Scavengers

Hal Walling

My stepfather was a painter and photographer of birds. His name was Frank, but I called him Finch, and he called me Loon, which was close enough to Allison. I…

Revenge Porn

Aurvi Sharma

—someone had emptied a bottle of red wine at the exit of the bus station, the stain like the line of hairs between my navel and cunt. The station smelled…

Paradise; Pilot

Jennifer Elise Foerster

Paradise We carried the swifts in wheelbarrow loads from factory windows, chimneys. Lit our fires with peat, our backs to the murmuring forest. After the rain, dust motes. Ghosts in…

Wonderland

Shoaib Alam

In the days after his father disappeared, Yusuf slept late into the morning—school was out for Ramadan, and there was no one to tell him he couldn’t. On the third…

On the Act of Arrival

W. Scott Olsen

There is always that step, that motion, that willing of the body into a new space. Late fall in New York City, a bright warm day following a day of…

National Geographic

Kevin Stein

1 To name a thing gives breath as smacking a newborn’s bottom precedes that big inhale and a lifetime’s crying over spilt milk, as I’ve craved my great-grandfather’s name, enthralled…

Yaiza

Brenda Peynado

The day my mother hired a new housekeeper to replace the last one caught stealing was the same day Yaiza arrived on the tennis courts. It was almost summer. Our…

From The Lava on Iceland

Katy Didden

Four of Katy Didden’s erasures appear in the May/June 2017 issue of the Kenyon Review. We are pleased to present three more of her erasures here on our website. Images…

Dima’s Garden

Sylvie Weil

Translated from French by Lynn Palermo and Catherine Zobal Dent In the five years he had lived there, Dima had never known the courtyard of his apartment building to be…

Sign up for Our Email Newsletter