Art Foster is a U.S. Marine (retired), writer, student, sailor, and a veteran of three wars. He was born in Savannah, Georgia, has lived and traveled around the world, and currently resides in Southern Louisiana with his wife and two dogs. He is pursuing an MLA in Creative Writing and Literature from Harvard University, Harvard Extension School.
By Gustavo I. Gomez You don’t want to know what it’s like to house-sit three spoiled-rotten dogs all by yourself. You have to be on guard at all times. Those little critters your wife calls her “fur babies,” and that you love more than you’re willing to admit, are mischievous little buggers. You usually never … More Notes on Dog Cartography (and other existential concerns)
By Ryan Vergara At dawn, when you have trouble getting out of bed, tell yourself: I must go to work — as a human being. What do I have to complain of, if I’m going to do what I was born for — the things I was brought into the world to do? Or is … More Clavier
By Dani Nuchereno “Hi Honey, Sending you some spending $. We hope you have a very memorable holiday season in Germany. We will miss you! Love you lots, aunt Deb and uncle Den.” – Note received just before departure A winter storm and a Meat Loaf concert landed me in Swiss immigration purgatory on Christmas … More Inadmissible Passenger
By Ryan Vergara After all the ceremonies for Harvard’s Class of 2025 concluded, my fellow graduates fled Cambridge. I likewise took my leave, out to Rockport on a commuter train. With my wife beside me, I stared out the window at misty Massachusetts, eventually dozing off along the way. It was a chilly day with … More The President
By Art Foster My wife loves chicken noodle soup. When she isn’t feeling well, chicken noodle soup, a fuzzy blanket, and the Golden Girls bring her comfort. I assume that’s how her mother cared for her when she was young, and it makes her feel safe, it makes her feel loved. When I’m sick, I … More Cheeseburgers: A Family Affair
By Tamarah Rockwood My loom is loud with water.His bouncing war legs are finallyStill. I weave into his dolorous mouthA golden thread of trust. I feel his gut,With my fingers and, now, he is not even curiousWhy he has seagrass from my estuary woven into his long hair. And so it goes. He falls in … More Penelope at her Loom
By Monique Rojas Los Angeles never slept, not really. Its neon pulse kept beating across the cracked sidewalks of Figueroa, in the dead glow of streetlights, in the humming vibrations of cars slowing down just long enough to negotiate, watch, or judge. It was a city built on illusion—of fame, fortune, glamour—and yet it devoured … More Walking the Blade
By Adam Noto Hakarsa O Striver!Has not the line in the yard beyond sheer?Of name all the star, forever bear!Void, has it been, for all that refer?Such piquancy so clear, every wherever so near!Forgive me so, have I not dwelled in the shadow,far to the rear?
By Desirae Mercedes Chacon whose wishes are in your handstell me, who is wishing for loveHealing. whose wish is that?reconciliation may be one.. are you a mediator or the delivererare you the receiver, the sender or grantercan you be the soul of utilitarianism?how do you decide whose wishes to grantcould you be an egalitarian?maybe, maybe … More Dear Dandelion
Brattle Street Review 