Two Poems

    Featured

    Featured

    Two Poems

    Lauren Camp

    Suppose // the last place we went is the first place / we will never go back to...

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    Short Story

    Lake Placid

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    In literature, as in life, a problem emerges here, pecking its way out of a tough and fragile shell. This will lead awkwardly or gracefully to the end of the story...

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    Selah Saterstrom
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    Avni Vyas

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    Special Issue: Power

    Power

    ·
    For the next eight weeks, BP Review will publish a new poem that engages with the idea of power. These poems will collectively highlight the range and journey required to connect to the source, both within ourselves and between one another...

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    Short Story

    The Driver

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    I should also mention he was holding a gun. A friendly gun. A gun that belonged in a gun show or an old Spaghetti Western. In fact, everyone in the room had a gun.
    Poetry

    Four Poems

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    that smoke; detail of shears; detail of matches; i go to a hole in the wall carribean restaurant because their beans taste like my father’s beans...
    Poetry

    The Armadillo

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    The old man told us to spend more time in graveyards and I will not I will spend more time with the armadillo because he shows me there is such a thing as un-sad
    EkphrasticFiction

    Wish You Were Here

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    I feel like I want to apologize for the quality of these postcards. I wish they had been better ones, and that I could have sent you images of sunsets and palm trees and dazzling flamingos.
    Poetry

    Mouse

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    Disney stuck an explosive in the mascot’s mouth, lit it up, then pop, smiled at his blackface in the mirror
    Poetry

    Nakba

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    This language tastes like songs of my sedo and before, days when land was soft beneath bare feet, before bombshells bore into ground, before bullet skins showered seeds in the dust.
    Short Story

    How the Devil Finds Out

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    It happened on the corner of 147thand Miller, beneath the long branches of an oak hanging over the corner. It happened often enough— usually to white kids crossing U.S.1 in front of the University of Miami or other tourists on The Beach—but seldom in this residential area, and never on this intersection.
    Poetry

    Amber Stream

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    He fished the Suwannee: slow- flowing, tea-stained, wild, where the river drops through limestone and revives itself.
    Short Story

    What Blood

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    Mr. Chuck Stonehill walked over from next door and told me he found a tackle-box, a bullet, and a rubber by the picnic table in the backyard under the palm tree between our rusting beach trailers.
    Nonfiction

    Schnozzle

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    I was so innocent that my first thought was he didn’t know he was exposed. But the way he was staring at me so fixedly soon made me realize it was on purpose.