John Steines

My Fave Five- March 2021

March 2021 Series Curator: Jonathan Cardew March Selector: Hannah Grieco What’s rare, what’s bright, what’s new? This is what we ask a new writer every month in search of the best hybrid, poetry, and flash writing from the previous month. In this edition, we catch up...

Migratory History

Your cypress piroque tumbles across the sheetflow how we forget we are part river always in motion beneath our feet I have only poor boots, my ankles swamped and sucking toward progress. How we stranded ourselves, hurtling toward the wind-battered banks The sun...

Summer of my discontent

Out of my scarred wits opposites' distract a sliver of lies, hasty little wastes, gadflies unzipping thyme into splinters, discontented, scuttling through dazed light on warped steed. O hoarse dogs, my feet, don't stunt the glazed dears running slow up January's...

A Thousand Words

Note: These two pieces are linked by the same cliché   Letters churn in my mind like bingo balls clamoring to rise to the top of the blower letters keen to form words words eager to construct sentences no logical sequences arise   a few sporadic letters...

How to Keep a Fire in the Rain

Sorry so last minute. I've enjoyed working with all of you.    How to Keep a Fire in the Rain Wake early. Stir the ash to unearth any smolder. Have a rager the night before. Know that even when the flames subside, you protect your space by fire. Be someone...

You

You witnessed her murder on the end of our street. Your feet were in the road but your body was in the yard. I was inside our house, crouched like a cloud. Now he's a widow, you said, pointing to the man who watched his wife being carted away. We went to the funeral...

Challenge

continued from Pilgrimage/Day 1 (Marguerite / Bonnemaman) The visit is shaping up rather well, but you don’t let down your guard. You never do. Some people pay attention, some people learn from experience. Some people are idiots.           A bit disappointed. Surely...

Lifesliced

Around the time I turned nine, Mother invented the Knife Game. She would plop something––a cucumber, an eggplant, or whole fish––and challenge me to slice, dice, or filet; choose the proper tool and make a masterpiece. I’d learned the art from watching her shave a...

Entropy

EVERYBODY said you were a good girl. Your mother said so with the inexhaustible tears she shed at your wake. Your father choked it out to each person who looked at their shoes when they shook his hand and drew him into a stiff embrace. Your brother’s pounding fist...

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