Camilo Loaiza Bonilla (he/him) is a Latine writer working to unwind generational silence and trauma as a queer, trans, first-generation immigrant. A Macondista, he is pursuing his MFA at the ...
back to back by Camilo Loaiza Bonilla
Electronic Lit, Poetry
Timothée Chalamet lives inside a crashed satellite at the edge of town. He glides there every night after work. Or, at least, I hear that he glides. You see, I know very little about Timothée Chalamet ...
Timothée Chalamet lives inside a crashed satellite at the edge of town at the edge of our dreams by Daniel John Healy
Flash Fiction
First I learn who I am and where I come from. I learn to ask who you are and where you come from. I understand your name even though it has a foreign sound to it and I had never heard it before, I understand that it's ...
Nils and Agnieszka by Anita Harag Translated from Hungarian by Marietta Morry and Walter Burgess
LAR Online, Translations
are the terrible builders of the stars. In this falseparsing,I seated myself inhis terrace all wrong. In the golden dust of our toppledtowers, once-real, the scaffoldedreturn of petals, vines, trumpets, nectar guides. ...
Bees by Marcus Myers
LAR Online, Poetry
There’s a window I stare out of sometimes when I’m convinced John doesn’t love me anymore. It’s a tiny circular one in the kitchen that faces the icy Upper Delaware River, which winds and bends under a swarm of ...
The Know-It-All by Madison Durand
Fiction, LAR Online
Despite clouded chlorine vision, Mom's August-tanned legs extending from strappy white sandals to pressed white shorts were unmistakable. She stood at the edge of the Newbridge Road pool with Patrick, the baby, ...
Skutch by Jeanne-Marie Fleming
LAR Online, Nonfiction
One-Way Street But what once was will never return. Time is a one-way street.The waterfall of the present forever roars,and we forever wade through it with dry feet: the past swallows it in the blink of an eye. Feet ...
One-Way Street by Zsuzsa Rakovszky, translated by Anna Szemere
LAR Online, Translations
She will not tell me about my death.Outside is a blue Asheville sky and the blue mountains one always sees— except here in the psychic’s small bone-chilled room. She says my mother is proud of me, and my father ...
ELEGY WITH PSYCHIC by Maja Lukic
LAR Online, Poetry
Hey, Celia—please don't delete this message.
I sent you comments on the outline of your Shakespeare presentation; I hope they're useful. (I do try.)
About my Hitchcock presentation: everyone in ...
House on the Hill by Peter Beynon
Flash Fiction, LAR Online
