by John Timothy Robinson They called my sonnet a disregard of form, prefer instead work that preserves, revives a beauty now which makes a reader worn of meter, rhyme, what day it was, the time. We don’t though often talk that way, emphatic to modulate a voice, almost of air….
by Marc Mayer Okay, I admit it…I’m a hoarder. No, I don’t mean one of those nutjobs you see on the TV news being led out of their hopelessly cluttered—with boxes of shit from the 1950s—home along with their thirty-two cats and eighteen dogs. I’m just your average “I never…
by Isidra Mencos It was turquoise green with black side panels—a simple sheath in stretchy nylon that fit in a fist. When I tried it on I instantly knew it was mine. I stepped out from behind the folding screen and into the main room where my friend Marisa and…
by Vanessa Kristovich My grandmother was a great lady, the matriarch of my father’s family. She had bright eyes and salt-and pepper hair, and a beautiful, warm smile. She also had some strong opinions, and one of them was that a person shouldn’t buy junk. Grandmom used to visit at…
by Tyler Townsend A memoir of Jordan. I The vast majority of the area located around Queen Alia International Airport consists of rolling sand hills and sparse trees, which give next to no shade. The sun in mid-June is a murderous fiend. The locals, who are obviously acclimated to the…
by Robert Dinsmoor When I was four, my mother took me to see “Bambi,” a movie in which the title character’s mother is brutally killed near the beginning. I cried inconsolably. “What happens if you die?” I asked my mother. “What would become of me?” Her answer was as simple…
by Connie Bedgood McWilliams When I was 47 years old, Jeremy Adam Nicholas was born. I was at the Heights hospital in Houston, Texas, along with my three sons and wives. Danny, who is my youngest son’s best friend, his wife and a few week old son were in the waiting room. Of…
by Crow Johnson Evans N. Scott Momaday’s grandmother shared a Kiowa Creation myth. They came one by one out of a hollow log and called themselves Kwuda, “coming out.” Forty years ago, when I was entering my thirties, caught up in the free-fall terror of an unexpected divorce and unexpected…
by Ruben Rucoba In 2004, at the age of 40, I underwent a stem cell transplant for something called myelodysplastic syndrome, a blood disorder that turns cancerous. The transplant saved my life, for which I am truly grateful. But the transplant also taught me something that many patients with life-threatening…
by Linda Bragg LATE DECEMBER 1972 The sour smell of lung cancer clings to the humid air – heavy, unyielding. My family lives in Florida, and like most homes, ours has no air-conditioning. My father’s been sick for two years — now he’s coughing up blood and breathing has…
by Cathy Krizik Keandra placed her napkin in her lap. “Can we pray?” Oh shit. Lunch was supposed to be soup and salad. Not this. I clenched my teeth and dropped my knife, the clang reverberating like a spade hitting rock. Here? Now? Really? “Pray—right. Yes, of course.” Keandra and…