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Three Fictions

W. Todd Kaneko

It’s late on a Saturday night and Metalhead is at some kid’s basement party. The kid got the new Slayer album that afternoon and has it blaring because his parents are not home. Rockgod holds both hands up in the air like he is prey for bandits, but the rest of his body convulses, his head shaking back and forth, up and down and windmilling along with the drum beat. Metalhead laughs and then there is a body careening into him, pushing him into another kid who is jumping and shimmying against the wall because heavy metal is the stuff that binds kids together, the fray that keeps their blood inside them. When Metalhead’s sister has her friends over, they dance in the living room to Madonna or Culture Club while his father complains that the music is too loud. Metalhead can feel the guitar in his teeth, can feel the speakers’ rumble deep in his chest.


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

Death of a Dog

Buthaina Al-Nasiri, translated by Gretchen McCullough, reviewed by Mohamed Metwalli

His skin was peeled in so many places, you can’t recognize the color of his hair, but when you view the rest of the tufts on his forehead, one could say it was just normal brown…He was ancient, and had spent his years in one of the alleys: skirmishing with other neighborhood dogs, tricking the butcher in order to snatch a bone from between his legs, and in the short, pleasurable moments, pursuing the traces of females or besieging a cat by a certain wall when…

The Void Wife

Kate Folk

One thing was for sure: Elise couldn't be Robert's void wife. On the day the void was scheduled to hit San Francisco, she hid from him in the ruin of the Sutro Baths. She gazed out at the Pacific while behind her, the void consumed Oakland. The void had appeared six months ago in a slender belt around the globe near the 90th meridian, slicing through Detroit and New Orleans, Bangkok and the Kirov Islands of Russia. Since then it had expanded in both directions on both sides of the planet at the rate of seventy miles a day, like two immense pairs of lids drawing over the eye of the earth.

From the Archives

Driftless

Joe Fletcher

The ghosts of men who named the river / suckle moon-limned mist slipping down / from thick firefly-flickering treelines...

Micro-Interview with Joe Fletcher

Christopher Murray

"I was also drawn to the awkward syntax of the title, the roughly translated feel of it. Who would make that pronouncement? Would he have a graying mustache?"

Interview: 7 Questions for Megan Mayhew Bergman

Aja Gabel

When I was growing up, I idolized a woman whose animal rescue habits ended up driving her husband away. I think she’s lurking in this story...

Two Fishermen

Geoffrey Nutter

For God's sake, / have a little consideration! Why wake him? / Another fisherman was sitting on a stone block, / a stone block glittering with mica.

From the Blog

Gulf Coast at #AWP16: Dance Yr Ass Off (Contest), Raffles, Gulf Coast 28.2 & More

This week, Gulf Coast is headed to the land of the stars--literary stars, that is! Wednesday, March 30th through Saturday, April 2nd, Gulf Coast will be…

An Entirely New Milieu: Rethinking the MFA Story

UPDATE: This piece has been edited since its original posting date. I’ve noticed a trend. It might be chalked up to coincidence, but I’m not convinced.…