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I try to feed the chicks mealworms from my hands, crouching there sometimes for hours. I can’t remember how to make them believe in kindness.
By Chera HammonsFebruary 2025I was a sleepwalker through most of those days. A passenger in my own life. I couldn’t look to my family and see myself reflected there. I was born to no one. I was wild.
By Didi JacksonFebruary 2025A Thousand Words features photography so rich with narrative that it tells a story all on its own.
By Wesley VerhoeveJanuary 2025You patted me down roughly, went through my pockets and pulled out three crumpled twenties, some guitar picks, my stepfather’s pocketknife. “You got drugs, son?”
By Stephen J. LyonsJanuary 2025The dog weighs twelve pounds / and uses them as she pleases. / The king-size bed is not big enough. / Sleep enabler, stretch-monger, / when she wants to be touched, / she offers up the narrow white arc / of her belly. When a loud face / crowds her, she growls. Or, depending / on the weather, the time, the face, /she doesn’t.
By Catherine PierceJuly 2024The drive from Homer, Alaska, to Casper, Wyoming, is more than three thousand miles, much of it on winding two-lane highways where moose and bears slip from the underbrush and stand in the road. It had already been a rough trip.
By Dave ZobyJuly 2024My dad used to wake us up at 5 AM on Sundays / with the vacuum cleaner, saying, Get out of bed, / the day is wasting, and then he’d be asleep on the couch // by nine, just as the sun began to lift its head / over the houses.
By Angela Voras-HillsJune 2024In the hotter months Cactus Country was less a vacation campground and more a land of lost and wandering souls. Like most everyone else who moved to the park during that time, Dave didn’t know how long he would stay or where he would go next.
By Zoë BossiereMay 2024she kept pig haunches, / the shoulder joints of cows, / buffalo neck and guts, / all stuck to the ziplock bags. / If anyone ever asked, / Mother simply laughed.
By Jodie HollanderMay 2024I am amazed at how much of my shit I left / with her, and to see it piled in her hallway / clears space in me for what? // I wander my new emptiness / as the small bag of her things I’ve brought / weighs down my hand
By Matthew SiegelApril 2024Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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