IMPRESSIONS FROM THE LAND OF VANISHED BEAUTIFUL THINGS

0
IMPRESSIONS FROM THE LAND OF VANISHED BEAUTIFUL THINGS By Stephen Mead       "All that glitters is not gold", is a useful cautionary phrase some sources site as dating back to Aesop.  I imagine during the time of...

SAN BERNARDINO – By Taylor Hall

0
SAN BERNARDINOBy Taylor Hall I ask if she minds if I kiss her, and she says she doesn’t. She never minds, big eyes always fixed on the sky, or out a window. Big mouth always...

WE ARE THE BUFFALO – By Kaylynn Raschke

0
WE ARE THE BUFFALOBy Kaylynn Raschke “Are you sure this is it?”  The cab driver points to a thin white sign, St. Cloud. Hardly visible, as it melds into the predawn sky of this frozen...

THE SHOW MUST GO ON – By Sally Miller

0
THE SHOW MUST GO ONBy Sally Miller In 1983, when I was ten years old I performed in the best original (very) off Broadway production our family living room had ever staged. It was a...

THE BLUE-BLOODED PANTHER OF BANGALORE – By Brennen Fahy

0
THE BLUE-BLOODED PANTHER OF BANGALOREBy Brennen Fahy My grandfathers house sat on a foundation of thick granite stones. It had a winding staircase and many rooms filled with intricate furniture and interesting things. It was...

STRINGS IN OUR HANDS – By Erin Conway

0
STRINGS IN OUR HANDSBy Erin Conway I sat on Oscar’s front step in Guatemala, holding his daughter after her first birthday party.  After almost three years of Peace Corps working together in his elementary school...

THE PRICE OF GINGER – By John Davidson

0
THE PRICE OF GINGERBy John Davidson “Have time for a story?” The driver looked over his shoulder. It was after midnight. After three in the time zone where I had gotten up. It would be busy...

CICADAS – By Katy Major

0
CICADASBy Katy Major  If you live somewhere in the stretch between northeast Ohio—that’s where I am—and northwest Virginia, I don’t have to tell you: the fifth brood has emerged. You can already hear their whirr...

SCREW, BUTTON, POTATO – By Jill Jepson

0
SCREW, BUTTON, POTATOBy Jill Jepson  The child has hair the color of butter and a bruise on her knee. She is sitting in flowered cotton pajamas on the linoleum floor of the small kitchen. From...

THE COUNTRY OF THE PAST – By Michelle Cacho-Negrete

0
COUNTRY OF THE PASTBy Michelle Cacho-Negrete My husband Kevin and I drift along the Finnish-Russian border as though suspended on the edge of a dream, my dream of Russia, or perhaps my mother’s or grandparents’...