Spilt Infinitive Volume 1, Issue 4 Selected Author Works

  • by Amy Schreibman Walter


    There was a time when I traveled in the dark, sheer across 21st street - pyjamas, padded slippers, quarters jangling under my winter coat, as though a homeless person, or a crazy, only to wash my sheets.

    Read More +
  • by Trevor Dodge


    Listen. I moved out so I could have a secure, private place to masturbate. I told the children it was because I “Couldn’t Do It Anymore,” and I left their mother to parse my pronoun usage. I rented a one-bedroom apartment a block away from where my

    Read More +
  • by Serkan Engin


    I have made my heart a hammer but could not repair the structure of my being. My master spews forth his feelings lowly to me, he expends my youth as oakum. My desires could not be welded again, I\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'ve been broken from yesterday to tomorrow. They say:

    Read More +
  • by Tae Monahan


    When my daughter was two, she killed a frog. We had found them months earlier, living under the ledge of our back porch. Our neighbors, Diana and Dylan, through the power of sheer negligence, had converted their pool into a swamp, and as a result, we fell

    Read More +
  • by Robert Weinberger


    We moved from Brooklyn to Long Island today. To a town where every drive, court, and place is named after a girl, a bird, or some kind of shrub. Where kids play basketball in their driveways and softball in the street. I did not want to move.

    Read More +
  • by Neil Mathison


    Billy Buddnick waits for Corazon to end her shift at Amelio’s Flamingo Club. We sit, three shipmates, at a teetering table, in this dirt-floor bar, across the “Shit River” from the Subic Bay Naval Base, in Olongopo City, Republic of the Philippines. Buddnick, Hull Technician Third Class

    Read More +
  • by Jason Allen


    He hired me as his laborer, his helper, his driver, his sometimes whipping boy. The carpenter, one year sober, laughed while recalling his alcoholic nightmares, laughed about the anti-psychotics he’d been prescribed for his rage.

    Read More +
  • by Carmen E. Brady


    And that night I thought I heard a mouse outside, but it was your footsteps by my windowsill. I thought I saw the elongated shadow of a rat, but it was your silhouette, darling. My sweetheart. There were sirens that night, but they never were for

    Read More +
  • by Meghan Barker


    One thing Sam never told his wife Dana was how much he hated the feathers she’d worn in her hair for their wedding. She’d looked beautiful, of course, but Sam thought the feathers made her look like an awkward, flightless bird. Soon after she had left him,

    Read More +
  • by Wiley Berkhofer


    Malia, you stole my dreams.On our bike ride home in the year 1990,you put your hand in my pocket and felt for skipping stones.That night, I gave myself the assignment of“Treating People Nicely.”Malia, you stole my really big, expensive headphones.

    Read More +
  • by Colin Farstad


    I parked the car in the short-term parking lot. I wasn’t going to be staying long. Talia had a suitcase in each hand. One of her suitcases I had seen many times, but the other was only recently bought, a purple oversized monstrosity bought of the need

    Read More +
  • by Paula Marie Coomer


    It was a corner wedge, torn from a magazine. Smudgy and wrinkled. Only part of a sentence. It said, \\\'by resisting control, I\\\'ve come to my own graceful center, albeit by fire.\\\' No ellipsis, just the lower case b. Lines shaped like a poem. Not Cosmo.

    Read More +

Spilt Infinitive Volume 1, Issue 4