Lori D’Angelo

The Things We Don’t Say   I always kinda knew this, but, nonetheless, I was surprised to come home to a sign above the garage that said, “You are not the favorite daughter.” I pulled into the garage, waited, checked, and five minutes after I got home, the sign was gone. Either I imagined it,…

Colin Rafferty

Pardon (#39)   A country built on stolen land and by stolen labor, through revolution and annexation, the hoodwinking of governments and the overthrowing of sovereign monarchies, and still we have the gall to say that our president may forgive the transgressions of citizens. These presidents, fallible men, flawed men, men who cut backroom deals,…

Miguel Guerreiro Lourenço

CALLOUSES AND BROKEN LINES   The sun had burnt his hands ever so slightly, like the colour of black tea touched by milk. Unsweetened and rough, bruises and scars dotted his skin. A worker’s hands, his mother said. There were lines and curves, fleshy and raw, some ran down his fingers, others adorned the knuckles….

Leslie Doyle

Acme   Veronica hadn’t meant anything at the start. She’d been sitting in her car in the Acme parking lot. The greenhouse effect had been in full effect, and even with the windows cranked down, the air was stifling. She’d turned the key several times and gotten that sharp uh…uh…uh and nothing else. Last year…

Ryder S. Ziebarth

Letters from my Father   July 5th, 2016 Dear Gilly, Your mother and I are very proud of you on this day, as well as unduly impressed with your tenacity and courage in pursuing your dreams of becoming a more fully realized writer at age sixty-one. You are and always have been a dogged and…

Shirley Jones-Luke

There’s No Luxury in Poverty   My family was poor   government cheese     free box of food for Thanksgiving   sleeping on a cot until I was in my twenties    couldn’t afford a bed    roaches & rats as roommates   emergency room visits drained limited funds   doctor or medicine or rent or food    going out was a treat…

Sandra Gail Lambert

The Edges of Things   A canoe width of water traced a tentative path into a field of water hyacinth. The sun glittered off thousands of wind-ruffled leaves and squat stalk supported clusters of tight buds.  Ivy paddled the trail until it ended among a scattering of peat blows. All she remembered from a long-ago…

Michele Sharpe

A Short History of Fraud   Our mother told me and my sister we were about to learn a secret. She walked us to the far end of the house and nudged us into our father’s downstairs den, a sunken room where he smoked cigars and read newspapers and played out hands of bridge with…

Roberta Senechal de la Roche

Nor’easter   Do not say I wanted to lie with you just to make an end of journeys, to make a wave. I could always swim to land, alone.   I could take everything you lost and more but we have so little time to find a transept in this storm, what kinds of things…

Signal Mountain Review Now Open for Submissions

Signal Mountain Review welcomes both established and emerging writers to submit their pieces for publication. We have a special interest in that which helps to illuminate who we are, how we got here, and who we could be.  Fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and hybrid forms are welcome. In fiction, we are not just open to, but excited about,…