Please note that orders placed between February 1-February 17 will not be shipped until February 17. Thank you for your patience.
That night we drink too many sad stories and go to bed upset with attempted matrimony. After undressing and before making love it’s necessary to not speak of the dream where we become so entangled that I have to get out of bed as her and go to the mirror, wanting to write a note,…
Cohen Awards Each volume year, we honor the best short story and poem published in Ploughshares with the Cohen Awards, which are wholly sponsored by our longtime patrons Denise and Mel Cohen. Finalists are nominated by staff editors, and the winners — each of whom receives a cash prize of $600 — are selected by…
When the dove of whom there is no memory fell into the sea We were uncreated, oh yeah, we were speechless before the sky. There were no words to be sung on the water without edges. Lord had shown his preference for his serpents and his mosses. Into depths we drowned, the familial and…
Your daffodils rose up and collapsed in their yellow bodies on the hillside garden above the brick patio you laid out in sand, squatting with pants pegged and face masked like a beekeeper’s against the black flies. Buttercups circle the planks of the old wellhead, bright boisterous convergence, this May while your silken gardener’s body…
Cohen Awards Each volume year, we honor the best short story and poem published in Ploughshares with the Cohen Awards, which are wholly sponsored by our longtime patrons Denise and Mel Cohen. Finalists are nominated by staff editors, and the winners — each of whom receives a cash prize of $600 — are selected by…
It happened like this: he lived in a palace which was also a prison. You understand how nothing is ever simple. He had built a labyrinth for the king’s monster son, a great service, which came with a secret. One for the king, one in the builder’s head. Be reasonable, could the king ever…
I call my father on the phone it’s twenty years today My mother died and his life turned sorry And he’s filing his fishing hooks smoothing down the barbs He’s going to throw back every bass in Minnesota When Grandfather died death stood way over there In a gray sharkskin suit directing the mourners When…
MASTHEAD Guest Editor Richard Ford Editor Don Lee Poetry Editor David Daniel Assistant Editor Jodee Stanley Founding Editor DeWitt Henry Founding Publisher Peter O'Malley Editorial Assistants: Heidi Pitlor, Maryanne O'Hara, and Nathaniel Bellows. Interns: Paul Reilly and Monique Hamzé. Fiction Readers: Billie Lydia Porter, Emily Doherty, Anne Kriel, Karen Wise, John Rubins, Craig Salters, Loretta…
A knot of string, crossed sticks, a dab of ink— can’t any work begin as a passionate doodling? So here is another of his constructions: a wooden cow, but so skillful even the bull was tricked. You see, one must reckon with the jaded boredom of queens. During the drawn-out days, she lusted …
No products in the cart.