Dear Friends of Interfictions, With your support, we have run a marvelous magazine for three years. At this point, Interfictions needs to take a break to allow the Interstitial Arts Foundation to figure out how to best support us. Our…
Author Archive for admin
fiction
A Primer on SeparationDebbie Urbanski
For C. These are the notes I wish I had when I had you. Abandonment If you wish to abandon your child in the woods, even if temporarily and in fair weather, such as on a particular sunny afternoon in…
Editorial
From the Editors
Because I’m the Executive Editor and have no hand in picking the selections, I feel I can say our Spring 2015 issue of Interfictions Online is a real treat. Below is a very brief description from each of our editors…
poetry
Five BitesBrenda Beardsley
Plattered slivers, curled cinnamon, and the frame of yarrow. The oily residue of mother’s homemade salad dressing, decanter lid open – rim, glimmering with oregano feathered oil. In this one: patina patterned sidewalk, moss clawing through cracks and…
fiction
Number One HitElad Haber
The highway is paved with the bodies of musicians. Their bones crunch under the weight of our motorcycles, a staccato of shattering, every once awhile a cleft-shaped sigh or a note or two of an ancient number one hit. The…
poetry
How We Are MarkedPear Nuallak
We all sleep above our ancestors– it began and ended with bone, a rotted tooth, a thigh broken, honeycomb and marrow. Near Ban Chiang, a pointed-face dhole whistles to the balcony of stars, quick feet through leaves as the hunt…
fiction
On Post-Mortem BirdsNatalia Theodoridou
Extraction Place a body block under the back of the cadaver so that the chest protrudes and the neck and arms fall backwards. You might hear the bird flutter at this stage. Do not be alarmed; this is normal. Make…
poetry
The Difference Between an Arm and a WingSunny Chan
Sunday is the first day of the week on the calendar but the last day of the week in Chinese. On…
fiction
The Walking ThingMarlee Jane Ward
“Have you heard about this walking thing?” Mum called, knocking on the door. Brian Sloan looked up from between my legs with alarm. “Shit,” I said. He shot up like a piston, sheets flying as he scrambled for his clothes.…
poetry
Auchindrain Inventory: Village MuseumNeile Graham
ragweed yellowish bramble yellow & grey these are the dyes & the colours they make meadowsweet bright yellow brown alder dark brown for the handspun wool hand-woven into herringbone tweed iris green & light brown…