*Featured image courtesy of anncapictures on pixabay.com* Emmalene wanted her daddy to do like everyone else’s—to fix her chain when it fell off her bike, to make enough money so they could move from the boarding house on Main Street, where Mommy and Daddy slept in the big bed and she and Ricky lay on a mattress beside the radiator that hissed in winter. She wanted to feel proud of her daddy like the sisters on The Brady Bunch were proud of theirs. Emmalene’s daddy had potential, her mommy said on the phone to Aunt Lisa. A whiz at electronics, he could talk his way into any job, though keeping it was another matter—a challenge, Mommy said. Sometimes he spent the day in bed smoking Camel cigarettes and nursing a bitch of a hangover. Emmalene wondered what colors in her Crayola box would best…
Soldier’s Home by Sharon Dean
*Featured image courtesy of KaraSuva on Pixabay.com* I cross the street to the main campus that shows off its New Hampshire beauty as if it were posing for the cover of Yankee Magazine. The grass, green from spring rain and freshly mowed, slopes to buildings bathed in sunlight. Students walk in and out of Murkland and Hamilton Smith Halls carrying armloads of books. I read the inscription on the façade of the library that I’d read so many times as an undergrad. “Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.” When I go into the library, the dizzying stripes of its carpet remind me that this isn’t 1964 and that my now graduate student self has learned to ask “Whose truth?” UNH is a different place. Gone is the concept of…
Thirteen Years At The Fictional Café
Dear Fictional Café Habitués, In this Merry Month of May, thirteen years ago, The Fictional Café began publishing your works of fiction, poetry, fine arts and photography, audio stories, and other delightful creative works. It’s been so much fun, so rewarding to publish your creative expressions. You have shown us the world as it is – and how it ought to be, as it is in your thoughts and soul, then shared in our ‘zine untarnished by the pursuit of money. We ask you to suspend submitting your new work with us until we let you know we’re back up and running. That said, we urge you with all that is good to continue creating and never stop. But for us, we need a break and hope you will forgive us for it. Our loyal and devoted…
3 Poems by Michael Bruebach
*Featured image courtesy of Kie-ker on Unsplash* A Grove Near Maggie Daley Park Don’t dream the day is still in front of us. all light in the grove; dead grass like sand all over the threadbare grounds, this hollowed clearing in the urban forest, ancient orchard obstructs the concrete sky. The Man who sits across the grounds has hands like a prophet, they are massive and awash in sunlight. twice, He kneels down into the sandpaper grass, throws His hands together toward the sky, and cries out. begs. wails. my shoulders shake out of reverence or fear. twice, He resumes reading when there is no apparent answer, licks His thumb and turns the page with a grin I am trying to stomach. my bare feet hold the dirt in some old form of offering. it…
FC’s 2025 National Poetry Month Roundup
Thanks to Vera West, our Poetry Barista, Malik White, Managing Editor, and PS Conway, Poetry Writer in Residence, for their most excellent curating of poems for this, our fifth April National Poetry Month. And a special thanks for recognizing our support to Ricardo Maldonado of Poets.org. We had so many poetry submissions we couldn’t publish them all individually, so here is a roundup of all the fine poets that could still be published during NPM. And if you submitted to PS Conway’s NPM 5 contest, we’ll be announcing the three winners shortly. Each will receive an autographed copy of his beautiful book – both in words and art – Echoes Lost In Stars. Salvatore DiFalco Lost Among Pines The pines know where they are, perfuming the air between them or exchanging subtle communiqués in a…