“One Day” by Rebekah Ricksecker
6:47 AM The darkness turns gray; the misty fog rests over the water; the honeysuckle perfumes the air as white petals float on the still …
The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged.
6:47 AM The darkness turns gray; the misty fog rests over the water; the honeysuckle perfumes the air as white petals float on the still …
Dust motes dance on sunlight streaming through a dingy window. Rusty mailbox, empty, always empty. Cadaverous cobwebs mocking back at him from a peeling wall. …
Melanie Gaughran is a university student in the city of subdued excitement, Bellingham, Washington. Particularly concerned with her internal workings and misworkings, she finds that …
the dust storms whineagainst the windowas cherry dreamsslide inside.Searching a marigold,a child’s eyes bob tothe tunes of morningas do butterflies rise fromchrysanthemum jars.And so does the …
The air is thick with a bovine stench. We’re driving eight hundred miles through desert and oil fields to our new home on Dyess Air …
Entry Door Yes No Damage to exterior? X Interior? X [The lease says “no nails,” but upon her arrival in December it was …
1 These mornings, I wake to find silver threads in my hair — gleaming as if dipped in the winter moon. I have always loved …
One fanciful Calcutta summer the world maps were ripped off from overused geography textbooks in an act of innocent revolution. You cherry-picked ecstatic reds …
I live in the pulse of unconscious patterns. My civilized mind remains incapable of interpreting the illuminated life I experience outside the limits of ordinary …
How can I forget you If your breath is on my skin, A peppermint sweet cloaked around my neck, Hair chaotic against my chest, Eyes …
The rain cut me a river wide enough to savour my numbered gardens— each with their own cloud. And in each I bred a different …
In the heat of the summer, back when Willow’s mother slipped in and out of lunacy, sometimes she’d wake up at night to find her …
I force myself to open the closed lids To catch a glimpse of my surroundings Try my utmost to overcome the lethargy Shake myself free …
Some lands are royalty in just existence: the dragging of the boat from sand to sea, the thick of the tongue on the roof of …
I’ve been awake since 4 a.m. But that was twenty hours ago, and now we’re here, at the party, and …
A road divider on our thoroughfare has been constructing since three major eclipses, going under the idea scalpel by fickle engineers – flowers or trees …
Hey everyone! Matthew here, we have a special Friday post for you! You may remember Alex Clare as the author of He’s Gone, a mystery novel …
Megan Denese Mealor has been published widely in numerous journal, most recently Children Churched & Daddies, Beakful, streetcake, and Harbinger Asylum. A two-time Pushcart Prize …
Four tea cups lay unattended since Mittag – on the black, bedraggled table in the canteen. You and I – drinking each other in— …
To know life is to greet knowing you won’t unmeet. To know life is to see your creators split into demigods, degrading into man and …
Gilded morning shatters sleep, dreams cling on with tenacious teeth. A confused reality sorting through a fragmented emotional state. Warm bed, cold toast. Sensations …
I have been raised to fear my footfalls in the dark to be a walking skirt is to sacrifice safety, sway like an open gate …
She’d had a cupcake for breakfast every day for the last month. Thick on the icing, more often than not with sprinkles, occasionally filled with …
With Lines from “The Apple Trees at Olema” by Robert Hass Shakes me by the raw, white, backlit flaring of her lightning streaked hand. Fingers …
I watched you slide swiftly into the fog encapsulating Eagle Junction railway station. Scraps of rust leaking with oil-stained dew flung into the past, and …
SKIN is the bodies first line of defense. our metal shell wrap-around sometimes, your body can confuse fortress for prison, my mother is able to …
I was born an old soul they say, a quiet spectator mulling over muddled thoughts, about what I don’t know, perhaps a previous lifetime. I …
Tonight the battle will begin. But first, as the concealer smooths across my eye folds, I picture her breathlessly saying hello to him, always making …
He stood outside the door asking for directions, lost hope in hand. Paying the toll with a pocketful of dreams. Aspirations evaporating at the sound …
Do not allow the quietness that saturates the halls of night break through the dawn. For it will shatter all perception of time …
You come home, half gallon of milk in one hand, the other snaking around my waist. Head buried in my shoulder, no words, just small …
I was born a human jigsaw puzzle. I emerged from my mother’s womb, not as a whole baby, but in scattered pieces. The doctors worked …
Fragments of dreams scattered among the ruins of once lofty ambitions, buried along with lost loves and white lace promises Standing tall against the crumbling …
Tsuki Amai’s wristwatch emitted a soft click, and she tugged gently at her ear to make sure, for the tenth time that day, that she …
It’s not smoggy like they say it is in London, at least I don’t think so, but the River Thames is filthier than I had …
Darling, listen. no matter what we do our fingers will end up blistered, our palms bloody if we look into the mirror long enough to …
Someone would love to have you for a daughter; Wouldn’t mind you in the attic, stealing their things. The walls would be yours, as …
Editor-in-Chief’s Note: Gerardeen Santiago is a poet and publisher I originally met at Glassless Minds in Oceanside. When the Metaworker staff was suggesting new people …
Every year, from the first I was assigned to the graveyard, I would watch the headstones from my place upon the highest pine tree. My …
We sit on the precipice of Heaven and pollution; you hand Me an empty box and promise Desultory protection. Our bodies, superimposed From two …
Obsidian, black, but when held up to light it is semi-transparent. Also known as Apache Tears. Roughly circular in shape, about half an inch by …
Yesterday you were five foot ten and today your toes don’t touch the base of the bed. You cocoon yourself deeper into the blankets, stuffing …
