annie frazier.

publications

fiction
poetry
reviews


IMG_2005.JPG

fiction.

 

 

- april 2018 -
"all of us animals"
longleaf review

 We’re freshmen—fourteen, fifteen. Two weeks living away from our mothers and we think we’re women now.  Our new school’s all slate-roofed, dust-scented brick buildings, white paint layered thick on wood window trim. Poplars and oaks planted in rows, kudzu-gobbled maintenance building out back. Generations of girls have learned here—first few batches true belles for sure, all hoop skirts and ringlets, corsets and parasols.

We’re freshmen—fourteen, fifteen. Two weeks living away from our mothers and we think we’re women now.

Our new school’s all slate-roofed, dust-scented brick buildings, white paint layered thick on wood window trim. Poplars and oaks planted in rows, kudzu-gobbled maintenance building out back. Generations of girls have learned here—first few batches true belles for sure, all hoop skirts and ringlets, corsets and parasols.

 

- june 2017 -
"slather"
cheap pop

  [Nomination: Pushcart Prize] [Nomination: Best Small Fictions]   Billie bought her first tube of eye cream at twenty-two. Too young? Well, maybe. But when your botoxed, microdermabraded, laser-resurfaced mother slips you that slow scrutinizing look of hers, lets it slide down the length of her poreless nose, tries to squint but can’t and finally says,  Ooh honey you might wanna start using a good eye cream —how do you stop the subsequent spiral? 

[Nomination: Pushcart Prize]
[Nomination: Best Small Fictions]

Billie bought her first tube of eye cream at twenty-two. Too young? Well, maybe. But when your botoxed, microdermabraded, laser-resurfaced mother slips you that slow scrutinizing look of hers, lets it slide down the length of her poreless nose, tries to squint but can’t and finally says, Ooh honey you might wanna start using a good eye cream—how do you stop the subsequent spiral? 

 

- june 2017 -
"serpentine"
still: the journal

  [Nomination: Best of the Net]   I’m getting worked up again feeling that snaky rustle in my ears that electricity down in the roots of my teeth and the jangling rhythm of my poor old heart so I press my palms together like a prayer braid my fingers press until my arms shake and quiver and Susan’s saying something but I can’t hear her over the roar of that serpent crashing through brown dried leaves and pine straw just writhing around and raring back fangs dripping. . .

[Nomination: Best of the Net]

I’m getting worked up again feeling that snaky rustle in my ears that electricity down in the roots of my teeth and the jangling rhythm of my poor old heart so I press my palms together like a prayer braid my fingers press until my arms shake and quiver and Susan’s saying something but I can’t hear her over the roar of that serpent crashing through brown dried leaves and pine straw just writhing around and raring back fangs dripping. . .

 

- june 2017 -
"nightmares"
crack the spine

  [Included in Anthology:   Crack the Spine XVI  ]   The mares arrive slowly at first, starting with a mother and her wobble-legged filly, both the color of old pennies at the bottom of a purse. Then the scrawny buckskin quarter horse, the limping bay Warmblood, the shaggy white Shetland pony so starved her hide drapes over angular hips like angora on a coat hanger.

[Included in Anthology: Crack the Spine XVI]

The mares arrive slowly at first, starting with a mother and her wobble-legged filly, both the color of old pennies at the bottom of a purse. Then the scrawny buckskin quarter horse, the limping bay Warmblood, the shaggy white Shetland pony so starved her hide drapes over angular hips like angora on a coat hanger.

 

- september 2016 -
"the garage"
apt magazine

 Bunch of boys, bunch of dark-haired boys running around summers shirtless and shoeless on the asphalt driveway hopping on and off bikes and Big Wheels, grey dust pressed always into the swirled prints of their little feet. You can see the color when they run. The mom probably does scrub them down every night but it doesn’t budge, that ground-in asphalt grime.

Bunch of boys, bunch of dark-haired boys running around summers shirtless and shoeless on the asphalt driveway hopping on and off bikes and Big Wheels, grey dust pressed always into the swirled prints of their little feet. You can see the color when they run. The mom probably does scrub them down every night but it doesn’t budge, that ground-in asphalt grime.

 

- july 2014 -
"sakura"
nc literary review (print)

  [Nomination: Pushcart Prize] [Honorable Mention:  2013 Doris Betts Fiction Prize ]   These days Kuromon market is where I go to retreat. I ride the subway and I step into the light at the Nipponbashi station. I linger at the vegetable stands, my fingertips tracing the contours of white daikon, bright slick eggplants, lumpy kabocha squash with their secret orange insides, brilliant red tomatoes in blue bowls. 

[Nomination: Pushcart Prize]
[Honorable Mention: 2013 Doris Betts Fiction Prize]

These days Kuromon market is where I go to retreat. I ride the subway and I step into the light at the Nipponbashi station. I linger at the vegetable stands, my fingertips tracing the contours of white daikon, bright slick eggplants, lumpy kabocha squash with their secret orange insides, brilliant red tomatoes in blue bowls. 

 

poetry.

 

 
 

- june 2018 -
"deciphering the oracle"
philosophical idiot

perhaps mothers of diapered babies
do this too: examine each new shit produced.

the horse was sick last week. miles
of tangled intestines stalled & stilled. stagnant.

so here i am, bending & peering into the miracle
pile he’s just made, searching for meaning

like a priest of delphi straining to interpret [...]

- january 2018 -
"farm nights"
nclr online

  [Finalist:  2017 James   Applewhite Poetry   Prize ]   when i walk to the barn at night i wear a headlamp  like a miner like a surgeon  and sometimes i am [ . . . ]

[Finalist: 2017 James Applewhite Poetry Prize]

when i walk to the barn at night
i wear a headlamp

like a miner
like a surgeon

and sometimes i am
[ . . . ]

- may 2018 -
"florida fauna suburbia"
the cabinet of heed

 they don’t even hide anymore, the snakes in the ferns, draping slack & slick & blue-black across giant fingered fronds.  lizards skitter away but come right back to catch dinner. quick dart toward ants hauling a husk of grasshopper, [ . . . ]

they don’t even hide anymore,
the snakes in the ferns, draping slack & slick
& blue-black across giant fingered fronds.

lizards skitter away but come right back
to catch dinner. quick dart toward
ants hauling a husk of grasshopper,
[ . . . ]

- july 2016 -
"waterfall"
nc literary review (print)

  [Nomination: Pushcart Prize] [2nd Place:  2015 James Applewhite Poetry Prize ]   At five I asked my grandfather what happens to the Chesapeake when it stops there at the sky and   he told me about the giant waterfall forever tumbling off the edge of the Earth.  You’  ve never heard of it?  he asked. [ . . . ]

[Nomination: Pushcart Prize]
[2nd Place: 2015 James Applewhite Poetry Prize]

At five I asked my grandfather
what happens to the Chesapeake
when it stops there at the sky
and he told me about the giant waterfall
forever tumbling off the edge of the Earth.
You’ve never heard of it? he asked.
[ . . . ]

 
 
 

 

forthcoming poetry.

 

 
 

forthcoming in
nc literary review

 

forthcoming in
nc literary review

 
 

book reviews.

 

 

- january 2015 -
"pitfalls of parenting"
review of kids these days
nclr online

 

- february 2014 -
"craft witches' brew"
review of the daylight gate
paste magazine

 

- january 2014 -
"looking forward to the past"
review of hild
paste magazine

 

 

.

.

.

 

IMG_2005.JPG