Posts Tagged: Winner

Article Thumbnail

Announcing the 2015 Poetry Prize Winner

Our Prize judge Eduardo Corral has selected “Between the Bloodhounds and My Shrinking Mouth” by Caitlin Scarano as the winner of the 2015 Poetry Prize! Her poem will appear in the Winter 2015 issue of The Indiana Review. We received a great number of excellent poems for consideration in this contest, and the decision was a difficult one. We thank all prize entrants for their interest in and support of The Indiana Review.

 

2015 Indiana Review Poetry Prize Winner

Caitlin Scarano, “Between the Bloodhounds and My Shrinking Mouth”

Corral says this about the winning poem: “The voice in this poem is ravenous and disciplined. It strikes and it croons. It’s splendid and captivating. It releases gorgeous sonic and visual energies. Vivid images linger in the mind, music beautifully rattles the lines. I’m especially struck by how the voice approaches and retreats from memory. ‘Between the Bloodhounds and My Shrinking Mouth’ is a startling poem.”

 

Runner-Up

Jennifer Givhan, “My God, Nieve”

2015 Indiana Review Poetry Prize Finalists

Graham Barnhart, “Breach Birth”

Gabrielle Bates, “Cinderella As Told By Grackles”

Juliana Daugherty, “Psalm”

Jennifer Givhan, “Town of Foolish Things”

LA Johnson, “Constellarium” & “Split-Level”

Peter LaBerge, “Turbulence”

Lisa McMurtray, “How to Get Out of Failures at Night” & “Floodwater”

Sarah Maria Medina, “Hush the Young Coahuila Sons”

Caitlin Scarano, “To the City With Her Skull Wind”

Paige Quinones, “Blood Sport”

 

Article Thumbnail

2013 Fiction Prize Winner: “Boomerang” by Summer Wood

“Boomerang” by Summer Wood

Winner of the 2013 Fiction Prize

Dusk seeps into the back yard, collecting in the twinned canopy of the sugar maple and the cherry, pooling in the grass beneath the trees, staining the side of the two-story garage we’d dubbed the Fort, slowly, gradually, almost imperceptibly bedding the wild rhubarb below in its inky darkness. The sky is still too bright for the stars to emerge. Easton and I, both ten, stand at opposite ends of the mowed expanse and thread a Frisbee through the space between us. It sails out, solid and vivid as the moon, from his right hand to my left. Beneath it my dog Spot bounds happily, her eager bark and hoarse breath the only sounds apart from our occasional laughter or, beyond, the slam of a door or distant passing of a car. And then—this is how I remember it, though it’s been more than twenty years—darkness storms the yard in earnest and it grows too dim to see and I am the one who finally fumbles the catch, and when Spot retrieves it, grips it in her teeth, I slip to the grass to wrestle it from her. I lie back. Fireflies are brightening. In time the dark deepens enough for the first stars to show, and I shift to an elbow and push myself up.

Spot sits beside me, patiently waiting. I am her boy.

Her other boy is Easton, but he has gone home.

Read more…