————————Cullen McMahon———————— THE MISSING LINK WHEN the doorbell rang, I was in my room pretending to put on a holiday sweater while actually playing my fifth consecutive hour of Super Mario Brothers. In those days I had a Nintendo with…
___________Jory Mickelson______________ The Annunciation We lived in a world mostlyunlike the world. We didn’t knowthe names of any growing thingamid the marble pillars & porticos& the obelisk of the angel’sruffling wings. In the ruinsof the oligarchs’ harvesting,their alpha & omega…
Editor’s Note: A Reconciliatory Approach by Albert Kapikian (photo by Rochelle Cohen) The new heresy is to assume good faith, but since Potomac Review comes out of a community college, where we have no principle of sorting, where there is,…
An Interview with John Rolfe Gardiner by Ellen Sullivan John Rolfe Gardiner spoke to Potomac Review from his home in rural Loudon County, Virginia, 50 miles northwest of Washington, DC, at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The handsome,…
William Hawkins FAMILY’S GOT EVERYTHING A GOOD COUNTRY SONG NEEDS Look at you. They’re wiping the last bits of birth off you, two nurses in lilac scrubs weighing you, measuring you, lifting up your arms, your legs, poking, wiping—they’re absolutely…
Joan Mazza RANGE MAPS My love of maps and the tales they tell take me to the back of the Peterson Field Guide of Eastern Birds, where I can see the breeding range for every bird, each duck or wading…
Mazzy Sleep LOST Part 1 Drawings on the wall, Chalked scripts, the Slow breaths upon The cold paper, Letters running through the margin, This is the last thing you ever Said: a small drawing of a cat In deep,…
Grace Cavalieri HEART MISSION It wasn't so much that you were hurt --and who among us is not hurt-- It's more that you had no one to tell, I'm listening and If loneliness still fits, wear it, let…
Erin Wilson BECOMING THE SILENCE OF FOXES Crouched in the autumn wood, I remove the map of my skull. I grow down, out and upward. Rain becomes lost inside the raining of leaves. I try…
Mark Lilley THE LANGUAGE OF FORGIVENESS The road to my friend’s house runs along the east side of the Licking River. On summer days you might find boys fishing on the lower banks or roughhousing knee-deep and shirtless…