Sometimes I like to reimagine religion and the stories I was told as a child, so that it fits the way I understand the world …
I lost my heart last night. It must have happened in my sleep. I didn’t notice at first, but when I looked in the mirror …
If I were to outlive you, I would feel the poet in me blackening, nails pulling in like a sea of petals in the mouth …
The letter I wrote Lilly first thing after I found out talks to her in the present tense, like she still exists, because she does …
Every morning I look in the mirror and hope for a different reflection. The problem with makeup is that it doesn’t cover every scar. And …
I reveal the parts I want you to see you think you know me masquerade ugly thoughts inside my head mourning at the side of …
I hold the moon like a baby in my arms. If I let it go, it will fall. The light of the night will die. …
Hypertension: Each bus line a grime-filled artery, Each soup line snaking concrete corners, slithering in human filth like wet soil, wet and thick …
Let’s make this a pissing contest. Place your bet with mine. I’m bound to win if winning means a longer yellow line. ‘Cause yellow’s the …
I don’t think in Bengali, I think it is just one of those things that fold my body the way my grandfather used to. At …
“He laid his head in my palms And I watched as he grew a garden of roses Across a dying field. He had the power …
1 My grandfather lived next to two wheat farmers. I secretly wished my grandfather was a wheat farmer. I would bicycle along the edge of …
Catacombs and catastrophe fill my head. I cannot sleep. We end up going for a drive. The car pushes past streetlights and traffic stops— little …
Wait until your mother and brother have left the house. Then, call him. Four oh eight, five five five, seven three eight oh. You’ve had …
Madeline loves it And sits as Mother would. The priest is like her Father Dressed all in grey, Palms fluttering with Paper clowns, Legs and …
This one’s a very special post. We’re presenting to you the work of the highly accomplished Albanian Poet Irsa Ruçi, both translated, and in its …
I’m always finding myself writing about fire Maybe because I always got so much to burn maybe cause I’m a fire sign it’s easy because …
Rachelle Pinnow is also a professional geologist and a part-time writer. A graduate of the University of Calgary’s creative writing program, her short stories and …
Hello, everyone! It’s Friday again and we’ve got another extra thing to share. When we were all talking, we realized we’ve all shared some of …
To celebrate the release of her debut novel, we are pleased to present an interview with Alex Clare, author of He’s Gone. Read an excerpt …
I used to think girl meant pink meant birthday cake roses wilting for safety & always use your inside voice but sometimes it means shout …
We at The Metaworker are excited to bring you something a little different this Friday. We’ve been given the opportunity to work with Impress Books, …
Rachelle Pinnow is also a professional geologist and a part-time writer. A graduate of the University of Calgary’s creative writing program, her short stories and …
Hello! Matthew here with another announcement! And this is one I’ve been waiting for. Those of you who have been reading our about us will have …
I ask carbon, what does it feel like to be backbone? To have multiple arms? To be mother to all of me. Mother to all …
Late night insomnia in la ciudad that never sleeps is a gift. I slip between the dusk, waltzing weaving between hum of streetlamp. Twirling in …
Seep Thought like a torrent of water Seep- drip, drip, drip. Each mould to old ideas that drip into a now opened mind. …
What sort of subjects/genres do you like to write about and why? MARINA: I’m a big proponent of mixing genres, so everything and anything is …
JEAN BARKER left a successful writing career as a journalist and humor columnist in South Africa to pursue her long-delayed dream of becoming a filmmaker in …
Read our previous post for more details, but to sum it up: For the Month of March, we won’t be publishing your submissions (keep sending them, though!) …
Every night I’ve lain awake with baited breath. Shadows flash across the ceiling as cars pass by the window. There is a woman out there, …
The reason I write is a simple one: I’ve always done it, and I can’t imagine living my life without writing. When I think about …
I am getting off the school bus at the top of the driveway in the afternoon on a Friday. In real life, there were only …
Sit up straight, feet flat, pen poised – ready? Now don’t think, just write what comes to mind. Don’t pick up your pen, just keep …
How am I fitting in this right now? It’s been years, centuries since I was small enough to terrorize villages and miniature pedestrians in this …
It occurred to me the other day that I don’t know your name even though you wear a name tag. I never even bothered to …
How to Become a Professional Writer (And Get Paid Too) It sounds like a headline too good to be true, right? Finding a good writing …
It’s funny how there are different kinds of tears. Tired ones that creep from the corners of your eyes, brushed away with impatient fingers; dry, …
She looks at the ground, the sky, the trees; anywhere but her own heart. She must, at all costs, keep the poison from entering her …
One girl bakes a hundred cupcakes and gives them away for free. One girl wastes perfectly good eggs on a car. One girl’s dog gets …
The needle pricks my skin and I gasp as I shake out my hand. A little speck of red blood lands on the grey flooring. …
My room is black as an Olympic runner—except for the illuminated screen of my Sony Vaio which radiates like Chernobyl. My laptop is cherry red; …
The first time I tried to ride a two wheel bike, I remember my dad running alongside my six-year-old self as I swerved down the …
He comes for honey, sweetness of the meaty earth he plants his flag in. Sunlight pollinates the horizon with gold. He moves like a rolling …
No one ever said it would be easy being writers. Instead, we heard things like, “So what do you plan to do with your degree? …