Sharh on Sunan an-Nasa’i 736 by Reyzl Grace
“When you ask me to sleep on the couch, / you wince. You know I know / you’ve banished others” – excerpt from Sharh on Sunan an-Nasa’i 736 by Reyzl Grace @reyzlgrace #TheMetaworker #ForgeFriday
The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged.
“When you ask me to sleep on the couch, / you wince. You know I know / you’ve banished others” – excerpt from Sharh on Sunan an-Nasa’i 736 by Reyzl Grace @reyzlgrace #TheMetaworker #ForgeFriday
“I will always return the books you lend me because I know they are important.” – excerpt from Unknown Author, fiction by Paul Rabinowitz #TheMetaworker #ForgeFriday
“I met him at a gas station. He was pumping air into the tires on his Pontiac Sunfire and I was vacuuming the inside of my old Ford van.” – excerpt from Giant Steps, fiction by Neil Jefferies #TheMetaworker #ForgeFriday
“Planning took a few days. Meanwhile, Emily hadn’t called back. The longer Helen went without hearing from Emily, the more she wanted to call her mother.” – excerpt from Shallow Water, fiction by Susan Laurencot #TheMetaworker #ForgeFriday
“He on one end, she on the other, they march with purpose to the orchid show. The children between them are bundled so tightly, they waddle like penguins in the winter glow.” – excerpt from The Bronx Botanical Gardens Orchid Show by Jacqueline S. McCauley #TheMetaworker #ForgeFriday
“Like the Man, she appeared oblivious to the absence of walls. Standing in my usual spot observing the house, I kept willing [the Woman] to look my way.” – excerpt from The Season of Solitude by Jenn Haase Vetter #MetaworkerMonday #TheMetaworker
“some chasms are wider than others / this city is large and so are the windows” excerpt from spring cleaning by @laurenkellls
#MetaworkerMonday #TheMetaworker
“I’m cursed to know the whereabouts of every small lost thing, even the things I never touch, like your toothbrush.” excerpt from Only a Witch by Steven Hage #MetaworkerMonday #TheMetaworker
A Knight in Shining Armor for a Dad by Maxine Flam #MetaworkerMonday #TheMetaworker
“In the Mood”, a poem by Lucia Owen #TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
Microfiction by Kathryn Gossow #MetaworkerMonday #TheMetaworker
“Sheep are floating in the ocean, and I’m going to be sick again. Not that those two have much to do with each other.” – excerpt from Porcelain Sheep by Jamie Anthony Louis @jamieanthony187 #TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
“Here’s where I was those last nights, / twisting on that rack / of a recliner next to your bed” – excerpt from “Last Nights, Dreaming” by Lucia Owen #TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
“The beach is sinking. / It’s a sigh. It’s the lack of you and I, pulling like the tide / against its warm face.” – excerpt from “The Beach” by Daniel Brennan @dannyjbrennan #TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
“The egg of flesh was placed on the table where my son and I were breakfasting. It was the shape of an ostrich egg, and slightly larger than one, too. Its ‘shell’ would bend to the touch, but it had skin like that of a human.” – excerpt from A Living Stone by Jason Ruiter #MetaworkerMonday #TheMetaworker
“It’s Not You, It’s Us” and “The Procedure” – Micro Poetry by Sam Alec #TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
“Give it up,” hollered a voice two tombstones down. “Nothing’s spooky to anyone in this damn world of endless light. You’re not scaring anyone.” Excerpt from “Grave Lightning” by Max Zell @ZellWriter #TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
“If my days were like the calcified chambers of a nautilus cell, then my work was the living meat they had arisen to protect. The most human part of me.” @mxwheels #MetaworkerMonday #TheMetaworker
“The bottom drawer in my father’s room contains his trash. Crumpled Budweiser cans and Marlboro ash, frayed photos from his childhood.” #TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
“I stand at the corner hailing autorickshaws. Many are ferrying schoolchildren, plastic sacks full of produce, five-litre gas cylinders, or the drivers’ wives holding stacked egg-trays bound for grocers.”
#TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
poetry by Russell Willis
#TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
Microfiction by Sharon Y. Sim
#MetaworkerMonday #TheMetaworker
Episode Description: Matthew, Elena, Mel, and Cerid talk with Isabel O’Hara Walsh about her short fiction piece “In the Willow Garden”. Content Warning: We discuss …
A piece was missing. It was a puzzle print of George Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte laid out on …
It’s part dream, part afterthought. All those years, Cupid’s arrows landed wide of the mark, struck her friends instead. And now, at last, one thumps …
her body falls out of her underwear with the impact of apples come down out of trees. it’s hot, this afternoon, baking in august. we …
I asked about her yearnings, her desires, as I suspected they might, perhaps, mesh with my own. It was worth a try, an attempt at some sort of shared, miraculous
camaraderie.
For Devan Daniel Romo is the author of Bum Knees and Grieving Sunsets (FlowerSong Press 2023), Moonlighting as an Avalanche (Tebot Bach 2021), Apologies in …
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 …
My Friends and I Started Having Premonitions About Future Lovers Sonia dreamt of being sawed in half by a mustached magician, rugged steel grinding rosewood …
A golden retriever of a womanjust met and she’s practically sheddingin your lapshe steps away from packing heroverstuffed bagwell-meaning but not seeing boundaries that should …
Since our son was born, you always pull out and cum on your side. I roll onto your side of the bed, still warm and …
It’s the way I pause when I come across Goethe andwhisper the name—Gir-tah.To make sure I still remember how it’s supposed to sound on the tongue. To remind myself it …
The Art Gallery I pop into the art gallery lined with textured paintings of the seaside. The artist greets me as she works wielding a …
If only Joyce hadn’t taken that damn selfie. Her and Tate, laughing at a truck stop in Mexico, drinking beer with lime, his cotton t-shirt …
Prologue to a Memoir Based on Love Letters to my Dead Husband By Margaret S. Mandell Sunday, December 10, 2017 My Dearest Love: October 2015. …
When I awake I Like to think about us two Alone forever Sweetest saccharine Inside your mouth I lose my Self hour after hour Diet …
I was afraid of my abusive and controlling ex-husband, but I didn’t know this until 10 years after I divorced him. I wrote hidden poems, …
In the sweltering summer of 1966, I have a kitten who will not cooperate under the Arizona sun that glares at me from its cloudless …
Autumn snapped my spine like the sudden flash of a spark, waking up the dark. She brought rain and left me blooming, treading my fresh soles on top of …
Two a.m., well into her night shift at the NICU, was never a good time to receive a call on her cell. “He’s gone,” Jason’s …
Brittani, the unmarried maid of honor at her younger sister’s wedding in a small village church, spent years in graduate school. It infuriated her that …
I played with the curls of your clipped auburn hair that I kept sealed in your grandma’s silver locket, because you always said I didn’t …
Down in the willow garden, where me and my true love did meet,There we sat a-courting, my love fell off to sleep – “Rose Connelly,” …
James was a senior when I was a freshman at Salem North High School; I fell in love with him when I heard he’d persuaded …
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 …
“There is no answer” you said “to whyin an inquiry because an inquiry is to find out why,”your voice rising over us like a storm,a …
Grievances David calls as I’m retiring for the night. “You really need to stop spoiling that dog, Mom!” he begins without preamble when I pick …
Are you dead, Maria? One Hour It seems so. Seven Days Their black clothes. Their black veils. Their white handkerchiefs, dry in their pockets. None …
Matthew, Marina, Melissa, and Elena talk about Mina Rozario’s flash fiction fantasy story, Rangoli Man. We gush about saying a lot in very few words, the utopian fairy-tale tone, and the story’s fascinating dive into Indian culture.
