“What Did I Know” by Adam Conner
“The bottom drawer in my father’s room contains his trash. Crumpled Budweiser cans and Marlboro ash, frayed photos from his childhood.” #TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged.
“The bottom drawer in my father’s room contains his trash. Crumpled Budweiser cans and Marlboro ash, frayed photos from his childhood.” #TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
The boy feigns sleep, but he is ready to spring. Two children stalk his bed, dark-light-girl-boy, clad in spring-green and ochre, barefoot both. The boy …
You and I will read our ways into the eternal whatever—questioning, wondering, wandering under skies grown gray with concern or maybe apathy. We’ll play outside until the streetlights …
Vincent closed his laptop and stared at the wall. The afterglow of an Excel spreadsheet burned across his retina. He waited for it to fade …
At fifteen Anne bought her first action figure—Wonder Woman. When she saw her on television in her blue starry shorts, legs rising out of red …
In vest, short shorts, quick reflex points, our up and over, chain-link fence, we traded jokes, paraded skills, especially under watch of girls, as learnt …
The man I loved as my grandfather was a tall, strong, broad-shouldered man who carried a fake ear in his back pocket. With his indigo …
The man’s souvenirs were in a box somewhere. He had kept it handy for a few years then put it away. In a desk, then …
Pauli stood at the railing on the back deck and flicked glances at the giant red sun fall slowly to the ground. The surrounding sky …
“Is that Dorothy?” Elaine asked as we turned up the driveway. An old woman stood next to the mailbox. Her white legs with blue veins …
You tell me I’m a bird. Calloused hands pinch into my ribs and lift me overhead. In your eyes, I’m soaring through the clouds like …
Episode Description: Editors Matthew, Elena, and Melissa talk to Stella Meadows about her brilliant nonfiction (as well as what makes brilliant nonfiction in general), identity, …
You’ve seen water towers, right? Those huge, tall jugs of water along the roadside. They’re usually a mess—washed out paint and rust, covered by graffiti, …
It was the days where the night would not come, for the sun held the sky hostage just by a look. It was the tyrannical …
You wake up on the fourth floor to the garbled coo of some window-shopping pigeons, dress quickly, pick at breakfast, clamber down the dark stairwell …
Wisteria drapes green bean-knuckled fingers over my forehead, the anointing oil of rain dripping. Robin poised upon the weathered, mossy timber spine of the swing …
I always mowed the wild green hair of lawn, eyes of corn stalking me from across the street. Steering Dad’s tractor in the shapeof a nose ring …
Sam Karrington’s size-six loafers kicked back and forth atop the wooden bench under the train stop awning. The train would be here soon, he thought—no …
The summer after my first year of college the KKK had a presence on Main Street in my hometown for a few hours. Don’t know …
I don’t care if I’m dead as long as I’m still alive, in Heaven I mean though not Hell, I might be dead but I’ll …
daytime gutter vomit scared to change your way from one that has been making you money color-segregated schools for the blind the increasing pressure to …
This one’s a very special post. We’re presenting to you the work of the highly accomplished Albanian Poet Irsa Ruçi, both translated, and in its …
The reason I write is a simple one: I’ve always done it, and I can’t imagine living my life without writing. When I think about …
How am I fitting in this right now? It’s been years, centuries since I was small enough to terrorize villages and miniature pedestrians in this …