2021

In 2015, JT Torres was teaching developmental writing at the University of Alaska, Anchorage. The prior two years, he had lived in Colorado and Georgia alone while his girlfriend finished nursing school in Florida. Torres’ university contract was scheduled to end in May of that year. His lover had committed to serve Alaska Regional Hospital for two […]

It’s going to rain in Juneau on Memorial Day. It will rain the entire weekend. That won’t stop our local Toyota dealer from offering holiday discounts on cars sales or prevent the Home Depo or Fred Meyers from advertising Memorial Day price cuts. Rain won’t discourage families who were quick enough to reserve a shelter

This blogpost originally appeared, in a different version, in 2015. But I’ve retrieved and adapted it here because I just talked to my agent today about a novel I’ll be revising—dramatically—creating major POV and plot changes from at least the midpoint, an entire cascade of changes that promises to occupy me for two months, and

I still haven’t taken a shower this rainy May morning. The coffee that I usually finish while it is still hot, has gone cold. Instead of making a new cup of Java, I stare out the window, watching heavy rain drops slam into a puddle on our driveway. Then I re-read “A Month Alone,” one

Stampede In the Summer of 1980, when I was 29 and the love of my life was studying photography in Sweden, I got a call from a law school buddy named Dave Diver. It was winter when he called. Cold and windy in Bethel where I lived. Colder in Fairbanks, where he served the U.S.

PROLONGED WINTER By Sondra Porter, Trapper Creek   I am waiting, impatiently, six feet behind a man Who drones on, “Spring is early, won’t see another dump, Snow’s going fast, I’m taking my snow tires off.” Me? I am waiting to take my snow tires off I am waiting for clearer signs of spring For

RUSTED LUMPS OF LUCK By Wendy Brooker, Wasilla   Rusted lumps of luck dwell deep in horseshoe iron Welcome chance and charm

BUDS AND THE GOLDEN SHOVEL after Nora Marks Dauenhauer By Tamara Holman, Soldotna   Warm April hike, all forest beings’ breath bated. First sign of spring’s annual creation anticipated. The earth is soft, snow melts. Cottonwoods’ puckering trunks, topped with speckled branches. Tiny buds poised. Soon to be exploding with life! Air filled with their

THE TRUTH ABOUT A WAVE By Scott Banks, Anchorage   There’s always another behind it, To chase its past up the beach In memory of rain.   Author’s Note: This poem was previously published in Cirque. 3(1) 42