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3rd Wednesday Blog
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Third Wednesday is a finely produced print journal that provides a quarterly outlet for both experienced and new writers and artists whose work deserves to be in print, publishing writers, poets and visual artists from all over the world.
Third Wednesday accepts submissions of poetry and prose through our Submittable account. We never charge submission or reading fees (except for contests) and registration at Submittable is free.
Notes from a Teacher’s Meeting in Winter / Blake Kilgore
It Happens Fast / Natalie Eleanor Patterson
Self. Deception. / Dick Westheimer
It’s a rare moment when a finicky reader comes across a villanelle that is not only flawlessly constructed (no small feat!), but that also presents a sensitive self-examination to which virtually anyone might relate. These successes are insightfully sustained through the poet’s use of precise metaphors, well-handled allusions (notably to Marianne Moore), alongside a few unexpected, startling details, for instance, “my heart’s hardened to the mice and the beetles”. Also noteworthy is the wonderful, self-effacing tone maintained throughout. – Marilyn L. Taylor.
A Portrait of Narcissus With His Phone
Countless “portraits” of Narcissus have appeared in western art and literature over the centuries, but to my knowledge few, if any, have portrayed the young god as he poses for the ultimate selfie. This poem is also a gracefully constructed Petrarchan sonnet, well-realized both metrically and by virtue of the meticulous word choices. Finally—and rather surprisingly, the poem’s overall tone lands somewhere between formal eloquence and unpretentious clarity.
Between Light / Jennifer Burd
A winning poem in 3rd Wednesday’s annual poetry contest:
This relatively brief poem is ostensibly about a garden, but one that wastes no time finding its way, quietly and unexpectedly, into a very dark domain. Borrowing from the vivid vocabulary of more predictable poems about gardens, the speaker describes instead an environment in slow decay, while providing a warning that we, the observers, are blithely “deadheading in the clarified air.” I consider it a jarring but undeniably memorable poem, infused with the grim inevitability of mortality. – Marilyn L. Taylor, Contest judge.
The String Section / Kevin Shyne
Another honorable mention poem selected by contest judge, Marilyn L. Taylor, in the 2026 3rd Wednesday Poetry Contest.
Body of Memory / Vincent Casaregola
An honorable mention selected by contest judge, Marilyn Taylor, from our annual poetry contest.
Gracie / Patricia Wallace
The Spring issue will include the winners and honorable mentions from our annual poetry contest. Here is one of the three H.M. poems, as selected by contest judge Marilyn L. Taylor.
Pounds / Kimmy Chang
Pounds
by
Kimmy Chang
I was 135. Then 125. Then 99. My big sister graduated and left for college. Ma said it from the sink—hands wet, eyes down: You’ll join her in two years.
Ma dressed me in my sister’s old clothes. Sleeves that swallowed my wrists. Cuffs worn soft where her fingers had worried them. I made Ma pack my sister’s usual lunch for me. At school, I dismantled it. Bread, cheese, ham, bread. The ham came off in a damp sheet. The cheese left a pale sweat on my fingertips. Her homemade cupcake—whipped peaks, chocolate curls—something I couldn’t separate without ruining.
A thick binder waited on my desk, rings yawning. The papers inside had my sister’s cursive in the margins. I pressed my pencil until the lead snapped. I reached for the eraser again.
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Kimmy Chang is a Texas-based writer and computer-vision engineer. A 2026 Writers’ League of Texas Fellow and Pushcart Prize nominee, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in trampset, ONE ART, and Sky Island Journal, among others. Read more at https://www.kchang.xyz/.
Lobster Claws / Jennifer Handford
Lobster Claws
by
Jennifer Handford
Charlotte Collins sits cross-legged on a mat in a meditation room at Santosa Springs, a wellness retreat tucked in the misty Berkshire Mountains. Kel the guru is cute—Charlotte’s age, thirty, give or take—the type of guy Charlotte would have loved in her twenties, an enlightened, touchy-feely feminist in the body of a mountain biker, but those guys wanted to know her, wanted to look into her eyes and understand how she was feeling. Charlotte had no interest in swimming in the deep end of that pool.
“There’s a difference between chest and belly breathing,” Kel says. His biceps wink from his fitted hemp T-shirt.
Charlotte raises her hand, feeling her ponytail dance on her shoulders. “Breathing doesn’t usually work for me. I’ve tried, but it makes me more stressed.”
Charlotte’s inability to breathe is why her boss, Diana, VP of Commodities at JP Morgan, called her into her office. “Have you seen that PSA? Khakis and golf shirt type of guy, but then he starts fentanyl, and his face turns ashen and his skin becomes thin as cellophane.”
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Jennifer Handford is a former high-school literature and composition teacher and is currently an MFA student in creative writing at George Mason University.
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