by Michael McGrath When I received my first report card in the fall of 1967, I was afraid to bring it home. Unlike most of my friends, who had a collection of As, Bs, Cs—and the occasional D—to show for their efforts, the only grade featured prominently on my card…
By Shane Hibdon This story contains substance use. The rain fell steadily, soaking the ground and all things it touched. From inside the RV they could hear the droplets pounding against the roof. It was a steady sound that the television could not drown out, especially for the occasional thunder…
By Omolayo C. Akinlosotu Koya For International Women’s Day, Southern New Hampshire University students were invited to submit essays in celebration of women’s contributions to society, with a focus on a particular woman who inspired the writer. This essay was selected for publication in The Penmen Review. Thousands of film…
By Keith Burton i was stretching my legs on the littoralgiving names to the shapes of the cloudsthat swam across the lake’s reflectionwhen trouble came crawling on eight legs. help me across he asked with a period. i knew better; i had an owl’s acuity.no can do, i know you…
By Maggie Kennedy That song again,and I am in that kissagain that felt so rightbut for the right person. The sudden downpour,dash from the bardown the lamp-lit street,breathless and laughingat our sodden clothes,smell of mud hungrybeneath melting snow,and what the hellshock of his lipsquieting my shivers. A kiss that mighthave…
By Cindy Mercedes She was made of sharp edges and soft curves,eyes a deep brown with specks of gold.She smelled of dew after a rain,of pine cones that littered forest floors. Everything about her was beautiful-from her compassion that blossomed with vibrant colors,breathing new life unto slumbering seeds.To her sincerity…
By Janet Zinser Arey Josie had been surprised to see Dale when she cut past the Feeley’s farm after school. He usually hung out by the old gas station riding his dirt bike. Today, he’d been waiting in the shade of the sugar maples. He’d brought her a gift. “Well?”…
By Jennifer Ward As a little girl, I was a dreamer. I wanted to be so many things—a teacher, a lawyer, an author, a fashion designer, an architect. Amid these dreams, I always imagined I would be happy doing something I loved. Still, during my first year of college, it…
By Lindsey Jones I grew up on the trashy side of town. Not necessarily the poor side, though we were that too, but the side where off-duty cops went to party and drunken rednecks used the highway as their personal dragstrip. The kids were dirty, the yards were full of…
By Kevin Broccoli I liked it better when we were on the bookcase. The titles were all lined up in front of us and we could read them aloud to each other every night. We’d come up with stories and attach them to the titles. The stories would produce other…