jones   The three dark shapes ripple—not the fur so much as the bodies, undulating across the landscape like figments of a wave. I feel like I’m seeing the wind itself: a phenomenon usually visible only by

1,000 words (a documentary) / New Plantation Blues

By on June 30, 2017

Essay by Gina Myers, photos by Jaime Torres   Artist Statement The gradual decline of the auto-industry and other industrial factors has had a profound effect on rustbelt cities. Detroit, Pittsburgh, and to a lesser extent Flint and Gary have

Tributaries: “Morning Glory”

By on June 28, 2017

By Fay L. Loomis   first blush of warmth unfolds velvety purple face midday withered glory carpe mane seize the morning   ** Fay L. Loomis, a nemophilist (haunter of the woods, one who loves the forest, its beauty, and