Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood

Welcome to our June issue–where we’re pleased to dedicate space to the fathers and grandfathers in our lives. I hope you’re as moved by the words, art, and photography showcased on these pages as I am.

An anthology featuring essays examining women’s relationships with a wide range of tools: from tractor to typewriter, sewing machine to microphone, radio to prosthetic leg. It provides insight into how these machines connect with the experiences of women, including daughters and mothers.

because of all of this,
my father sits one Sunday with my daughter
at his antique kitchen table,
and I learn, from her
lips instead of his,
that when he was a boy, my father
had a dog.

We stood in Grandma’s garden once.
Would you remember if you were here?
The mildew stink of geraniums all around us.
A hummingbird whirred close to my head, startled me.


That sound is the whoosh of Rowan's heart—not a beat, not a thump-thump, but a whoosh.

You’ll always regret not having more. The words of a friend skip through my mind like a broken record.


"Can you make a fist?" She curls her hand, thumb on the outside like someone with self-confidence.

I start to speak, but stop. It feels too big to break into parts, too important. There'd never been anything between us before, not a secret nor an awkward silence around the dinner table.

Consider one of the staff picks as a Father’s Day gift and spread some literary love.


The notion that happy families need not feel happy all the time, or even most of the time, is a bit revolutionary.


Maybe my little boy was growing up, faster than I realized.

I would love to be a father: / To implant a piece / of myself in another person


I could smell the candy / you weren't supposed to have / in every breath


I point out the mass, / a foot from shore / amidst the swirling / of the incoming tide.


because my father is eighty-six, / because he has always / been silent


as he remembers: / the breezeless evening steps, the fig overhanging, its leaves / growing into the path to slap him


Seems all wrong to call them birds, / the word itself like a stone.

In his most recent book, Burke articulates through photographs what is wild and precious to him: nature and family.

A collection of short fiction by Charlotte Holmes examining familial expectations and entanglements among a group of visual artists and poets.


An anthology featuring essays examining women's relationships with a wide range of tools and how they connect with the experiences of women.