Categories
creative nonfiction

An American’s Babushka, R.I.P.

by Wallace Kaufman

Categories
fiction Issue 3 Fiction short story

Concorde

By Lucy Ferriss

Categories
fiction Issue 2 Fiction short story

Day of Rock

by Mark Halpern

Categories
Issue 2 Poetry poetry

Languish

By Julia Gardner

Categories
Issue 2 Poetry poetry Uncategorized

Three Poems of Korea

Dear Korea

and your dreamy neon lights,
Nascar cab drivers indifferent to my safety belts,
you’ve always given me a bed,
at times it’s been a park bench,
but if you couldn’t get me home you always woke me up
with sunlight.
Thank you.

Categories
Uncategorized

Now Reading Submissions of Flash Fiction and Nonfiction

We’re looking to read and share work of flash fiction and nonfiction (under 1000 words). Please send material to us at submissions@foreignlit.com with “Flash Fiction” in the subject. This will probably be for sharing in digital format only. Cheers!

Categories
fiction Issue 2 Fiction short story

The First Place Where the End of the World Began

Then again came the voice that could silence me. The American professor who was the director of the expedition, Irene Demas. She had my left upper incisor in her shorts pocket.

Categories
Issue 2 Poetry poetry

Two Poems for Paris

Paris by Carol Alena Aronoff Paris was always more than Paris: the light of Monet’s garden illuminating Renoir’s picnic, the playgrounds of Matisse, Lautrec. Art drunk with croissants every morning on lace-covered tables with forsythia blooms in cerulean, the aroma of burnt sienna- cups brimming with water lilies, pure ambrosia soft like ripe brie. The […]

Categories
creative nonfiction Issue 2 Nonfiction

Attaya

The tea ceremony is called Attaya. The first round is strong and bitter, the second sweeter with a hint of mint, and the third round is sweet and minty. It mirrors friendship, which grows over time to reflect how the longer we know each other the sweeter the relationship becomes. What happens most during Attaya, however, is talk. We consume conversation. We talk about the rain, if there is any, the wind, which is more common, and the oppressive sun. And the villagers return to their natural spaces, rest or sleep peacefully. I leave the fire wondering if I had enough materials to tunnel to Mauritania. I just can’t sleep.

Categories
Issue 2 Poetry poetry

Howie Good

Somehow we were always expecting something like this, a strange wind off the Atlantic, moaning and cursing and full of old hurts, tearing shingles from roofs and slamming birds against windows, threatening to fling us, too, into another country