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    THE RIVER ROSE by Meg Jerit

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    The River Rose             Things started to feel differently. A rash began to creep up my neck. A knowing was gnawing inside of me, but it eluded my fingertips...

    TRACK CHANGES By Sydney Samone Wright

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    TRACK CHANGESby Sydney Wright I was in bed next to my boyfriend, Shola, wondering if he’d noticed the slow changes in my body since exiting the athletic performance world....

    SURVIVE. LIVE By Edward Lee

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    SURVIVE. LIVEBy Edward Lee Like too many fathers across the globe I only get to see my daughter every second weekend. Out of 336 hours, I get 30. Before,...

    CYPRUS: A PAINTERS JOURNAL by Jeri Griffith

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    Cyprus: A Painter's Journal a memoir Now is midsummer. During the month of July, it doesn't rain here. The days are hot and the evenings cool....

    WHAT DID YOU EXPECT By Chella Courington

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    WHAT DID YOU EXPECTBy Chella Courington The nurse tells me not to move for thirty minutes and slides me into the opening. I lie on a narrow padded bed...

    OF KIEV, COWS, AND COUNTRY FOLKS by John Walters

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    OF KIEV, COW’s AND COUNTRY FOLKSby John S. Walters    In 2011 I received a modest windfall, which any sensible person nearing retirement would have added to his modest nest egg. But this money...

    FIFTY YEARS WITH CATS By Terry Sanville

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    FIFTY YEARS WITH CATSby Terry Sanville No, not the musical ­– but actual four-legged felines, critters that own property around the world and allow some humans to act as...

    REIMAGINING: MARCH 31, 2020 By Rachel Cavell

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    REIMAGINING: MARCH 31, 2020by Rachel Cavell   “Liza, be careful not to touch the banister when you go downstairs”, we overheard Max telling our daughter late last night. Motivated by Trump’s musings about quarantining...

    LOLITA’S GLASSES By Carrie Bailey

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    LOLITA’S GLASSESBy Carrie Bailey I’ve read the novel, Lolita at least three full times. The first of which, and I’m no longer afraid to admit this, 30 years after the fact,...

    ZOMBIE RUN by Teresa Douglas

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    I step out of the house and wince as the cool spring air hits the skin beneath my running pants. It’s early but not too early—my only company the murder of crows...