Thanks for checking out the Summer 2022 edition of the River and South Review. While I’ve worked on other literary magazines in my time, this is my first time actually writing the customary letter from the editor…
The women put up peaches each summer because trees give up their gold all at once. It’s hard to save something for later— to crush…
There are vegetable gardens pressed right up against the train tracks. I spy rows of purple cauliflowers growing round in leafy beds as my train…
A few people said you looked like your father, but you weren’t sure whether they meant it or were simply seeking something to say to…
-1987- David Clubb watched the training instructor shave three days of growth off his face while steering the tractor-trailer down Interstate 44 at seventy-five miles…
Picture this summer scene…He wakes up so hungover his headache hurts him in the knees, campervan crooked-parked across three spots in the empty beach parking,…
1. When your mother is in jail, there’s an endless list of things you get to feel guilty about doing. To name a few: showering…
Dark reflections of pastel on gray paper curve into themselves a girl, her eyes night-lit, her hair catching faded sun turning the light…
“…The coroner noted that the body had signs of serious injury unrelated to the fall from the bridge, but recorded a death by drowning, probably…
No woodpeckers pulping suet this winter, no juncos or finches throbbing at the sunflower feeder. Bad to find the woods depleted, the river sullen under…
Square old houses brace themselves against the raw intelligence that slowly devolves as history. We’ve never inhabited such rooms, being of sturdy peasant stock and…
My earliest memories are of my mother and have their origin in the brief period of time my family lived in central New Jersey. I…
Perhaps I was too busy teaching school as they buzzed about the latest action-packed movie, the trendy new restaurant, the neighborhood going up across town.…
I step out into the snow, big white flakes that won’t stick to the cobblestone for an hour or so. Nolan waves, leaves. I cross the…
At heart, perhaps, I’m pig-like, a javelina with beastie lips and a barbecue belly. I’ve grown tired of speeches, yellow rumped warblers dreaming of dachas…