by Gracie Schufreider
Moira had thought about it, of course. She had never left the country before, had only been west of the Mississippi once for a cousin’s wedding in Denver. Traveling was one of the first things that it had occurred to her to do. But she’d needed, she realized, Kayleigh’s permission, assurance that her daughter would be fine without her near. She decided she would take a month. October first to early November.
PoetryBare
by Syd Brewster
But my chest doesn’t look like that, and you know it
doesn’t feel right. Tits, boobs, twins. Wanted so bad to be
like the boys on the beach, the surfing kind, the skating
kind, shirtless and flat.
Non-Fiction
The Vigil
by Tanner Cipriano
You are all preparing to stand in front of thousands of strangers, people who will pray the Rosary for your family. Because one week ago, your dad was murdered in a home invasion. Also, because your mom and your twin brother are still in comas, in the intensive care unit several miles away. Your mother has started to open her eyes, but her jaw is wired shut. Your twin, Sal, hasn’t woken up yet, and the doctors can’t say if he ever will.
PoetryBad Faith
by Kale Hensley
First, from treason, for even loss belongs
to men; their fealty (just call it love)
to other men but older, thoroughly; pining
for a root obsolete, used much like
rhubarb to free rot from teeth.
Non-Fiction Unshed Tears
by Huina Zheng
I had already discussed love and marriage with my daughter when she was in the first grade. I told her she could fall in love, live with a partner, and even have children out of wedlock—but she shouldn’t marry unless she was absolutely sure. The law doesn’t protect women, and divorce isn’t easy. I’ve seen too many women trapped in unhappy marriages. Many of my female friends feel the same way. No wonder marriage and birth rates are declining in China.
PoetryOn Rembrandt’s Isaac and Rebecca
by Mara Adamitz Scrupe
I might have mentioned something classical
about myths & magic. I might have talked
of famous warriors crossing the Rubicon
or goddesses or even saints. (& no one else in my real life
would have known what it meant.)
Fiction
The Dancer Nagels
by Ed Walsh
Over the space of the next two years, Frankie Nagels had fifteen fights and won them all, eight on unanimous decisions, one split decision, and six stoppages. One thing we learned in that time, apart from the fact that I was very quick, was that I couldn't take a punch.
PoetryTwo Poems
by Sara Letourneau
When Writing Poetry in the French Countryside
Missé, France
When writing poetry in the French countryside,
remember to go out for a walk if you’re visiting
in the middle of June. The sunflowers
at the neighboring farm won’t have bloomed yet,
though their stiff, bristly bodies will stand
as tall as you...
FictionLet the Child
by G.W. Currier
In the evenings, I imagined some way of connecting with my girls on the weekends they stayed with me—games to play, meals to cook, something, anything—and sketched out a design for a swing set. They’d been growing quieter, more distant and said they didn’t like the way my place smelled—Like farts and old potato chips, Briar said—and complained there was nothing to do.
PoetryNotes on Orange
by Rudrangshu Sengupta
...my mother’s voice as she tells me
stories of her childhood,
a language of mango-stained summers,
afternoons steeped in card games
and the clink of ice cubes in steel tumblers.
the days she spent in a house
with ceilings too high to touch
but windows flung wide enough
to let in the sky.
the moment before something disappears.
Non-FictionAt the Bar
by Kristi Schultz-Wogan
To my left is another young woman, probably mid-twenties. The men at the far end of the bar are interested in her. I know this because a glass of wine appeared in front of her before she even had a chance to slip off her coat and order a glass for herself.
PoetryTwo Poems
by Anthony Robinson
The River
There are a bunch of flying insects
buzzing around my head right now.
I wonder if this means I'm dying.
I said hey honey and there was nothing so sweet...
FictionGreatness
by Paul Hostovsky
It never occurred to us that he was on his way to greatness. One of the greatest harmonica players ever: jazz, folk, rock, Latin, blues, country, even classical. The inventor of the chromatic playing style on a regular diatonic ten-hole harmonica. But to us he was just the kid who sucked and blew and drooled a lot with that thing forever installed in his mouth...
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