Last January, L.A. burned. In the month you were born: dimple-dapper. The sky rimmed blood-moon. Lottery ticket shavings in the dusty gutter. Each step through honeysuckle, through
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I Shards of celadon wilt from stem to crown, the ravine arches its back as tears shiver on eyelashes and sweat scatters in the dust. The
Captain emaciated dumb thirst orphan human father passed you like a plush toy among his children (and the family dog) because: “When I was a
Benediction as Prey and Predator 1. Kelp Therefore, we resign ourselves to sewage, salvage not even our bodies. Tender dark tendrils, bitter with ship spume, oil,
At minus five, it’s hard for laundry to dry. Outside, unsurprisingly, clothes seize up like casualties—whether hypothermic or pyroclastic—either way frozen, and drowned in a sea
Iceland We barely slept. Outside, diesel engines cranked patiently at nearby campsites, and an avalanche of fog descended from the mountains every night. A gathering of
Where We Wanted When we lived in a country we dreamt a home, a snake flickered across our kitchen floor. We knelt, as if praying to
Flyway is excited to announce our annual creative non-fiction contest, Notes from the Field, is now open! Send us your best place-based creative non-fiction up to
Over the last month, our team of editors happily and diligently read through our previous issues, and we are excited to announce our 2018 Best of
Andrew Furman Green Writers Press It’s 1961, America’s been hooked on orange juice concentrate for a decade, and the Goldens are settling into their new life
