FICTION | NONFICTION | POETRY |
TRANSLATION
SUBMIT STORE DONATE OPPORTUNITIES
2025 FÊTE
INTERVIEWS WRITERS WE PUBLISH
“Enter Max. Max was strong, with a sleek neck and green eyes, and an impossibly tiny waist—you know the type: unsurprised to find the world at his feet. Aaron met him in New Jersey, coming back from his twice-annual visit to his sister’s in Cherry Hill, and within twenty minutes he’d asked Max to come home—to live.”
Welcome to Epiphany's Annual Fete! Join us for a night of glamour and giving back at The Urbane Arts Club. Get ready for an evening filled with live music, delicious hors d'oeuvres, an open bar with literary-themed cocktails, and exciting raffles and auctions. Dress to impress and mingle with fellow supporters of the arts.
“the dog was lucky enough to catch
it mid-air, the bird flying low
searching for worms
or seed. The burial
is quick, without
ceremony. Some preservation…”
“A couple of years ago, you invited me to edit one of your issues, and that was a very different experience. For the first time I was not the one asking to be published. I was the one reading submissions of people who would like to be published. And being on this side of the process, I took the job very seriously. I wanted to do for writers what other writers and editors had done for me.”
“I think what's important is to look at your own obsessions, whether it's a family tale that you remember and wonder about, like some missing great grandmother whom you’ve heard stories about, or maybe something happened in your town years ago, and you thought, well, that's a weird story. Some people find their material in a newspaper or a magazine. Ask yourself: What's the story you tell a lot?”
“His face was haggard, scattered with gray stubble and damp with sweat. In the air between them was the musky odor of bourbon. “I am weary with my moaning,” he moaned. “All night I make my bed swim.” He looked at her, and even as she looked away, Kate was sure his gaze was lingering on her breasts.”
“In high school and college, Uma Shastri was good at math and economics because she studied hard. But with a field hockey stick or a tennis racquet in her hand, her body slid to all the right places without conscious thought.”
"My stories often start with some image or moment that stays with me... It could be something I experienced, or a conversation I overheard, or the way someone looked at someone else… I will usually just start writing toward that image or moment and build from there."
“despite not being real
Them and them
the conspirators
and the voices
but more the voices
which I waited for”
“When my husband says divorce, / I start decorating the interior / of my cardboard tent, stock / it with cans of SpaghettiOs / and Bumble Bee (flip-topped), / re-do my hair into a wild Einstein / without the Nobel or any theories / about relativity…”
Join Epiphany Magazine, No, Dear Magazine, and the New School Writing MFA for a night of readings from NYC writers. Hosted in the backroom speakeasy of the iconic LA venue Cole's French Dip.
Open for submissions now, the Breakout! Prize honors two undergraduate or graduate student writers with a $1000 cash prize in poetry and prose. Our 2025 judges are Victoria Chang and Hilary Leichter.
“Arlene never married Lars because some things are better left unsaid. He asked until the time for asking was over. She didn’t want anyone else, but she didn’t want him on her couch after 7:30 at night.”
Sunday morning, / he is hard / at worship / in the divine / church of golf. / His most / ardent prayer, / his heavenly gaze / comes down / to this tough putt / on the 7th green.
“I nod but I really don’t feel so good. I am cold through and through and when I look out the car window at the snow I see trees move when they do not. I am experiencing Death all around me and I cannot move.”
“Because I could not see what she saw, / I invented the burning city that gives no heat, / I planted the pillar of salt that is no resource, / And now, as their shadows wave at my feet, / I imagine the horrified look she gave / And salvage her look that has turned from me.”
But how to be in a world gone mad. / Not to be is easy. / Simply climb a willow tree, / reach for what you cannot have, / and fall from grace.
“It’s just half an hour, / it’s just a marriage, just a week’s worth of sex, it’s just / easier to move my thumb along the screen protector / like it’s tender, it’s just grief after grief after / your kid at a baseball game after grief after gif / after grief”
