Volume 20 | Spring 2014


Untitled Drawing by Kendra Miller

Six Feet Under Isn’t Close Enough To Hell by Nathanial Barnes


Priest    Elderly man.
Alec    Nancy’s youngest son.
Penny    Alec’s wife.
Jennifer    Grant’s wife.
Grant    Nancy’s oldest son.
Laurie    Nancy’s daughter.
Eric    Laurie’s son.
Mrs. Tillman    Nancy’s neighbor, elderly woman.

The pews on either side of the room create an [...]

The Grumpiness Tax by Whitney Henry

On a normal trip to Rutter’s Convenience Store, during one of my infamous nearly fatal chicken Quesada and frappe deficiency runs, a darker side of humanity revealed itself. I stood rooted to the spot glaring off into an undefined space when a woman approached the counter, pushing past anyone in [...]

Attention and Outrage by Dillon Samuelson

Elegy to Edie by Anonymous

Beautiful, bright, clever and thin.
You were everything I tried to be.
I was so grateful when you promised to teach me
how to deceive the world and be perfect
just like you.

Together we committed to sins
that made me strong and better than others.
We hid food inside napkins
and spewed into the toilet
laughing at our [...]

Nightmare by Jennifer Junggust

Encounter by Dillon Samuelson

Classic Pontiac Dashboard by Patricia Crider

Delaware by Chelsea Bock

Wanderlust by Taylor Gamber

Little Bird by Jess Velarde



The print edition of The York Review Volume 20 shared this image space with the poem that may be found here.

Songbird by Gregory Gable

Sing your heart out, little songbird
Whistle the daily blues away
Fly free, little blue jay,
Don’t let the world hold you back.

Stones may fly your way,
Hunters may want your tail.
Dogs and cats may scream at you,
but your song of joy prevails.

Build a home, sweet cardinal,
For you are so fair.
Skipping to and fro [...]

Reprise by Jamie Schlosser

Is love worth all this?
Can love really be suffering?
Only for a little while
Then it ceases to be love.

Poem 12 by Jamie Schlosser

And the sound keeps crashing against my head
And my brain is tumbling, tumbling
I tuck it under
I tuck it under.
Swallow me up, take me over, black me out, seep in like water
Now it’s over, it’s over.
And the light it crashes against my face
And my eyes they’re opening, opening
But you’re already under, [...]

E by Christiano Myer

when your ocean was new
first, drunk the light.

when your scars, fresh
–raw and not yet
to cover

came round; soft,
white as candlesticks, alight,
in moss.

the sea round the side, swaying
whitecapped and whipping

frothing from the moon’s pull.