All posts in Writing

December 15, 2021

Vera West Is Our 2022-2023 Poet-in-Residence!

Posted by Mike Rochester in News, Writing

Editor’s Note:We are excited to announce our second Poet-in-Residence, Vera West! Earlier this year, we were introduced to Vera through our all-star Poetry Barista, Yong Takahashi. Michael and Jennifer were throwing around the idea of doing a “potpourri post” of poetry. The timing worked out for it to fall on National Poetry Week, so we organized a lineup of poets for the post. I reached out to Yong to ask if she knew any poets who would want to contribute a poem and she replied with an enthusiastic request to include Vera. (You can see that National Poetry Month post here.) Over the summer, us baristas were discussing who we wanted to nominate for the next Poet-in-Residence position and again Yong came back with Vera’s name. We perused her portfolio and had a delightful Zoom…

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December 12, 2021

“Sang / Lait Chaud, ” A Short Story by Cathleen Davies

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

What’s good about the telly is that Susie can blather on and on and it doesn’t bother Dave at all. He’s always been pretty good at multi-tasking, keeping his mind on two things at once. It was a nice evening. Dave managed to leave work at the door. Susie was doing her knitting and the Tigers were still drawing with Stoke City. Dave sipped his beer. It was good to be home. “I think I’ll do a little hat to go with these if I have any wool leftover,” Susie said, as she held out a little booty on curved needles. “Oh, aye? Lovely.” “I hope it won’t offend your mum though. I know she got Alice that little white hat at Christmas, but she’s nearly grown out of it and she’ll need a new…

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November 24, 2021

An Excerpt and News from Mbizo Chirasha

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Editor’s Note: Mbizo Chirasha is The Fictional Café’s Poet-in-Residence. We have featured his work for two years now and are closing in on the end of his term. You may have noticed that we have featured less of his work this year, which, we are sad to say, is because Mbizo has been fleeing his home in Zimbabwe and trying to find asylum in another country. Due to his criticism of African politics and corruption in his writing, he has frequently been a target of violence from his government. We have partnered with a few organizations to help him find a safe place to live and write, but he continues to meet challenges. Mbizo has recently published a new book, which we announced earlier this year. Here is an excerpt from his book, called, “Along…

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November 22, 2021

“Professor Crow,” A Short Story by Salvatore Difalco

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Things were a little hazy. I had resurfaced after an entire year. I knew it would take time to get my legs underneath me, and not enough of it had passed yet. Not by a long shot. Nevertheless there I stood, out in the world again. How much had it changed? How much had people changed? Had anything changed at all? I’d soon find out. The red floor was sticky. When I lifted my heel you could hear it. I looked around the dimly lit tavern. Sparse crowd, folks still wary, or paranoid. We might still be doomed. We were doomed. Likely somewhere in that spectrum, not forgetting our recent ineptitude and iniquities as well as our successes. Dudes reeking of ganja wheeled about the place with bleeding eyes and slobbery mouths. The bald endomorphic bouncer, in a black turtleneck with a large gold crucifix hanging between his pectorals, stood by the door keeping six on them like an elephant with…

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November 18, 2021

“Once Upon a Dog,” A Short Story by Bob Calverley

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

One day Chief Warrant Officer Walters of the 99th Assault Helicopter Company would complain that the Tet Offensive began a month early for him. But on New Year’s Day, 1968, the company’s gun platoon, known as the Headhunters, was still basking in a lull that had begun a couple of weeks before Christmas. No one had been killed or wounded. Not a single rocket or mortar had exploded in Nui Binh Base Camp. Only one helicopter had been hit by ground fire. On New Year’s, the Headhunters returned to the base camp shortly before lunch after a long-planned combat assault was called off. Then they were given a rare afternoon off. Led by Walters, the gunship pilots decided to visit a Filipino engineering battalion stationed in Nui Binh. After lunch, most of the Headhunter enlisted…

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November 15, 2021

“Heather, Ludwig and Nathaniel,” An Excerpt by Derrick R. Lafayette

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

LUDWIG I was surprised she’d read the first chapter. My tutor usually found small detours in any narrative I put forth. It reminded me of looking at a sheet through a magnifying glass, judging the components that hold it together. Inside my glasses were three strands of hair, dust, and a fingerprint, yet, I blinked away the annoyance and kept going. When I finally finished chapter two, I emailed my document to her. She unearthed a cellphone twice the size of her hand, stuck her face into the screen, and scrolled with her pinky. “Do you know what a journeyman is?” the tutor asked slyly, leaving a hum of arrogance in the question. “A nomad?” I responded, unsure. “Ah, but you do know what failure is?” “A worker or sports player who is reliable but…

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November 8, 2021

“Orphan Smile,” The Poetry of Gopal Lahiri

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Orphan Smile How hard it is for the stars to weave a story. It breaks through the wall and chain, and then in turn, with eyes closed. Words filter into dark rooms, unnoticeably, to the tune of the evening. It is not unexpected, nor is it striped, wood pencils sketch grey and grey sky. Each strum is a haze that thins and fades, the one who sings with all the heart for a while, is now trapped in the web of memory. Each mirror reflects the orphan smile, what remains is the rising smoke of the pyres. Ancient Palms We must learn to read, to hold them ever among the corn fields of the golden year. Before our eyes, the deep unique shadows take me up…

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November 4, 2021

“24/7,” A Short Story by Sharon L. Dean

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

A fog hovers over Market Street, catching the pungent salt air. I inhale deeply as I slip the keycard into the slot and punch in the extra security code. By mid-morning, the chill of New Hampshire’s early morning spring will warm to 70 degrees. Right now I could use a jacket over my sweatshirt. Inside feels warm, though I know the temperature is set for 60 degrees. The lights on the security cameras glow. On the far wall, the clock reads 4:05. Its face and hands are large, easy to read from any part of the room even by the people who take off their glasses to exercise. All around, posters clutter the legal-pad yellow walls. Bright images of bright runners and skiers and swimmers, the swimmers posed cleverly in front of the rowing machine. The place reeks…

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October 27, 2021

“Bleb,” A Poetry Excerpt by Sanjeev Sethi

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Medic As casual as strolling on a graveled pathway in a close-by parkland, words cycle towards me on my inner track where ideas lap dance with a tumescent dash. The first draft is born. This baby needs a battery of nurses and other paraphernalia. I’m the doc on duty. Summon the accoucheur for stillborns. Memento Mori Campestral locales furnish the song and dance routine with a context. Ill-lighted rooms caution me of you. When their consciousness darkles, I am snug as a bug. Why does sadness complect my cheeriness? Is alertness a curse? Nonfiction Google and other griefs chase my working hours. Nights are cut out for graphology. In temple of needs my pelage seeks your petting. My god it seems is huffy. Fair Play The…

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October 21, 2021

“The Star,” A Short Story by Jovan Ivančević

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Yes I’m alive. It is a surprise for me as well as for you. I’m about to receive yet another reward. This time it is an accomplishment for my entire work. I feel ecstatic, fantastic but a little bit sad. I am going inside, but before doing so, I will look up to at the beautiful night sky. I always do that, wondering the names of the stars so far away. There wasn’t enough time for me to learn their names. The feeling of loneliness follows me, lingers, if not in me then around, always in close vicinity of my being. You might sense why it is like that, particularly those of you who have walked the same path as me. It is here, less than a cubit away, sometimes even closer, going up the spine, lurking in…

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