Soon I learn that Anthony the adorable mailman makes animals out of colorful beads, just for fun. I learn this during one of our front-porch chats, when he is dropping off my packages. This sounds like the start of a porno, but it’s not like that. He wants to give me something. A bead lizard. He promises to work on the lizard on his day off, whenever that might be. This is only a temporary route for him—he drives an...
Grandmother’s body buried beneath a flag. Naval officer, World War II, the Pacific front. My mother’s always saying that in the navy, my grandmother learned flat sheets with tight tucked corners, something with stars, sextant navigation. I hear the word sex. The way I want bodies I shouldn’t: my friend Marie. Her way of laughing with her whole face. Obscene, she calls it, but I think it’s a tiny miracle, an intimacy. Your grandmother wasn’t gay, you know, my mother...
After the pregnancy test came back positive, my husband went to work and I called Professor Mark. “Meet me at Legal’s,” I texted. “Buck a shuck oysters at lunchtime.” Two pink lines were as good an excuse as any for a personal day. After lunch, we went to his loft in the Seaport District where I watched the whales breaching in the harbor while he went down on me. Tiny black specs, surfacing. My body giving me something that was...
Though the candles our mom always kept lit in the living room had him all wrong. Jesus was brown. Jesus could eat fifteen tortillas when hungry, and ten when not as hungry. Jesus mowed lawns, trimmed hedges, planted hydrangeas and tulips in the large backyards of the rich folk out in West (White) Omaha. Jesus hadn’t seen his mom in over two decades. Jesus had a thick pornstache and a rug of black hair on his chest to match. Jesus’...
Sequins. Art doesn’t let himself climax. This body doesn’t deserve pleasure, he insists. Instead he asks you to lie naked and still on the bed he clears off for you, an altar among the boxes and piles. He stands between your legs and reaches into his pocket, spreads you navel-to-throat with sequins and clear beads and glass gems. This is what he pictures his orgasm to be. No shame in beauty. No mess in what is carefully articulated. Afterwards he...
SmokeLong Quarterly has been dedicated to publishing the best flash narratives since 2003.
March 2023
I have so much to tell you. First, AWP-slash-SLQKaraokeFest was great fun. I’m always excited to meet our contributors, make new friends, and give away some cash to the winner of our book fair micro competition. This year Jacob Ahana-Laba won for his rhythmically wild romp of a micro. Watch out for this guy. Before… Continue reading New Front (continue reading)
A SmokeLong Summer 2023!
From June 5 to August 27 2023, SmokeLong is going to host the superworkshop, A SmokeLong Summer for the second year. We want to spend the summer with you, the flash community. Our asynchronous workshops take place on a devoted website where you can create a profile, interact with the flash community, and take part in group discussions on craft, but A SmokeLong Summer is much more.
Your donation helps writers and artists get paid for their work. If you’re enjoying what you read here, please consider donating to SmokeLong Quarterly today.
Megan Pillow is a graduate of the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop in fiction and holds a Ph.D. in English from the University of Kentucky. She is project manager for Roxane Gay and co-editor of The Audacity (Dr. Gay's newsletter). Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in, among other places, in Electric Literature, SmokeLong Quarterly, The Believer, Guernica, and Gay Magazine. She lives in Louisville, Kentucky with her two children.
Sex and intimacy, in every form and from every point of view, are essential parts of life and so essential parts of literature. In April we’ll look at sex and intimacy in flash with workshop leaders Christopher Allen, Megan Pillow, and Nancy Au. This four-week workshop is asynchronous and happens on a dedicated website where… Continue reading The SmokeLong April Intensive — Going There: Sex and Intimacy in Flash
Allison Field Bell is originally from northern California but has spent most of her adult life in the desert. She is currently pursuing her PhD in Prose at the University of Utah, and she has an MFA in Fiction from New Mexico State University. Her work has been published in The Gettysburg Review, New Orleans Review, West Branch, Epiphany, The Cincinnati Review, Ruminate, Alaska Quarterly Review, Hunger Mountain Review, Shenandoah, The Pinch, and elsewhere. Find her at allisonfieldbell.com.
