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Featured Poetry / Leland Seese Poetry / News / Summer 2025
August 18, 2025

At Katy’s – Leland Seese

At Katy's — By Leland Seese Every dog is known by name, knows the crumbs across the floor are for the taking. There will never be a Katy’s II or Katy’s East. Katy keeps it…
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News / Nominations / Summer 2025
August 14, 2025

Best of the Net Nominations

Our Best of the Net nominations.
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Featured Poetry / News
August 2, 2025

My Father’s Closet By Jim Burns- Best of The Net Poetry Nomination

My Father’s Closet By Jim Burns — Best of the Net Poetry Nomination. Originally published in The SDL Review: MAY 2025
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Featured CNF / News
August 1, 2025

Happy Here By Angela Townsend – Best of The Net CNF Nomination

Happy Here By Angela Townsend — Best of the Net CNF Nomination Originally published in The SDL Review: MAY 2025
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News
July 15, 2025

Protected: Private Reader page

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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News / Reader Reviews
July 2, 2025

A Carla Sarett Review of Grace Massey’s A Future with Bromeliads

A Carla Sarett Review of Grace Massey’s A Future with Bromeliads. Grace Massey comes late to the world poetry, after a career as an editor. Emotional maturity is on full display in her debut chapbook,…
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Featured Flash Fiction / News
July 1, 2025

Thanks for the Evidence – Tess Godhardt Flash Fiction

Thanks for the Evidence - Flash Fiction by Tess Godhardt featured in the Spring Issue of The SDL Review.
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Thanks for the Evidence by Tess Godhardt Each finger on your calloused hand left an imprint on my neck. I display each red indentation for the officer’s flashing camera. Are there any other injuries? I imagine grabbing the butcher’s knife from the kitchen drawer nearby, slicing myself from sternum to stomach, peeling my skin open, and pointing his camera to the six years’ worth of gouges your sharp words had carved into my insides like tally marks in a prisoner’s cell. Blowups of each and every gash would be paraded in front of the jury. You’d get ten years, easy. Your mother would cry, but not because she’s raised an abuser. She would weep because her baby boy doesn’t deserve to go to jail. Your alcoholic father would remain at home. Ten beers in. Unsurprised by who you’ve become. The officer patiently waits for the daydream to end. My vocal cords sting as the word “no,” makes its way up my sandpapered throat. Yet, the burn is simultaneously soothing. The choking may not get you ten years, but it does get me my freedom.

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