Category: NonFiction

  • Claire Robbins

    PUBLIC SPACE, PUBLIC BODIED I want to say that I have many bodies. I have arms that lift weights, legs that walk across town, a stomach that hungers and fills. My body feels emotion, is energy. My body can give and feel so much pleasure. My body looks great in jeans and boots, my body […]

  • Rowan Lucas

    WATER OF THE WOMB There is a stone that lies just below the hollow of my throat. Suspended above my heart by bile and blood. A bezoar I crafted out of what was given to me. Whole, I pushed it down a reddened gullet. Down to weigh down my stomach. Down into the places my […]

  • Christina Harrington

    DRAGONFLIES BY THE DOZENS The afternoon after my grandfather was buried, my mother and I sat at her crowded kitchen table and drank out of wine bottles left over from his service. My mother sipped pinot grigio from the slender neck of her green bottle; I gulped something red. We were trying to forget the […]

  • Brian McCurdy

    FATHER Waiting for my second child to arrive, a girl this time, I find myself saying all the expected things an expecting father says. “I hope she’s healthy.” “I wonder what she’s going to look like.” “A girl? What’s that going to be like?” “Sweet sleep, your days are numbered.” But there’s one standard expression […]

  • Aram Mrjoian

    ANIMAL KINGDOM The president is on television calling people animals. He is not the first. He will not be the last. He is one of many throughout the ages, snarling with glee as he uses one of the oldest tricks in the book. The animal can be labeled a pest and a pest can be […]

  • Melissa Wiley

    LAND OF MILK AND HONEY 7:45 am The last day of my life, I tried walking into someone else’s. I tried but couldn’t gain access a couple hours after having sex with my husband, when my thighs gripped his hips as he slowed his rhythm. After clearing his throat, he told me to spread my […]

  • Angela Youngblood

    NAVIGATION BEFORE TECHNOLOGY Tucked between small mountain ranges, you’ll descend like a bird of carrion to my childhood home. Redwood Valley is a blink of an eye, easy to navigate. A right at the house with a red barn off of E. School Street, where on dewy mornings children stand at the stop sign, wait—wait—waiting […]

  • Robert James Russell

    BLUE RASPBERRY People would always say to me, more than anything else, that the store’s smell was too strong—that all you could smell was cologne. They’d walk up to the registers and say, stone-faced, that it stung their eyes. How could you shop for clothes, they’d say, if you had to walk through a humidor […]

  • Shir Kehila

    CALL ME SONG OR CALLS FOR PRAYER   “Women usually know,” my dad told me over ice-cream, whipped cream melting on the sides, “when they conceive. They feel it, somehow.”                                                       […]

  • Annalise Mabe

    LITTLE DEATHS My parents were ex-pats in 1993, taking my sister and me to Prague where dust came from the bodies of men, old as meshed chain, armor and silver swords. The city, the churches were filled to the brim with bones. I was three, the air swimming around me, smelling sweet of goulash and […]