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  • The Underworld

    I watch the little weasel rise just partlyout of a cleft in earth, its facea periscope at sea, this way and that but not slow asan owl does it, the moon behind himin old children’s books, his giant tufted headturning full circle and rich with pause.Because the weasel isn’t patient. It’s all frenzy.Through weeds, another…

  • Snakes in the Lobby

    It was my first time teaching. I was nervous about it. My husband had a bottle of Malbec that a student had given him, so he opened it. It tasted awful at nine in the morning, but I drank the whole bottle before going in to teach. I did well in class that morning. I…

  • Still Life with Helicopters

    Almost two thousand years before Da Vinciimagined a machine whose screwlike overhead motor could lift the machine into vertical flight,children in China played with bamboo toys whose propellers, thin and light as dragonflywings, were set on a sharpened stick and spun into the wonder of an object spiraling in the air.The toys were brought back…

  • Music Night

    It’s music night at Mihalis’ taverna, and the musicians wait for the darkness, for the desperation of the cicadas to quiet. They’re the loudest they’ve ever been, everyone says, and the noise is all anyone can talk about. But compared with the last topic of conversation—the fires—it’s an improvement. Mihalis is Aspa’s father, and she…

  • Alice Hoffman Prize for Fiction

    Ploughshares is pleased to present Victor LaValle with the seventh annual Alice Hoffman Prize for Fiction for his short story “Spectral Evidence,” which appeared in the Summer 2017 issue, guest-edited by Stewart O’Nan. The $1,000 prize, awarded by acclaimed writer and Ploughshares board member and former guest editor Alice Hoffman, honors the best piece of…

  • Pecking Order

    It fell to Kyle to kill the chickens. On Saturday before dawn, while Audrey was still asleep, he put on an old t-shirt and jeans and headed out to the coop in the backyard, hedge clippers in hand. It was a cloudless, cool morning, but though the horizon was still dark, the hens were already…

  • Grace and Beauty

    I have read enough about the fundamental complexity of all things, down to the very protons and neutrons, to feel at ease saying this: Beauty disciplines. I know my two-word sentence is not intelligible by conventional standards. I hope by means of it to move a little beyond these standards and to begin to justify…