Gulf Coast Online Exclusives


The Ocean Won't Give Him Back to Us

Jane Medved

You have found out that someone dies every two seconds. This shouldn’t make you feel better, but it does.


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

The Curiosities

Amaud Jamaul Johnson

The year, this distance— when brightly his face hums and ticks like a washed penny and you can see him now as a co-worker or neighbor…

Mott Street in July

Xuan Juliana Wang

It did not yet boggle their minds that the insides of those things that fly also look like the insides of those that swim. They had yet to question why the bones of a fish could look like the bones of a kite. They had not known to wonder how far to look back in history for the connection.

Lobster Dinner

Alexandra Kleeman

The lobsters were dead in a pile and with a froth on their shells they waited and watched us undress each other...

The Nurses of My Dengue Fever

Jason Nemec

She would fly from the islands and fall in love with a white boy like me, start a family, get lost in a medium-sized Midwestern city...

From the Archives

The Field of Rooms and Halls

Richard Siken

1 A man found a door and hung it on the wall. I think he thought in rectangles, each day's bright panel pushed one against the next, a calendar of light.…

Immanuel Kant

Joe Fletcher

Gulf Shores, Alabama. The sun spun in its flaming sphere, light-belching charioteer. I was pale and in the ocean, naked but for a swimsuit and a snorkeling mask...

Two Poems

Michael Wasson

'éetu: so be it, he says— & I ignite a flame striking a wooden match along the torso of my god: a face mirroring a boy afraid of only him- self: a shadow spills behind us

One Girl In Particular

Elizabeth Fennell

Mom is pregnant. In nine months, our family will never be the same. Our father won't make it. A baby will. Today we will go skiing. My mother calls for directions.

From the Blog

D.A. Powell on "The Mad Place" of Poetry

"You can use language and be absolutely true to what you’re saying, and at the same time people have an opportunity to misread it as something scintillating…

Engaging the Mystery: The Anagogic Poetry of Lucie Brock-Broido

Last March, Lucie Brock-Broido died at the age of 61. She left behind four collections, and the work within was characterized as “spooky,” “haunted,” or…