“What’s wrong with pear trees?” I ask, wondering if my dad is getting senile. “Well, they’re an invasive species. They’re not allowed to sell them in nurseries here anymore. They’re very spreadable because of their seeds. The ones in this subdivision are cultivated so they don’t have the thorns, but once the birds start getting to them, and they, you know, do what birds do, the ones that turn up in the wild have the thorns and then they take over everything around them. It’s the monoculture. If you plant only one kind of tree, … Continue reading Foie Gras by Nathan Cover→
A friend once drove out of town so fast he didn’t know if he was headed north or south. He just wanted to make the coast and finally learn how to swim. But that wasn’t true. I knew it was his boyfriend, the metal whip of his tongue that drove him to walk that bridge each night—inevitable as Persephone come September. One night after the bridge whiskey, he asked me to hit him and I should have said no. He said he needed a pain that would come and go like wildflowers in the high … Continue reading Not Unlike Damon and Pythias by Zachary Lundgren→
As I read this year’s contest entries, I accumulated a deep appreciation for the humans who invested the thought and energy to create them and who took the time to submit them to our contest. Thank you, fellow poets. We received 137 entries and co-editor Sharon and I have read then all. Our task was tough as there were many seriously contending poems. I found that I was in conversation with each poem. My wife thought I was mumbling to myself as perhaps a first sign of losing me. In a sense, my interaction with … Continue reading 2026 Poetry Contest Announcement by Fred Wilbur→
I don’t want to be eaten by a grizzly, my dad would say every time we were camping. But I wouldn’t want to be here if it weren’t possible. I’m sitting outside, daydreaming, when up the sidewalk strolls my neighbor, his torpid eyes fastened like buttons, his mouth a bloodless sphincter of puckered sanctimony. No matter what we talk about, he somehow finds a way to bring up my father, to remind me that he knew him sixty years ago when they were just boys. I don’t bother reminding him that I’ve always known my … Continue reading Bloodless by Martin Vest→
Ceramic artist Judd Jarvis finds a thoughtful middle ground between form and function. It’s tempting to suggest that Virginia’s famous red clay soil lured potter Judd Jarvis from the Midwest’s dark earth to Charlottesville. Jarvis’s ceramic artistry is far removed, though, from the utilitarian brick that surrounds us, and even a far cry from the negative-space narratives of ancient Greek red-figure pottery. His work is proof that ceramics, despite the simple functionality that so many people expect of it, is art for art’s sake in the right hands. “I used to be more hung up … Continue reading Pots for Art’s Sake: A Look at Judd Jarvis’s Work by Russell Hart→
He perches boldlyon the old phone wiredown Canning Factory Road. He sings killy killy killya violent tune for a falconpainted in colbalt and rust. Sir Toby once disparaged the stanielas an inferior sparrowhawk. Yet here,head down, the wind-hover enchants his prey. Voles scamper into the marsh grass.Young hares cower.I admire his beauty, murder be damned. Marjorie Gowdy writes and paints on her farm at the foot of Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. Over a long career, she has written essays, poems, short stories, and is working on a historical novel. She … Continue reading The Kestrel Blues by Marjorie Gowdy→
It wasn’t when I got the hang of cursing, exquisitely and generously, tutored by the bigger kids at the back of the school bus. It wasn’t when I puffed on my buddy’s mom’s unfiltered Kools in the woods—throat raw, lungs afire, coughing triumphantly. It wasn’t when I thumbed through Dad’s Playboy magazines and delighted at the sight of nipples peeking through an open plaid flannel shirt. It wasn’t when I thought I was the last one on the playground to know how babies are made. (After a night in a tent in the backyard with … Continue reading Splitting Wood by David Sapp→
Wendy Kennar is the 1st place winner of Streetlight‘s 2026 Essay/Memoir Contest Within my first few years of teaching, the district’s grading system changed. Instead of the familiar A, B, C, D, F letter grades for academic achievement, students would now be graded on a 4, 3, 2, 1 scale. Many teachers at our school, including new teachers like myself and veterans with over a dozen years’ of experience, didn’t like this new system, mainly because it was so vastly different from the traditional grading system everyone knew and understood so well. I believed the change from … Continue reading On A Scale Of . . . by Wendy Kennar→
Human Entanglement After they split the atom, broke our water into hydrogen, and hydrogen, and the oxygen you couldn’t breathe, we and the hydrogen wandered the universe, searching for oxygen for what you were before the water broke, swept you down the river through the rocks over the steep glide of waterfall—the dam that stopped us for that moment, before we knew what it meant to become an ocean of loss. I have to believe in the physics of love: that if two particles—quantums, atoms, humans—become entangled, simply observing one will change the other, instantly, … Continue reading Human Entanglement and Woman, Falling, 2 poems by Karl Meade→
One day after school, I stepped into my room and immediately felt that something was wrong. My eyes darted to the bed, and my heart stopped. The mattress was gone. My diary—the one I’d hidden so carefully beneath it—was missing too. I rushed to the balcony, where laundry usually fluttered on a frayed line. There it was: my palm tree mattress, spread out in the sun like a giant pancake. But my diary was nowhere to be found. Someone had discovered it. And deep down, I knew exactly who. Then my father appeared from another … Continue reading When My Secrets Were No Longer Mine by Jean Romano→
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