An interview with Matt Wolfe, whose essay “Ride Along with the Cow Police” appears in the Oxford American’s Spring 2016 issue. “I spoke with more than one rancher who was genuinely perplexed that cattle rustling wasn’t still a hanging crime.… by Ryan Smith | May, 2016

A poem from the Spring 2016 issue. Two wasps copulate over your back porch—their wings grate the air above the ochre splotchwhere a hawk took down a pigeon last winternot long after your move into the yellow house by Bianca Lynne Spriggs | May, 2016

M. Laine Wyatt’s project Interiors is about public spaces and their “sort of theatre of the ordinary.” Wyatt seeks a “Pompeian quality” by photographing these places in the absence of human subjects. by M. Laine Wyatt | May, 2016

Over the past decade, my parents have made art that reflects the changes they’ve seen in the land and water in the area where I grew up, near the banks of the mineral-blue Little Mulberry River in the Ozark Mountains… by Alice Driver | May, 2016

In West Virginia, a state where most everything comes at a cost, there are no simple solutions, and in his new story collection, Allegheny Front, Matthew Neill Null does not shy away from the contradictions and complexities that make this region both… by Mesha Maren | May, 2016

A poem from the Spring 2016 issue, inspired by Richard Leo Johnson’s photographs. The carpets, the paneling, the overstuffed recliner. Chainsaw carvingon the TV, kerosene lantern for thunderstorms, girl lying on the carpet in her shorts, Converses, ankle socks. TV… by C. D. Wright | Apr, 2016

Because there wasn’t enough income to pay a full-time hand, all animals requiring daily care had to go. Mountain lions would eat the Boer goats if they went unsold. An emu, whom the old foreman Cruz had jailed in a derelict tennis court, I freed to earn a living in pasture. So long as they had water and grass, the cattle more or less took care of themselves until roundup.

That left the llama.

The photographs in Grant Ellis’s book Bless Your Heart were taken during the summer of 2014, when Ellis returned to the Mississippi Delta where he grew up.

Cooking with Chris.

Though not inclined to the supernatural, I am willing to recognize the effects of luck on my life, both good and bad. As a result I have many talismans of good fortune: a rabbit’s foot, a horseshoe, an oak leaf from a 150-year-old tree, and hundreds of lucky rocks. I don’t know if they work, and I don’t really care.

Ethnic insights do not always weather storms, particularly if one, black or not, is too committed to common cloudbursts: they can slowly evolve into an aesthetic version of sleeping sickness. Tarantino surprises us again because his Django Unchained is one of the worst versions of Blaxploitation ever seen.

“I should have put a stop to that craftsman shit a long time ago,” Guy Clark says. “It makes my skin crawl. It’s nobody’s fault but mine because I didn’t step up and say, ‘No, that’s not right.’ I consider what I do poetry. I don’t need to prove I’m a poet in every line and I’m not afraid to speak plainly in my songs. Not everything needs to be a metaphor and I don’t need lofty words. But it is my obligation as a poet to be faithful to the verse. I write what I know. I write what I see.”

This week, our departing interns offer their recommendations for our readers, including a book that upends preconceptions, a band that performs rarely, and a story of death, birth, and donkey testicles.

Photographs of Hickory Nut Gap Farm in Fairview, North Carolina, in the Blue Ridge Mountains, which has “an intactness and continuity with its past that was rare and notable.”

In West Virginia, a state where most everything comes at a cost, there are no simple solutions, and in his new story collection, Allegheny Front, Matthew Neill Null does not shy away from the contradictions and complexities that make this region both so troubled and so extraordinary.

Over the past decade, my parents have made art that reflects the changes they’ve seen in the land and water in the area where I grew up, near the banks of the mineral-blue Little Mulberry River in the Ozark Mountains of northwest Arkansas.

After Katrina, a New Orleans soccer team comes home.

In February 2006 we picked up the pieces of our season. Again we were a traveling band of groupies, following our sons.

A vibrant literary magazine ought to not only fuel the culture, but should have something to say about it, too.

M. Laine Wyatt’s project Interiors is about public spaces and their “sort of theatre of the ordinary.” Wyatt seeks a “Pompeian quality” by photographing these places in the absence of human subjects.

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