Penduline Press | Literary Magazine

Brendan M. Regan

One O’Brien summer party comes like shrapnel out of the vault. High, drunk, kids, music. One of my first dates with a new, crazed redhead. She slumped against that huge, gnarled tree; wrapped arms part way around it, sweating can of Bud in each hand.

MANDEM

Mythpunk Art Noir

Eleanor Leonne Bennett

U.K. artist

Stephanie Dickinson

The girls along the river were of flawed beauty, specialty mollomars and apricot jams that ended up in Jack’s 99cent Store, backward-glancing girls too unstable to work at Nails Nails Nails or Costco.

Lisa Golightly

Portland artist

Margaret Elysia Garcia

I remind myself frequently that my lover is not the love of my life. But there is no denying that he is the lover of it.

Brin Levinson

Portland artist

Lisa Sinnett

I have enough scars on my body to make a Frankenstein doll. I can’t seem to stop cutting. But I want to live. That’s a lie too.

Jenny Forrester

My lips are thin. My eyes are blue.
“Mama, what should I do with my life?” I ask my mother, the teacher.
My mom says, “Do anything, but don’t be a teacher.”
“Really?”
“Be a hooker. Don’t be a teacher.”

Christopher Bibby

Portland artist