THE YEAR OF THE RAT BABY by Ajit Dhillon
Our baby was born during the pandemic. In a heightened state of lockdown. With a team of overeager nurses checking in constantly because we were the only ones in the labor ward. In a...
THE HOWL OF AN AMERICAN PSYCHO By Vanya Suchan
THE HOWL OF AN AMERICAN PSYCHO: An Introspection into the Destructive Americaby Vanya Suchan
To raise the notion that the human being reaches for the glamorized “American dream”, but remains crushed in her struggle and...
ROAD TRIP by Elizabeth Bernays
Road Trip
“I want to take you camping in the motorhome.”
“Really?” I replied doubtfully. My background of camping involved long hikes with a backpack with sleeping bag and dried food. The crowded RV parks along...
THE PAINS AND PRIZE OF REMEMBERING TIME By Angela Yurchenko
THE PAINS AND PRIZE OF REMEMBERING TIMEBy Angela Yurchenko
“Culture is love plus memory,” a poet tells his students. I catch the reverberating echo of his voice refracting through decades. Having prepared myself, a few...
SUMMER 1961 By John L. Stanizzi
SUMMER 1961 (excerpt)By John L. Stanizzi
THE BEACHI don’t recall who decided that it would be a great idea to follow the dirt road at Station 27 down to the river. We passed the road each...
THE LOSS OF HER By Kimberly McElreath
THE LOSS OF HERBy Kimberly McElreath
That Wednesday started with a pink pig pancake pajama party. In Kindergarten, getting a new weekly letter means a lot. It’s another step toward being a member in the...
I WONDER WHERE THAT VIDEO IS NOW by Molly Blumhoefer
I WONDER WHERE THAT VIDEO IS NOWby Molly Blumhoefer
Jess, Devin and I had gutter punk boyfriends, dirt covered squatters who travelled through Minneapolis during the warmer months. In the mid-nineties, most of this...
THE FIRST TELEVISION ON THE BLOCK By Anita Gorman
THE FIRST TELEVISION ON THE BLOCKby Anita G. Gorman
It was 1950 in Queens. On the street where the Andersons lived, they were not the only Swedish immigrants; the Carlsons lived next door. The rest...
NO MORE TEARS by Kristin Gunner
“I don’t want any tears.”
My Papaw occasionally talked about his funeral, even before we knew he’d be gone soon. I promised him I wouldn’t cry when that day came, but I broke that promise....
BASEBALLS by Allen Long
Baseballs
I’m sixty-three and work several days a week as an assistant hospital nurse in the San Francisco Bay Area. On my days off, I walk my beloved golden retriever, Ruby, two miles every morning...