A journal of humanity and human experience

Coming up next

Contest and general submissions are OPEN. Submit to the 2026 BLR Literary Prizes by July 1, 2025. 
Join us March 27th for a BLR BookTalk with Venita Blackburn, author of Dead in Long Beach, California, and BLR editor Suzanne McConnell. (Free, online)

As featured on NPR's Morning Edition

NPR’s Neda Ulaby reported on BLR‘s 20th Anniversary, featuring BLR Editor Danielle Ofri, along with author Celeste Ng. Long before Celeste Ng reached stratospheric popularity with Everything I Never Told You and Little Fires Everywhere, she was an emerging author, whose story “Girls, at Play” appeared in BLR and then won a Pushcart Prize.

Whiting Award Winner

BLR was awarded a Whiting Literary Magazine Prize for
“excellence in publishing, advocacy for writers, and a unique contribution to the strength of the overall literary community.”

BLR Off the Page

DISCOVER MORE

Claiming Missing Inheritance

At the Whitney Museum, David Wojnarowicz’s portrait of his friend Peter Hujar claims its own wall. Ten feet back, I twist from parallel to perpendicular, unexpectedly lingering instead of walking by.

Book Review: To Hold Back Nothing

Recovery. It is the word that followed me while reading White Magic by Elissa Washuta. It whispered at me between sentences, chasing me from chapter to chapter.

Spring

We watch the gardener arc the hose / carelessly washing away the work / of mud sparrows, hornets and wasps.

The Tender Roof

These things happen. There’s nothing
beautiful about it. She gave up her breasts

two years ago, but the cancer returned, pushing
through the sutures, the larval wasp consuming

Ellis Island, 1951

On the island / where we landed, radiation /
lit my father up, illuminated / hidden damage…

Book Review: Poetry Roundup

These poems are antic, lustrous, vital engagements with the tangible artifacts of aging, illness, and the promise of dying

A Nigerian Attempts Therapy

I am a Nigerian woman, plagued by Nigerian womanly problems. When I moved to America for graduate school last summer, I believed this new country would shield me from those nagging afflictions.

Calling Card

It was a chilly November afternoon in a southern town so small it never made it to a map. I was in the bedroom typing when I heard the noise and then my mother’s scream. She somehow appeared at the door with her hand over her bloody abdomen and whispered, “Get the doctor, she shot me.” 

Housekeeping

I was coasting along like every other rudderless late adolescent…My particular drift happened to be tied to a disability I had yet to face, and it would be a while still before I finally found my footing.

Praise & Recognition