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We Are "Happy" to Serve You
by Rebecca Levéillé

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Livin’ On a Prayer By Sandra A. Miller

xem bóng đá trực tuyếnThird Prize, 2016 Literal Latte Essay Award.
We take the tram down Leopoldstrasse to the UBahn station and go thirteen long stops to the end of the line where Klinikum Grosshadern dominates a bland corner of the mostly lively Bavarian city of Munich. We walk approximately a quarter mile down a corridor the width of a swimming pool, past what my sister calls the turban stalls: temporary shopping booths where visitors can purchase knit cancer hats in forcibly happy patterns, as well as painted Easter eggs hung on string, crocheted book bags, and teddy bears sporting ledershosen….

Posted in xem bóng đá trực tuyếnEssays | Tagged , | 3 Responses

Middens By Carol Smith

Second Prize, 2016 Literal Latte Essay Award.
The sense of dread begins to build even before I punch in the code on the metal entry box. The gate scrapes open and I pass through, driving down the catacomb of storage lockers with their corrugated metal doors. About twice a year, I gather the nerve to visit my storage locker and face the endless task of whittling down what I’m keeping. I survey the unit, a steel tomb of unmet dreams, overstated ambitions and boxed-up grief….

Posted in Essays | Tagged , | 2 Responses

By Lia Woodall

First Prize, 2016 Literal Latte Essay Award.
ellipsis (i?l?p.s?s)
n, pl -ses (-si:z)
A series of dots, typically three, that usually indicates an intentional omission of a word, sentence or whole section from a text without altering its original meaning…

Posted in Essays | Tagged , | 6 Responses


Adventureland By Nancy Ludmerer

Over their last breakfast at the condo in Montauk, Clay told Nicky about a new ride at Adventureland called “Spinning Dinghies,” which was just right for boys his age. Clay pretended to be astonished that Nicky hadn’t been to Adventureland in his nearly four years on this earth.

“She never took me,” Nicky explained matter-of-factly, pointing at Celia….

Posted in Fiction | 4 Responses

Tomorrow This Will All Be Gone, If We’re Lucky By Maris Finn

A petrified frog’s corpse floated down from a rafter in the garage, weightless because its bones had become powder. Death by damp garage. We held a vigil in our kitchen trashcan, sprinkled coffee grounds over it one rushing morning. Edmund, we called him. Long live….

Posted in Fiction | Tagged | 1 Response

Chameleons By Curtis Vandonkelaar

Winner, 2016 Literal Latte Short Short Contest.
Michael’s afraid the TV will blow up again. Two others have burst right here in this living room. He pads his fingers against the TV’s black face. He loves the television. When he pulls his fingertips from the screen, they’re gray, powdered in fine dust….

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Diagnosis By Michael J. Coene

Cigarette smoke wafted in. I couldn’t see it but I could smell it. The densely acrid odor was wafting its way in. I was in the corner. In my apartment, I was sitting in the corner, on the floor. I was scratching my own head. I had a lot of hair for a guy my age….

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Orientation By Helen Carey

Third Prize, 2016 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
When my father was twelve
he visited his sister at college,
sat in on art history classes
and ate with the underclassmen,
watched the way older kids moved
through that well-manicured world…

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Unfinished By Helen Carey

Third Prize, 2016 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
A fascination with the blank spaces
keeps this city still — the quick
inhale of dawn, the white
between your words —

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Smoke By Catherine French

First Prize, 2016 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
Frank Gorshen – now he could smoke.
He would inhale the universe,
transfer it from thin air into his upper body
and let it sear through….

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | 1 Response

Seabright By Catherine French

First Prize, 2016 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
The stink of human garbage persists
almost all the way to ocean
past the empties in bags left
where they were finished….

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The River By Lucy Ricciardi

Join me as we slip past the broad breath
of the fog, lapping us in our water, lit this

morning by flecks of sun reflecting our
mood as it swallows us, floating ever closer….

Posted in Poetry | 1 Response

War By Lucy Ricciardi

Here comes the coming war, winching up a man-
hole, slippery, new to itself, not yet in a squad
of ardent followers cheering in the bleachers…

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