Forever On the Hips Firewords, April 2019 "Fisk watched Inga with wide-open eyes, but he, unlike her mother, wasn’t staring at her hips (too wide), her breasts (too early), or her stomach (big already, have some self-respect). So she loved that fish."
Broken Gargoyle Mental Papercuts, April 2019 "Gone—but not like others, gone to God in mud and gas, left forever on the front."
Lion's Tooth SmokeLong, March 2019 "JUST MARRIED, tin cans tug loose as we flee the kudzu quarter of this country—home, mine—and head back to roots, yours. Farm boy, big sky. I know so little of Iowa, and so little of you."
Good Guys CHEAP POP, March 2019 "Teacher tells us in the event of a nuclear attack, we have to fight our natural urge to run to windows and watch. We’re like that, curious."
Mice Spelk, February 2019 "I never tell my mom about the boys. I never tell her I was one of them." This Animal's Return Waxwing, February 2019 "Last night, after the officer said to stop calling, I took that gallon of ice cream you left — your favorite, maple walnut — and ate a solid third."
Vigil Cease, Cows, February 2019 "This year, the beach is gone. I don’t know how else to put it. Waves break into a hole; the ocean disappears within it."
The Mightiest Mammal, Singing Pidgeonholes, January 2019 "There’s a whale in your stomach, rolling and calling in the deep-blue hours of velvet-dark morning as I press my heartbeat to your back." Botanical Nomenclature Matchbook, November 2018 Nominated for Best Microfiction "We are the women who borrow our ladies’ periodicals, who listen when they gather their sewing circles, when one woman in the group reads aloud from a book of poems footnoted with facts that we, good women—like our ladies, the housekeeper next door, the cook down the lane—shouldn’t know and shouldn’t discuss."
How It Starts Ellipsis Zine, October 2018 "He has his collections—always has. Vintage Pez dispensers, magazines hidden under his mattress, notes passed between girls in class."
The Fire She Feels FlashBack Fiction, October 2018 "Mama always knew there was something about that lightning, even before that old rascal Franklin tied a key to a kite."
When I Was a Fish Longleaf Review, June 2018 "We decide to dig, to go looking for caskets needing oaks and willows to turn them to dust."
American Standard of Perfection The Puritan, Fall 2017 "When Jack built that first hutch, Laurie didn’t stop him. But soon, Jack’s hobby meant that Laurie often woke to find a chicken or two or even three lying beside her on the pillow. Once, she turned on the faucet and unwittingly drenched a hen who’d fallen asleep in the tub."
Her Mother Midwestern Gothic blog, Summer 2017 "Her mother would worry, waking up before dawn in an empty house. But sixty percent water, that’s what she was; that’s what her mother had told her, and she’d awakened to high tide beneath her skin."
Blues Too Bright The Fiddlehead, Spring 2017 "I’m accustomed to these early-morning bird reports. Mother watches birds like her friends watch soaps and baseball."
Smoke in the Hive Halo Lit Mag, February 2017 "But you’re not a bee. There’s no secret map you’ve drawn out for me in the patterns on the floor."
Your Own Two Hands Stonecrop Review, April 2019 "Raccoons have five fingers. Watch them open a green compost bin—a new one, designed to be raccoonproof. You’ll swear you’re watching your own two hands turn the nob counter-clockwise."
Foreign Body Phoebe, May 2018 Nominated for the Pushcart Prize "I will trust my memory in this - how my foot (eight or nine years old, calloused from a barefoot summer) accommodated the thin, silver nail; how the skin encircling the small post, rimmed in pink, stretched around it like a mouth, puckered, as I pulled the metal from my flesh."
Meditations on Motherhood Thresholds, May 2018 "You wouldn’t expect an octopus to break your heart, but that’s because you don’t know octopus mothers." Honeymoons The Sun, February 2017 "Within the first ten minutes of the hike, the weight of my brand-new backpack was digging into my shoulders."
MaidenWifeMother Maiden Minola Review, 2019 "At a certain period in life, you cease to be a girl, and become a woman."
Vague Symptoms Reclaim: An Anthology of Women's Poetry, May 2019 "Ovaries hard like clementines we didn’t eat, shriveled, wombs like sacks of shattered ceramic"
Paper Wasps Juniper, October 2018 "Take a fence and bite it. When your teeth sink in, scrape wood fibers (a healthy chunk) into your mouth"
Of Magic & Moses Pithead Chapel, September 2018 "True, I saw him standing in the street, facing the traffic, lifting his hands & when he did, I thought of magic & Moses"
Smoke & Mirrors: An Interview with Kate Finegan By Joel Coltharp for SmokeLong, March 2019 "I think that in relationships, we are often reluctant to look the major ideological conflicts in the face—they’re too big, too overwhelming. So we focus on little things, like different approaches to maintaining the yard, and those little things stand in for the big things."
Mini-Interview with Kate Finegan By Tommy Dean Writer, November 2018 "It’s an exercise in choosing the most precise details and chipping away at the draft until it has no jagged edges."
Backstory: Five Questions with Kate Finegan FlashBack Fiction, October 2018 "I was in Charleston when I wrote the piece, rewriting and doing research for my novel, which deals with midwifery and women’s knowledge of their own bodies versus the medicalization of women’s health (and health in general)."
An Interview with Kate Finegan The Fiddlehead, April 2017 "I was interested in the stories that families pass down from generation to generation, and I wondered what it would be like to find out that the most grandiose, unlikely family legend was actually true. I wondered if, after so many years and in the face of the shocks and struggles of life, it would actually matter."