The Rail
Fiction, nonfiction, and poetry from our favorite emerging writers
  Kyle Wright (he/him/his) is a Chicago-based writer, musician and visual artist. His short chapbook Videodrome was featured in Really Serious Literature’s Disappearing Chapbook Series, and his first novella, In Control, is forthcoming from Bizarro Pulp Press. His work has appeared most recently in After Hours Press, New Feathers Anthology, and is forthcoming in Defunkt Magazine. He has surfed couches across Europe, lived on a mountain in Colorado, worked as a wedding DJ, and played folk music at old folks’ homes. He lives with his partner and their cat, Chickpea.
 Instead of Bad News
She pours some coffee, pets the dog, and holds him off with snacks until her second cup. The headlines crawl across the bottom of the TV screen: it’s murder, scandal, mostly cloudy, and Dow Jones. “I will not waste my life,” she tells herself. “I’m finding meaning; giving and receiving love.” Her irony ambiguous as Lilith myths. The coffee’s gone, it’s still damn cold outside: 16 degrees. She clicks the dog leash, zips up tight: full armor for a skirmish with the world.  Her Idiosyncrasies
She has a crooked smile that reveals only her pure white front teeth. She furrows her brows when she needs a huge hug. She always kisses to the left so I can see her deep dark blue eyes. Each evening, around ten o’clock pm, she changes into her night gown. It is always folded on the bed chair when I come to bed. She is a three-pillow woman with the teddy bear I won at the fair on the middle pillow. If the bear is not there, a whole new set of parameters open for ephemeral exploration. 5/25/2021 0 Comments Just a man., by DS Maolalai Just a man. eating beef cheek, braised for my birthday – so tender you could spread it on toast. looking up at chrysty and occasionally telling her "I love you". my mouth full. and roast potatoes. red wine, thick as beef gravy. I'm turning 30 tomorrow – no more of my poems will be by "a young man". just a man now: can't excuse my sloppiness, though perhaps I can meander more, repeat myself. I look across the table, say "I love you". light comes through the window with the warmth of bedside lamps. DS Maolalai has been nominated eight times for Best of the Net and five times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019)
5/23/2021 0 Comments Yes, by Adrie RoseDear Readers, We were so excited and overwhelmed by the poems we received for our Mundane Joys anthology that we had to share a few on The Rail! This week we have a beautiful piece by Adrie Rose Mundane Joys celebrates the less-obvious triumphs of every day life. Each copy comes with a custom Derailleur Press tea blend and seed paper to grow a garden of your own. Visit our store to get yours today! Happy reading! - Derailleur Press  Mercy, it turns out, is the older sibling sitting down to play legos with the young one on the eleventh day of quarantine. It is going outside to sled together, though the snow is melting fast beneath you, sluicing into the drain at the bottom of the hill, but you are still allowed this hill, this slide beneath fir trees, and so you take the ride again and again, though it sends you backward and sideways, though you have no idea what comes next, when your child says, Can we do it again? It turns out mercy is you saying, Yes. Adrie Rose's work has previously appeared in Witness, Rise Up Review, Rebelle Society, Plum, Peregrine, Albatross, The Essential Herbal, Poetry Breakfast, and Ibbetson Street Review. Her poem The Anthropocene was nominated for a 2020 Pushcart Prize. The poem In the Liminal was awarded second place in the Robert P. Colleen Poetry Competition. Adrie has work forthcoming in Dark Matter: Women Witnessing.
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