The Fourth River

fiction

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Fiction: “American Sweetgum” by Ken Mohnkern

By on February 10, 2017

  I’m too old for tree climbing, but it turns out being aloft is good for thinking and Kate wants me to think. The sun has disappeared behind the horizon, though there’s still a bit of warmth in the sky

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Fiction: “Seed to Full,” by Jolene McIlwain

By on February 3, 2017

Pushcart Nomination from The Fourth River, Issue 13   After you’ve felled the tree and dragged it from the site and hauled it to the mill, one of the first things you do is scale it, measure to find out

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Fiction: “Veyo, Forgotten by the Mormons,” by Ryan Habermeyer

By on October 21, 2016

We were in the tall grasses creeping on finches when we seen mama run down the slope in her Sunday finest and throw herself in the creek. Papa stood there scratching at his hair like he was fixing a nest

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Fiction: “We Were Young and Strong,” by Leslie Maxwell

By on September 23, 2016

From The Fourth River, Issue 11   Listen to Leslie Maxwell read “We Were Young and Strong”   One July day, summer-vacation bored with our parents at work, my sister and I decided to dig a hole to China. Nothing

Fiction: “Polar Plunge,” by Justin Hermann

By on February 3, 2014

  I’d been noticing the fish girl around Station for weeks. I’d see her in the early morning hours at the lab, dumping coolers of live fish into seawater tanks in the aquarium, or sometimes she’d be tucked away in

Fiction: “The Inevitable Snake,” by Sonja Crafts

By on November 18, 2013

Captain Bob sang night-boatin’ and whistled as he unroped us from the dock a little after ten. Mom had made plans with him to take his boat out for this, one of those airboats with the giant fans. We weren’t

Fiction: “Rewilding,” by Heidi Diehl

By on June 20, 2013

From the porch, Mitchell watched his daughter Jamie roll her sleeping bag on the lawn. The rest of the gear was already packed in the van: tents, mess kits, tarps. Mitchell had been collecting camping supplies secondhand for years, and

Fiction: “Sweet Thang,” by Sherrie Flick

By on July 8, 2012

I am a sweet thang. That’s what the song on the radio keeps repeating. Sweet thang, sweet thang, sweet thang. And with this sun trickling in, I do kind of feel it, yes. I’m a sweet thang about to take

Fiction: “Woman in the Woods,” by Adam Reger

By on February 1, 2012

Bruce had been asleep under the table when the phone rang. An old phone, its bell rattled loosely, sending tremors down his hand: in the midst of a bad dream, he had gripped the table’s ankle. As the phone rang

Fiction: “Wish You Were Here,” by Geeta Kothari

By on December 1, 2011

The night is endless, with one request after another, songs they can’t play, songs they won’t play. “No,” Red Puppy says to the bride’s mother, a troll in a green dress with a sash. “We don’t do ‘YMCA.’” He makes