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 …
His is a lariat love, beginning with a wobbleAs it starts to unwind. Then stretching fastInto a wide-spreading circle, swinging wild,Arcing high, landing without warning,Just …
What if I couldpaint like youpiercing light throughdarkening skies if I could weave storiesby blending chaptersabout love and discontent what if I stood nakedsang love …
“Say I had the power to grant you one wish,” his wife said. “What would you wish for?” “Hmm…” her husband said. “Can it be …
Episode Description: Matthew, Marina, and Melissa gush about Lane Talbot’s Minotaurs before asking him about how he approaches his craft, the art of writing the …
I piss. it feels okand then after I walkthrough the house going backto the kitchen.and you are not herein any of the house,or at least …
While his children bickered and his wife ignored him, Charlie tugged at the thin paper flap of a packet of tea. His eyes scanned the …
Jane floats her tablecloth across the floor,sets out fruit, bread, wine, says: Here, look closely. See the red so forcefullywoven into the curtain? Mother’s blood. Scattered like …
Amber, scarlet, gilded daffodil. All sits quiet, calm,and the sun sets as I turn to you. It takes a second but then I see a …
The dull beep raises my guardas the seconds canter in the frostlit up by an anaemic starin the echoes of the morning. A glib voice …
Jupiter’s raindrops area phenomenon thatfollows close behindmoonlight and aftersexand the sonnetof moments wherecollecting my pantsmixes deliberately withstaring and thispale shimmer ofmelancholy. This isa lesson inanger, …
From downstairs I hear you playfully yell “panties!” with the tantrum-bound toddler who is disemboweling my underwear drawer. By the shape of the laugh in …
I have no hair atop my head but if I did it would be like yours and I’d wash it brush it out and take …
The aspirations of man are simpler— a plate of fruit, a bottle of wine and my wife about to cook a chef’s dinner from disparate …
Hello, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, nonbinary individuals of all ages. It’s been a while since we had an update from the editor-in-chief, but …
Did you, my beloved, notice the barbed wiresthat run along the length of the city,to separate you from me?Such walls of divisiveness are man-made:penetrating your …
We go grocery shopping with a pregnant woman who does and does not want the Hawaii rolls, a woman who drops the cockroach in a …
Having little to his name when he died, the reading of Henry Fromm’s will went quickly. Nothing surprising or contentious. On paper he never did …
I knew already, struck with the phantasm of a dream that I had taken the reins of my life at last. Like a drowning man …
It was the upper floor of a solid 1950s style house in Piraeus with heavy ceiling fans and dust-laden blinds obscuring a view of the …
In the heat of the summer, back when Willow’s mother slipped in and out of lunacy, sometimes she’d wake up at night to find her …
Spindrift from your biocellate field leaves me smooth and serene, your voice hijacks my uneasiness. In the parlor of our pact flurries of foregoing …
I’ve been awake since 4 a.m. But that was twenty hours ago, and now we’re here, at the party, and …
Love like Eucalyptus or Lavender was sabuline. Cacoethes for your company I understand now: the arenosity I had to encounter by cholla-like jabs too. …
Her new boyfriend had a ship inside a bottle. You’d ask him how he got it in there, and he’d act like you …
Four tea cups lay unattended since Mittag – on the black, bedraggled table in the canteen. You and I – drinking each other in— …
Now that you’ve passed-through woods deeper and darker than these — climbed into eternity — can you tell me, when our hearts stop, and we’re …
I watched you slide swiftly into the fog encapsulating Eagle Junction railway station. Scraps of rust leaking with oil-stained dew flung into the past, and …
You come home, half gallon of milk in one hand, the other snaking around my waist. Head buried in my shoulder, no words, just small …
We sit on the precipice of Heaven and pollution; you hand Me an empty box and promise Desultory protection. Our bodies, superimposed From two …
I reveal the parts I want you to see you think you know me masquerade ugly thoughts inside my head mourning at the side of …
“He laid his head in my palms And I watched as he grew a garden of roses Across a dying field. He had the power …
Hello, everyone! It’s Friday again and we’ve got another extra thing to share. When we were all talking, we realized we’ve all shared some of …