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FICTION & POETRY

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The Montreal Review

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Wrens | Lorri Rupard

There was no rain for five days; everything in Georgia turned to dust. That's all it ever took. And Jan has zero common sense...

New Day | Catie King

I have this plan to get away, to drive through the waking dawn, windows rolled down, music flowing like the wind. Drive to the end where sand meets water...

Honey, Can You Hear Me | James Tate

Alison stared into the mirror and combed her hair. How
beautiful she was! "I look awful," she said. I bent down and tied my shoe and hit my head on the coffee table on the way up...

The Clarinet | Zdravka Evtimova

"Don't take my clarinet, Metto, please," Ivan said. "Do you remember when I played on it for your father? The old man's heart wasn't good, and his nerves were even worse..."

The Chrysanthemums | Zoya Marincheva

Scattered helter-skelter on the ridges of perception, phantasms of freedom plague the order of life...