A selection of short stories in the Fall 2019 issue He had witnessed her appearance a few minutes earlier. Instantly he had known, from the way her pieces sifted together, that she was a ghost, though he had never seen… by Kevin Brockmeier | Sep, 2019

A Points South essay from the Fall 2019 issue A wolf suit. A boy suit. The belly button memory of a mama tether. An odd stone to mark the buried time capsule of your before body. Did your husband wince… by Marianne Jay Erhardt | Sep, 2019

A Louisiana tribe’s long fight against the American tide—feature reportage from the Fall 2019 issue.  Today, the island has a spare and haphazard beauty. Almost every day, fishermen stand in clusters along the island road, casting their nets into the… by Boyce Upholt | Sep, 2019

Could Lucy Negro Redux beckon a new era for ballet?—an Omnivore essay from the Fall 2019 issue. I believe artwork is more interesting—and will invite new audiences—when a wide swath of people are allowed to tell a variety of stories.… by Kelundra Smith | Sep, 2019

The pieces of Johnny Greene, an Omnivore essay from the Fall 2019 issue. Johnny used place as a recurrent theme, along with displacement. As a journalist, he was fascinated by communities, by groups of people and the environments which shaped… by James K. Williamson | Sep, 2019

 A Letter from the Editor, Fall 2019. As a nonprofit, independent publication, the OA exists in an undefined space between literary journal and glossy general-interest magazine. We can embrace the best of both traditions as we see fit: publishing multi-page… by Eliza Borné | Sep, 2019

Paddling to Walter Inglis Anderson’s Horn Island—a feature essay from the Fall 2019 issue. As we paddled, my awareness inverted, a shift in perspective that would continue for the entire journey. Though we were headed south, the world was tilted, and… by Julian Rankin | Sep, 2019

A new episode of Points South is now playing!Subscribe today and never miss an episode. Episode Two features Mary Miller, John Paul White + a feature story by Julian Rankin. For more information visit oxfordamerican.org/pointssouth. by Sara A. Lewis | Oct, 2019

We would like to hear from you.  The magazine will begin publishing letters to the editor in the fall issue and going forward. If you would like to respond to a story published in the magazine, we welcome your letter. by Oxford American | Jun, 2019

June 08, 2014

Five poems from the spring 2014 issue.

Across the white highway, dogs drift unmoored
Silver-tipped seagrass, but no cactus. An offing
of shopping plazas, their harsh light and low roofs.
That's the way with drought; first dissent,
a worm belief that one place could be another.
I bet it feels good to twist a head of cotton
clean from the stem's fat and browning boll.
I bet it feels good to stand in irrigated rows.

January 11, 2017

A profile from the Oxford American’s 25th issue, 1999.

Christenberry is not simply a visual artist who reveres writers, especially Southern ones, his artistic vocabulary is directly shaped by them. His largest theme, like that of many novelists, is time, and he has a poet’s sureness of imagery and tone. He is perhaps the South’s most literary artist.

April 06, 2017

An installment in our weekly series, The By and By. 

In the West Virginia of long ago, when it was a place with work that lured people, rather than spitting them out into the world, the Calabrians came to mine the coal, the Sicilians to lay the rails, the Abruzzese to chisel lovely stonework on the railroad tunnels and passes—you can still find that abandoned work in places, overgrown in ivy and filth, the names of its artisans lost to history.

September 23, 2015

When I first opened Stanford’s slim book of posthumously published selected work, The Light the Dead See, every word rang true and glowed like burning coal. I was enraptured by his recklessness, his rebelliousness, his loneliness; I drank up his language like whiskey and was pulled into his dangerous, nocturnal world full of energy and eroticism and death.

October 25, 2016

A poem from the Fall 2016 issue. 

I stand before the little square history
of my cutting board: beet stain, parsley
mark, garlic in the grain that infuses

anything cut open, left soft-side down.
October 27, 2015

. . . . Whenever they look at me they see Civil War. Rape. The
great historical dismissive black boy walk away. When they shoot
me and leave me in the street for four hours facedown on the hot
summer pavement while my mother screams on the porch they
see sugar plantations melting in the distance.

September 05, 2017

The lounge’s changes reflect those of Trenton, which has been hit by deindustrialization, white flight, falling property values, a cratering tax base, budget cuts, and a drop in educational resources. There is probably a recovery formula for the rest of the city somewhere in the tiny fragment of an integrated, prospering populace that materializes for the Candlelight Saturday Sabbath with its transubstantiation of mouthpiece, breath, drum skin, string, and inner ear stereocilia into camaraderie.

July 29, 2015

For so many years I thought of myself as a Kentucky poet, and for many years, I proudly wrote about Kentucky, or at least my small, cave-hollowed corner of it. 

November 02, 2014

A poem from our summer 2013 issue.

is what she said, but what mattered was the tone—
not a drive-by spondee and never the fricative
connotation as verb, but from her mouth
voweled, often preceeded by well, with the “u” low
as if dipping up homemade ice cream, waiting to be served
last so that she’d scoop from the bottom
where all the good stuff had settled down.

March 14, 2017

A poem from the Spring 2017 issue.

Never allow your heaven to grow too large,
the raven said, when I stepped out, first light.
But it was not a raven. I am lying.