Issue 17

POETRY By Jason Kahler Not on purpose. She makes the house payment one week and makes the same mort­gage payment the next week. Words come harder now, like the wood of the Scrab­ble tiles but less glossy. The rules slip away: no con­trac­tions, no proper…

DRAMATIC WORK   by Ben Scran­ton Syn­op­sis When an African-Amer­i­­can woman submits an unusual piece of orig­i­nal art to a show whose theme is ‘The End of Society as We Know It’ debate ensues between the white arts admin­is­tra­tor and the artist.  They nav­i­gate a treacherous…

POETRY by Dina Folgia   if I leave my dad will too   hands clutch­ing bitter hand                               mis­er­able cal­lous­es   wrench­ing plugs from sockets …

FICTION by Midge Raymond She’s stand­ing in line at the reg­is­tra­tion table when she sees him, two writers ahead. Sun-spritzed brown hair, strong hands. A hint of crow’s feet indi­cat­ing he’s maybe fortysome­thing. No wedding ring. When he leans over the table to sign a…

VISUAL ART By W. Goodwin This image orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 17.

DRAMATIC WORK by James Menges   Syn­op­sis: A digital ren­di­tion of Hamlet’s solil­o­quy “To be or not to be” per­formed as a con­tem­po­rary group text chat.    Staging Notes: This is an exper­i­men­tal play with a dance element. There is only one spoken line in the…

VISUAL ART By Pru­dence DiBenedet­to This image orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 17.

POETRY By Brit­tany Adames   On the modular couch, the fingers splays against the curve of a col­lar­bone, tele­vi­sion   flick­ers in a mea­sured motion. We have mirac­u­lous­ly invent­ed the clatter, the   per­for­mance and the self-rule, the ghost of a pot that hasn’t hit the stove …

VISUAL ART By W. Goodwin This image orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 17.

CREATIVE NONFICTION by Rachel Katz In bed with my laptop on Sat­ur­day morning, January 21st, 2017, I searched for the livestream of the Women’s March on Wash­ing­ton and clicked open a video window, mind­less­ly, the way I would flick on a light. My boyfriend sat…