KATHRYN LIPARI
WRITER
Kathryn Lipari is a writer from Portland, Oregon. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous literary journals including Smokelong Quarterly, Monday Night, Marathon Literary Review, Women's Studies Quarterly, and The Puritan. Her non-fiction has been featured in the Oregonian and the Washington Post. A member of Full-Frontal Writers’ Collective and SmallSalon, Kathryn is happiest outside, in the rain.
PUBLISHED PIECES
All of the Promises
MONDAY NIGHT PRESS | ISSUE NO. 24
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Matton had managed to shove his upper body under the washer, legs trailing out from it, the inner workings inches from his nose. It was like performing surgery on the underside of some mechanical beast, ponderous, heavy, and stupid, guts open to expose metal intestines.
Twelve Things I Can Tell You About Cutting
SMOKELONG QUARTERLY | JUNE 2015​
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I don’t believe in angels, and certainly not singing ones, but when you cut yourself they sing.
Subject:
Sexy Girl Clean House
THE PURITAN | SPRING 2018​
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Now here’s her idiot brother Kostya pounding on the café window like she’s keeping him waiting. If he doesn’t stop he’ll shatter the glass and Olek will take it out of her pay—or worse, he’ll hint that he won’t if she lets him run his fat, hairy hands all over her.
How to be the Heroine in your Awesome Boyfriend’s Stupendous Novel
S/tick
You are done with work and are riding the subway back to the apartment you share with your boyfriend.
See, I’ve already revealed much of what it takes to get a part in your awesome boyfriend’s novel: a job, a city, an apartment.
Fallen Woman
Umbrella Factory Magazine | ISSUE 49
That's how it ends, she throws herself under the wheels, only they are much bigger, more brutal, and there's snow, because she has abandoned her husband, her children. It's how they al end, Madame Bovary... Um who's the one on the beach by Kate Chopin? Edna? They all kill themselves. Not all of them by train.
Aground
Women’s Studies Quarterly | VOL 45
Three years after Sarah Bird's father sailed off—one year longer than her mother Martha could be expected to wait calmly—the widow walk that topped their house like a little spiky hat was closed. The fear was that Martha, would jump. She never did, but Sarah pictured it: her mother, only turned upside down, and falling, her bell-like skirt suddenly a tulip. A stiff gray tulip.
Your Mother Has
Another Black Eye And
Hypertrophic Literary | SUMMER 2018
You cannot find a word in the dictioinary or thesaurus for the emotion that skitters on sharp little claws from your bowels to your lungs
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You relive the night you blackened her eye
you were fourteen and drunk, she forty and drunker
The Stopping Place
Marathon Literary Review | ISSUE 10
The Writer
Vol.129 N 03
Best list poem March 2016
MANUSCRIPTS
Please
Run, Don’t Run
The Fury and the Penitent
INTERVIEW
Smoke and Mirrors—An Interview
with Kathryn Lipari
Interview by Shelly Weathers | June 22, 2015
SMALL SALON
Welcome to smallSalon, a room with a fire, a black cat, and a dog named Ringo, looking out the window for phantom coyotes. A room where the many facets of family intersect: marriage, children, books, exhaustion, joy, and two unique adults fighting to find time to dig deep into their creativity. SmallSalon is several hours every week when this room is given over to their process. It is inspired by a thought, image, or event that has floated into consciousness. It is not so much about the finished work, but about the time it takes to make it–the place gone to. Kathryn Lipari is a writer. Giuseppe Lipari is an artist. Kathryn and Giuseppe Lipari have three children and live under the shadow of a towering fir tree in Portland, OR.