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FICTION By Jane Snyder What kind of world was it, Dave won­dered, where a woman could put herself above a man? He was ready for this one. “Whoa there, Sis,” he said when he felt her hand cup his gen­i­tals under the jump­suit. “You play, you pay.” She…

Sub­mis­sions for Stonecoast Review Issue 19 are now open, and will close on October 1st. Reminder that we accept: Lit­er­ary fiction. Genre fiction. Non­fic­tion.  Poetry.  Dra­mat­ic works.  Visual Art. You can read our full sub­mis­sion guide­lines here. We look forward to reading your work. Photo by Luke Southern.

Sub­mis­sions for Stonecoast Review Issue 19 will open on August 1st. Reminder that we accept: Lit­er­ary fiction. Genre fiction. Non­fic­tion.  Poetry.  Dra­mat­ic works.  Visual Art. You can read our full sub­mis­sion guide­lines here. We look forward to reading your work.

POETRY By Luke Johnson and Megan Mer­chant For I,   I thought of you and bullets and the husk of ruin we are feeding our chil­dren, saying swallow, it will make you strong, in the end, but I know. When I sat the other day with…

DRAMATIC WORK By Gregory Von Dare A ten-minute sci-fi comedy about serious stuff.   CAST: TODD: A nerdy guy in his mid-30s. Average height and build. Kind of an annoy­ing voice. GINNY:  She is ath­let­ic and moves with the fluid grace of a dancer. Early 20s. Excited…

POETRY By Neil Flatman  Late sun longing through the knuck­les of the black­thorns by the pond; a lan­guorous spark. The copper heads of ferns bow down with what remain­ing dignity they hold. Autumn’s flown; longer days dis­solved fast as a winter breath. Surely that’s the memory,…

POETRY By Gary English Juarez tethers me like a balero with a bridge instead of string. I tread Stanton’s crammed path over the near-water­­less Rio Grande. I could have walked its dehy­drat­ed bed. Tanned leather’s weath­ered smell infuses the mercado’s air. Piñatas, penuche. Day of the Dead disguises,…

POETRY By Moham­mad Razai Ren­dezvous (I) Last night in my dream you smiled in a way that meant more than friend­ship, so I am check­ing if that’s what you mean. We fre­quent that lamp-lit cobbled street, slalom­ing in some misty labyrinth so hazy I’m waiting for…

POETRY By Kim­ber­ly Ann Priest “Paula, my watch is gone.” GREGORY in Gaslight, 1944 It’s this way: after doing several loads of laundry, or dusting every inch of slight surface in a home’s several rooms, that you start to lose track of one thing or another—…

POETRY By Michelle Parker Randall You tell me I’ve given you some­thing impos­si­ble. You shake your head to the rhythm of my voice pealing you are safe, safe; you hold out your hands, wrists togeth­er, for hand­cuffs only you can see. Our son visited today, but…