The Fourth River

Tributaries, The New Nature: “Dear Carole, you would like it here”

By on August 29, 2018

By Sarah A. Chavez   in this room; behind the computer, is a wall of windows. It is on the second story and rarely does anyone look in, though I am always looking out. The view is so different than

Tributaries, The New Nature: “Breadcrumbs”

By on July 12, 2018

By Chelsea Catherine   I wake up to a vision of her sitting on the floor of my bedroom, her back pressed to the door. Her hair curls around her ears, the color of sunlight. She sits with her knees

Tributaries, The New Nature: “Screen Memory 3: Who Do You Wanna Live With?”

By on June 6, 2018

By Allen M. Price   We are standing in the back hall of our house on Toledo Avenue, me, my mother, and my father; my dog, Lady is asleep underneath of the table in the kitchen adjacent to us. There

Tributaries, The New Nature: “Pigeonblood”

By on April 4, 2018

By Shaun Turner   Bette wrung the white cotton tees out into her big iron wash bucket then pinned them to the line with a set of rusty clothespins as she watched the bloody pigeon land hard at one of

Tributaries, The New Nature: “Bus Stop”

By on March 28, 2018

By Donna Miscolta   It’s eight a.m. and I’m at the bus stop in my mostly white neighborhood in my mostly white city. I’m reading a book by a Latino novelist as I wait for the Rapid Ride that will

Tributaries, The New Nature: “TAGUS”

By on March 21, 2018

By Jack Westmore   the preparation, it makes its way in from the lemon if you head to the hills, it lives up here, among smell of salt and ocean-rind, behind the slow cure of afternoon & i, not knowing

Tributaries, The New Nature: “Freeze and Thaw”

By on March 14, 2018

By Emily Withnall   I met her in early January on a sidewalk in Missoula, Montana. It was only nine but it felt past midnight, the dark and cold thrumming along my skin, the stars dagger points suspended in the

Tributaries, The New Nature: “Another Morning”

By on March 7, 2018

By Soo Young Yun   The kkachi [1] watches the girl, admiring her ebony tresses as dark as his own tail. She peels off her shoes and lays them daintily behind her, much like every time she enters her home.

Tributaries, The New Nature: “the tenth muse (i drink to you)”

By on February 28, 2018

By Sylvan Lebrun   I sit across a table from a mortal bleeding out as the cruel touch of admiration flays her alive for to think of a person as more than a person is to kill them and when

Tributaries, The New Nature: “Death Means Beautyful”

By on February 21, 2018

By Akpa Arinzechukwu   Patched pavements — broken lamps and shards of bottles that once knew comfort In the hands of heavy drinkers — All the things that string life together spiral away — you weren’t a spectator You were