Dear Readers, Welcome to the Winter 2022 issue of River and South Review! In a 1981 Washington Post interview about how she draws the reader in with…
He holds in his hand a photo of me with a giant lollipop—half-sucked, colors relocated from the candy to my little mouth and he tells…
I wanted to be tossed in your salt water where the blue edges toward green and a siren pulls everyone’s hair down past their shoulders.…
The August sun’s penetrating rays pierced through the glass of a curved windshield, illuminating the interior, and creating a brilliant light show, cascading from seat…
6th grade: I woke up, found my nipples, they were no longer pink. They were brown suntanned, dry skin, not soft like the rest of my body.…
It was all in the newspapers, and on the radio and the television, that Billie Jean King had just defeated Bobby Riggs on the tennis…
We were too busy enjoying the dregs of our summer, the last August of adolescence, to pay much mind to the cloaked figure in the…
That morning, I buried a baby bird. She was small and brown as any bird who lived a few days in a box and died.…
a not admitting of the Wound Until it grew so wide that all my Life had Entered it ~Emily Dickinson Unzip me from the inside,…
My friends were fist fights we broke each other down. To withstand what was ahead We ate and spat prophecies misinterpreted as code-switching cyphered with streetlight hymns…
Margaret was the smartest girl in the class because her lunch bread was stale and her windows were dirty. She spent most afternoons hiding from the streaks…
I called my own answering machine to hear my mother’s voice. She’d run away again, this time, with the woman who taught science at my…
today is father’s day says every billboard in the city the mugs are on sale the surcharge on the brunch is exorbitant and the pub beers…
Someone labored over this swatch of grass, removing sod with hoe then shovel, creating too-perfect a rectangle, severe straight lines with the crisp, stark angles…